Chapter Sixty Nine
Great fucking work, Harry.
Hermione had told him clearly. Make no footprints in the past unless you want to destroy the future. He'd tried to be good — he hadn't bonded anyone, hadn't even made his first Whorecrux yet, but somehow he'd still changed things irreversibly.
Simply by throwing a conference of unity, he'd pushed Voldemort into making an unexpected move. A move that would bring the country to riot and ruin.
He had to fix this — Britain was in the balance.
The mission was simple: find the Goblin King. Reveal the imposter on stage who whipped up a frenzy of fear and fury. The Goblin rebellion, the public riot, nipped in the bud before it bloomed.
But where the fuck is he? Harry gazed around the party, a lump in his throat. All eyes were on the stage, on history in the making. The Veela Queen's attendants were whispering into her ear, undoubtedly advising her to make a quick exit.
Dumbledore's eyes were as cold as ice, but he made no move to the stage — the only way to fan a madman's ideals was to appear to censor them, to give credence to conspiracy.
Nothing — no smiles, no flashes of the Goblin King, no hiding places, no clues. Bellatrix had told him the King was likely still in the house, since he arrived late and they couldn't risk being seen barreling him into the fireplace.
But where?
He dumped the snoring Alice onto the nearest sofa and tossed a pillow onto her lap to give her some modesty — her dress had rode up and she was flashing her panties.
When he turned, Amelia's wide blue eyes were panicked. "What's going on, Harry? This never happened before."
"An imposter — I think the real King is still here, somewhere."
She swallowed. "He's about to start a war!"
On stage, the King stabbed his sword into the floor. "—your money is withheld until my people are given assurance, rights long denied—"
"You can't keep our money!" One wizard shouted.
Harry clamped Amelia's arm. "We need to find the goblin, fast."
"What does she know?" Amelia glared at Bellatrix.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bellatrix snapped.
"You're telling me the Blacks don't have any secret rooms?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."
Alice hiccuped from the sofa, rubbing her bleary eyes. "Lotsh of those green gobbo's in the paintings."
"Yes, thank you, have another drink." Harry pursed his lips.
"No, look! They have such little dinkies, like Frank." Alice giggled, pointing at the painting above the fireplace.
Harry rolled his eyes.
But Amelia's brows were furrowed. "That's weird. The Blacks hate goblins, they fought every rebellion, why would—"
"Can we focus?" He snapped.
"No, wait." Bellatrix grabbed his shoulder. "I don't…I don't remember that painting being like that."
Harry looked. The oil painting was a typical Renaissance nude, full-figured women lounging in a forest, feasting on grapes and apple. Only in this painting, a naked goblin stroked his little cock, peeping from behind a tree.
The goblin was so incongruous, it stood out like a shooting star in the blackest night.
"Look," Amelia pushed some of the crowd aside. "Another one."
A portrait of Black ancestors, regal and unsmiling — and pale-faced, fear in their eyes. A Goblin stood alongside them, his teeth bared, an axe on his back.
Harry bit his lip, thinking hard. Why would the Blacks have such paintings?
They wouldn't.
"And another." Amelia pulled him further alongside the wall. "The Goblin Rebellion of 1236 is put down. Scorpius Black is mentioned in history as playing a significant role." She read the plaque.
Only the painting didn't show a glorious wizard victory — but a Goblin King atop a mountain, axe aloft, a lightning strike behind him, rain dripping from his crown to his forehead. It was a hero's portrayal.
In Harry's mind, Tom was uncharacteristically silent. The fragment of Tom that taunted him day and night was not really the Dark Lord, but it had his memories, his ambitions. And if he was keeping his lips shut, it was because he didn't want Harry to know something.
Harry leaned closer to the painting, examined the brushstrokes, the roughness of the paint. The King's axe was a bloody red. And the shade of that red…
Harry breathed a hiss. He remembered.
Tom in Amsterdam, not young but not old either. He Transfigured blood-letting thorns onto a bouquet of tulips to gift them to a woman he thought too promiscuous. A man lost his bike in the canal and Tom summoned it from the waters.
The man hadn't been grateful enough — Tom sheared the bike in two and handed him both pieces.
But more than that, Harry remembered why Tom had been there. A tutor in blood magic. A painter, an artist — Luuk. Only Luuk didn't paint with watercolors or oils, but blood.
Tom kept the man supplied with 'painting supplies', dripping bodies, and in return Luuk taught him how to brush blood into runes, to create simulacrums, to summon spirits and creatures.
The Dark Lord made terrible paintings that year, the canal waters running red. When he'd learned all he could, Tom used the man as his final artwork.
But he never killed Luuk — he used the blood magic he'd learned to trap the man in his own self-portrait. Like Edvard Munch's The Scream, Luuk was locked in a scream of eternal torment, reflected in the canals below the bridge.
"You remember power that you did not earn." Tom snarled from his mind.
Harry ignored him, staring at the painting of the Goblin King. This…this was Tom's handiwork once more. There'd be no safe place to stash the goblin and no way to steal him away, so he'd hid the King in the paintings.
The King…and the King's guard, he thought. That was why each painting portrayed a goblin.
"He's in there." He murmured absently.
"What?" Amelia gaped. "How?"
"That's not possible." Bellatrix echoed.
Harry stared at the King on the mountain. Now he knew where the goblin was…but how did he get him out?
