AN: So, just to clear up, because apparently, many of you don't read everything properly, Hogwarts is started at 13. And this chapter, Harry returns to the magical world, just not in the way you would expect. As I said earlier.
...Also, lemon warning, I guess.
Time: When Harry is fifteen
Harry groaned, throwing his head back as he let the blonde woman he was entertaining himself with today, choke herself on his thick, oversized cock.
Right, he should probably back up a bit.
He had been hunting Muggles for a long time, maybe two years, when it had happened. Things changed, his lazy life of hunting, staying away from the police, training and lazing away being replaced with a burning thirst for the ambition he had always cherished.
To become the strongest. And he saw that path, could reach out and have his aim in his grasp.
He had finally lost all his inhibitions in murdering so easily, long ago, always reinforced by the hunger he felt and the thought that he was doing so to sustain himself. To survive.
The full, powerful feeling he always got after he fed, accentuated by the lulling drowsiness that accompanied it, always made him feel like everything was worth it. The magic coursing through his veins.
And maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep down, he loved killing. The raw, primal fear in his prey's eyes as their dark pupils dilated, reflecting his image as he raised a tentacle, prepared to kill, like some Lovecraftian monster. The grin twisting his face, revealing his sharp teeth as he felt their warm blood.
It was all very addictive.
And soon, the little corner of predatory bloodlust he held, grew. And grew. And grew, till it consumed him, twisting his mind beyond recognition, till the old, naive and innocent child by the name of Harry Potter merged with Body Stealer, and they became one. Till Harry Potter could laugh as he killed a child younger than him, not even losing a wink of sleep as he made the parents watch as he devoured their child.
No... they did not merge. It signified that Harry and Body Stealer were equals.
Harry was definitely not equal to Body Stealer. No, the serial killer the Muggles were so frightened of, was something he had created, and something he now used, like a tool. Harry Potter, who ate everything, consumed his hatred, too, and become the teenager Harry Potter.
Not new, only older. More mature.
And infinitely more dangerous.
He had briefly considered changing his name to something that sounded cooler, but nah, he guessed. He preferred it the way it was, besides, changing his name would mean that he was flawed, that he needed a new Harry Potter to be perfect. No, he was the apex predator, the best around.
Because he was arrogant. He was perfect as he was. He did not need to hide. He killed in broad daylight, showed everyone his face, hid under their very noses, and they did not notice.
Was he becoming like other criminals?
He felt like laughing at that.
Soon, he started hunting actively, not only when he was hungry. He abandoned his older ways, when he would hide from law enforcement and run every time he saw any official-looking person, instead, he now toyed with them. He devoted every waking moment to hunting, toying with his prey, stalking them and stealing them away in broad daylight.
Instead of randomly killing whenever he was hungry, he switched to choosing prey that had offended him somehow, and hunting them till they regretted his decision. Making others think that they were going mad, till they died.
No, he was not a vigilante who killed only the bad guys. He killed anyone who crossed paths with him, children, fathers, mothers, police, thieves, drunkards, politicians, everyone alike.
People were so afraid of badmouthing the Body Stealer that they spoke his name with trepidation, like he was lurking in their very shadow.
The eerie resemblance to the effect Voldemort had had on the populace of the British Wizarding World was not lost on him, and it just made Harry laugh. To be as feared as the greatest Dark Lord of all time, all in a few years of work.
But up until then, he had avoided the magical world and everything in it like the plague. No, he was not strong enough to enter yet.
He tried to practise magic on his own, picking up several basic wandless spells that he could do, like weak cutting charms, illumination and levitation charms, and some small, easy transfigurations as well. Training his body, until he was tall and muscular and broad-shouldered, moving faster than the eye could see, till he could crush concrete with his bare hands.
Then one day, instead of just apparating around England, he had crossed the channel and entered France.
Boom.
Suddenly, there was a complete change in the scenario he was in.
Magicals mingled with Muggles openly, though not revealing magic, of course, as that would breach the International Statute of Secrecy, whereas, in England, he had never come across any magical during his entire time on the streets, in France, he stumbled across at least two wizards or witches every day.
They seemed to ignore him, not realising that the homeless, admittedly smoking hot teen was a Magical clothed in Muggle skin.
Then, one day, his curiosity as to what magical flesh would taste like, won over his reluctance to enter the Wizarding World, and he stole away a lone wizard.
Hmm.
