AN: Are you ready?
Alright, then, here's a poll. Do you want me to add the three Black sisters, Amelia Bones and an OC (Slytherin seventh year, I'm leaning towards Rookwood or Nott. You can propose names) to the harem? If I do so, then the story will stretch for 100 chapters instead of the 75 I have planned now.
Also, in this chapter, I included a little, microscopic scene with Rose, and not the others because they will be having their moments in the next two chapters.
I think I should warn you beforehand, there is gore in this chapter, I cannot really decide whether it is graphic or not. And there are references to necrophilia as well.
Italics are flashbacks.
Alright then, now that I have those out of the way, happy reading!
Time: Same Day, Evening
"Good morning, Timmy!" A cheery voice rang out, making the half-asleep man start awake, and not in a good way.
There was a loud, harsh sound of the lights being turned on, as if everything in this place was made to intimidate, his sleep-starved brain swimming with the ghostly whispers of his nightmares that plagued him every time he blinked. His ears still rang with fading screams, his own, seemingly still reverberating in the sterile, white room, making him wonder how long it had actually been since he had been visited last.
His heart beat rapidly, trying to escape his chest, adrenaline rushing in his veins, a feeling he loathed, for it meant he would not be able to embrace the sweet feeling of unconsciousness.
The man closed his eyes, trying to futilely blink away the ringing in his ears, the ghostly shapes of smoky faces twisted in agony, that still swam in his vision. There was a metallic taste on his lips... what?
He tried to move his arms, but was met with the metallic chime of chains against wood, his bones screaming in protest as he strained against his binds.
Right, he was bound to a chair.
He had been bound to the chair for an eternity.
He tried to move his fingers. Hands. Did he have hands?
It was something that the normal person didn't have to ask, but this man felt the need to confirm the fact for some reason. As if hands were a very precious commodity. Did he have hands?
He felt his numb muscles flex as he slowly curled his fingers, feeling the rough wood of the chair scrape against his fingertips.
Right.
He had hands, he just couldn't feel them. He had lost all feeling in the peripheral regions of his body, courtesy of the thick chains that bound him tightly to the chair. Right?
White.
He opened his eyes to see an endless stretch of uninterrupted white, the entire room looking 2D, his entire depth perception thrown off. Every single spot looked the same, and it felt like staring into endless TV static. There were no lines of tiles, not even any microscopic bumps of paintwork or concrete. It felt like the room was carved out of a singular block of smooth, flawless polished marble, as white and as glaring as snow, but with none of the joy normally associated with snowfall.
He felt the buzzing in his ears return, a white noise, a relentless migraine pounding behind his eyes.
"Welcome to the world of the living! The way you slept, someone might have thought you were dead!"
He heard those words, but didn't listen, his mush of a brain unable to even comprehend the words, much less begin to decipher the double meaning behind his words. His hazy eyes slowly focused, able to make out the blurry outline of a man dressed in dark clothes, at a table, doing something.
How had he not seen him before?
"My... name is not Timmy." His voice was hoarse, like steel scraping against gravel, rusty after prolonged disuse. His throat was parched, his tongue dry as sandpaper.
What was his name?
Distant echoes of a proud man, an immortal Vampire, wafted into his mind, but a name still remained elusive.
"Yes, and it's not morning either. Do I look like I care?"
Slowly, terrifying sensation and cognition returned to the man, accelerated by the adrenaline in his veins, his body reacting with abject terror at the familiar, cheerful voice, the dark clothes, and the hazy face, long before his mind was able to catch up with what was happening.
Silent with trepidation growing in his blackened heart that had ceased beating so long ago, the man watched as the dark-clothed man rolled up his sleeves with all the elegance and cold precision of a surgeon preparing for a long operation, revealing dark tattoos that curled on his pale skin like snakes poised to strike. His strong hands were sharpening a drill, sending up sparks as he rubbed the sharp tip against a metal slab.
On the table, spread like tools in preparation for a gruesome surgery, were all sorts of blades, spikes, clubs, wrenches, tongs and drills.
"What are those for?" He asked.
"Nothing, I'm just gonna do some engineering, you know. Wanna study vampire anatomy."
The man remained silent, his expression blank as the gears in his head slowly turned.
Elias. Levi. Elena.
Names floated to his mind, along with bits and pieces of the memory of a past life.
Stalker...
Unbidden, a scream that conveyed his sheer and utter terror tore itself from the lips of the man, as he struggled against his bindings, desperately trying to get away from the man, though his numb muscles wouldn't comply. Weak, he failed even to tilt and tip the chair over.
"Tut, tut. Remember what happened the last time you screamed too much?" The dark-haired monster padded towards him, a twisted smile on his face as he played with the drill in his hand.
The once proud Vampire bit his lip so hard it drew blood, silencing himself as he eyed the approaching tool with growing dread, terror like a dog cornered by wolves. "I-I won't tell you anything!"
"You don't need to. I haven't even asked you anything yet, nor will I ask you. I don't need information." Well, he did, but he was having too much fun right then to actually care about that. He was sure that a simple mental probe the moment the Vampire was broken again would tell him about every second of his miserable life.
"What I want right now is to see your misery, to enjoy the sheer agony on your face. To hear you scream. Your screams of pain are so much more melodic and sweet than those senseless screams of yours whenever you see me. I don't want you to strain your throat too much before I actually begin. That means you will lose your voice before I actually get to the fun part." He shook his head, "That takes all the fun out of it."
