Harry Potter: Toji Potter

by Criezz

Toji is rebron into the Body of Harry Potter and still has his Heavenly Restriction but also has Magic, what will he do with such tools? (In this Ff, Toji has read and watched Hp when he was younger so he remembers some of it).

7. 7th Year

Toji Potter

(This Chapter Cover all events up to end of Book 7 and some extra)

Author's note before you read this chapter: I sincerely apologize for not posting for such a long time. I kind of forgot about . I write on WebNovel (WRizz1, and don't ask why) daily and have some stories there—some are finished, while many others remain unfinished—but there are plenty to choose from on WN. This story here goes on for quite a while, so if you'd like me to continue posting it here, just leave a comment (I believe it's called a review on this platform).

As for how Harry's journey continues, this becomes a multiverse-travel-fanfic with stuff like Bleach and Naruto Shippuden. Lemme just say that the Harem will grow and Harry's power also, with that being said, I will leave you to the Story part of this Chapter.

The sea stretched endlessly before them, glittering under the golden rays of the sun. A gentle breeze carried the scent of salt and freedom, rustling through Harry's hair as he took in the idyllic scene. The group had chosen a secluded beach far from prying eyes—a paradise untouched by the chaos of their recent battles. For the first time in what felt like forever, the burden of war was left behind, replaced by the soothing embrace of nature.

Harry stood barefoot in the sand, the grains warm and soft beneath his feet. He'd left his usual robes behind, opting for a casual yet effortlessly charming ensemble: a white, short-sleeved shirt left unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest and loosely fitting swimming trunks. His emerald eyes scanned the horizon before settling on the group behind him.

Fleur was the first to make her entrance. The sun seemed to favor her, casting a golden glow over her already radiant figure. Her swimsuit—a delicate yet daring shade of silver—clung perfectly to her curves. Her confidence was palpable as she approached Harry, her feet sinking slightly into the sand. Fleur's smile was teasing as she ran a hand through her silken blonde hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders.

"You like what you see, mon amour?" she asked, her voice lilting with amusement.

Harry smirked, eyes unapologetically appreciating her beauty. "Always."

Next came Daphne and Hermione, walking side by side. Daphne wore a dark green bikini that accentuated her sharp, regal features, her hair pulled into an elegant ponytail that swayed with her every step. Hermione, on the other hand, was more reserved in a deep red one-piece that clung modestly yet flatteringly to her form. Both girls exchanged knowing glances as Harry turned to greet them.

"Looking good," Harry said with a grin, earning a rare but genuine smile from Daphne and a shy nod from Hermione, whose cheeks flushed a light pink.

Finally, Tracey appeared, trailing behind them. Her outfit was a simple yet endearing light blue two-piece, but her demeanor set her apart. She sat down on a large towel, her face glowing as she shyly avoided Harry's gaze. Her blush deepened as Fleur playfully teased her.

"Tracey, you're acting as if he hasn't seen you with less," Fleur said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"F-Fleur!" Tracey stammered, her blush spreading like wildfire. Harry chuckled, walking over and ruffling Tracey's hair gently.

"It's a beach day," he said. "Relax and enjoy yourself."

The group spent the next hour immersed in play. Harry, fueled by a rare lightness of spirit, chased after Daphne and Hermione as they laughed and darted across the sand. Fleur joined in, her speed and agility keeping Harry on his toes. Eventually, Tracey, coaxed by Fleur, overcame her shyness and joined the fray, squealing as Harry scooped her up and spun her around before setting her back down in the sand.

The cool waves lapped at their feet as the group waded into the shallows. Fleur, ever the bold one, splashed Harry, drenching his open shirt.

"Oh, it's on," Harry said, smirking as he retaliated with a wave of water that left Fleur gasping in mock outrage.

The ensuing splash battle was a chaotic symphony of laughter and shrieks. Even Daphne couldn't maintain her usual composure, her competitive spirit igniting as she fought back against Harry. Hermione joined in as well, her giggles filling the air as she targeted Fleur, who retaliated by teaming up with Tracey.

Eventually, they collapsed onto the sand in a heap, their energy spent but their hearts light.

As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting the beach in hues of amber and rose, the group settled onto a large blanket spread out on the sand. Harry sat at the center, with Fleur nestled comfortably against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Daphne reclined gracefully on his left, her hand idly tracing patterns in the sand. Hermione and Tracey sat close by, the former leaning back on her hands while the latter clung to a towel draped over her shoulders.

"It's strange," Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence. "To just… exist like this. No fights, no spells flying, no death looming over us."

"It's well-deserved, Harry," Hermione said softly, her brown eyes reflecting the colors of the sunset. "After everything we've been through, we need moments like this."

Fleur shifted, her fingers brushing against Harry's. "You're right, 'ermione. Zese moments remind us what we're fighting for."

Tracey, still blushing slightly, chimed in. "It's easy to forget how beautiful the world can be when we're always on edge."

Daphne nodded, her voice low but firm. "But it's also a reminder. Of what's at stake. Of what we need to protect."

Harry looked around at the faces of the women who had stood by him through it all. A deep sense of gratitude and affection swelled in his chest. "I couldn't do this without you. Any of you. You've kept me grounded, kept me sane. I hope you know how much that means to me."

Fleur kissed his cheek, her lips soft against his skin. "We know, mon amour. And we wouldn't 'ave it any ozer way."

As the sky darkened and stars began to emerge, Harry lit a small fire on the beach with a wave of his hand. They shared stories, some lighthearted and others tinged with the pain of their journey. Hermione recounted a humorous memory of their first year at Hogwarts, while Daphne offered a rare glimpse into her childhood. Fleur spoke of her home in France, her voice filled with warmth, and Tracey shyly contributed with anecdotes about her misadventures in brewing potions.

The firelight danced across their faces, casting them in a golden glow. Harry felt a deep sense of peace, a rare and precious gift in the chaos of his life.

As the night wore on, the group grew quieter, the sounds of the waves and the crackling fire filling the space between them. Harry leaned back, Fleur's head on his chest, and looked up at the stars.

"This," he said softly, "this is what we're fighting for. A world where we can have nights like this. Where everyone can."

The girls murmured their agreement, their voices carrying a quiet determination.

And as they drifted off into a restful slumber under the canopy of stars, Harry felt, for the first time in a long while, that victory wasn't just a distant dream—it was within reach.

The sun hung low over the horizon, painting the French countryside in warm shades of gold. Harry, Fleur, Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey sat around a sturdy oak table in the Delacour estate's study. The room was awash with the scent of fresh parchment and ink, its walls lined with books that seemed to whisper wisdom from ages past. This tranquil setting belied the intensity of their discussion as they pored over every clue, map, and memory that might lead them to Voldemort's Horcruxes.

A large map of Britain lay spread out before them, dotted with scribbled notes and hastily drawn circles. At its center, Godric's Hollow was marked with a bold red X.

"Godric's Hollow," Harry said, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of reverence. He leaned forward, his finger tracing the path on the map leading to the village. "It's not just where I was born—it's significant to Voldemort. Dumbledore left a clear trail of breadcrumbs leading there. There's something in that place we need to find."

Daphne, seated to his right, tapped her chin thoughtfully. "It makes sense. Voldemort has always had a flair for dramatic symbolism. But going there first might be predictable. He'd expect us to investigate."

Hermione, sitting across from Harry, frowned as she thumbed through a thick tome titledThe Nature of Horcruxes. "True, but Voldemort might have counted on us overthinking it, too. Sometimes the most obvious answer is the right one."

"Not to mention," Fleur added, her lilting accent softening the edges of her words, "Godric's Hollow 'olds many mysteries. Dumbledore's note specifically referenced zat place as a starting point. Ignoring it would be foolish."

Tracey, ever the pragmatist, tilted her head. "But what's the fallback if it's a trap? We can't just walk into it without considering contingencies."

The group fell silent for a moment, each lost in thought. Harry broke the silence, his emerald eyes sharp and determined. "If it's a trap, we fight our way out. We've done it before, and we'll do it again. But we're not walking in blind. We'll scope out the area first—Fleur, you're good at stealth spells, right?"

"Of course," Fleur said with a confident smile.

"Then you and Daphne can scout ahead," Harry continued. "Hermione, you'll handle any detection charms or wards. Tracey and I will provide backup if anything goes wrong."

Daphne raised a brow. "And what happens if it's not a trap? If we find the Horcrux, what then?"

Harry's gaze hardened. "We destroy it. Immediately. No delays, no second-guessing."

Hermione frowned. "Destroying a Horcrux isn't as simple as snapping a twig. Remember the diary? It took a basilisk fang—something infused with venom strong enough to destroy the magic binding the soul fragment. We need to think ahead."