He surged his magic outward, touched his finger to the painting. His magic was his own but it contained enough of Tom's signature — his finger dipped inside the frame.
The image rippled like a well of water disturbed. The colors swam…and when he pulled his finger away, it was shaded in browns and blues. The muddy mountain, the pouring rain, painting his finger like he'd dipped his finger in the bathbomb-filled tubs that Cissy poured for him.
His fingertip was cold.
"I'm going in there to get him." Harry said quietly. "We'll only get people to believe the King on stage is an imposter if we can produce the real one."
Amelia tore her gaze from his finger. "What? N-not without me!" She said firmly.
"No," Harry shook his head, his ear cocked to the stage. The King was loudly suggesting that he'd only give wizard-coin back if it was paid for in blood. "I need you here to buy us time. Try and keep the crowd from boiling over and firing a curse — maybe try and suggest the King's an imposter or, hell, just drunk or something."
"But—"
Harry tugged Bellatrix forward as she tried to slip back into the crowd. "I've got this one for backup."
The black-haired woman scowled. "This isn't anything to do with me—"
"You helped them fuck this up, so now you're going to help me fix it." He said authoritatively.
"No way—eep!" Bellatrix's squeal was cut off when Harry took a firm hold of her ass and launched her forward, tumbling into the painting. She disappeared, head over heels.
Amelia's mouth flapped uselessly for a long moment, before her features turned determined. "Good luck." She gave him a small smile.
"See you on the other side." Harry took a deep breath and, like he was diving into a pool, leaped into the frame.
His vision swam in a rainbow of colors. He fell, spinning in a void of stars. When he landed, it was onto something soft.
Bellatrix shoved him off. "Get off! How do I get back?"
Harry looked up at her, gobsmacked. She stood in the opening of a large tent, dressed in a ridiculous armour — a golden choker around her slender neck, her shining steel chestpiece pushed her full breasts high and ended far before her waist, more medieval crop top than chestplate. Below her svelte belly, a metal thong attached to chain-metal belt, so tight it seemed to actually penetrate her pussy.
Tarnishes shin greaves and boots completed the look.
Harry absently pressed his hands to himself — he too was dressed in armor, though his was mostly a chain-mail tunic and thankfully far less revealing than hers.
Bellatrix stared at him. "Why are you dressed like that?" She looked down at herself. "What the fuck?!"
"Calm down—"
The flap opened, a cold chill washing in with the rain. A man saluted Harry.
"Milord, the next charge is imminent. We can't wait any longer — we're getting washed away by this blasted rain." The man had more scars than hairs, but his accent was old-money English.
"I'll be right there." Harry replied quietly. The subordinate looked visibly happier and turned on his heel. When he left the tent, the flap coiled in the wind and stuck to the top, revealing the battle beyond.
It was the goblin rebellion pictured in the painting. Whipping winds sent the night rain in every direction but down, obscuring the goblin army that was seated atop the hill.
The sound was terrific, beating wardrums interspersed with the bolt of lightning. The momentary light in the pitch black night illuminated the hill's top — and the Goblin King that stood at its top, axe in hand.
"How is this possible?" Mei Chang wondered in his head.
"What the fuck is this?" Bellatrix snapped.
Harry knew — it was not unlike Tom's diary, even if this wasn't soul magic. "When you give an inanimate object sentience, when you give it magic, you give it a mind." He said slowly, thinking it through.
"How does that end up with me dressed like Joan of Arc at a Knockturn brothel?" The young Black growled.
He hummed. "With a mind comes a mindscape. And every mind, man or diary or painting, seeks to rationalise."
He snapped his fingers. "A powerful Goblin King enters the world, he becomes the Goblin King of the painting's environment." Harry pointed at the hill's top.
He thumbed his chest. "A powerful wizard comes in, he becomes the wizarding army's general."
Harry winced as he gazed at Bellatrix from head to toes. "And his companion, a beautiful woman, becomes his favored concubine, dressed in ceremonial armour for the battle to boost morale."
She hissed, trying to tug her chestplate further up her chest but only ending up making her tits jiggle. "Great. Whore armour."
The tips of his ears reddened. "Well, it was a very different time. I…witches had less equality, weren't expected to fight. I imagine you're more…uh, decorative, to show them how mighty their leader is."
"Ridiculous." She surmised, trying to peel her metal thong from where it was digging into her pussy lips. "I'll show them how decorative I am!" Her wand lit red in her hand.
"We might have to."
"Wait, really?" Bellatrix's bravado punctured as she looked at out at the impending battle. The goblin army's torches flared through the rainstorm, an orange glow to light up their blood-red flags, the decapitated heads held high on pikes, and confident grins of their many soldiers.
Harry grimaced. "We need to get to the King to pull him out of the painting, to wake him from this trap. The only way to get to him is—"
"—through." Bellatrix muttered, scraping a hand through her hair.
"Don't worry," Harry pinched her bare bottom, her thick asscheeks clearly on view and unbearably perky. "I'll keep you safe."
He sidestepped her answering curse and stepped out of the tent, into the rain. Immediately, he was beset by the gaze of every wizard — a hundred or more, but not enough. Their faces betrayed their fear.
Harry whispered a spell to clear the rain from his vision and just barely stopped himself from groaning as he saw the battlefield. His wizard army and the goblins' were on opposing hills of a steep valley.