There was no difference in the taste of the flesh that he could distinguish between Muggle and Magical, nor any significant difference in the magical power he got, making him shrug as he ate, like a dissatisfied professional food taster. Complete waste of time.
Until he went off to sleep at a street corner, thanks to the drowsiness that always accompanied a full belly, and woke up knowing how to cast every spell, both with and without a wand, that the nameless wizard had ever cast in his life. Not only spells, but potions, rituals, runes, whatever he had used his magic for.
Harry theorized it this way.
A professional athlete would obviously have a different body than the average person, as they would keep exercising their body. So, when he ate the wizard, who always exercised his magical core, he could effortlessly copy the magical information ingrained in that. Because the brain knew the spell and the wand movement, but the core knew the magic. And this intimate knowledge about the magic that accompanied a spell, allowed him to cast it wandlessly and silently, almost effortlessly.
The realisation that his magical knowledge could grow by leaps and bounds until he was as strong as Albus Dumbledore, seemed to revitalize Harry, almost sending him into a feeding frenzy. Every time he ate a magical, every time he devoured magical flesh and ripped it apart with his teeth, feeling the powerful blood trailing down his throat, he got a new spell or potion for every mouthful.
He had a way to exponentially shorten the path to his ambition. To become the strongest one around, to be able to protect his family without another thought.
But then, even that stagnated after a while. The average population seemed to have the same arsenal of magical knowledge, and by devouring innumerable magicals, Harry was sure he had got it all.
He travelled all across Europe, avoiding Britain because of some lingering fear of Albus Dumbledore finding out what he had been up to. Not because of the fact that he feared repercussion, in fact, he believed that he could tackle Albus Dumbledore in a fight and escape with his life, but because he feared the disappointment the Headmaster would show.
People are different. Harry enjoyed killing, enjoyed getting his sadistic kicks out of whatever, or whoever, caught his fancy. If Dumbledore or his family could not accept that, could not accept that he was a sadistic serial killer and cannibal, then Harry would not regret telling them that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him, before he tried to kill them.
But enough of that. Back to joyous times.
Where was he? Right.
Maiming magicals, feeding frenzy, and hoarding knowledge.
He had earlier abandoned his habit of breaking in and staying the night in his prey's house, fearing capture. But he had returned to it, now using his newfound magical knowledge to keep the dead bodies fresh and clean, and to animate them so that they could go about their lives without anyone suspecting a thing. He could comfortably spend around a week in the comfort of a good house thanks to that.
His tentacles were good, a part of him, but, if offered another weapon, only a fool would refuse it.
And yeah, Harry might have had OCD, hence his compulsive desire to learn every single ounce of magical knowledge known to mankind, regardless of whether it was Light or Dark. Well, all except Divination.
That shit was best avoided.
He groaned as the blonde woman wrapped her fat tits around his cock, still sucking his tip as she gave him a nice titjob.
Yeah. That.
Harry was a hormonal teen, cut him some slack.
It had been a tipsy Veela all alone in a forest in Bosnia-Herzegovina, stranded and lost after she had been separated from her coven after a night of wild partying, that had introduced Harry to the pleasures of sexual interaction.
He had been drawn to her addictive, intoxicating scent, like a moth to a flame, except, this moth could, and would, extinguish the flame without a thought.
He had been caught off guard as she lunged at him, prepared to defend himself, but found himself helpless, enamoured, even, as she peppered him with worshipful kisses, her fiery hair and inhuman, glowing white skin and soft feathers, and red eyes intoxicating, as she trailed down his body. He had been unable to move, the scent and mere presence of the fiery Veela enough to make him lose his mind and all control of his body, yielding to the hormones rushing through his veins and the hot blood roaring in his ears.
That's why, he had learnt all he could about sex from the Veela, spending two entire weeks fucking like, well, Veela, on the forest floor, before he killed and devoured her. Her flesh and blood were as delicious as her full lips had been wrapped around his thick meat.
Yes, it was good. However, he refused to be caught off guard like that again, hence why he tracked down the Veela coven she had been part of, and fucked each and every one of them, dominating the normally dominant Veela and fucking them into submissive, stuttering messes stuffed full of his cum, barely able to think beyond their need for him, his touch, and his thick, bitch breaking cock.
His magic might have helped a bit during that initial venture when he had definitely bitten off much more than he could chew, but that had been at least twenty months ago.
His decision to walk down that path was only helped by the observation that women were drawn to him like bees to a honeycomb, only making his hunting easier... and more pleasurable.