It was not often he got to torture Vampires, and he loved every moment of it. Give them a few hours, and their body returned to as good as new. Over and over and over, no matter how much he broke them. Unfortunately, their minds could only take so much until they snapped, and like a broken toy, they had to be discarded.
The man tried to resist the urge to whimper as he felt the man dig into his hip, drilling a hole in his pelvic girdle, the same as last time. His eyes maintained eye contact with the creepy heterochromatic eyes of his captor, and he couldn't even look away, even as the drill began digging into his flesh, making him resist the urge to scream out, though the pain was numbed, but only slightly, by the adrenaline and the high pain tolerance he had grown to develop over the last couple of days. Or had it already been months in this god-forsaken place without any semblance of time?
"You know, your daughter drew a beautiful picture of her torn family today at their kindergarten. It hurt me so much to think of it, her poor father. The teachers cried after the children were gone. Your wife misses you so much."
"Tell me... Should I reveal to the Muggles that she is always around that she is a vampire? Maybe she and your wife will be lynched if they are lucky. If they are not... well, I've heard rumours that the Muggle Government is always interested in dissecting what they don't understand."
"Hmm... your hip seems weaker than yesterday. Have you been taking your proper nutrients? It seems like I will need to get you some proper food soon." The deranged, sadistic smile on his face would put even the most hardened of criminals on edge.
"Father is hungry. I'm sure your daughter will eagerly provide you with food. You have such a lovely daughter, after all. Is your wife equally as lovely? She is sexy, I have to give her that. But is she... loyal?"
There was a hollow crunch as he finally drilled through the pelvic girdle and into the wood of the chair. He didn't go any lighter on him, opting instead to rip the drill back, with flesh, bone and sinew still clinging to the metal corkscrew. He only took a moment to carelessly swipe it all off to the side, splattering the flawless white floor with crimson, before replacing the drill, this time on his inner thigh. "Yes, it seems thinner than before. Pity, I was just beginning to like you. Maybe we could go for a smoke sometime?"
"The Inmortuae revelare spell can reveal the true forms of Vampires." The monster spoke, waving his hand casually and making a scarlet splash of light hit the man writhing silently in untold pain. He had torn his vocal cords a few hours earlier, and dried blood caked the inside of his mouth, keeping him mute no matter how much he tried to voice his agony. Despite his sheer agony, he couldn't help the widening of his eyes as he felt his fangs elongate, all of his Vampiristic instincts to drink blood pushing to the forefront. The instincts were almost too powerful for him, a seasoned Vampire to control, and would definitely send a nine-year-old into a murderous feeding frenzy.
"Dashing through the snow, on a one-horse open sleigh, through the fields we go..." The monster continued humming as he probed and prodded the bloody hole he had opened in his gut with his finger, searching for the gall bladder, looking for the bile to pour down his throat, the gore he so causally engaged in completely contrasting the cheery children's song on his lips.
The man stifled a whimper at the twisted, unhinged grin on his lips, too wide to be normal, as his bare hand enclosed around the familiar sac-like organ, soft and delicate like a somewhat tough water balloon filled to the brim, his fingers tight as he searched for the ducts keeping it connected to the rest of the body.
"One of the only ways to kill a vampire is to digest them. That's what I've been doing. I've been eating all the vampires I've killed so far." He could see the green look on his captive's face, and his smile only widened as the latter looked so dangerously close to throwing up the disgusting mixture of stomach acid and his own fingers that had been shoved down his throat as sustenance, well, when his stomach would regenerate, anyway. "Yes, I'm sure your nine-year-old daughter would love helping her father with food. With food? As food? Whatever. Let's ignore the technicalities of the thing, shall we?"
"Please, no... Anything but her..." The man pleaded, "I will give you anything you want, just please, leave my wife and daughter alone."
"So brave. So noble. Is your false bravado speaking only now that your body keeps regenerating over and over again?" The monster cocked his head. "I don't think all of your memories have loaded yet. Maybe it's your body's mechanism to save you from trauma. Forgetting everything I've put you through? Doesn't matter much now, it only allows me to reintroduce you to the same thing, over and over and over again, and enjoy your reactions, as if you are experiencing them for the first time."
His smile was unnerving, the way he cracked his knuckles sharp against the horror-inspired cacophony reverberating in the room.
"I'm pretty sure you were screaming for me to take your wife and daughter for myself only yesterday. You absolute sicko. A few minutes with a little bone saw, and you were screaming at me to do whatever I want to your cute nine-year-old daughter." He took great pleasure in the loathing and hatred that bloomed in the Vampire's eyes at the statement, and his self-satisfaction was only heightened by the fact that neither of them was lying even a single bit.
Magic was great.
The Cruciatus curse, among others, was a great torture device.
But Harry would prefer to roll up his sleeves and get up close and dirty, the old-school Muggle way, any day of the week, and dare he say it, he was more effective this way.
Harry was pretty positive he was going into withdrawal from lack of stimulation.
His only question was how that was even possible.
Apart from the one time when Rose, Violet and Lyra had managed to pin him in a tight spot with the Impedimenta and their cascade of spells, nobody had been able to give him any real thrill. And there was only so much his magical cigarettes could do for him, and he didn't want to get too addicted to them.