"That's true," Tracey added. "And while I trust we're strong enough to deal with any traps, Voldemort's protections on his Horcruxes aren't going to be easy to break."

Fleur tapped her finger on the table. "Zere is an option. I 'ave a bezoar zat could neutralize most magical poisons, and we could use it as part of a destructive enchantment. It won't be as strong as basilisk venom, but it might be enough."

Harry nodded. "Good thinking. We'll also bring Gryffindor's sword. It's imbued with basilisk venom after the Chamber of Secrets incident."

Daphne leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Even with all that, going to Godric's Hollow first puts us in the spotlight. Voldemort's forces aren't stupid—they'll be watching for any sign of us. What's our escape plan if it all goes south?"

Harry considered this. "We'll set up Portkeys beforehand. One in the village and another just outside. Hermione, can you handle that?"

Hermione nodded. "I can. But Portkeys are traceable if we're not careful. I'll weave in some concealment charms to throw off any pursuit."

Tracey sighed. "This is feeling like a better plan, but it's still risky. What if we split up? One group investigates Godric's Hollow while another checks one of the other potential locations—like that cave near the coast Dumbledore mentioned."

Fleur frowned. "Splitting up zounds good in theory, but it zpreads us too thin. We're stronger together."

After more back-and-forth, they finally reached a consensus. Godric's Hollow would be their starting point. Fleur and Daphne would scout ahead, Harry and Tracey would stand guard, and Hermione would prepare the spells and protections needed for their escape.

"It's not perfect," Hermione admitted, "but it's the best plan we've got."

Harry leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow, we head to Godric's Hollow."

As the group began to pack up their notes, Harry's gaze lingered on the map. Memories of his parents and the night Voldemort marked him as his equal flickered through his mind. This wasn't just a mission—it was deeply personal.

Fleur seemed to sense his thoughts. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll find it, mon amour. And we'll destroy it. Together."

Harry nodded, a small but genuine smile gracing his lips. "Together."

The group dispersed, their determination renewed. For all the uncertainty ahead, one thing was clear—they were ready to face whatever challenges lay in their path.

Tomorrow, the hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes would truly begin.

The group stood on the cobbled path leading to a dilapidated house in Godric's Hollow. The air was thick with tension, the weight of history pressing down on them. Harry's emerald eyes scanned the house's faded timbers and cracked windows. It looked as though it had been forgotten by time, but Harry could feel the magic lingering in the air, like static before a storm.

"This is it," Harry said, his voice steady.

Fleur stepped closer, her wand drawn, her silver hair glinting in the moonlight. "It feels… wrong," she said softly.

"Dark magic," Daphne confirmed, her own wand held ready. "There's something here."

Hermione and Tracey flanked the group, their faces grim but determined.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed open the door, its hinges creaking in protest. Dust motes danced in the pale light filtering through the shattered windows. The air inside was heavy and still, as though it were holding its breath.

Before Harry could take a step further, a hissing sound erupted from the shadows. His reflexes screamed at him to move, and he ducked just as a massive, scaled form lunged at him—Nagini, Voldemort's monstrous snake, her fangs gleaming like ivory daggers.

The others reacted instantly, their wands raised, but Harry moved faster. With a sharp motion, he unleashed a torrent of fire from his wand. "Fiendfyre!"

A serpentine roar echoed through the room as the cursed flames sprang to life, writhing and twisting like living creatures. They consumed Nagini before she could even strike again, her body convulsing as the fire devoured her entirely.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, her eyes wide.

"I'm fine," Harry said, his voice firm, though his wand hand trembled slightly. The flames receded as quickly as they had come, leaving behind only ash and a faint, acrid smell. "That's another Horcrux down."

Fleur stepped forward, her expression both impressed and concerned. "Zat was reckless," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "But effective."

Tracey whistled low. "You've got a real knack for drama, Harry."

Harry allowed himself a small smirk. "Nagini wasn't going to give us time for subtlety."

With Nagini destroyed, the group moved methodically through the house, searching for any other traces of Voldemort's magic. But it was clear that the snake had been the house's only dark inhabitant.

"I think this was more of a staging ground than a hideout," Hermione said, frowning as she examined the runes etched into the walls. "There's no sign of anything else here."

"Good riddance," Daphne muttered, casting a cleansing spell to rid the room of the lingering malevolence.

The group expanded their search to the surrounding village, checking the graveyard, the ruins of the Potter house, and even the statue commemorating Harry and his parents. But nothing turned up.

"This was it," Harry concluded as they regrouped near the village center. "Nagini was the Horcrux here."

As they prepared to leave Godric's Hollow, Harry's mind quicklywent through the tally of Horcruxes.

The Diary: Destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year.

The Locket of Slytherin: Destroyed during a previous mission.

Nagini: Reduced to ashes by Fiendfyre moments ago.

The Gaunt Ring: Safely stored in his vault at Potter Manor, the Resurrection Stone already removed but the he'll check if the Horcrux wasn't removed yet, he was young when he got the thing after all.

That left only two Horcruxes: Ravenclaw's Diadem and Hufflepuff's Cup, both rumored to be hidden somewhere in Hogwarts.

"We've done well so far," Hermione said as they walked back to their Portkey. "But the last two are going to be the hardest. If they're in Hogwarts, Voldemort's going to make it nearly impossible to get to them."

"Good thing we've got Harry," Tracey said with a wink.

Harry grinned, but his mind was elsewhere. They had the momentum, but he wasn't content to simply wait for the final battle.

"I've been thinking," Harry said as the Portkey activated, pulling them away from Godric's Hollow and back to the Delacour estate. "I don't think I want to spend my last year at Hogwarts. There's nothing left for me to learn there. If we can destroy these Horcruxes quickly, I want to use the rest of the year to learn as much magic as I can—beyond what Hogwarts teaches."

Daphne raised a brow. "You're planning to skip your final year?"

"Not skip," Harry clarified. "Just… do something more meaningful with it. Dumbledore left us this mission, and I don't want to waste time sitting in classes I've already mastered."

Fleur nodded thoughtfully. "It is ambitious. But if anyone can do it, it is you."

Hermione looked torn but eventually sighed. "If it means ending Voldemort faster, I'm with you. But we'll have to be careful. The Ministry isn't going to like the idea of you leaving school."

"I'm not asking for permission," Harry said, his voice steely.

Later that evening, the group sat on the Delacour estate's terrace, watching the sun set over the rolling hills. Harry looked at the women around him—Fleur, Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione—and felt a deep sense of gratitude.

"We've got a lot ahead of us," he said, his voice soft. "But I couldn't ask for a better team."

Fleur leaned against him, her silver hair glowing in the fading light. "We'll see zis through, mon amour. Together."

As the stars began to appear in the night sky, Harry's resolve hardened. They were closer than ever to ending Voldemort's reign of terror. The journey was far from over, but for the first time, Harry felt a spark of hope.

It was time to finish what they had started.

Voldemort's POV

The dimly lit chamber of Voldemort's hideout was an amalgamation of shadows and flickering green light, cast by the eerie glow of enchanted sconces lining the walls. Lord Voldemort sat in his high-backed throne, his gaunt face etched with a mixture of frustration and cold malice. Before him knelt the remnants of his once-formidable Death Eater forces.

His crimson eyes swept across the room, filled with scorn. Bellatrix Lestrange, her wild black curls framing her face, trembled with barely contained fury, not from fear of him but from her humiliation during their failed assault on Hogwarts.

"We must retaliate, my Lord!" Bellatrix exclaimed, her voice desperate and pleading. "The school mocks us—I was mocked! Pink robes! They humiliated me in front of everyone!"

A collective silence descended on the chamber as Voldemort's thin lips curled into a cruel smile. With a flick of his wand, Bellatrix was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. Her screams echoed, shrill and raw, as she crumpled to the floor.

The curse lifted, and Bellatrix panted heavily, her body shaking as she tried to rise to her knees. "Forgive me, my Lord," she whispered hoarsely.

"Blow up the school?" Voldemort sneered, his voice a low hiss. "Do you think I am some petty villain, Bellatrix? Do you think I cannot see the value of Hogwarts as more than a monument of defiance? That place holds power—ancient, vast, and untapped."

The others dared not speak, their eyes downcast.

"This is not about humiliation," Voldemort continued, rising to his feet. His presence seemed to fill the chamber, oppressive and suffocating. "It is about control. If I destroy Hogwarts, I destroy an irreplaceable asset. No, we must take it. I must take it."

He began pacing, his thin fingers steepled in thought. "But we are weakened," he admitted. The words grated against his pride, but facts could not be ignored. "Potter has reduced us to fewer than half our original numbers. Dumbledore is gone, yes, but his army remains strong, emboldened by their pyrrhic victory. No… brute force will not work this time."