"Whoever makes the first move dies first." Tom crooned with delight.
Harry pursed his lips — the Dark Lord wasn't wrong. Trudging downhill into the flooding and muddy valley would make them slow, and fighting uphill was a surefire way to lose a battle, magic or not.
He turned and found the man that had come to his tent at his shoulder. "Uh, soldier…" Harry said.
"Wainwright, sir."
"Yes, Wainwright, of course. We can't wait for them to come to us?"
The man wiped the rain from his eyelashes. Even without hair, he resembled a wet dog, his bushy eyebrows sad and low. "No, sir — they have a shaman controlling the lightning. We've already lost ten men to the strikes."
A shaman?
In modern magic, there was no such thing. But goblin magic was not the same as a wizard's — Harry wouldn't put weather magic beyond a goblin's ability. He could do it too, but not in a way that would keep him fresh for the battle.
"We can't turn and retr—I mean, find an alternative battle location?" He asked.
"Cliffs at our back — we'd be chased and killed against them." The man winced. "We've been outmaneuvered, sir." His eyes widened suddenly. "I mean, they've not outmaneuvered you, milord, but…uh, the fates."
"At ease, soldier." Harry murmured. Despite the situation, he felt a thrill of adrenaline run through of his veins. He'd fought duels aplenty and his fair share of bloody skirmishes, but this was different.
The battle of a classic war, the type not seen in modern day. Lines and ranks and formations and tactics, with Portkey and Apparition wards to keep all in place. He was in a bastardization of a historical past, but it was like he was being gifted a preview of a future he could take — commanding his harem or even the DA.
Was he worthy?
It was time to find out.
The men tittered behind him — Harry turned to see Bellatrix had gathered the courage to leave the tent, darting to the safety of his side. She glared at the men with a murderous rage and crossed her arms.
Harry scratched the back of his neck as her breasts were pushed up and the men only leered more.
He'd better interrupt before Bella went feral.
"Men!" He announced, amplifying his voice through the storm. "You need not fear this coming battle." His wand aloft — it cut a beam of pure light through the storm. "I will lead us to victory and ensure that you are only showered in the blood of our enemies."
"Cliche." Mei grumbled in his head.
The men responded with a cheer, though. One of them punched the air. "Hear, hear! We will kill all the worthless goblins in the country!"
"Well, I mean, not all, they're not all bad—" Harry coughed as his men looked at him blankly. "But yes, that's the spirit. We shall, uh, cleave their heads from their necks and then drink ourselves merry this night!"
"Drink and fuck!" A man with a mangled ear growled, his dark eyes beady.
"Yes, fuck." He agreed, searching their lines and their tents. Were there any witches here? The men were watching him expectantly. "I shall, uh, plunder my wench's every hole." He clapped Bellatrix's ass loudly to emphasise his point, making her squeal.
He grabbed her wrist before she could grab her wand and kill him, holding it high like she'd won a boxing fight.
The men cheered enthusiastically.
A huge man held his flaming wand aloft. A chain of goblin ears hung from his neck. "Milord, do the same terms stand? Will you let those that take the most green scalps have a go at your whore?" He nodded at Bellatrix.
"Just fucking try it, you ape—"
"Absolutely!" Harry hit Bellatrix with a Silencing Charm and delivered another loud spank to her bottom. "In fact, what's your name, soldier?"
"Two-Ball Bill." He grunted.
"Why Two-Ball? Nevermind. Listen, the top five men will have a crack at her — you have not lived until you've taken her ass." He said, his smile thin as he held Bella's wrist tightly. "She'll be delighted to reward you."
The big man looked at her doubtfully. "She doesn't look delighted."
"Aha, that's just a pretense she likes to play—whoa!" Harry hit Bellatrix with a Trip Jinx as she escaped his hold, sending her to her knees in the thick sludgy mud. He patted her head — holding her down as she tried to rise. "Don't worry," He said. "She loves it."
"Now, men, marching positions. To the bottom of the hill — keep those shield charms high. They'll be waiting until we climb to them, but they won't hesitate to rain some curses on us." Harry's keen eyes caught sight of the broomsticks that some men had strapped to their back. They wore shining wing-badges on their chest to differentiate themselves.
"Fliers, is there any cover down there?"
"No, milord — grass and mud." One small boy said, surely not more than sixteen. "It's like a swamp."
Harry paused. "Keep yourself in formation and fly above us as we descend — just keep their spells from raining down."
"You heard our Lord! Form up and move, move, move!" Wainwright growled. The bald man paused to speak into Harry's ear quietly. "Sir, fighting up the hill, it'll be brutal."
"I've got a plan for that." Harry promised, half-lying. He'd think of something. Tom, at least, had studied every great military battle and tactical maneuver in history, even if he'd not had much chance to use them.
Harry pointed the beam of light of his wand down the steep valley hill. "To war!" He declared.
The men roared with him.
As they passed, adrenaline and camaraderie pushing away their fear, he pulled Bellatrix up from the mud and unsilenced her.
She spat mud from her lips. "I will bite your cock off."
He grinned and held his hands up innocently. "Relax, once I get hold of the King and push my magic into him, it should disrupt the painting's hold on him and throw us back into reality. You won't be gangbanged by the whole army."
I think.
"It better." She stabbed her finger into his chest and stormed off down the hill.