No, he craved action, the smooth surge of adrenaline that filled his veins every time he was out on a hunt. Maybe this was the same thing that veterans suffered from, always craving the thrill of the kill, the familiar rush of sweet liquid excitement in his veins whenever his life was on the line, like a never-ending rollercoaster of emotions and sensations...
Playing with his food was one thing, torturing his captured prey, while good in its own right, didn't give him the same level of rush that a lively, dangerous hunt gave. Flirting with his prey, coy and shy, dancing around each other in a deadly game of snake and mongoose, each knowing that the other could put it all to an end in a single moment of complacency.
Harry buried his face in his pillow, trying to resist the urge to scream his frustrations out, to snap and have his way, feeling his body heating up till he felt like it was unbearable, the energy rushing in his body without any means of release. Beads of sweat rolled down his glistening skin, flawless save for a few scars here and there that refused to go despite his enhanced regeneration.
Damn, this family thing was really having a toll on him. He had never had anybody to please, it was always himself first, he could do whatever he wanted, but now, he had to check himself from everything he normally did, with the only thing actually enforcing it being his own straining willpower.
Unable to take it anymore, he sat up on the bed, the soft silks of the lush, luxurious beds of Potter Manor almost hurting him, stinging his skin and leaving it red and raw, metaphorically of course. The knowledge that the bed was not won, not fought for, left a bad taste in his mouth, the sickening sense of familial security and lazy luxury that always enveloped the cosy, ignorant family, suffocating for him, who had always been used to natural struggle, who would not have it any other way.
No, no, no. This wouldn't do. He would rather go back to sleeping on cold rooftops, always on the lookout for danger, than bear this.
He stared out the window, wondering what to do as he contemplated the beautiful night outside, so still and quiet and serene. The trees that looked so beautiful, dark emerald foliage in the shadowy veil of night, the star-studded night sky and the pale yellow moon at its peak. A soft breeze rustled through the boughs of the garden outside, making the leaves rustle, and making him debate whether he should actually go outside and sleep in a tree as he had done so many times before.
Ultimately, he decided against it, opting instead to strip naked, cursing the damp clothes that stuck to his skin, and cast several cooling charms on the room, making the temperature plummet several degrees before he crawled back into bed, burying himself beneath the warm sheets and finally enjoying the night.
The warm, soft bed and the cold air that stung his skin so deliciously...
All that he lacked now was a woman by his side to warm him.
That trail of thought took him down another lane, from the loathing of human comforts to the pleasures of the flesh, bringing him memories of his own carnal exploits, some darker, some light-hearted.
Harry closed his eyes, groaning loudly as he felt the lion in his loins stir. Looked like he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.
One dead Muggle. Two dead Muggles. Three dead Muggles.
Damn, this wasn't helping. Neither his desire to sleep, nor his erection poking through the sheets.
Well, he had that particular dead body in his trunk... She had been sexy, and the stasis spell meant she was as warm and wet as when she got iced by him mid-sex...
He shook his head, trying to get rid of that thought. He had engaged in necrophilia, but this was neither the time nor space to do it...
If someone walked in, he could explain him jerking off, but not him fucking a limp, or animated, dead body.
Harry groaned, feeling himself getting turned on beyond the point of no return, feeling his strong, toned muscles tense in anticipation and arousal, his rough hands trailing downwards, roaming over his toned abs before dipping beneath.
Call Harry narcissistic, he didn't care. If anyone had put in half the work he had on his body, they had every right to be proud of themselves and their body, and be as narcissistic as they wanted.
Groaning slightly as he threw his head back, burying himself in the soft pillows as he wrapped his rough hand around his thick cock, Harry closed his eyes, letting his mind wander through the gutter and bring him all of the erotic fantasies that he dreamt of.
His horniness wasn't his fault, Harry wanted to point that out before he did anything, whether to explain it to his conscience or what, he himself didn't have any idea. Even apart from his raging hormones, and the fact that he had gotten used to almost regular sex, meant that he had a bad case of blue balls, especially considering the heavenly MILF and budding beauties he had been around lately.
The fact that they were his mother, sisters and second cousin made the thing all the hotter, the taboo on the incestuous actions making everything all the more exciting for Harry, who constantly sought to break everything society believed in.
Oh, how he would love to ravage them all, to feast on their bodies and claim them as his, and only his.
Rose, so sweet, her young nubile body ripe for the picking. The way she looked up at him with those maddeningly innocent green eyes, behind those cute round spectacles, made his cock throb as he imagined her choking on his thick meat.
"Good morning, big brother." The Girl Who Lived greeted cheerfully, a smile tugging on her lips as she watched him start up on the couch across which he had been sprawled the entire afternoon, snoozing the hours away.
"It's morning already?" He asked blearily, blinking several times as he looked out of the window at the dark night outside, before he slumped back on the couch, grumbling. "Little shit."
She smiled at him, her emerald eyes shining with mischief. "Well, if you insist on occupying the entire couch... I wanted to watch some TV."
Harry only grumbled at her, throwing an arm over his eyes and making her pout.
"Be like that." She blew him a raspberry before plopping her cute little rump right on his crotch, wriggling her cute butt on his rapidly hardening dick to get more comfortable. Whether it was intentional or not, Harry had no idea, too busy fighting against his rapidly raging hormones trying to beat down the idea of spanking the brat right then and there before making her choke on his dick till she begged for him to stop.