"What shall we do, my Lord?" asked a timid Death Eater from the shadows.

Voldemort stopped abruptly, his expression chilling. "We plan. We infiltrate. And when the time is right, Hogwarts will kneel."

The tension in the room grew thicker as Voldemort's crimson eyes glowed with malevolent intent. His voice dropped to a whisper, soft and deadly. "Leave me. I have much to ponder."

The Death Eaters bowed and scrambled to leave, eager to escape his oppressive presence. Only Bellatrix lingered, casting one last glance at her master before retreating.

Once alone, Voldemort turned to a map of Hogwarts laid across a stone table. He traced the outlines with a skeletal finger. His mind churned with schemes—new spells, ancient rituals, and darker allies to summon. Potter might have won a battle, but the war was far from over.

Back to Harry and His Group

Harry stood before the wrought-iron gates of Potter Manor, its sprawling grounds lush and vibrant under the mid-afternoon sun. The massive estate loomed before them, a testament to the ancient and noble family he belonged to.

The girls—Fleur, Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione—gasped collectively as they took in the sight.

"This is… incredible," Daphne murmured, her sharp blue eyes scanning the manicured gardens and intricate stonework of the manor.

"Magnifique," Fleur breathed, her gaze lingering on the stained-glass windows that caught the sunlight like jewels.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed as if she were trying to formulate a response. "Harry, this place is… it's like something out of history."

Tracey smirked. "Looks like Potter's been holding out on us."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not like I ever needed to brag about a big house." He gestured toward the open doors, where a few house-elves peeked out before scampering away, clearly overjoyed at his return. "Come on, let's get to work."

Inside, the group marveled at the immaculate condition of the manor, its grand halls adorned with portraits of Potters past and enchanted chandeliers casting warm, welcoming light.

Harry led them to a heavily warded vault beneath the manor, where the ring of the Gaunts lay on a velvet pedestal. Its black stone glinted ominously under the soft light of the chamber.

"This is it," Harry said, his tone heavy. "The Resurrection Stone was removed from it years ago, but the ring itself is still cursed. And it's still a Horcrux."

Hermione frowned. "Even separated from the stone, it's dangerous. You were right to leave it here."

Harry retrieved a vial of basilisk venom from a shelf nearby, uncorking it carefully. "This should do the trick."

As he poured the venom over the ring, the metal hissed and bubbled, releasing an acrid smell. The blackened soul fragment within writhed, its faint screams reverberating in their ears before dissolving into nothingness.

"It's done," Harry said, his voice firm.

The group stood silently for a moment, letting the weight of their achievement sink in.

That evening, Harry and the girls retreated to the master bedroom, their laughter echoing through the manor's halls. They celebrated their victory intimately, the love and trust between them deepening with each shared moment.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the windows as they lounged in bed, the warm glow illuminating their faces.

"So," Tracey began, stretching lazily, "when are we heading back to Hogwarts?"

Harry sat up, his expression thoughtful. "Not yet."

Hermione raised a brow. "Not yet? But the last two Horcruxes are there, isn't this what you told us earlier."

"I know," Harry said. "But I've been thinking… this is bigger than just finishing Voldemort. I want to learn more about magic—its origin, the kind of magic they don't teach us at Hogwarts. We've got time before he makes another move, and I don't want to waste it."

Fleur tilted her head, intrigued. "You wish to understand ze origins of magic?"

"Exactly," Harry said, nodding. "If we can understand it, master it, we'll be ready for anything."

Hermione's skepticism melted into curiosity. "That… actually makes sense. And it's not like we haven't already done more than Hogwarts could teach us."

Daphne smirked. "I'm in. Who needs essays and exams when you can uncover the secrets of magic itself?"

Tracey grinned. "You had me at 'not going back yet.'"

Fleur leaned into Harry's side, her silver hair brushing his arm. "Zen it is decided. We continue zis journey."

As they planned their next steps, Harry felt a deep sense of purpose. The final battle was still on the horizon, but for now, the road ahead was theirs to forge.

The wind howled as Harry and his group stood at the base of Mount Olympus, the legendary home of the gods. Its towering peak pierced the heavens, shrouded in clouds that glowed faintly with a golden hue. The air was alive with an unearthly energy, heavy and electric, as if the mountain itself were aware of their presence.

"Is it just me," Tracey murmured, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her face, "or does it feel like the air is… fighting us?"

"It's not just you," Hermione replied, her voice tight. She adjusted the straps of her enchanted travel pack. "This place feels… ancient. Sacred. It's like magic itself is thicker here."

Harry took a deep breath, his chest straining against the oppressive weight of the air. "That's because it is. This mountain isn't just a mountain—it's a convergence point, a place where magic and divine power intersect. It's why we're here."

Fleur's silver hair shimmered faintly in the ethereal light. "And why you wish to meet ze gods themselves, oui? To challenge zem?"

Harry nodded, his green eyes blazing with determination. "Not just for a fight, Fleur. To test myself—and us. If we're going to face Voldemort and everything else coming our way, we need to know our limits… or if we have any."

Daphne adjusted her cloak, her expression unreadable. "Let's hope the gods are in a mood for visitors. If they're anything like the myths, they're not exactly known for their hospitality."

"Good," Harry said with a wry grin. "I'm not known for being polite."

The Ascent Begins

The path up Mount Olympus was no ordinary trail. The group quickly discovered that every step seemed to demand more from them than the last. The ground beneath their feet glowed faintly with runes etched into the rock, pulsating in time with their heartbeats.

Hermione crouched beside one of the glowing symbols, tracing it with her fingers. "These are ancient. Pre-Greek, even. They're designed to measure our strength and willpower, like a test for anyone who tries to climb."

"So, it's like the mountain's alive?" Tracey asked, glancing uneasily at the glowing runes.

"Alive, aware, and judging," Hermione said grimly.

"Let it judge," Harry said, stepping forward. "We're going to the top."

As they climbed, the air grew thicker, each breath feeling like it weighed a ton. A strange pressure pressed against their bodies, testing their endurance. Even Fleur, whose Veela blood granted her enhanced agility and stamina, was forced to pause and catch her breath.

"This mountain… it is relentless," Fleur panted, her hands on her knees.

"It's testing us," Harry said, his voice steady. He extended a hand to Fleur, helping her up. "But we've faced worse."

Daphne wiped sweat from her brow. "Speak for yourself. I'm not sure I've ever felt this drained before."

"Keep pushing," Harry urged. "This isn't just physical. It's mental. The mountain is trying to wear us down. Don't let it."

The First Trial

Halfway up, the air shimmered, and a figure materialized before them. It was an imposing warrior clad in bronze armor, his helmet adorned with a crimson plume. His eyes glowed with golden fire, and he carried a spear that crackled with electricity.

"Who dares ascend the sacred mountain of the gods?" the figure bellowed, his voice reverberating like thunder.

Harry stepped forward, his wand already in hand. "We do. And we're not stopping."

The warrior raised his spear, pointing it at Harry. "Prove your worth, mortal. Face the Trial of the Guardian."

Without warning, the warrior lunged, his spear thrusting forward with blinding speed. Harry deflected the strike with a shield charm, the impact sending sparks flying.

The group sprang into action. Fleur unleashed a barrage of fire spells, her Veela magic crackling in tandem with the spear's electricity. Daphne and Tracey flanked the warrior, their hexes aimed at his joints. Hermione conjured chains of light, trying to bind the warrior in place.

But the Guardian was formidable. He moved with supernatural speed, his spear spinning in arcs of crackling energy that deflected their attacks.

Harry gritted his teeth, channeling magic through his body. He darted forward, his movements a blur, and landed a powerful kick to the warrior's chest. The Guardian staggered but recovered instantly, his spear thrusting again.

"Enough of this!" Harry roared, his magic flaring like a nova. He raised his wand and unleashed a blast of raw energy that struck the warrior square in the chest. The Guardian shattered into golden fragments, which dissolved into the wind.

The group stood in stunned silence, their breaths heavy.

"Well," Tracey said, brushing dust off her robes, "that was intense."

Harry smiled faintly. "And we're just getting started."

The Summit Approaches

As they neared the summit, the air became almost impossible to breathe. Each step felt like a monumental effort, as if the mountain itself were trying to repel them. Strange visions flickered at the edges of their vision—figures from their past, moments of doubt, and whispers of fear.

"Focus!" Harry shouted, his voice cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. "Don't let the mountain get in your head."

The girls nodded, steeling themselves against the mental assault. Fleur reached for Harry's hand, drawing strength from his presence. Hermione muttered counter-charms under her breath, her eyes blazing with determination.