Harry watched her ago…with the rest of the army. Her ass was perfect, taut and toned and rippling with every step. It was if she had an invisible shelf under each cheek, keeping them from sagging.
He shook his head and followed. Just in case, he'd have to make sure he got the most goblin scalps.
The army slid more than marched down the muddy hill. The heavy rainfall washed trickling rivulets down the hill. Sodden clumps of grass kicked down with each step, but it was the mud underfoot that packed itself tightly to the print of their boots, removing any traction.
Harry amplified his voice to shout over the wind. "Transfigure thick pins to the bottom of your boots, like they are football boots!"
"What the fuck is football?" Two-Ball Bill grumbled loudly.
"It's like Muggle Quidditch. Or at least, it will be, when it gets invented." Harry said.
Bill's eyes lit up. "I love Quidditch." He turned to show his back — the huge man had two iron Bludgers strapped around his back, like an ammunition belt. "Just in case a game breaks out." He grinned.
"I'm guessing you're a Beater."
"How did you know?" Bill gaped.
Harry stared blankly. "…lucky guess. Come on, Transfigure your boots."
There was a lot of tutting and sighing but they all complied. Their studded boots walked better in the mud, especially when their vanguard began spelling the mud to harden.
In the water's reflection, Harry watched the goblin army grow larger, their grins wider with each step. In the same reflection, he saw the arc of the spells they launched, like arrows of red and blue and green. The spells were held by the shield-wall the Fliers above them, their tight pack of broomsticks slow.
It took longer than they hoped and they lost two men to spells that found the gaps between shields, but the ground flattened out as they waded into the flooded bottom of the valley.
"My boots are getting flooded." Bellatrix complained loudly.
"Later, it'll be your mewling quim and your mouth too." One man sneered. In the dark of the night, with all eyes locked to the goblin-infested hill above, nobody saw Bellatrix cut the man down. She gave Harry a defiant glare.
"I need every man I can get, you know—"
"Then you suck his dick." She bit back.
"On second thought, he deserved it." Harry quipped. He stared up at the hill, feeling a little panic in his stomach. The Goblin King looked very far away.
The King would be feeling triumphant right now — there was no need for military tactics when one army was at the bottom of the hill and the other was above it.
It was time to change the battlefield.
Wainwright slipped and fell as he tried to edge nearer Harry. "Can you change the weather with your great power, my Lord?" He said hopefully as he picked mud out of his nose. "We're dead if we climb the hill like this."
"I can't change the weather but I can cast…Spongify?"
The man's face dropped, his chin doubling. "The Softening Charm? It is but a child's spell."
Harry tapped the side of his nose. "The spells we give to children are the ones that will amuse them the most, right? To keep their attention."
"I suppose."
"That's why they can be the most creative." He said wisely. "Observe."
Harry pressed his wand into the swampy bog, through the growing inches of rainwater at their feet, until its tip pressed against the ground. Magic poured into the wand, enough for the spell…and then a lot more.
This needs to be overcharged.
"Spongify." He murmured. As the goblin spells splattered against their fizzling shield wall, the bog below glowed a curious blue.
Bellatrix looked through the murky water skeptically. "You're giving them a jumping pad to their deaths?"
He grinned. "Let me worry about the landing — can you take care of the bounce?"
She tutted but turned away. "You! Ball-less Bill!" She barked.
"It's Two-Ball Bill." The big man grumbled, his Protego charm fizzling and faltering as sweat poured down his forehead. High on the slope above, the goblins were upping the ante. The dark sky was glowing with every different color, the crisp night air torn by sulphur and flames.
From above, an entire tree trunk landed on their shield and started coiling like a snake around the men, before Harry idly blasted it away.
"Whatever." Bellatrix said callously. "Give me your balls."
"You'll get my meat and veg after the battle, strumpet!"
She sighed, flicked her wand — the Bludgers unlatched from his back and floated at the tip of her wand. They vibrated in the air, desperate to get away.
"Now what?" She asked Harry.
He was too busy, his wand in the air, his skin turning blue. "Glacius." His breath turned into a thick white mist as he murmured the incantation for the Freezing Charm again and again under his breath.
It was just a Third Year spell. He still remembered Flitwick teaching them the charm — Ron had almost frozen Harry's finger off. Hermione had acted quickly by sticking it in his mouth.
Funny how life changes.
The last time he'd cast it, he was making his wand ice cold and sliding it in Fleur's molten pussy, just to tease her.
When had he grown up? It felt like one day he'd been lost and rushing around Hogwarts with Ron, trying to find McGonagall's classroom, and the next he was bedding Veelas and mothers. A lot gained, but something lost.
He shook his head.
Focus.
The Freezing Charm beamed out into the distance as Harry visualized his target. High above, in the air above the goblins, the rain drops froze into icy shards. Tiny little daggers — only they never fell. Instead, he brought them together, merged them with a loud crunch, like icebergs grinding.
The rain fell, froze, formed and slowly, a block of ice grew larger…and larger, until it was the size of three Hogwarts Express carriages and half as thick. It hung in the air absurdly — the white blue against the black night made it look like the moon had fallen.
"Wainwright!" Harry growled. "You're up." He didn't look away — it took all his concentration to keep the ice block up as the goblins tried to burn it away. "Bellatrix, I want you to Blumer it."
"Are you s-sure, milord?"
Bellatrix rolled her eyes and pushed the fearful man onto the stretch of Softened bogland. "Say aaaaah if you miss the dartboard."