He opened his eyes, peeking at her as she seemed comfortable, smug even, despite the fact that there was no way she couldn't feel his growing bulge.
He allowed his eyes to roam over her messy raven hair, her slim body that just begged to be manhandled, the promise of a beautiful woman, her young thighs rubbing together in a motion familiar to Harry, who had seen it so many times before on other women...
Damn her.
His thoughts carried him from Rose, to Violet, to Lyra, their beautiful mother, from Nymphadora Tonks to the beautiful girls he had met through his sisters. Daphne Greengrass, so fierce and aggressive, Tracey Davis, so sweet yet strong, Susan Bones, delicious tits and an equally sharp mind, Celeste Malfoy, as venomous and dangerous as her father, a true Slytherin.
His mind continued to wander, taking him through various situations that he of course would try his very best to make into reality, flitting through all the sexy women he knew and wanted.
His dirty mind walked him through one particular fantasy that he had developed after watching his mother cook lunch one day, wearing shorts that did nothing to play down her heavenly ass, and a t-shirt that was stretched across her tits.
He bit his lips, sweat beading on his forehead as he continued to fantasize, before slowly his mind fixated on a particular Vampire Princess.
Elena. Sweet, powerful Elena.
He could almost hear the singing of her blade so close to his skin every time he closed his eyes. He could smell her sweet scent, her perfume mixed with the signature coppery hint that accompanied all vampires. The strong smell of her confidence, her overwhelming strength that played merry Merlin with his nose.
The reputation she had gained, a terrifying warrior, second to none but Count Dracula and maybe Gorbachev himself. The rumours that she could use human magic as well, one of the few vampires able to do so.
Elena Gorbachev.
Even the name felt so sweet on his lips.
He wanted her. Now that his mind had fixated on her for some reason, he felt like he couldn't continue without paying her a visit. The vacant hole in his blackened heart that throbbed with need for her, a primal hunger to feel her body against his, her lips worshipping him like he was her world...
Her red eyes, swirling with a predatory hunger as she stared at him, had haunted his dreams for a long time. Her full, red lips, were the colour of blood. Her choppy black hair, so tomboyish that it fit her strong and independent warrior personality surprisingly well.
Unfortunately, she was betrothed to the heir of one of the strongest men in the world. Well, fortunately, said heir was a weakling, and she would rather stay a maiden forever than get together with him, she loathed him that much.
And fortunately for Harry, he had always been the first one to break societal norms, and taking this maiden Vampire Princess stuck in an unhappy betrothal seemed to be the heroic thing to do.
Now all that remained was winning her over, by hook or by crook.
Harry sat up, his pleasure forgotten as his mind began to plot, the gears in his head turning as he chalked out a rough plan right then and there to meet her.
He would have to track her down.
He needed her.
His hands shook, sweat beading his forehead and saliva pooling in his mouth the more thought about her.
Luckily, he had just the right tools for the job.
Almost as if on cue, a crow landed on the windowsill of his room, blocking what little light was entering with its black body, darker than the night outside.
Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. Beads of sweat rolled down his features, dripping from his chin to the ground below, his heterochromatic eyes glowing in the darkness of the room like a predator out on a hunt on a dark night.
Hmm...
Not bothering to dress, he drew the sheets around his waist, loosely tying it before he stood up, opting instead to walk over to the window, throwing it open.
A slight breeze entered the room, making the temperature drop even further and sending goosebumps up Harry's flawless skin, though he seemed unbothered otherwise by the cold, despite his state of nakedness.
He raised his hand, allowing the crow to hop on, seemingly unfazed as its sharp talons dug into his arm. He stared out of the window at the quiet night outside, lost in thought as he absent-mindedly caressed the raven perched on his arm, running his fingers along its soft, velvety black plumage, and making it caw softly in its throat as it felt the wizard's surprisingly gentle fingers stroke its back.
Harry tilted his head, staring down at the raven on his arm, his hair, as dark as its feathers, falling messily across his features and partially blocking his view as he locked eyes with the surprisingly intelligent dark orbs of the raven.
After a few moments of silence as they held each other's gaze, silent and mesmerized by each other, before the raven's eyes flashed with magic, changing colours.
Harry stared at the eyes of the crow, the left one circled with a ring of Avada Kedavra green and the other with a Cruciatus red. The same shades he saw every time he looked in the mirror.
Smirking slightly, he raised his arm, allowing the crow on his arm to take off through the window and into the endless darkness of the night. With it, rose hundreds and hundreds, if not thousands, of ravens in a loud noise of birds taking flight, the fluttering of wings and rustling of feathers and loud cawing like a thousand ravens rising from the remains of a bloody battlefield, like dark clouds of demons rising from the thrice-damned, infernal trenches of hell. All equally as dark, thousands of wings the colour of the dark night rising from the Potter mansion and gardens, where they had lined the shadows and hidden in the darkness, heeding their master's call and melting into the darkness of the night, massive flocks of predatory birds out on a hunt.
Harry smiled, a smile brimming with a twisted sense of happiness as he stared at them all leave, turning to the room he had been so graciously given by his father, opting to let the window remain open for the rest of the long night.
Silence. The entire house was so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat, loud and excited, thumping against his ribs in anticipation of what was to come.
Elena Gorbachev. He wanted her, and he would have her.
She was powerful, the perfect mate for him. He had a gut feeling that she had barely even scratched the surface of her potential, and it was quite unlike him to let such a beauty go to waste.