Finally, they reached a plateau just below the summit. A grand archway stood before them, its pillars carved with depictions of the gods. Beyond it, the peak of Mount Olympus glowed with divine light.

"We're here," Daphne said, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the archway. "Not yet. The real challenge is just beginning."

As they passed through the archway, the world seemed to shift. The sky above them turned a shimmering gold, and the air hummed with power. The summit of Mount Olympus was unlike anything they had ever seen—a sprawling palace of marble and gold, surrounded by an ethereal garden that seemed to stretch into infinity.

The gods were waiting.

The golden gate of Olympus stood before Harry and his companions, its towering, gilded structure gleaming as if forged from the pure essence of sunlight itself. The intricate carvings of gods and mortals adorned its surface, each one appearing to shift and move under the light, almost alive.

"Are we ready?" Harry asked, his voice steady despite the weight of what lay ahead.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Daphne replied, adjusting her cloak. Her cool demeanor belied the tension in her posture.

"Let's just hope they're not too trigger-happy," Hermione murmured, her gaze fixed on the gate.

Fleur smirked. "And if zey are? Zen 'Arry will simply show zem why zey should not 'ave been."

With a deep breath, Harry placed his hand against the shimmering gate. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with latent energy. As if recognizing his presence, the gates swung open silently, revealing a pathway of marble steps that seemed to ascend into the heavens.

The group stepped forward together, their resolve firm.

The air beyond the gates was unlike anything they'd experienced before. It was dense, not with pressure but with power—a tangible aura of divinity that made even breathing feel like an act of defiance. The surroundings were awe-inspiring, with sprawling gardens filled with golden trees, crystalline fountains flowing with liquid starlight, and a palace of unparalleled grandeur in the distance.

And waiting for them, seated on thrones of light and majesty, were the twelve Olympians.

Zeus takes the form of a frail old man of low stature and sunken eyes. He has a small tuft of spiky grey hair on the very top of his head, thick eyebrows and a goatee. Zeus dons a classical Greek clothing, a white sash tied to his waist and a piece of cloth covering his entire lower half. Sometimes, Zeus can also drastically increase his muscle mass, turning himself disproportionate at will. In his Adamas form, Zeus' height increases exponentially, and his muscles turn inside out, making his entire body stretched beyond what is normally possible.

Poseidon takes the form of a tall and muscular man, his face usually completely apathetic and devoid of any emotion, with golden-blonde hair as well as light blue irises and black pupils. He donned an ornamental patterned golden choker and dark blue clothing with a golden border that covers the entire upper half of his body, revealing his abdomen and chest. Around his biceps, he wore a pair of golden rings. Poseidon wore a pair of seaweed-colored fingerless gloves, with a blue band on his wrists, whilst around his waist was a white coat with golden circular patterns, one which split in two at the front with a single cloth going down like a , beneath the coat were a pair of baggy pants that matched the cloth on his arms, tucked into a pair of seaweed-colored boots with designs similar to those of ancient ruins in the ocean depths. He was always seen carrying around his primary weapon, a highly stylized trident as long as his body.

Apollo is an attractive man with flowing long light pink hair that reaches down to his torso and a body of good many of the Gods of the Greek Pantheon, he wears items related to Greece such as a laurel wreath, buskin sandals and toga. The toga though has elements of clothing more akin to a kimono such a sash around his torso (Obi) and flower designs on the outside of the chest area with it being opened to show his chest. He is decorated with jewelry with him wearing a necklace extending down his chest that resemble the sun and its rays, a chain that is a part of his sash and a decorated chain around his right leg. Underneath his Divine Weapon, he wears black gloves that only cover his thumbs, index and middle fingers, leaving his ring fingers and pinkies, and the area around them, exposed.

Hermes is a tall, handsome man dressed in a butler uniform. He has a mop of neatly combed black hair and tattoos of unknown design above his left eye and under his right eye. He wears white gloves and has a small mole on the right side of his chin.

Ares is very tall and extremely muscular. He has blond hair and gray eyes. Ares wears only a loincloth and a cape and has a helmet decorated with intricate carvings.

Aphrodite is a tall, slender woman, who possesses a face of unearthly beauty and has her shoulder length blonde hair decorated with flowers, as well as large blue eyes. Her figure is extremely voluptuous, with very large breasts and wide hips. She wears traditional Greek clothing that just barely covers her nipples, behind, and privates as well as multiple item of gold jewellery such as arm bangles and is attended by her golem-like manservants who she uses as her chair and carriers of her large breasts.

However, as she meets the Group with the Gods, she shows that she doesn't really need those carriers. The Other Gods like Hephaestus, Artemis or Hera just look similar to their fellow Gods and also look like the embodiment of their respective Divine Domains, which they reign over.

At the center sat Zeus, his frail, elderly form belying the raw power that radiated from him like a storm barely contained. His sunken eyes regarded the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Beside him, Poseidon exuded a calm yet menacing presence, his trident resting lightly against his shoulder. Apollo, with his radiant beauty and flowing pink hair, smiled serenely, though his eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity.

Ares leaned forward, his massive frame practically vibrating with barely restrained aggression, while Hermes stood at attention with a sly grin, his sharp eyes flicking over each member of the group. Aphrodite, resplendent and otherworldly, observed them with an inscrutable expression, her attendants standing silently at her sides.

The other gods watched in silence, their divine forms embodying their respective domains, each one a testament to their overwhelming power and authority.

"Mortals," Zeus spoke, his voice a rumbling echo that seemed to come from the very fabric of the world. "You stand before the gods of Olympus. State your purpose."

Harry stepped forward, undaunted by the weight of their presence. His companions stood close behind, their eyes scanning the Olympians with equal parts awe and caution.

"I've come to learn," Harry said, his voice steady. "To understand the origins of magic and master it."

The gods exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from intrigue to skepticism.

"Learn?" Poseidon repeated, his tone disdainful. "A mortal seeks to understand what even the gods barely comprehend? Arrogance."

Apollo chuckled softly. "And ambition. Perhaps foolishness, too. But I like the spark in his eyes."

Zeus leaned forward slightly, his sunken eyes narrowing. "You reek of deathly power, boy. Are you a servant of Thanatos? Or perhaps… Hades?"

At the mention of the two gods, the Olympians visibly tensed. Even Aphrodite's serene demeanor faltered for a moment.

"I serve no one," Harry replied, his tone sharp. "The power I wield isn't borrowed. It's mine."

"Bold," Hermes remarked with a sly grin. "I like him."

"Impudent," Ares growled, his fists clenching. "Let me deal with this whelp."

"Silence, Ares," Zeus commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The god of war glowered but fell back into his seat.

Zeus turned his gaze back to Harry. "You come here, brimming with defiance and ambition, asking us to share our knowledge. And why should we grant your request?"

Harry met the god's gaze, unflinching. "Because I'm willing to prove myself. If your knowledge is as vast as you claim, then you should have no problem putting me in my place."

Zeus's eyes gleamed with amusement. "You challenge us?"

"I challenge the strongest of you," Harry said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "If I win, you share your knowledge with me. All of it."

The Olympians murmured amongst themselves, their reactions ranging from laughter to outrage.

"You think to challenge a god, mortal?" Poseidon said, his voice cold. "You wouldn't last a moment against me."

Zeus raised a hand to silence the others. "No, brother. This one… he asked for the strongest. That would be me."

Zeus rose from his throne, his frail form shuffling forward. Despite his apparent fragility, the air around him crackled with latent power, as if the sky itself were waiting for his command.

"You think you can face the King of Olympus and live to tell the tale?" Zeus asked, his tone both mocking and curious.

Harry smirked. "There's only one way to find out."

Hermes stepped forward, his butler-like uniform impeccable despite the tension in the air. "Then it is decided. A duel between Zeus and this mortal. The stakes: knowledge of the divine."

The gods formed a wide circle, their thrones repositioning themselves as if the palace itself were alive. Harry stepped into the center, his companions watching from the sidelines with bated breath. Zeus followed, his small frame dwarfed by the sheer force of his presence.

Hermes raised a gloved hand, his sharp eyes flicking between Harry and Zeus.

"Begin," he said, his voice ringing through the air like a bell.

Zeus surged forward, his frail appearance vanishing as his body expanded in a blur of muscle and sinew. He launched a thunderous punch, the force enough to crater the marble beneath them. But Harry was gone, his movements faster than the god's eyes could track.

Harry reappeared behind Zeus, his unbuttoned shirt billowing as he leaned into a powerful roundhouse kick. His foot connected with Zeus's midsection, sending the god hurtling across the courtyard. The other gods gasped, some even rising from their seats.

"You're slow," Harry remarked, his voice calm, almost bored.