"W-wait!"
It was too late — Bellatrix murmured a charm. The spell that had no name but everyone in Hogwarts knew. Cressida Blume, a student of centuries past, had been trying to create a charm to make her books lighter. She eventually succeeded in making the Feather-Light Charm, but not before her experiments became famous amongst Hogwarts pranksters.
Blume One was the slang for her first failed experiment, which made her school books fly around the library instead of becoming lighter.
But Blumer Two, or the Blumer, had the opposite effect, making her books incredibly heavy, like a ship's anchor in a satchel. The legend was born — and with it, the terror of firsties — the little ones could barely walk to any class without getting their school bag split by a Blumer. The older years would cry with laughter watching the young'uns try and fail to pick their books up from their ground. The spell even had a notation in Hogwarts: A History.
In their late night cuddle sessions, Hermione had told Harry she thought the Arthurian legend of Excalibur, the sword in the stone that none could pull, may have been evidence that Cressida Blume's spell may have existed before she accidentally invented it.
Bellatrix hit both iron Bludgers with the Blumer and, with a whip of her wand, sent the two weighty balls crashing down into Harry's make-shift trampoline.
"Aaaah!" Wainwright screamed as he soared high into the sky. The soldiers watched as he smacked face-first onto Harry's hastily moved ice platform.
"Ten points!" Bellatrix cackled.
"More." Harry bit out.
"Line up, lemmings." She called out, giving magic-enforced pushes to the reluctant many. Two by two — two Bludgers rising and falling, two men soaring, bodies spinning. With each jump, their shield wall faltered — the goblin spells were making their way through. But even as the bodies stacked up around their feet, more were bounced to the ice platform above, until it was only Bellatrix and Harry left.
He grabbed her tightly and pulled her to him, palming her plump asscheeks and squeezing firmly.
She gave a nervous glance upward. "You've always wanted to make me see stars." She sniffed, nose in the air.
"With two heavy balls." Harry confirmed, staring into her lidded dark eyes, his nose rubbing against hers.
Her wand whipped down. She squealed as they flew high, goosebumps on her skin. They landed easily in the centre of the ice platform, which was being surrounded by shields from every soldier. Above, the Fliers hovered above, returning fire.
"When I yell 'down', hit the floor!" Harry commanded as he shot down a trio of snapping python snakes — they were quickly ripped apart, but it was enough to make the goblins wary. Every brush of grass at their ankles would make them think of a venomous serpent.
"What?" Two-Ball Bill said dumbly.
"Milord!" Wainwright sounded the alarm, pointing down at their feet.
Harry grinned — sure enough, the goblins on the hill below were burning through the ice, a fiery topaz ripping through the core of fractured sapphire.
Across from their platform, too far away, the Goblin King. Harry met his eyes and saw the moment the King realized.
"No, stop!" The King cried. "Stop the fire—"
It was too late. The ice shattered. The men fell to the hill below.
Amongst the goblins, behind the defensive line. And crucially, together. The ice platform had bunched them together in a protective rectangle, a rectangle that remained when they collapsed onto the grassy hill, surrounded at all sides by goblins.
Less Trojan horse than Trojan trampoline, Harry thought with amusement.
One goblin commander reared back on an armoured hippogriff he was riding. "They are trapped between us! Rip them apart!"
The goblins reacted quickly. Their shamans — wearing bone-white skull-pieces on their foreheads and pointing long gnarled wooden staves — shot spells at them, magic so heated that it boiled the shimmering air.
"Down!" Harry cried. The men hit the ground — and every spell that missed hit the goblins behind them.
Wainwright looked in wonder. "How did you know—"
Bellatrix admired the deaths behind. "You're three steps ahead."
"Shields!" He ordered. The shield wall stood again, distorted bubbles in the air. "Show them what you got, boys."
Carnage reigned, a firework show brought down to a small patch of a British hill. Some shields faltered, some spells made their way through, burning flesh from body. But for every spell that hit, there were a dozen more that missed, slicing over their shoulders, sizzling through their hair. And every spell that missed hit a goblin behind them.
Harry had sent his army into a trap that the goblins couldn't close — they were a mouth trying to clamp down on a vine of thorns.
And he was going to make them bleed.
Harry's own tongue bled as he bit it, the sheer adrenaline making his fingers twitch, his wand a blur of movement. He used anything he could see to make a weapon.
He enlarged sodden grass to Transfigure each blade into steel-tipped thorns. A fallen wooden staff became a gym dumbbell and sent a wave of goblins flying. He scythed up the earth just to Transfigure the soil into a colony of brown bats, their wings given sword-sharp blades that sliced claret sprays as they swarmed the goblin army.
A falcon hit the ground with a squawk as it was caught in the crossfire between the Fliers above — Harry snapped the bird's wing back into place with a jerk of his wand, Transfigured it into gleaming iron, and had it fly back and forth to catch the goblin spells.
A shaman shot a gout poison acid at him — Harry's iron falcon suddenly gained a dragon's snout to breath the acid back and a flame-breath to make it incendiary. The shaman melted along with the five goblins behind him.
At his side, Bellatrix focused on nasty curses. She caught Harry's gaze with a Japanese curse that ripped a goblin's hands clean off, those same Animated hands climbing up to stifle his cries.