He cracked his neck.
He had a lot to do this year. Maybe this family thing wasn't so bad after all.
Whereas he had earlier stagnated with his plans, he was making rapid strides.
But first, he had to pay a visit to a certain Vampire Princess.
He felt a smirk tug at the corner of his lips.
"I love you, Elena Gorbachev, and I will have you. Nothing can stop me."
The image of a stunning pair of blood-red irises in the forefront of his mind, as he returned to bed, staring at the dark room, unblinking. Any wink of sleep he might have gotten was a past now.
Maybe he had been right.
He should really give that particular corpse a visit.
After all, his trunk was magically enlarged inside to accommodate practically anything, he could enter it and lock it from inside so that nobody gets any inkling of what he had been doing.
Yeah, that seemed reasonable enough.
"And then there was one less." A dark figure was hunched over an unmoving body, staring at it. The woman's neck was twisted one eighty degrees till she was forced to stare up at the ceiling while she lay on her stomach on the cold stone floor, a ghastly sight for even the most hardened of people, her expression permanently fixed in one of terror, her hazel eyes wide and glassy.
Who was she? He didn't have any idea, she was probably some insignificant Professor or maybe a student caught in a bad place at a bad time, her casual clothes did not tell him anything, not that he wished to know.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating his trenchcoat that was spread on the floor around him in a dark halo, his darker-than-night hair gleaming as it caught the light filtering in through the large windows, though it did little to reveal to the world his dark thoughts, of maybe defiling her, of stringing up her body for all to see.
It continued to pour heavily outside, torrential rain that fell in sheets, until the dark night seemed shrouded in a cloak of grey, so typical of the Russian summer so far north. The loud wind screamed against the old windows, rattling the glass as the rain continued to pitter-patter against the stone and the glass, setting up a relentless, though pleasing chorus of music, one that he was very much used to and loved.
In the end, he decided to leave her lying there, instead focusing on his real mission for the night.
"A little birdie told me something." The dark figure spoke in a sing-song voice as he practically skipped along, not even bothering to hide his presence. Call him arrogant or careless, but he did not care.
"A little crow came to my windowsill, cawing and calling for me till, I came to it and fed it my flesh and bones, and then it brought me to a murder of its own, and I became a crow, and then I saw everything the world showed." He continued to sing, waving his hands childishly as he pranced down the dark cold hallway, his boots sharp against the cold stone, his waving hands spraying blood all over the walls. "A little crow comes to my windowsill, cawing and calling for me still, and I join the crow, and I feed on flesh and bones~"
Maybe he actually wanted to draw attention to himself.
The halls of Durmstrang, which he had traversed one night so long ago in the skin of a small boy, were all vacant, long deserted stone corridors absolutely devoid of any sign of life, that sent cold drafts even in the brief, though pleasant, Russian summers. There weren't any lamps nor torches that characterised Hogwarts, lacking all the warmth that came with the English school. The very castle reflected the mood of its students, its teachers and the Headmaster, dark, gloomy and cold.
A slight chill permeated the air, and lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating a singular blood-red eye, gleaming with an unhinged, twisted bestial intelligence, the visage hidden behind the smooth black and white mask made of human bone. Smoke curled from the mask's lips, cloaking the figure in fog and shadow, barely pierced by the lightning, the only source of illumination in the massive nocturnal castle.
A moment later, the black-bellied clouds rolled with thunder, sending deep shivers of anticipation through the figure, as he stopped his song, coming to a halt in front of a door.
He stood still for a moment.
"Yes, run. Run like the little insects you are. Run and hide." He stopped, throwing his head back as an unwitting, full-bellied laugh tore itself from his lips, the figure illuminated by the lightning shining through the large windows, that spanned the entire wall. "I want only one of you. I will have fun hunting you. I have hunted you for months, a week more won't hurt me. I will starve you out, I will starve myself till I have you. Send anyone after me, I will send you their heads."
He lurched, unsure on his feet for a moment before he regained the fluid grace that characterised him, like a predator, gliding down the hall. "I love you, Elena. I need you, Elena. I want to drink your blood, Elena. I want to feel your strength, oh great Vampire Princess. I want to feel your sword cutting through my flesh, won't you help me? I want you, your love, your desire, your hatred, your anger, your power, your undead highness~ Where are you?"
He did a little pirouette, making his trenchcoat rustle and fan out around him as he twirled around, his muscles tensing almost imperceptibly.
Nobody.
He had been pretty sure he had felt somebody there, behind him. Was it just his paranoia acting up again?
He stood still for a moment, before turning, ready to continue his hunt for the lovely, deadly Vampiress...
He felt himself positively shiver, his mouth watering at the thought of having her all for himself. He wanted her.
She was perfect in every way. Strong, beautiful, fierce, sexy, ready to break society and infamously loyal. She would make the perfect Queen for him, the perfect mate, the perfect mother for his children...
He shook his head, trying to clear his head of... such risky thoughts. No need for distractions, at least not today, not right now when they were locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse.
He could have had her in whatever way he pleased right then and there, of course, but he didn't want her body, well not just her body.
He wanted her, and he was sure that she was too strong-willed to be merely fucked into submission. She would resist, and he wasn't sure that he would actually be able to hold her down.
She was probably the first one he ever wanted for himself, for his pride, even before his lust had turned to his two lovely sisters, his sexy cousin and his equally beautiful mother.