Zeus growled, his form distorting again as his muscles grew even larger. He closed the distance with blinding speed, throwing a barrage of punches that blurred into streaks of motion. Harry, however, weaved through the onslaught with precision, each movement fluid and deliberate.

The mortal didn't just evade—he countered.

With a swift step forward, Harry ducked under a haymaker and drove his elbow into Zeus's ribs. The impact echoed like a cannon blast, forcing the god to stagger. Before Zeus could recover, Harry grabbed his wrist, twisted, and flipped him onto the marble floor with a force that cracked the surface.

"This is your king?" Harry said, glancing at the other gods, his tone dripping with mockery.

Ares growled, his hands twitching as if itching to intervene, but Athena's steady hand on his arm kept him in place.

Zeus roared, his pride wounded. He lunged again, his fists blazing with electrical energy. This time, Harry met him head-on.

The collision of their strikes sent shockwaves rippling across the courtyard, toppling golden statues and shaking the very gates of Olympus. Yet, it was Harry who gained the upper hand. His strikes were precise, devastating. He moved with a mastery that transcended mortal combat—a lethal grace forged in countless battles.

A sharp uppercut sent Zeus sprawling backward once more.

"Enough games," Harry said, his tone cold. He stepped forward, unrelenting.

Zeus responded with a desperate flurry of blows, each one imbued with divine energy. But Harry countered every attack, twisting Zeus's strikes against him. A disarming move wrenched Zeus's arm backward, followed by a brutal knee to the abdomen.

The gods could hardly believe their eyes.

As the battle raged on, Aphrodite leaned forward in her throne, her gaze fixed on Harry. Her lips curved into a smile that was equal parts intrigue and desire. "This mortal… he's magnificent," she murmured, loud enough for Artemis to hear.

The goddess of the hunt, typically stoic, found herself nodding in agreement. "He moves like a predator. Every motion calculated, every strike deliberate."

Aphrodite tilted her head. "And he's handsome, wouldn't you say? Such confidence in the face of gods…"

Artemis frowned, though her cheeks betrayed a faint blush. "Don't let him hear you say that."

"Why not?" Aphrodite replied, her voice teasing. "I doubt he hasn't noticed our admiration."

Harry, in the midst of catching Zeus's fist mid-strike, threw a smirk toward the gods, his piercing gaze lingering just a moment too long on Aphrodite and Artemis.

Zeus growled in frustration, stepping back. His body began to glow, an ethereal nebula of swirling stars and lightning enveloping him. His divine essence expanded, filling the space with an oppressive energy.

"This ends now," Zeus declared, his voice booming with the authority of a king.

Harry stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, the air around him darkened. A suffocating black aura erupted from his body, tinged with hues of deep violet. It writhed like living shadows, chilling the air and sending shivers down the spines of even the gods.

"What… is that?" Hera whispered, her voice trembling.

"That," Athena said, her sharp eyes narrowing, "is death incarnate."

The gods exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence wavering. Even Zeus hesitated, his nebula-like aura flickering under the oppressive weight of Harry's deathly presence.

Harry took a step forward, the ground beneath him cracking under the force of his power.

"You wanted a fight, Zeus," Harry said, his voice low and menacing. "Playtime is over."

The courtyard fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

The courtyard was silent, save for the crackle of divine energy dissipating into the air. Zeus's nebula-like aura flickered out, leaving the King of Olympus on his knees, panting heavily. Across from him, Harry stood tall, his black, deathly aura coiling around him like a living shadow. His piercing gaze locked onto Zeus, who gave a weak but incredulous laugh.

As Harry let his aura fade, the gods watched with newfound respect—and a hint of wariness.

Athena, ever the scholar, broke the silence. "What you wield, mortal, is not ordinary magic. It is divine magic, the energy that stems from the very essence of existence itself. It is tied to realms, concepts, and domains—life, death, the sea, the sky."

Hermes, brushing dust off his jacket, added with a sly grin, "And unlike the mortal magic you're used to, divine magic isn't learned—it's earned. It comes from a connection to something far greater."

Harry crossed his arms, intrigued. "So you're saying my 'deathly powers,' as you call them, are tied to some divine force? To Death herself?"

"Precisely," Apollo said, his voice smooth. "Your aura reeks of Thanatos, or perhaps something even older. That you wield it so effortlessly is... unsettling."

Harry took a step forward, the gods flinching slightly as his presence loomed. He raised a hand, conjuring a small orb of black energy. It pulsed softly, its surface rippling like liquid shadow.

"This," Harry said, "is a fragment of what I can do."

The orb shifted, expanding and contracting as if alive. With a flick of his wrist, Harry released it into the air. It hovered for a moment before splitting into countless threads, each weaving through the courtyard with terrifying speed. Wherever the threads touched, they left no damage—only an eerie sense of stillness, as if the air itself held its breath.

Aphrodite shivered. "It's as if it swallows all life."

"Not just life," Artemis said, her eyes narrowed. "It's consuming essence. Memory. Time itself."

Harry closed his fist, and the threads snapped back into the orb before dissipating entirely. "Death isn't just an end," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "It's a transition. A force that binds all things."

Zeus, now standing shakily, wiped the blood from his lip and gave a toothy grin. "Enough philosophy, mortal. Let's finish this."

Harry smirked. "You're still standing? I thought I was supposed to be the stubborn one."

The two squared off once more, but the outcome was already clear. Zeus charged, his muscles rippling with newfound determination, but Harry moved like a phantom. He sidestepped Zeus's attacks with ease, countering with strikes that sent shockwaves through the courtyard.

A devastating uppercut from Harry sent Zeus sprawling once again. Before the god could recover, Harry was upon him, pinning him to the ground with a single hand. The King of the Gods struggled, but the mortal's grip was unyielding.

"It's over," Harry said, his tone final.

Zeus stared up at him, his chest heaving. Then, to everyone's surprise, the god let out a booming laugh.

Harry released Zeus, stepping back as the god climbed to his feet, still chuckling.

"By the Fates," Zeus said, rubbing his jaw. "I haven't been beaten like that in centuries. And by a mortal, no less!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're taking this surprisingly well."

Zeus slapped Harry on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. "What's the point in sulking? You bested me fair and square. And besides," he added with a grin, "there's no better way to understand someone than through battle."

The tension in the courtyard eased as the gods exchanged glances. Apollo smirked, Artemis relaxed her grip on her bow, and even Ares looked less inclined to charge.

Zeus extended a hand, his smile genuine. "You've earned my respect, Harry Potter. And perhaps, the respect of Olympus itself."

Harry took the hand, shaking it firmly. "Glad to hear it. Now, about that divine knowledge you promised…"

The gods gathered closer, their initial hostility replaced by curiosity. Aphrodite and Artemis lingered near the front, their eyes never straying far from Harry.

"You truly are remarkable," Aphrodite said, her voice soft but sincere.

Artemis nodded, though her expression remained guarded. "Few mortals would have survived, let alone won. You've proven yourself."

Harry gave a small smile. "Thanks. But this isn't about proving anything. I came here to learn, not to fight."

Zeus clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the courtyard. "Then let us begin. But first…"

He gestured toward a nearby table laden with ambrosia and nectar. "A victory like this deserves a celebration."

The gods cheered, and Harry found himself swept into their revelry. But even as the laughter and conversation filled the air, his mind remained focused. He had taken the first step into the world of divine magic, and he wasn't about to stop now.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Olympus in a golden glow, Harry sat surrounded by gods and goddesses. He had proven himself worthy, but his journey was far from over.

"This," he thought, "is only the beginning, and I thought I knew something of Magic."

The sun rose high over Mount Olympus, casting golden light over the gleaming temples and the divine courtyards where mortals and gods trained side by side. Harry and his companions had been here for what felt like months, yet thanks to the time dilation between realms, scarcely a moment had passed in the mortal world.

This was their proving ground, a crucible where mortals would forge themselves into something greater.

Harry stood before a colossal amphitheater, Zeus towering over him. Surrounding them were the other Olympians, each watching intently as Harry's training commenced.

"Divine magic," Zeus began, his voice a low rumble, "is not like mortal magic. It doesn't rely on wands, incantations, or learned spells. It's raw power, tied to the very essence of your being. For you, it stems from your connection to Death itself."

Harry nodded, his expression resolute. He had already displayed his connection to deathly power, but control was another matter entirely.

Hades' appearance takes the form of a tall and handsome man with a specially-designed eyepatch on his right eye and long, stylish silver hair that spikes up at various spots on his head. He's shown with a leaf-like pattern tattooed across his forehead, a spiked choker necklace lined, and a bead-like earring on his left ear with many smaller piercings. His attire is shown to be quite formal and extravagant, with a collar that spans all the way to his upper chest, and badges decorated on the left and right side of his coat. Finally, he wears long white jeans and a pair of shoes filled with square patterns.

stepping forward, his handsome form emanating an oppressive aura. "Your deathly aura can consume, destroy, and transition souls. But to wield it effectively, you must balance its hunger with your will."