"What?" She said innocently, firing another spell. Harry winced as he recognized an Irish concoction meant to pump a man's stomach when they'd drank too much alcohol — the goblin choked up their blood instead.
"The whore fights like a man!" Two-Ball Bill cheered. His face paled when he saw Bellatrix's eyes. "S-sorry."
"Charge, break their wall!" The King's voice cried. Their warriors stepped forward, their axes glowing with magic imbued.
They ran uncaringly over Harry's steel-tipped thorny grass blades, roaring rage. Harry murmured a spell.
"Don't get cute." Bellatrix elbowed him as she saw a goblin swing down what he thought was axe — only it was now a squeaky rubber facsimile.
Harry snorted, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood high. The King had made the correct play — getting down and dirty to avoid friendly fire and swarming the wizards from every angle.
It was the pincer, the double envelopment.
Suddenly, he had goblins in his face, on his left, on his right, their foul breath on his skin. Spells rocketed from his wand, but a goblin replaced every corpse.
"Milord, we need to—" Wainwright's advice never left his throat as his head rolled. The goblin's ice-enchanted axe froze the blood that sprayed.
Harry sliced his wand thrice and the goblin responsible slid into three pieces, but it wasn't enough.
"Help—"
"I surrend—" A man choked.
"Please, no, I have—gah!"
"Switch it up!" Bellatrix snapped as she Imperio'd a goblin to axe onto his own foot.
Fuck. He wasn't three steps ahead anymore. Tom's study of battles and tactics swarmed through his mind. This wasn't a traditional pincer…but maybe it broke in the same way?
A pincer only worked when each side closed. He'd have to break one side of the claw.
"Focus west!" Harry growled. "Every man, side by side, fight through!"
"But—"
"I will protect your back." Harry promised. "Bellatrix, lead the charge, I will deal with this side." With his promise came a billowing cloud of smoke, electric sparks hissing through it. It bought him time to freeze the earth in a wide slice down the hill — he held his charged spell for so long that the ice grew so thick that the mud disappeared completely in the blue — if the goblins wanted to come forward, they'd need to know how to skate.
When the shamans blew the smoke away, Harry stood alone.
But he stood on boots he'd amended — Transfigured long sharp blades on their soles. Ice-skates — Harry was suddenly thankful that Tom spent some time in Belarus, convincing the tribe of giants that lived north east of Minsk to join his war.
The remote tribe was so inaccessible that some ice-skating prowess was necessary, even for Tom. And when the negotiations had turned tense, a lone opposing voice was swayed by the very sharp blade on his heel.
The goblins stared at Harry for a second, bewildered. But when they charged forward, slipping, tumbling, he skated easily among them. His wand glowed repeatedly — every goblin that fell did not rise.
He charmed the blades of his ice-skates to leave an acid trail. The green hissing fluids did nothing more than burn a little, but it made the goblins fear chasing him.
Swish, swish, Avada. Harry grinned as his legs stretched wide to evade a curse. Not losing my cock again!
He twirled round a shaman, touching his wand to the goblin's staff. Behind him, the goblin flinched, now holding an angry venomous cobra.
The wind whipped through his hair as he kept moving fast. Goblins behind and in front — Harry collided with one deliberately and pushed off the goblin to do a one-eighty, facing the chasing hordes. They'd taken the bait — and now they took the whip of scorching fire that extended from his wand. It cracked through their flesh and left a black scar on the ice.
Goblins tumbled over their fallen brethren, their eyes glowing with anger, victory stolen from them. Harry kept skating, fast enough to dodge the spells and the axe swings — almost. An axe warrior swung at him but Harry leaned so far back that the back of his head touched the ice — he watched, as if in slow motion, the axe brush past him, the cold steel metal on his nose. When Harry passed the goblin, he summoned the axe — and heard the squelch.
Harry used his last trick as he completed the circle around the chasing goblins.
Not quite a circle…but a rune he'd drawn on the ice with his skates, with his acid trail.
A rune of vast magic — ship captains that crossed the Arctic used it to free their ships of the sea ice floes that held them. With a thunderous crack, the ice exploded into pieces — with every piece of blue debris that landed in Harry's hair, there was a piece of green.
Harry spat out the flesh in his mouth, resisting the urge to throw up. He turned back to Bellatrix, who was levitating a wooden club, embedded with nails. She'd enlarged the club and each nail big enough that it now actually held the screaming goblins she hit, like a floating dartboard. With each swing of her wand, she swung the club, all the while laughing maniacally.
The shrill mad laugh was piercing, a chilling reminder of the woman she'd become. The rest of her was a reminder of what a woman she was now — her metal thong practically buried in her snatch, her thighs cased in slippery mud, blood dripping down black hair, matted to her face and between the strands, those beautiful crazy eyes. A drop of blood trailed down the valley of her breasts, barely held in her chestplate.
Harry wanted to follow that drop of blood.
He shook himself and joined the fight. With their pincer broken, it was time to end this.
"Argh!" A wizard screamed from above as he was enveloped in flames. His body and burning broomstick fell at Harry's feet — above, the goblin commander flew his armored hippogriff, shooting down spells at the wizards below when his hippogriff wasn't ramming Harry's Fliers off their broomsticks.
Harry scowled, picking up the burning broomstick. With a touch of his wand, the end of it changed from bristling twigs to a single sharp metal spear-tip. He levitated it high, waiting for the right moment.