Ever since that lone Veela had introduced the hungry, wandering and sometimes lonely predator to the joys of sex, Harry had been insatiable, actively hunting women and fucking them non stop for weeks, until they invariably died from sensory overload, taking breaks only for food. More often than not, it was the woman's lover who was the food.
Now, Harry mused as he watched the woman try to coax an orgasm out of him, he could effortlessly take on a coven double the size of the average Veela coven, and fuck them until they died from sensory overload. Yeah, he was that good.
Call him arrogant, but he was more than capable of backing up his words.
And... he wasn't at fault if the Ministry officials trying to hunt him down found that he had a slight fondness (read: crippling addiction) for isolated Veela covens, which would inevitably be erased off the map after he had his fun, which often lasted for an entire month before he lost interest.
Meh, enough of sweet reminiscing. He had someone to attend to.
He had just broken into this house three hours ago, and it had only taken him less than an hour to break the mind and will of this slutty bitch who was slobbering all over his meat right now.
And of course, this wasn't just some random break-in and hunt. No, this was part of a bigger plan, part 1 of his grand plan.
He was waiting for the Head of the Department of Education of the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic to come home and see his perfect trophy wife service him.
Harry had watched documentaries and read books, about how lions had multiple mates. He wanted that, he wanted his own 'harem' of beautiful, powerful witches, each leagues above the rest of the Wizarding populace. He wanted to start his own pride, to get someone he could call his own.
Whether that was Harry's raging teenage hormones or his twisted familiarity with the natural games of predator and prey, he did not know. But all he knew, was that he desperately wanted that.
But enough of that. He had never found anyone who caught his fancy. They were all weak, in one department or the other, or they irritated him somehow. Even this one. She was good only for some fleeting fun, no, Harry was here for her husband, who had bought her with the seemingly endless funds that purebloods possess.
He groaned again, reaching out to pat the blonde. "Good girl, you are working so hard... or maybe you are just a hungry cum-starved slut, who is so desperate that she would willingly suck off a serial killer who will kill her once he is done with her."
The witch just purred around his cock in happiness, her senses too muddled to care about the fact that she was going to die, as long as she could keep sucking her Master's cock.
"You are such a slut." Harry repeated, letting his fingers entangle in her golden hair, before he bucked his hips, making her choke and gag as his oversized cock slid down her throat, making her throat bulge obscenely with the shape of his cock, every vein and ridge visible through her skin as she sucked hard, greedily swallowing the steady stream of precum he was leaking down her throat.
"Although I probably know why that is. Your old husband cums at a touch, doesn't he? I've heard he is so old he can't even cum anymore. How small is he? You were probably waiting for a thick, young meat like mine to come and mess you up, weren't you?"
The blonde bitch let his cock go with a lingering suck on his head, as if she was reluctant to let go. She didn't rest idle, either, as she wrapped her fat, E-cup tits around his cock, shaking her tits to add to the stimulation, allowing his slick cock to slide between her heavenly globes of flesh, covering her pale skin with her saliva and his precum, and making it glisten.
"I love your cock, Master, more than I've ever loved my husband. I love you~" She continued to slide up and down, allowing his oversized monster cock, a thirteen inch long, three-inch-thick diamond-hard, veiny meat as large as her entire arm, to slide between her tightly sandwiched tits, allowing his bulbous head to slide against her pink lips with every thrust, smearing her lips with delicious, additive precum.
"Good slut." Harry smiled down at her as she continued servicing him.
He looked around the room they were sitting in, letting her work at her own pace, relishing in her eagerness to please her husband's, and her very own, would-be murderer. Shit, he had really bent her mind.
They were in a lush living room, probably separate from the major one, where guests were received. Rich bastard.
Harry took note of the two doors, one leading to the bedroom, and the other leading to an isolated, long corridor, leading to a massive patchwork of corridors and massive ballrooms and shit, all the signs pointing towards the expensive mansion of a rich pureblood. This was probably the private living room.
He was sitting on a lush, expensive couch, the likes of which he had only seen in the houses of snobs like the guy he was waiting for, the soft cushions sinking underneath his weight.
He was buck naked, not caring that he could come any moment. He had no shame, after all, why should he, when both of the ones to see him without clothes would be dead before the week was over? Probably much earlier for the male.
Harry looked down at his body, a smile immediately gracing his lips as he looked at the hard-earned body he had. Muscle packed, with not an ounce of fat in sight.