With a snap of his fingers, Hades conjured a skeletal figure from the ground. Its bony limbs crackled with energy as it lunged at Harry.

"Subdue it without destroying it," Hades commanded.

Harry's hands ignited with black energy, the shadowy tendrils swirling around him. He struck out, his aura weaving around the skeleton like chains. But the more he tried to contain it, the more it resisted, pushing against his control.

"Not brute force, mortal," Hades said, his tone sharp. "Death is subtle. It waits. It whispers."

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath. He let his aura soften, the tendrils slowing their frantic movement. When he opened his eyes, the skeleton knelt before him, subdued without a single fragment of its essence lost.

Zeus clapped, the sound echoing through the amphitheater. "You're learning."

While Harry was under the tutelage of the gods, his companions were not idle. They were deep in training of their own, led by the Olympian goddesses.

Fleur sparred with Artemis in a dense forest conjured by divine magic. The goddess of the hunt was relentless, firing arrows that Fleur barely deflected with her spells.

"You rely too much on elegance," Artemis critiqued, letting loose another volley. "Combat is not always graceful. Adapt."

Fleur narrowed her eyes, conjuring a swirling vortex of wind that deflected the arrows. She dashed forward, closing the distance between them. Artemis smiled approvingly as Fleur's wand shot a burst of magic at her chest, stopping just short of impact.

"You're improving," Artemis said, lowering her bow. "But you have far to go."

Nearby, Hermione and Daphne sparred under the watchful eye of Athena. The goddess of wisdom drilled them relentlessly, her sharp mind finding flaws in their strategies at every turn.

"You have intelligence," Athena said, gesturing at Hermione, "and you have instinct," she added, pointing to Daphne. "But neither is enough alone. Combine them."

Hermione and Daphne nodded, their teamwork improving with every clash. Hermione's strategic mind anticipated Athena's moves, while Daphne's quick reflexes executed counterattacks with precision.

Tracey, meanwhile, trained with Aphrodite, though their sessions were less about combat and more about confidence and resilience.

"Strength isn't just about power," Aphrodite said, her voice soft but firm. "It's about knowing your worth and standing unshaken."

Tracey nodded, her cheeks flushed. She had always been the quietest of the group, but under Aphrodite's guidance, she began to find her inner strength.

Back in the amphitheater, Harry faced a new challenge. Poseidon stood before him, his trident gleaming as he conjured waves of water that crashed against the arena floor.

"Control isn't enough," Poseidon said, his voice as cold as the ocean's depths. "You must also command respect."

The sea god thrust his trident, sending a torrent of water toward Harry. Without hesitation, Harry raised a hand, his deathly aura manifesting as a wall of shadows that absorbed the attack.

"Impressive," Poseidon said, a hint of a smirk on his otherwise stoic face. "But can you adapt?"

The water reformed into serpentine shapes, striking at Harry from all sides. He moved fluidly, dodging and countering with strikes of his own. His aura shifted, not just as a defensive shield but as a weapon, lashing out like whips.

Finally, with a surge of power, Harry's aura enveloped the water serpents, dissipating them into mist. Poseidon lowered his trident, nodding in approval.

"You've done well, mortal," he said.

As weeks turned into months, the group's progress was nothing short of astonishing. Harry had mastered his deathly powers to the point where even a single aspect of his skills—be it hand-to-hand combat, magic, or aura control—was enough to surpass even the likes of Dumbledore.

The girls, too, had grown immensely. Fleur's control over elemental magic rivaled that of ancient sorcerers. Hermione's strategic brilliance shone in every duel, and Daphne's instincts made her a force to be reckoned with. Even Tracey, once shy and uncertain, carried herself with newfound confidence and poise.

The Olympians were impressed, and though they rarely admitted it, some were even humbled.

One evening, as the group gathered under the stars on a marble terrace, Harry looked around at his companions.

"We've come a long way," he said, his voice filled with pride. "But this is just the beginning. There's so much more to learn, and we can't rush it."

The girls nodded, their eyes shining with determination.

"We'll stay," Hermione said, her voice firm. "As long as it takes."

The gods watched from a distance, their expressions a mix of respect and curiosity. They had taken these mortals under their wing, but they knew the time would come when Harry and his companions would surpass even their wildest expectations.

For now, though, they trained. They grew. And they prepared for the battles yet to come.

The sun bathed Mount Olympus in golden light, the marble courtyards shimmering like mirrors. Harry sat in the open-air temple, surrounded by his companions and the goddesses Artemis, Athena, and Hera. The conversation was light and easy, laughter punctuating the air.

"It's incredible how far you've come," Artemis said, sipping from a chalice of ambrosia. Her usually stern demeanor softened as she regarded Harry and his group with a rare smile. "Few mortals—no, few beings at all—could hold their own against Zeus."

"It's because I've had excellent teachers," Harry replied, his smile as warm as the sun above.

Athena nodded approvingly. "And an adaptable mind. You've embraced divine logic and magic faster than I anticipated."

Hermione, sitting beside Harry, leaned forward. "He does have a habit of exceeding expectations."

Daphne and Tracey chuckled, while Fleur's fingers brushed against Harry's arm, her expression proud and affectionate.

Even Hera, known for her reserved nature, contributed to the warmth of the moment. "It's been a long time since mortals have graced Olympus with such promise."

The camaraderie was interrupted by a loud bang as the temple doors flew open. Everyone turned to see Aphrodite stride in, her every movement exuding sensuality and confidence. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, and her form-fitting toga swayed with every step.

"Aphrodite," Hera began, frowning. "What is the meaning of this?"

The goddess of love paid no heed. Her sapphire eyes locked onto Harry with an intensity that made his companions bristle. Before anyone could react, she closed the distance between them, her stride as smooth as flowing water.

Harry blinked in surprise as she stopped in front of him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile.

"Aphrodite," he started, his tone wary. "What—"

Before he could finish, she slid onto his lap with practiced grace. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and without a word, she leaned in and kissed him deeply, her lips soft and insistent.

Harry's eyes widened in shock. The kiss was bold, overwhelming, and undeniably skilled—Aphrodite's expertise as the goddess of love on full display.

The room erupted in chaos.

"Excuse me?" Hermione's voice rose, laced with indignation.

Daphne's icy glare could have frozen molten lava, while Fleur's hands tightened into fists. Tracey, usually the meekest of the group, stood up, her expression stormy. Even the goddesses reacted; Artemis's hand twitched toward her bow, and Athena narrowed her eyes in disapproval.

Aphrodite pulled back from the kiss, her smile unrepentant. "Oh, don't be so serious, everyone. It's just a kiss. A bit of fun."

Harry, regaining his composure, gently but firmly placed his hands on her waist and moved her off his lap. "Aphrodite, that was… unexpected."

The goddess shrugged, her expression entirely unbothered. "Can you blame me? A mortal with your looks? I couldn't resist."

"You should have," Daphne said sharply.

"I second that," Hermione added, crossing her arms.

Aphrodite tilted her head, her amusement only growing. "Oh, my. Are you all jealous?"

The girls exchanged glances, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

"Jealous?" Fleur said, her tone deceptively calm. "Not exactly."

"No," Daphne added, a hint of mischief creeping into her icy demeanor. "But we do think you need to learn a lesson."

Within minutes, Aphrodite found herself seated on a conjured marble chair, her wrists bound with glowing golden ropes that even she couldn't undo.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Hermione leaned down, her tone as sweet as honey but with a sharp edge. "Just a little reminder that not everything revolves around you, Aphrodite."

Fleur smirked, her fingers brushing against Harry's arm. "You like watching, don't you?"

The goddess's sapphire eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"Oh, I think you do," Daphne added, her voice low and teasing. "That's why you barged in here. You wanted to see how we'd react, didn't you?"

Tracey, emboldened by the others, stepped closer. "Let's give her what she wants, then."

The girls leaned into Harry, their actions playful but undeniably affectionate. Fleur pressed a kiss to his cheek, while Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. Daphne's fingers traced patterns on his arm, and Tracey held his hand, her grip firm.

Aphrodite's gaze flickered between them, her breathing quickening.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" Hermione said, her tone triumphant. "Being on the sidelines, watching love and passion unfold."

Aphrodite swallowed hard, her cheeks tinged with pink. "I… It's not—"

Fleur interrupted her, her French accent adding a lilting cadence to her words. "It's alright, Aphrodite. We understand. You're the goddess of love, after all. It's only natural."