The hippogriff was plated in armor, proudly puffing out its chestplate, screeching from the helmet that held the saddle straps. But between the chest and the helmet…
"Depulso!" Harry snapped. His aim was true — the spear pierced the hippogriff's neck mid-shriek. The beast span and tumbled, releasing its rider — the commander was dead before he hit the ground. Harry shook away the brief thought of Buckbeak.
Down on the battlefield, the Goblin King was in the middle of the fray, fighting furiously with a golden axe. The King thrust his axe out and sent a force like a tornado's gust, knocking over five wizards — a wand was notched in the handle and poking out the centre of the double-sided axe.
When The King reared his axe back, his strange magic pulled a man to him, tumbling in the air to have his head separated promptly.
None could get close to him, even as his allies fell. His loyal warriors surrounded him in a tight shield box that grew ever smaller, whittled down by Bellatrix's club.
"Bellatrix! Get me over!" Harry snarled as he pushed through his wizards. He summoned a goblin into his hand and held the small green creature by the neck — the King wasn't the only one with some pull.
The black-haired beauty glanced over her shoulder and nodded. She dropped the club, knelt on the ground and placed her wand at the crook of her back. The shield charm grew like a slanted bubble over her and Harry, goblin in hand, broke into a sprint.
His feet pounced up her shielded back and she rose at the last moment, letting him leap high over the King's goblin guard.
Face to face with the King.
"Finish this!" Bellatrix ordered the remaining wizards — they kept the guard busy with spell after spell as Harry faced the king.
The royal Goblin sneered and swung his bloody axe, but Harry had brought a goblin-shield for a reason. The goblin's head rolled.
When the King swung again, Harry summoned another goblin.
And another. Limbs dotted their feet. The King tried his strange magic, but Harry easily side-stepped the forceful push.
"It's over." Harry said simply. The King tried one last swing, but when he finally realized that he was only slaying his own people, that his army was decimated, he sagged.
Only for a moment.
But it only took a moment.
Harry touched his shoulder, found his eyes. "Legilimens."
This is not your fight. This is not your battle.
Harry sent him memories of another life. The Symposium. Grimmauld Palace. The stage, the speech…and the imposter that even now was destroying his life's work.
The King's eyes widened in slow realization. The world trembled as the mindscape began to crumble.
You've been trapped here. The Dark Lord's plan to turn wizard against goblin once more, to destroy the fragile peace.
The sky sundered. When the sun rose suddenly, like time sped up for a second, the King woke.
Harry turned back to see the battlefield, the relief on his allies faces, the burgeoning joy. The devastation of the battle, the blood that trickled between the rivets of mud. It dissipated, like a puddle of water drying in the sun.
When he blinked, he was in the air, tossed roughly out of the painting frame. They all landed in a heap of bodies on the rich carpet of Grimmauld Palace.
Their sudden arrival broke the speech on the stage — every head turned to see the Goblin King stand. Crown on his head, staff in hand.
Like clockwork, the crowd turned to the stage and back once more, confusion rising.
The real King smashed his staff down — even on the carpet, it somehow thundered like the war drums in the mindscape. "That," He pointed a long finger at the stage. "Is not me."
"What trickery? Who are you, imposter?" Lucius Malfoy demanded loudly of the King. On the stage, the imposter fell tellingly silent.
"Dumbledore!" Harry heard Frank cry.
The Headmaster pushed through the crowd, frowning. "What is the meaning of this?"
"This," Harry caught his breath. "This is the real King Ragnuk. Some treachery enchanted the paintings to trap him, seeking to divide us," He turned to the Veela and the vampires, the watching crowd. "To destroy what this Symposium hopes to build."
"It is as the young man says." The Goblin King snarled as he saw the disbelieving faces of the crowd. "You dare question my word? Look! My Royal Guard — each sealed into a painting. There is one of my people in each painting on the wall."
"This is the Dark Lord's work, Headmaster." Harry added.
"Who are you, boy?" A doughy face Harry recognized after a moment. Amycus Carrow. "And how can we trust that this isn't your scheme?"
A stampede of feet — the Queen of Veela stood and every Veela in the room stood up with her, capturing all attention. Her voice was soft and it felt like it was whispered into the ear. Frank Longbottom shuddered. "He is Lord Foxham and he is a most trustworthy soul."
"I can vouch for him. He is trustworthy." Lily chimed in.
"And handsome." Alice added drunkenly from the sofa.
"Lord Foxham is a man of honour." Amelia said loudly, her fists clenched.
"Never the less," Lucius said silkily. "Perhaps a short recess while we determine exactly who is telling the truth." He pointed his bejeweled cane at the Goblin King, who was glaring with fury at Harry's side. "Given my reputation and the trust many hold in me, I should like to interrogate you both myself to see what games are being played."
"Oh, come off it Lucius—" Someone cried.
"What reputation?" Another snickered.
"No need for that, Lucius." Horace Slughorn said as from the room's doorway. He was red-faced and adjusting his tie, sweat pouring from his forehead. "Lord Foxham is a trusted friend — if he says the King on stage is an imposter, then that's the case."
There was a chorus of murmurs, a buzz that spread. Harry startled as he realized that Slughorn really was influential — his approval had led to many cries of agreement.
The King on the stage realized the turning tide — with a stamp of his staff, the stage was enveloped in a thick smoke. When Dumbledore blew it away, the King had vanished.