He glanced back at the older witch, working hard on his cock, smiling slightly as he gave a little playful buck of his hips, enjoying how she gagged as his crotch hit her lips. Her tongue swirled around his cock, greedily lapping up the continuous stream of precum he was leaking, and gulping down with lewd, audible sounds. Her mouth felt so tight and warm around his cock, her jaw straining as she tried to swallow him, his girth too much for her. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked weakly, though with no less enthusiasm, her tongue lapping helplessly at the sensitive underside of her Master's thick meat.
Harry sighed as he finally put both of his hands on her head and started facefucking her, his heterochromatic eyes checking out any possible traps that the man might activate, not even bothering to acknowledge the pleasure he was receiving or the strain his body was under.
He groaned, no longer able to concentrate, feeling his balls churn after forty long minutes of the blonde working relentlessly and quite eagerly on her knees, his impending climax looming over him.
"Fuck, here I come, slut."
She made a happy little sound at that, making Harry smile, in a twisted, sadistic love, as she looked up at him with love and devotion clearly shining in her warm, brown eyes, not feeling anything but love and lust and ecstasy as she stared deep into Harry's cruel heterochromatic eyes.
Pity that she would have to die.
Harry could not take it anymore, groaning as his back arched, his eyes screwing shut as he gave another couple of short thrusts, before finally, the dam broke free.
Waves of ecstasy washed over the wizard as he closed his eyes, using his hold on her hair to jerk her head off his cock, ignoring the surprised yelp she gave as he grabbed his cock with his hand, aiming it at her, determined to make her husband see her covered with his cum.
He did not know how long he came for, the orgasm seemingly endless, until finally, he felt the climax peter out, making him sigh as he felt the blonde slut lap at his cock, cleaning him worshipfully and making his still erect cock give another aroused twitch.
Fuck.
He opened his eyes, panting slightly to look at his handiwork. Beads of sweat rolled down his chiselled frame, glistening against his pale skin, his slick raven hair sticking to his face.
The upper body of the blonde bitch was completely buried under what looked like gallons of thick, white cum, making her moan at the feeling as she mini orgasmed, twitching and shuddering as her body's involuntary reactions to the tonnes of pleasure he had healed in her poor, delicate body. Her pink lips were buried under delicious white, sweeter and more addictive than anything the witch had ever tasted in her life, her pale skin even paler, glistening in the light, her blonde hair sticky and frizzy.
It splattered her tits, globs of thick, fertile cum dripping from her stiff pink nipples, poking out like little, cream covered cherries in her smooth globes, the thick fluid flowing sluggishly down her flat belly to pool around in her crotch, making the clear, glistening puddle of her orgasmic fluids on the marble floor milky.
Her brown eyes continued staring at his still erect, throbbing cock as if captured in its spell, her eyes following every little twitch hungrily like a snake follows a snake charmer.
Harry cocked his head, his slightly long black hair swaying with the action, as a little, cocky smirk broke out on his lips. "Did you orgasm from getting your face fucked? Or was it from getting your face splattered with my cum, like my little, obedient bitch?"
"I came from both, Master. Many times." The witch moaned.
"Damn." He smiled as he watched her clean herself, licking up all the cum covering her hungrily, both directly and with her fingers, scooping it up before sensuously sucking it off her fingers.
"These rich old dudes can really get lucky. Money can buy anything I guess, even hot supermodel wives eighty years your junior." He mused to himself, laughing.
He extended his foot, toeing her wet cunt to feel her dripping wetness, making him laugh again at how wet she was from sucking him off.
"Bitch, my toe is dirty now. Clean it." He ordered, being met with an immediate response. "Yes, Master."
She leaned down till her nose almost touched the ground, on all fours like a bitch lying in front of her Master, as she obediently wrapped her lips around his wet toe, sucking sensuously, swirling her tongue around his toe like it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.
Her body moved of its own accord, a sinful swaying that rubbed her ample cum covered tits all over the marble floors as she swayed her ass in an enticing manner from side to side, like a happy dog wags its tail at being given a treat.
Harry smirked at her submissive nature, jerking his foot out of her mouth before placing it on her head, smashing her head into the cold, messy floor.
"You're making such a mess on the floor, slut. Clean it up." He ordered, removing his foot from her head and allowing her to respond with another enthusiastic "Yes, Master!" before she went to work, licking and slurping all of the fluids off the hard, cold marble floor.