The goddess's lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing. "Fine. You're right. I do enjoy watching. It's… fascinating. The dynamics, the emotions."

"There's no shame in it," Daphne said, her voice softer now. "But perhaps next time, don't interfere."

Aphrodite nodded, her usual confidence replaced with a rare moment of vulnerability. "I suppose I did overstep."

The tension in the room dissipated as the golden ropes vanished. Aphrodite stood, smoothing her toga. She gave Harry and the girls a small, genuine smile.

"You're quite the group," she admitted. "Perhaps I underestimated you."

Harry shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Just remember—respect goes both ways."

Aphrodite inclined her head, her usual mischievous glint returning. "Duly noted. Until next time."

With that, she sauntered out of the room, leaving the group to exchange amused and exasperated glances.

"She's a handful," Daphne muttered.

"You can say that again," Hermione replied.

Harry chuckled, pulling his companions close. "At least now we know what makes her tick."

The group laughed, their bond stronger than ever as they prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.

The air around Mount Olympus was thick with anticipation as Harry stood at the edge of a marble balcony, gazing out at the endless expanse of clouds and ethereal beauty. The Olympian gods had gathered in the grand hall earlier that day, their expressions solemn yet curious as they explained what was happening to him.

He was becoming something more—something divine. A God.

The revelation hit Harry hard. He wasn't merely powerful; he wasn't just a mortal blessed with extraordinary abilities. The ancient magic he had absorbed, combined with the deathly aura he wielded so effortlessly, had catalyzed a transformation. In a matter of weeks, he would ascend to become the Primordial God of Death, a position beyond even Hades or Thanatos.

Harry sat on the edge of a low stone fountain in the temple gardens, staring into the rippling water. His girlfriends surrounded him, each of them silent as they absorbed the news. Finally, it was Daphne who broke the stillness.

"So… what does this mean, Harry?" Her voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of her concern.

"It means," Harry said, his voice tinged with sadness, "that I'm going to outlive all of you." He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "You'll grow old, and I'll stay the same. Immortal. Eternal. Alone."

Fleur knelt in front of him, placing a delicate hand on his knee. "Harry, don't say that. We still have time together, and we'll make the most of it."

Tracey nodded, sitting beside him. "And who says we have to leave you behind? There might be a way for us to stay with you."

"Harry," Hermione said, her tone as steady as always, "this isn't the end. We've faced impossible odds before, haven't we? There's always a solution."

Harry looked at each of them, his eyes shimmering with emotion. Their faith in him, their refusal to give in to despair—it was a balm to his soul.

Later, the group reconvened with the gods. Sitting before the grand assembly, Harry explained his concerns. The gods, surprisingly, listened without judgment. Even Zeus, still nursing a bruise or two from their sparring match, looked contemplative.

"Your predicament is not unique," Athena finally said, her sharp eyes studying him. "Many of us have watched mortal lovers fade away. It is a burden we carry as gods."

"But it need not be so," Hades interjected, his deep voice echoing through the hall. The god of the underworld rose, his black robes billowing like shadows. "There is a way to circumvent mortality, though it is not without its risks."

Harry leaned forward. "Tell me."

"The Book of the Dead," Hades said simply. "It holds the names of every soul destined to pass through my realm. If their names are removed from its pages, they will become immune to death by natural causes. They will share your immortality."

Hermione, ever the scholar, asked, "What's the catch?"

Hades smirked. "The book is housed deep in the Underworld. Reaching it will not be easy. And once a name is removed, the soul is marked. They can only die by force, not by nature."

Harry glanced at his girlfriends. "What do you think?"

Daphne shrugged. "It's dangerous, but what isn't, with you?"

Fleur smiled. "I'd walk through fire if it meant staying with you."

Tracey gave a shy nod, her determination shining through. "I'm in."

Hermione adjusted her robes. "You know me, Harry. I can't resist a good challenge."

The gods exchanged amused glances at their fierce loyalty.

Before they departed, the Olympians offered their blessings.

"Take this," Hephaestus said, stepping forward with a grin. He handed Harry a sleek, metallic object that resembled a modern smartphone. "I made this ages ago. It's a game, of sorts. Complete its challenges, and it will grant you immense strength. You'll need it where you're going."

Harry accepted it with a nod of thanks, though his curiosity about its purpose lingered.

Zeus handed Harry a small vial of glowing golden liquid. "Ambrosia. One drop will restore vitality and power. Use it wisely."

Aphrodite, ever playful, pressed a soft kiss to Harry's cheek as she handed him a shimmering crystal. "For luck, darling. And for love."

Hades stood last, his shadowed presence unnerving but oddly comforting. "I will guide you to the gates of the Underworld, but from there, you are on your own. The Book will not relinquish its secrets easily."

The journey to the Underworld began at a hidden cave nestled in the cliffs of Mount Olympus. The air grew cold as Hades led the group through the winding tunnels, his staff illuminating the path with an eerie blue glow.

"Once you pass through these gates," he said, gesturing to the massive iron doors ahead, "you'll be in my domain. Time behaves differently here, and so do the rules of magic. Stay together, and do not trust what you see."

The gates creaked open, revealing a realm bathed in twilight. The sky was a swirling vortex of black and crimson, and the ground was a patchwork of jagged rocks and rivers of molten gold.

"Welcome to the Underworld," Hades said with a smirk.

Harry and his companions exchanged uneasy glances but pressed on. The air felt heavy, laden with the weight of countless souls. Shadows flickered at the edges of their vision, and ghostly whispers filled their ears.

The journey to the Book of the Dead would be fraught with peril, but Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose. His girlfriends walked beside him, their determination unwavering. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

As they ventured deeper into the realm of death, Harry couldn't help but smile. He was no longer alone in this journey, and with his newfound divine powers, he would ensure that their bond would endure for eternity.

The portal to the Underworld shimmered behind them, sealing with a dull hum. Harry and his companions—Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, Fleur, and their godly guide, Hades—stood on the threshold of a realm unlike any they had ever seen. Hell was an awe-inspiring contradiction: both breathtakingly beautiful and utterly horrifying.

The landscape stretched endlessly before them, a tapestry of stark contrasts. Jagged mountains of obsidian thrust into a swirling crimson and indigo sky, their peaks lost in the roiling ash clouds above. Rivers of molten silver and gold carved brilliant paths through the barren terrain, their glow reflecting off the cracked, glassy ground that shimmered like polished black ice. Phantom shapes—neither fully corporeal nor entirely insubstantial—drifted across the land, their whispering voices just loud enough to tickle the edges of awareness.

Despite the haunting beauty, an oppressive weight pressed down on the group. The very air seemed to cling to their skin like a heavy mist, carrying with it the acrid tang of sulfur and something far more ancient and unsettling.

"Welcome," Hades said, his voice a rich baritone laced with amusement. "To the Underworld. It is not a place for the faint of heart—or the weak of will."

"Charming," Daphne muttered, her eyes scanning the surroundings warily. "Really sets the mood."

Fleur, her wand already drawn, stood close to Harry, her usually confident demeanor tempered by the unease that seemed to infect them all. "This is... not what I expected," she said softly, her lilting accent tinged with unease.

Hermione, ever the scholar, leaned closer to examine the faint glyphs carved into a nearby rock. "The structure here is incredible," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "It's almost as if the land itself was crafted deliberately, not formed naturally."

"Observant as ever," Hades remarked with a sly smile. "Everything here serves a purpose, mortal. Including your first trial."

As they rounded a bend in the terrain, the sound of distant weeping began to echo across the land. It was soft at first, a barely perceptible murmur, but it grew louder with every step. The group soon found themselves standing at the edge of a vast, serpentine river.

The River of Wails stretched out before them, its surface shimmering like liquid mercury under the eerie crimson sky. Unlike water, the river's surface rippled unnaturally, shifting with a life of its own. As they watched, ghostly hands broke through the liquid, clawing desperately at the air before vanishing once more beneath the shimmering surface. The air around the river was colder, biting through even the thickest magical wards.

"That... doesn't look like any river I've ever seen," Tracey said, her voice tight.

"That's because it isn't," Hades said, his tone grave. "The River of Wails is no mere waterway. It is made of the pain, regrets, and sorrows of the damned. To cross it, you must confront your deepest fears and failings. It will strip away your resolve and test the strength of your soul."

"Lovely," Harry muttered, stepping closer to the edge. The river's unnatural light cast long shadows across his face, making his usual confidence seem just a bit more fragile. "And how do we get across?"

"You walk," Hades said simply. "And hope you make it to the other side."

The group exchanged uneasy glances before Harry stepped forward. "I'll go first," he said firmly. "If it's dangerous, I won't let any of you take the brunt of it."