Right, where was he?
Unfazed, he continued down his journey, his heightened senses on guard for whatever he had picked up. Wouldn't do for him to get surprised, now would it?
The small, arrogant smile that had curled on his lips, invisible below the mask, quickly disappeared as he felt a weight slam into his side, making him wince and hold in a groan. He tried to resist, but the force was too great, and the distance too small, unable to help it as he went crashing through the window with a loud noise of shattering glass and into the wet, stormy world outside, the person who had had the gall to shoulder tackle him, still struggling against his iron grasp holding firmly onto them.
He felt little shards of glass sticking into the back of his head like little needles, unbelievably painful as he felt the wind hiss and rustle through his clothes. He was locked mid-air in a confused struggle with a faceless attacker, and he would have to hand it to them, they were strong.
The moment of disorientation vanished quickly, adrenaline replacing the confusion of getting shoulder tackled through a window three hundred feet in the air, as he landed a solid punch on his attacker, sending them into a daze, before he managed to get them off himself with a strong Spartan kick to the chest, succeeding after a few brief moments and precious height lost.
Growing painfully conscious of the fact that he couldn't apparate out of the danger thanks to the anti-apparition wards around Durmstrang, Harry assumed a flat pose to get maximum surface area, before he spread his arms, letting his trenchcoat billow out like the wings of a bat, as he felt himself immediately begin to lose speed, slowly beginning to glide towards the ground, away from the dangerous ledges and nooks that lined the side of the mighty Russian castle. (Sort of like how Batman does it.)
However, he had completely disregarded his attacker whom he had fought off just a few moments before, as he faced the ground, single-minded in his attempt to glide towards the ground.
He couldn't help the loud roar of pain that tore itself from his throat as he felt a sword thrust into his back, as the cloaked figure used it as a handhold to rotate him till he was facing them.
Now that they were falling through the air at such high speed, he could finally see the face of his assaulter, the hood of her cloak having been blown off by the strong wind, and he had to say, there were people who he would have disliked getting attacked from, but she wasn't one of them.
The Vampiric blood red eyes of Elena Gorbachev stared back at the Cruciatus red of Harry's right eye, brimming with anger and a feral snarl on her lips as she raised her sword, ready to end his life.
Even as she raised her sword, the cold steel glinting in the flash of lightning that illuminated the entire world and allowed him to gaze at her dark, raven hair flowing out behind her as the two of them plummeted to their deaths, Harry couldn't help but admire her beauty.
The wind whistled loudly in his ears, the storm raging around the two stuck mid-air. The wind brought the rain sweeping in sheets across their faces till they were drenched, miserable, damp and wet.
The fact that Elena was practically lying flat on his body, her arms clutching at his chest even as she tried to kill him, was not lost on him.
Thunder followed lightning, seeming to break the moment as Elena brought down her sword, and Harry deflected it easily with the flat of his palm, tilting his neck so that the sharp blade passed harmlessly by, barely grazing his skin, seemingly unfazed at the situation.
He tucked his legs behind her, before displaying his flexibility and landing a kick on her back, something that would have snapped the average person's spine, making the Vampire Princess let out a pained scream as she was forced off of him.
Harry paid her little mind, even if she went splat on the ground, she would regenerate anyway. He was more concerned with himself, though he would regenerate as well, he wasn't particularly fond of the pain of going splat on the ground after a three-hundred feet drop.
He did a little three-sixty mid-air, before straightening out again in a diver position, trying to regain his bearings.
All this had happened in barely five seconds, and the ground was still a long way off, surprising him slightly while speaking volumes on how high up Durmstrang actually was.
Somehow during the fall, he had come closer to the wall of the castle, and he wasn't complaining, as he watched one of the innumerable extended ledges, which also doubled as open-air duelling arenas, rushed up to greet him.
He tucked in his feet again, rolling mid-air so that he didn't meet the ground face first, hitting the slightly muddy ground with his feet as he bent his knees to absorb the impact. It wasn't enough, however, as he was forced to his knees, making him execute a smooth roll to soften his fall, before he maintained the half crouching half kneeling position on his knees with one hand to balance himself on the slippery mud, trying to catch his breath, which came in short ragged gasps.
The rain continued to fall relentlessly around him, lightning brightening up the dark, stormy night sky. Rivulets of water streamed down his leather trenchcoat, stained with blood and mud, making small puddles appear on the muddy floor of the arena, that reflected his striking white mask and the lightning above. His long, dark hair stuck to his mask, water dripping in his eyes from his damp locks and making him blink.
He raised his head just in time to see Elena execute a perfect flip onto the same arena he was on, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she used her sword to balance herself on the mud, in an acrobatic pose for a moment as she balanced herself solely on her sword, her feet in the air in a sort of handstand, before she gracefully dropped to her feet in front of him.
He could see her legs shake, having trouble holding her up, her cocky smile strained after the devastating kick he had landed on her back. She would be feeling that for some time.
Harry stood up, facing her, suddenly, painfully conscious of the numerous cuts on his head, his raven hair slick and damp with both rain and blood, thanks to the shattered glass, though his body had been mostly protected thanks to his hunting outfit.
Well, there was that gaping sword wound on his back, but meh.
He stared at the Vampiress, silent as she levelled her sword at him, her crimson eyes blazing with fury. "You have chosen a fine grave in this great school. You should feel grateful you get to die on this hallowed ground of warriors, vermin."