The blonde supermodel, trophy wife seemed to be ignorant of the fact that she looked like a starving dog as she hungrily slurped all of her Master's precious cum from the floor, eagerly drinking her own cum, too, just to clean the floor as he had ordered. Her lips brushed the marble floor as she slurped the bodily fluids, relishing in the addictive taste of the cocktail of her own nectar and her Master's fertile seed.
Harry smirked as he watched his beautiful toy clean up the floor with her tongue. Hmm...
He glanced to the side of the couch as he felt someone enter the house, tripping the alert wards he had set up. Smirking slightly as his heartbeat quickened in anticipation, he reached out for his new, improved inhaler, self-replenishing, with the potion that he used to take. Increased effectiveness, and because he took sprays, none of that disgusting taste, either.
Harry's twisted grin widened, his hand immediately twitching as he felt his personal tic reappear, whenever his plans were coming to fruition.
Crack. He cracked his pinky, enjoying the resounding crack of the joint that filled the room.
With his left hand, he pressed the little blue plastic to his lips, taking a puff, before tossing it to the corner of the couch, along with his eyepatch. And this one was the cool, professional eyepatch. Like the one worn by Sir Adrian Carton de Wiart (wink wink) or, for the average person, pirates.
Crack. The ring finger was relieved as he used the finger cracking to count off the seconds.
The eyepatch also doubled as a black mask that protected his identity much better when he was out hunting. And beside it, lay Harry's open briefcase, which was really much larger inside. He had gone for that instead of the average trunk that Wizard's carried because of efficiency reasons. Most of the time, the charmed and heavily protected briefcase was shrunken, and hanging from a silver chain around his neck. His hunting clothes were messily bundled inside, an all-black attire.
Crack. The relief in his middle finger marked the third second.
Harry sighed, reaching inside his clothes with his left hand and searching for the wand he had been using. Not his own, he didn't have any of his own, rather he just picked up wands from prey and used them.
The door creaked open, before stopping still.
Harry didn't even flinch as he extracted the wand. The old man had been 2.07 seconds earlier than he had calculated. Although he didn't care much for his early appearance, the greatest problem it posed was that he wouldn't be able to complete the finger cracking. The realisation made him twitch in irritation.
Stupid idiot politician. Couldn't even get his timing to get murdered right.
He leaned back on the couch, smirking as his head lolled to the side, staring at the shocked face of the elderly hundred-something-year-old Head of Department of Education of the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic, as he spread his arms, allowing himself to relax on the couch leisurely, like how he would do if it was a Saturday evening, and he was the owner of the house.
Feeling petty, he gave the blonde bitch still cleaning up the floor with her lips a little kick, immediately feeling her crawl over to him submissively and start sucking off the tip of his oversized meat, her tongue lapping at his sensitive flesh as both her hands jerked him off like he was a horse, twisting her fingers to add to the stimulation. He felt the manic grin on his lips widen as she perfectly complied with his unspoken request, as if she knew instinctively what he wanted her to do.
He stared at the shocked face of the old wizard, smirking with glee and malice visible in his heterochromatic eyes. "Enjoy the view, sir?"
His words seemed to shake him out of his state of shock, immediately making the wizard whip out his wand and assume a defensive position.
But it was too late, as a silent Imperius curse collided with him.
"So many choices." Harry mused as he let his head loll back lazily, before he grabbed the blonde's head once again, beginning to fuck her throat at a relatively slow pace as he tossed away the smoking wand. It clattered to the marble floor, before lying there, forgotten.
Not that it mattered anyway. Harry had at least above thirty wands in his collection.
"I would've chatted with you some more, you know. Maybe insulted you, or perhaps even killed you. Although, I must admit my surprise that you didn't have a heart attack, given your old age." He told the glassy-eyed, unresponsive wizard. "However, you are more useful to me alive right now. So, I decided that your super-hot supermodel wife needs my attention more right now. So get your wrinkly ass back to wherever the house-elves stay. Come back to the master bedroom tomorrow morning to get your orders."
He ordered, watching as the high profile politician turned effortlessly, giving no visible sign of even fighting the control of the Unforgivable curse, moving like a puppet on strings.
He smirked as he returned his gaze to the woman on her knees before him, snapping his fingers.
Immediately, everything was cleaned up, his 'hunting clothes' folding themselves neatly before disappearing in the wardrobe section of Harry's professional-looking briefcase, the wand, inhaler and eyepatch following it, before the briefcase slammed shut, a click sounding out as it was automatically locked.