Was the imposter Tom himself? Whoever it had been, Harry enjoyed the sudden sour look on Lucius' face.
"He's done a runner!" James growled.
"We've been swindled — my goodness, the things he was saying. There'd have been blood on the streets!" Lord Selwyn's moustache bristled.
"Time to take control of this." Harry murmured to Bellatrix.
She pasted on a sickly smile, tugging at the creases of her dress. She amplified her voice. "Ladies, gentlemen, everyone — I'm saddened to hear that this event of unity has been targeted like this. While we need to investigate how this happened, perhaps we should hear from the honorable King Ragnuk to learn what his real message is."
All were silent as the King walked to the stage, his staff beating a steady pace. "Thank you, lady of clan Black." He said authoritatively. "The imposer stood on this stage and sparked a fear that already existed, I know. Between all peoples, yours and mine, there are fractions. But know this — my people, Gringotts bank — we are committed to peace. There is a message inscribed on the first coin given to me by my father — in peace, we find prosperity. The prosperity of goblins and wizards both!"
Harry sighed in relief as the message settled over the crowd, as the King clawed back the divide the Dark Lord had sought. Bellatrix watched with crossed arms. She looked askance at him, under her eyelashes.
"I'm not going to apologise, you know." She murmured obstinately. "Even if I'm not a Death Eater, it is not easy to deny him. Power is what talks in this world."
The applause that rang out after the King's short speech drowned out Harry's reply. Bellatrix joined the King on stage and, after the King waved him forward, so did Harry.
"Lord Foxham, is it?" The King's swirling eyes were piercing. "I don't believe you have an account with us."
"I don't, no, but my good friend, Miss Black, she tells me that Gringotts is the place to keep my money. She tells me good things." He said easily, his hand on Bellatrix's bare back.
The King smiled, baring his fangs. "Perhaps we can have dinner soon, the three of us, so I can hear these good things in person, and I can show my gratitude — I don't know how you did what you did on this day, but I am thankful for it."
"Some photos, please! Of the three of you!" A shrill voice came from the front of the stage. A young woman with bottle blonde hair and acid green robes — Rita Skeeter, Harry realized, still just an intern or an assistant. She was behind a large camera tripod as her senior journalist colleague wrote rapidly on some parchment.
As they lined up together, Harry slid his hand over the dimples in Bellatrix's back and then lower, down the back of her satin dress. He felt her flinch as they posed, his fingers caressing the swell of her thick asscheeks.
"Power is what talks, you're right." Harry murmured to her as Rita's camera flashed. "And now you've seen mine — and you've seen how much stronger it is when it is not used to create fear."
He palmed one of her buttocks and squeezed it firmly, admiring how fat and taut it was, while she shivered, trying to keep her smile up.
"They will remember that I, Lord Foxham, somehow prevented the rebellion, that I saved the King, that I have a favor from him." He said under his breath, so that only she could hear. "That the Queen of Veela stood up for me, Lady Potter too, even Slughorn."
Harry's fingers slid between her cheeks and found her pussy, which was slick with her juices. "No panties?" He mocked. "Naughty girl. Don't you see, Bella? I can ask for anything from anyone, right now, without making them fear me. I don't have to dispose of them after I use them — respect, adoration, their desire to ingratiate — it's the gift that keeps on giving."
She gasped audibly when two of his fingers slid inside her snatch as Rita Skeeter snapped her photos, her smile tremulous.
"My power can change the world far more than the Dark Lord. You can deny it no longer." He said with satisfaction as he worked her pussy, enjoying the knowledge that he was fingering her in front of the who's who of magical society, while she could only smile for the camera.
He'd probably have to destroy Rita's camera to stop the photos from actually being printed — or the timeline would change too drastically — maybe he could keep a copy of Bella's strained smile for himself, he thought.
Bellatrix shook and almost fell when she felt his thumb circling her rosebud. "No—" She whispered and then squeaked as she heard the audible pop of his thumb entering her asshole.
"Come on, give me a big smile, Miss Black! For the cover!" Rita encouraged.
Bellatrix gave a shaky smile as Harry worked her over, her thighs trembling. She could practically hear her pussy squelching. She prayed that the King on her right couldn't hear it, didn't know.
Harry leaned in close, smiling broadly for the photos, his breath on her neck. "A dinner with the Goblin King, the Veela Queen's favour, friends with Houses Bones and Potter and Longbottom and…" He smirked. "I'm treating you like a fucking bowling ball." His fingers arched up suddenly and her toes curled in her heels. Her face reddened as she felt herself gush.
"This is real power." He told her. Bellatrix shivered — he wasn't wrong. She'd seen what he could do, in Diagon Alley and just now, on the battlefield. A goblin army rendered into flesh pieces.
He commanded men like he'd done it for years. He made alliances that could change the world, even without a family name. And, she could admit to herself, he made her soaked.
Power — it was all she'd ever wanted. She saw the path now, following him.
"You're right." She whispered, squeezing her thighs to tighten around his fingers.
"You're right, what?"
Bellatrix Black took a deep breath. "You're right, Master."
Bellatrix is ready. Harry's taking the handcuffs off and making moves. I know, no smut in Chapter 69, I've made a terrible mistake. Forgive me? Next week, next Friday, next chapter - Bellatrix in bed, Voldemort recruits and Harry goes after the locket once more.
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