Ouch.
The only response Harry gave was closing his eyes, growling softly in his throat in a display of power, as he pushed a little bit of magic into his regeneration abilities, sealing every wound that he had received in the short duration.
He opened his eyes, watching her circle him like a predator poised to strike, her great, double-handed broadsword held in front of her in a defensive position, as if she was ready to jump into action at a moment's notice. If she had been surprised to see the gaping stab wound on his chest seal close like it hadn't even been there, she didn't give any visible indication, on guard despite the relaxed stance that he held.
Seeing that it had failed to get any rise out of her, he decided to be more direct in his approach. "Well then, Miss Gorbachev, can you recognise this?"
A purple glow enveloped his hand, the signature colour of the Gorbachev Vampire magic, before he pulled a sword out of thin air, this one more sophisticated than hers, a sleek, elegant sword that was built more for speed than power.
He took great pleasure in the shocked expression that she couldn't hold back any longer.
"Yo-you're a Gorbachev vampire?" She stuttered horribly, more to herself than to him, as if her entire world had come crashing down, and unable to believe that the Stalker could be one of their own, bewildered for a moment before she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
"Nope, I can hear a heartbeat. It is strong. You're not a Vampire... then?" She muttered to herself, though Harry could hear everything. "An illusion?"
She was broken out of her musings by a strong, lethal slash that impaled the ground right where she had been mere moments earlier, her muscle memory kicking at the moment her finely tuned ears picked up the almost imperceptible sound of Harry's blade whistling through the air, even through the noise of the storm around them, allowing her enough time to jump away to safety as his blade slashed the mud uselessly.
"That was rude." She frowned, looking up at him with little of the blistering hatred she had displayed earlier, most of it being replaced with excitement and a tinge of fear at the prospect of a battle for her life.
"You will find that I care little for formalities, Miss Gorbachev," Harry spoke, jabbing towards her, before executing a twirl, twisting his sword to block the swipe she sent his way. He misjudged the strength behind the hit, however, as he was forced back, stumbling on the mud before being forced to barrel roll to the side to avoid the mighty blade that cleaved the ground in half where he had been.
He jumped back, his hands glowing purple once more as he summoned a double-handed sword as well, not as large and bulky as hers, but strong nonetheless. He had to match her strength, because he knew he would be barely able to match her speed.
"May I call you Elena? Miss Gorbachev seems quite the mouthful. You should consider changing your surname, maybe take mine?" He taunted her, raising his sword to block the lethal swipe she sent his way, gritting his teeth slightly as he felt his knees bend at the force behind the hit, his boots digging into the soft mud. She didn't give him any respite, wielding her heavy weapon with surprising speed as she tried to cleave him in half again. Harry ducked beneath her blow this time, sending a jab towards her unprotected side, though it was easily batted away by the flat of her blade.
He jumped towards her, raising his sword and swiping down towards her head. In response, she retreated her sword, raising it and blocking his blade, but it left her left leg exposed while the size of her blade blocked half of her vision, something that Harry capitalised on.
Sacrificing the strength behind his sword as he twisted around, he allowed her to win the challenge, though her sword cut through empty air as he was already behind her, his heel meeting the back of her knee, making her grit her teeth as she was forced to her knees.
Harry slashed down, though he wasn't quick enough as she had already rolled back to her feet, making him twirl again to avoid a potentially lethal thrust. He felt her blade draw blood, slicing through his trenchcoat and light armour, biting painfully into his back and leaving a large horizontal laceration.
He bit his lip as he resisted the urge to cry out, instead slashing towards her head.
Whatever he did, Elena seemed to be two steps ahead of him, always quicker, always faster, smarter and more skilled. She wielded her blade expertly, as if it weighed little more than a feather, her speed always throwing Harry off regarding the unbelievable strength behind each of her blows. He realised why she had chosen such a large blade, as she used it as a shield as well as expertly exploiting its reach to keep him from invading her space and making her engage in unarmed combat, having realised that she would never be able to defeat him in a battle of fists.
She retreated her blade again, making the tip of his blade slide harmlessly off the flat of her blade, as she retaliated, making Harry jump away again to protect himself.
Damn.
He stared at her for a moment, the tip of his sword resting limply on the ground as he tried to come up with new attack patterns and little tricks.
Yeah, that didn't work out.
After an hour of constant sparring, the metallic clang of steel against steel reverberating through the otherwise deserted ledge as the two warriors were locked in deadly combat, each trying to go for the other's throat but neither succeeding.
The rain continued to fall heavily around them, the mud sticking to their legs and making moving precarious. The fighters had to squint to see properly, the only way to see each other being the glint of their blades and the occasional flash of lightning that lit up the whole world.
Harry's breath came in short, ragged gasps as he tried to keep pace with the Vampire princess, cursing the mud clinging to his clothes and dampening his movements. His lungs burned for breath, his chest hurting as if a large boulder had been placed on it, and he could feel the coppery taste of his own blood on his lips as he forced his body to its limits.
He had the advantage on her so far as vision was concerned, despite the darkness of the storm, he could see her magic as clear as day, but somehow, Elena Gorbachev kept toe to toe with him, she was much faster, even. His body was covered with little lacerations and a few big cuts here and there, his clothes soaked with crimson mixing in with the rain. He had lost most feeling in his right foot, and favoured his left heavily, limping slightly as he attempted to keep the vicious Vampiress at bay with his sword. He had long lost count of how many hits he had received, it was all he could do to keep the stronger blows at bay, while taking lesser hits, though they were also beginning to take their toll on his exhausted body.