The briefcase shrunk until it was a plain silver locket, shaped like the roaring maw of a lion. The king of beasts, for the apex predator.
Harry smiled as he swooped up the silver chain, putting it around his neck, and relishing in the familiar coolness of the metal against his chest.
"Slut, take me to the master bedroom." He ordered.
The blonde, whose name he had never bothered to learn, immediately scrambled up, waiting patiently at the side for Harry to stand up, lazily.
Her soft hand immediately enclosed around his thick cock, tugging and stroking him slowly, giving him a slow and sensual handjob as she led him to the master bedroom, swaying and sashaying her hips all the way, sure that his mesmerizing, heterochromatic eyes were locked onto her perfect, firm ass that swayed from side to side, jiggling enticingly with every step that she took.
Harry smirked as he allowed himself to be led to the bedroom, his right hand groping and molesting the blonde bitch's ass to his heart's content.
No worries, he still had some time to get familiarised with her body, before... oh well, let's leave it at that, shall we?
It was a month later, around the same time most of the schools around Europe, both Muggle and Magical, that a short, thirteen-year-old boy tumbled out of the Floo at Durmstrang, glancing nervously all around him.
The other students dodged the bundled mess of black robes and limbs, ignoring the obvious first year as they made their way to the impressive Durmstrang feast, held out in the cold open field, underneath the open night sky.
Pulling himself up, the boy, Yarmolenko, followed them, just one of many thirteen-year-olds to begin that year, his eyes wide with awe as he took in all the sights and sounds around him. His hands shifted nervously, adjusting his standard-issue Durmstrang robes and running nervously along his short-cropped black hair, cut in a military buzz.
There were long tables, set side by side out in the open field, laden thick with delicious-looking food, piping hot and dripping with butter and everything that made food delicious, its aroma intoxicating, drawing everyone to the feast, their feet on autopilot, seeking the warmth of the magical fires blazing on each table and the comfort of good food in their ravenous stomachs. There was boisterous shouting and laughing as everyone talked over everyone else, like an ancient Viking feast, the dark robes only adding to the effect. A cold breeze blew through the open field, flickering the flames lightly, but it barely put a damper on everyone's moods, only serving to make them huddle closer together, to each other and the fire.
Durmstrang had a...unique reputation, and not only because of its emphasis on the Dark Arts, no. It was the only multinational school in Europe, and was completely free. Perhaps its course was not up to par with the other educational superpowers like Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, but Durmstrang had the largest student body of all. This was mostly because it had been sponsored by the Russian Tsar before the Soviet Revolution, and later, by the Soviets.
(I wanted so desperately to say here that all members of the KGB, including current Muggle President Vladimir Putin, were, in fact, Durmstrang graduates.)
It accepted students from all over Europe, and mostly received magical war orphans from the war-torn nations like Ukraine, Croatia and Bulgaria. War orphans who just popped up, with no prior history or funds, came to attend Durmstrang.
But the institution was famous for another thing. It's fierce competitiveness and cutthroat nature.
Yarmolenko's feet carried him to a table, sitting timidly at the end of the table and trying to keep to his own devices, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
"Hey, you!" A gruff voice called out, making him glance upwards nervously. "Wimp, go sit over with the other wimps. Here, we warriors sit."
Oh, that.
The people in Durmstrang, rather than being sorted into different houses by a Sorting Hat like Hogwarts, were divided on the basis of their abilities, which meant that every year, students changed tables. And there was a teacher who headed every table, allowing entrances and exits from the table.
Apparently, he had chosen the wrong table to sit in. Not his fault, it was in his nature, and he had not been paying attention.
The warriors were the most sought after table in Durmstrang, with only the fiercest getting in, the strongest in terms of magical strength and skill, the ones who could thrash everyone else and kept fighting till they drew their last breath. Most people avoided it, because of its sheer aggression. After all, those who ate at the same table also shared the same lodgings, and no one looked forward to sleeping with the rowdy warriors.
He nervously glanced around, trying to keep the trembling of his knees to a minimum. "I-I'm so-sorry, I-I didn't know... I'll leave-"
He was cut off.
"Leave the wimp alone, Vladimir. Let him sit this one night, he clearly doesn't know the rules around here." The young-looking woman sitting at the head of the table spat in distaste, a thick Russian accent clear in her voice. "Probably an ignorant war orphan, aren't you?"