It was clear, he was far outmatched when it came to sword fighting. Maybe it was to be expected, Elena Gorbachev was often called the best swordswoman in history, and Harry had barely had any proper training with proper swords.
He gritted his teeth, attempting to go on the offensive.
Harry tried to feint towards Elena's right, before quickly going for her left when he saw her shift her weight to defend herself, raising her sword to deflect his blade.
Harry smirked at that, prepared to twist again and escape the counter that was sure to come while attempting to sneak in another hit of his own. His expression quickly turned, however, as she executed a complex manoeuvre he had never seen before, twisting her body and showing off her ungodly flexibility as she seemingly turned fluid with her movements, something that completely went against the heavy blade she was wielding.
Before he knew it, she had Harry's blade locked, his arm captive in hers as her own blade pressed up against the side of his stomach, biting into his skin slightly, unable to finish him off as she was forced to use her sword to block his blade as well, straining in his twisted grasp, barely inches from her face.
Harry breathed deeply, exploiting the slight break in the ceaseless fight as they were caught in a deadlock.
Elena's lithe body pressed against his back, moulding to his strong frame as he felt her blade bite sharply into the side of his stomach, her arm wrapped around his in an awkward position. He could feel her body shake and strain as she tried to keep his arm locked, attempting to hold his own sword at bay with hers, the width of the blade enough to block and attack at the same time. Harry held her other hand captive in front of him, able to overpower her easily as he tightly held her hand, the knife she had sneakily conjured barely inches from his exposed throat.
Elena growled softly, face to face with the expressionless black and white mask of her hated enemy, his dark, crimson eye meeting her blood-red ones in a clash of warring emotions, hatred, confusion, excitement and a hint of longing as they caught a tinge of familiarity in each other's gaze.
Little streams of water ran down their faces. The dark clouds overhead rumbled with thunder, interrupting the silence that had descended, the gentle pitter patter of rain on the puddles and the mud in the arena.
The moment was not to last, however, their blood called for death, and they listened.
Elena conjured a third dagger with her lips, its tip barely inches from the Stalker's wide, surprised eye, ready to stab him as she held the blade of the dagger between her teeth.
Harry retaliated, quickly weighing his options as he twisted around, using the fact that his arm was trapped under hers as an anchor to slam her arms down on each other and slip between them.
Such a simple trick was not to fool a seasoned warrior as the Vampire Princess, however, as he was met with a hilt to the nose.
Crack.
There was a sickening crunch as Harry stumbled back, dropping his sword, and Elena did not waste any time, using his momentary daze to her advantage as she pulled her sword back, twirling it as if it was not her size, slashing down with all her might.
Her blade caught the Stalker on the shoulder, and sliced him open like a hot knife through snow.
Before she could cleave him completely in half, however, she was forced to jump back, as the serial killer burst into a ball of swirling blue flames, so hot it made her feel like she was facing the brunt of the sun on a tropical African country.
She gasped for breath, the air rushing out of her lungs from the sudden increase in temperature, as she watched the blue flames die out a few moments later. The bright sapphire colour of the flames, twisted and created abstract, smoky shapes of all sorts of animals, demons and monsters twisted in hunger, wrath and agony, something out of nightmares, so hot it evaporated the rain before it hit him, leaving the immediate area as dry as the Atacama.
The fire fizzled out after a brief moment, and though she didn't know what to expect, seeing the Stalker still on his feet after being engulfed in a ball of Fiendfyre like that, wasn't one of them.
She realised with a jolt that his ripped, naked torso was put on full display, his clothes having been burned away by the flames till all that remained were his trousers, still smouldering, smoking and slightly singed at the edges.
Her eyes roamed across his broad, muscle-packed chest, rising and falling as he drew deep, strong breaths, his chiselled abs that made her feel a strange burning in her loins. She found the slight spattering of scars on his porcelain skin more attractive than all the men she had ever seen put together. He would have been the perfect picture of a chiselled Adonis but for the gaping crimson gash from his right shoulder all the way to his left waist, almost dividing his torso in half. He growled softly, leaning forward slightly, and making his messy raven hair fall across his mask.
Maybe he was attractive, but he was still her enemy, and as long as the accursed mask remained, she would not stop hating him.
Neither spoke any word as the rain resumed its natural course, moistening the soil at his feet, which had been turned to little more than sand.
"I won't fall for your cheap tricks anymore, ублюдок." Elena spat, watching as his raven hair slowly dampened.
Harry raised his head, staring at her, his single crimson eye burning.
Elena met his gaze with equal intensity, ignorant of the spider web of cracks that slowly spread across his mask, from the strong blow he had taken to the face from the hilt of her sword.
"Maybe, it is time for me to stop holding back, as well."
Her words were met with little response from the serial killer.
And the Stalker's mask shattered.
AN: Oof, cliffhanger! Pretty long chapter, I have to say. Remember to vote on the poll I have posted above. Comment your thoughts on the fight, was it good?
Elena was holding back?! Harry is a pyromaniac? And what was with the crows? All answers shall be delivered in due time.
See you next chapter.
Keep calm and headbang!