"Ye-yes, Ma'am. From Bulgaria." The boy stuttered out, his heart trembling in fear for he knew the face.
This attractive, raven-haired woman was the feared Durmstrang duelling mistress, and despite her young twenty-year-old looks, she was, in fact, a few centuries old Vampire princess, by the name of Elena Gorbachev, though few knew of the fact. Adopted daughter of Count Gorbachev, head of a Vampire clan known for their martial prowess and ferocious fighting spirit, in fact, their magic was all centred around combat, or more precisely, close quarters Muggle combat, with swords, axes, fists and the like. But armed only with that, these ferocious warriors had become one of the most feared Vampire clans, such was their skill and sheer strength.
Elena was the teacher who headed the warriors.
She stared at him for a few more moments, her red eyes seemingly scanning his soul like a predator scanning her prey, before she turned away, to speak with the guy sitting on her right.
The boy sighed in relief as the others ignored him, thanks to his status as a war orphan.
He glanced at his silver goblet, checking once if he looked presentable, before he looked around at the other tables.
There were clearly different demarcations, much like the ones at Hogwarts. One table was reading and arguing about intellectual matters, another was bartering their food and already striking business deals, and another table was completely silent as they ate, staring at everyone with an emotionless glare. Another table seated all those who had been rejected by the other tables, while the last one seated the Headmaster, along with the best students from all years of Durmstrang. Now, if they were best on their own merit or their parents', was up for discussion.
Yarmalenko stared at the Headmaster's back as he ate and chatted amicably with those around him, his black eyes gleaming as he lifted a spoonful of smoking broth towards his lips.
His eyes flickered back to the stern, aggressive-looking beauty in the skin of the Vampire Princess, Elena Gorbachev, a little smile curling his features as he subtly observed all her little quirks, already making a mental map of her psyche. His head cocked to the side as his eyes trailed over her slim, lithe form, her aristocratic face with a perfect nose and high cheekbones, before dipping to her modest chest, restrained by the tight duelling vest she wore.
Yarmolenko smiled slightly, torn between gratitude and hatred for the tight vest, while it allowed him an intimate knowledge of her curves, hugging her like a second skin, it also underplayed the actual size of her tits.
He slowly felt his smile widen. Elena Gorbachev was more than met the eye. She would have a bigger role to play in the future, for now, he was just content observing her from afar, and making plans on how to best win over her loyalty.
His left hand disappeared underneath the table, where he slowly cracked his fingers. One by one.
Crack. One second.
Crack. Two seconds.
Crack. Three seconds.
And with every crack, his lips twitched upwards in a sinister grin, the short guy looking down so that nobody could see his smile, disguising it as nervousness.
After the feast was over and only the embers of the fires on the tables remained, all the thirty-something war orphans, thirty out of fifty students to start their first year, were standing in a queue outside of the Headmaster's office on the fourth floor, looking on in trepidation as one by one, each of them was called into the Headmaster's office. The shaken, grey faces most of them left with only solidified their fear.
Yarmolenko felt his grin twist further. This was the exact reason he was here for.
Every year, without fail, all the war orphans would be called into the Headmaster's office for a small 'briefing' about the rules and regulations of Durmstrang, but it was anyone's guess what really went on there, as everybody was very tight-lipped about it.
"Stefan Yarmolenko!" The Headmaster's voice called out from inside, making him shiver slightly in faux nervousness, just to keep up impressions, as he stepped past the shaking, almost catatonic girl who had just left the office, the greasy Deputy Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, who had led them there, just staring at him for a brief moment, before turning on his heel and leaving them alone.
The short boy entered the office, not looking at anything but the Headmaster, too concentrated on the close smell of victory to care for anything else, his vision tunneling with dogged determination, as he stared hard at his ignorant target.
"Sit." The black-haired man motioned stiffly to a seat in front of him, following his every moment with beady black eyes.
Stefan stepped up to the offered seat, before there was a bright, blinding flash of light, a wandless Lumos Maxima charm to act as a disorienting flashbang, making the Headmaster gasp and rise from his seat, his wand already in hand as he tried to regain control of his senses.
But it was all in vain.
He blinked the stars out of his eyes, looking around wildly to check his surroundings, sighing in relief when he saw he was still in his strict looking office, the towering shelves stacked with books comforting. The familiar mahogany table, stacked high with paperwork.
What had the bright light been?
Before he tensed equally quickly.
How had he not noticed it at first?
He was sitting in the seat he had offered the boy, his hands bound behind his back.
His beady black eyes stared at the boy, widening in rage with every passing moment as he stared at the boy sitting in the Headmaster's chair, cocking his feet up on the table arrogantly.
"What is the meaning of this?" He roared, his face quickly assuming a shade of purple seen before only in a certain walrus human hybrid.
"Oh, right. I should probably explain." Stefan looked towards him lazily, twirling the Headmaster's wand in his hand before tossing it away. His familiar, faithful wand clattered to the floor.
"My wand!" He cried out, chaffing at the tightly bound chains as he tried to lunge towards it, before turning to glare at the boy. "You'll regret this, boy! Don't you know who I am?!"
Stefan lowered his feet from the desk, instead leaning forward, as if he was going to have a very serious talk with his prisoner. It would have been intimidating, too, had he not been so... plain.
"Looky here, dude. Lower your voice. Screaming won't do you any good except damaging your vocal cords."
"You won't get away with this!"
He sighed. "I guess you won't let me have my evil villain monologue in peace. Well, then."
Stefan stood up, the Headmaster's chair crumbling into dust at his touch, an intimidating display of powerful silent, wandless magic.
The man's black eyes widened as he watched the boy's features melt away. Two more feet were added to his height, making him easily as tall as him with more room to grow, his short-cropped black hair elongating, strange-looking heterochromatic eyes, the left white and emerald, a shade of Avada Kedavra green, and the right black with a Cruciatus scarlet, replacing average black eyes. Baby fat melted away as he added muscle mass, along with the disguising charms, a few simple black rings appearing on his fingers, as the forgettable face was replaced by one that appeared in every female's wet dream.
Harry smiled sinisterly, cracking his neck as he watched the poor Headmaster's expression. The satisfying sound of his bone cracking reverberated in the room, only adding to the intimidating effect. His long raven hair fell in front of his face, shadowing his manic grin for a moment before he flipped it back.
"Now, we can talk man to man, can't we, Headmaster?"
"Wh-who are you?"
"Why? I'm Stefan Yarmolenko, of course, a poor war orphan from Bulgaria, with barely any history. Last-minute addition to the Durmstrang list of students at the behest of the Head of Department of Education at the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic, who disappeared a week later. Surname Yarmolenko, which meant that I was called last to this little private meeting, meaning we have the entire night for pleasant chit chat." Harry laughed, throwing his head back. "Nobody even dug into the authenticity of the ID I provided, that's why I went with the poor, alienated war orphan background, no one checks. Everything is soooo... convenient, no?"
"Y-You're definitely no Bulgarian... you're English... the... Stalker!" His knees knocked together, trembling as he tried to retain control of his bladder, going through a complete one eighty degree change. The Headmaster didn't remember the last time he had felt... terror. Sheer, unadulterated, terror. Cold beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, his hair standing on end as his pupils dilated in fear. His lips trembled.
"Ah, the Stalker! I must admit that it is a much better name than what the Muggles gave me. Something I must thank the magicals for. And I'm famous as well. I wouldn't want to be wanted by every single European country and have a silly name like Body Stealer, now, will I?"
"Wh-What do you want, Stalker?"
"What do I want, hmm?" Harry spoke, sauntering around the office and looking at all the books arranged on the shelves. "You have read all these books, right? Know every single magic written in these pages?"
"Y-Yes."
"Good. Very good, indeed." He came to a stop in front of the man, slamming his hands down on either side, and making him jump in his restraints.
"I want your knowledge. All your knowledge..." Harry smiled down at him, as if discussing the weather. The Headmaster broke out in a cold sweat as his eyes flickered up, following the slow, deliberate movement of an otherworldly, iridescent tentacle that rose up from somewhere behind the mad serial killer, its tip sharpened to a point.
Sharp things when you were restrained never meant any good.
"So, what say you, right hand of Gellert Grindelwald?"
And the powerful silencing wards around the Headmaster's office had a lot of work to do that night.
And the next day, Aurors were called in to investigate the missing duo of the Headmaster of Durmstrang, and a strange, mysterious war orphan by the name of Stefan Yarmolenko.
It was three entire months before they even realised that the identity was fake.
AN: First step towards Harry's plan of world domination, and first semi-lemon scene. Comment your thoughts.
Next chapter- Harry 'almost' completes his plan for world domination.
Keep calm and headbang!