Hermione grabbed his arm. "Harry, don't be reckless. We don't know what this will do to you."

"I'll be fine," he reassured her, though the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes betrayed him.

First Task:The River of Wails

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped onto the river. The moment his foot touched the surface, a wave of cold shot through his entire body, making him shiver despite his determination. As he took another step, the weeping intensified, becoming a chorus of despair that seemed to pierce his very soul.

"Harry!" Fleur called, her voice laced with worry. But he didn't look back.

Each step became harder than the last. The river's surface, though solid, felt unstable beneath his feet, and the ghostly hands clawed at his legs, their touch icy and soul-numbing. Visions began to flash before his eyes—scenes from his past that he would rather forget. His parents' deaths. The pain of losing Sirius. The overwhelming guilt of those who had fallen in battles fought on his behalf.

"Come on," he growled to himself, forcing his legs to move. "You've faced worse."

Seeing Harry's struggle, Hermione clenched her fists. "We can't let him do this alone," she said, stepping onto the river. The moment she did, her expression twisted with pain, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on.

One by one, the others followed. Fleur stumbled almost immediately, her graceful movements faltering under the weight of the river's influence. Daphne swore under her breath, her usual composure cracking as she visibly wrestled with her own demons. Tracey, the quietest of the group, walked with her head down, her face pale as tears streaked her cheeks.

Despite their struggles, the group pressed on, drawing strength from the sight of each other pushing forward.

As they reached the halfway point, the river seemed to intensify its assault. The voices grew louder, now screaming accusations and fears directly into their minds.

"You failed them!" a voice hissed in Harry's ear. "You'll fail them all!"

"Why do you even try?" another taunted Hermione. "You'll never be enough for him!"

Fleur fell to her knees, clutching her head. "It's not real," she whispered to herself, trembling. "It's not real."

Harry turned, his green eyes blazing. "Fleur!" He extended a hand, and she reached for it, his grip anchoring her amidst the chaos. "We're in this together. Keep moving!"

The group locked eyes, their shared determination rekindling their strength. They linked hands, moving forward as one. With each step, the accusations and fears grew fainter, the river's power waning in the face of their unity.

When they finally stepped onto the far bank, they collapsed onto the solid ground, their bodies trembling from exhaustion. The weeping of the river faded into the background, and the oppressive weight lifted, leaving them in an eerie silence.

"You made it," Hades said, his tone almost impressed. "Few manage to cross without losing themselves."

Harry sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. "That was... something else."

Hermione gave him a weak smile. "Understatement of the century."

Fleur leaned against him, her usual poise replaced with raw vulnerability. "I never want to see that river again," she muttered.

"Unfortunately," Hades said, gesturing toward the dark horizon, "this was only the beginning. The next challenge lies ahead."

Harry stood, helping the others to their feet. Despite their exhaustion, there was a new resolve in their eyes.

"Bring it on," he said, his voice steady. "We're not stopping now."

Together, they turned their gaze toward the distant shadows of the next trial, their determination burning brighter than ever.

Second Task: The Forest of Silent Shadows

The group walked forward into the next leg of their harrowing journey. Their experience with the River of Wails had left them shaken but resolute. As the landscape shifted, the jagged rocks and molten rivers gave way to a dense, foreboding forest. Towering trees with gnarled roots rose like skeletal fingers clawing at the darkened heavens, their bark a deep obsidian black. The air grew colder, and an unnatural silence enveloped them. No wind stirred, no leaves rustled, and not even the sound of their own footsteps seemed to echo.

Hades stopped at the edge of the forest, his expression grim. "This," he said, "is the Forest of Silent Shadows. Your next trial awaits within."

"What's the deal this time?" Daphne asked, crossing her arms in a valiant attempt to mask her apprehension.

"The forest will strip away your senses one by one," Hades explained. "Your sight, your hearing, even your sense of direction. The only thing that will remain is your willpower and your bond to one another. If you lose your focus, you'll wander forever in its depths. If you lose each other…" His voice trailed off ominously.

"Great," Tracey muttered. "So, it's that kind of trial."

"Exactly." Hades smirked. "Good luck."

With that, the god of the underworld vanished into the shadows, leaving the group alone at the forest's edge.

Harry took a steadying breath and stepped forward, his companions close behind. The moment they crossed the threshold, the forest seemed to close in around them. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and the dim light of the underworld grew even fainter.

"I can't see much of anything," Fleur said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Stay close," Harry ordered, his voice firm. "No one wanders off. We stay together, no matter what."

As they ventured deeper, the forest seemed to come alive with a malevolent presence. The shadows shifted unnaturally, stretching and twisting as if reaching for them. A faint mist began to curl around their feet, glowing faintly in the dark.

"Is it just me," Hermione whispered, "or is it getting quieter?"

It wasn't just her. The eerie silence of the forest had deepened, and the group found that even their own voices sounded muted. Daphne waved her hand experimentally in front of her face, her movements sluggish.

"I don't like this," she said, though her voice was barely audible.

Without warning, Fleur stumbled. "I can't see!" she cried, panic creeping into her voice. Her blue eyes, usually sharp and vibrant, were wide and unfocused.

"Fleur!" Harry caught her arm, holding her steady. "It's the forest—it's taking our senses. Don't fight it; stay calm."

One by one, the others experienced the same. Vision faded, leaving them in total darkness. The oppressive silence followed, swallowing even the sound of their breathing. They huddled close, gripping one another's hands to stay connected.

The forest's oppressive nature pressed against their minds, whispering doubts and fears that grew louder as their senses dimmed.

For Harry, the forest's voice was a cold hiss, seeping into his thoughts. "You'll fail them all, just as you've failed so many before. You can't protect them forever."

Hermione heard whispers of inadequacy. "You'll never be enough. Smarter, maybe, but strength? He'll always look to someone else."

Fleur, Daphne, and Tracey each faced their own demons—fears of loss, betrayal, and irrelevance—that seemed to grow louder with every step they took.

"We need to move," Harry said, though he wasn't even sure the others could hear him anymore. His voice sounded distant, even to himself.

With their senses stolen, the group had nothing but their trust in each other to guide them. Harry focused on his connection with each of his companions, remembering every moment they had shared, every triumph and struggle. It was that bond—intangible yet unbreakable—that he used to push forward.

"Think about us," he whispered, though it was barely audible even to himself. "Think about why we're here. Focus on each other."

He gripped Hermione's hand tighter, feeling her squeeze back faintly. Through her, he felt the others—a fragile but undeniable chain.

The forest resisted their progress, as though it were alive and aware of their defiance. The shadows grew thicker, and the whispers louder. At one point, Harry felt a tug at his arm, as if something had tried to pull him away. He growled, tightening his grip on Hermione's hand. "Not happening," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Tracey let out a soft cry, her voice faint and distant. "Something touched me!"

"Ignore it," Daphne said, her voice steady despite the oppressive atmosphere. "It's trying to break us. Don't let it."

Time had no meaning in the forest. They didn't know how long they had walked, only that the oppressive silence and darkness seemed unending. But then, just as suddenly as it began, the forest's grip loosened.

The whispers faded. Their senses returned in a rush—sight, sound, and the feeling of solid ground beneath their feet. They stumbled out of the forest's edge, gasping for air as though they had been underwater.

Fleur collapsed onto her knees, her hands trembling. "I thought... I thought we'd never get out."

Hermione pulled her into a hug. "We did. Together."

Harry looked back at the forest, its shadowy expanse as foreboding as ever. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. "That was only the second challenge," he said grimly. "We can't let our guard down."

Daphne nodded, brushing herself off. "Agreed. Whatever's next, we face it together."

The group took a moment to catch their breath before turning toward the next challenge. Far in the distance, a massive fortress loomed on the horizon, its black spires piercing the crimson sky like jagged teeth.

"Onward," Harry said, his voice resolute. "We're not done yet."

Third Task:The Fortress of Living Shadows

After surviving the oppressive Forest of Silent Shadows, Harry and his companions stood at the edge of a desolate plain, gazing at the ominous fortress in the distance. Its walls seemed to shift and shimmer, almost as if the structure were alive. Great spires twisted unnaturally into the crimson skies of Hell, and a deep, unnatural chill emanated from it.

"That looks... welcoming," Daphne said dryly, her arms crossed as she surveyed the distant structure.

"The Forest was just the appetizer," Harry replied, his tone laced with determination. "The main course awaits."

As they marched toward the fortress, the barren ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse with a faint, malevolent rhythm. The air grew colder with each step, and an oppressive weight settled on their shoulders, making it feel as though the very atmosphere were trying to crush them.

"Anyone else feel like they're carrying an extra hundred pounds?" Tracey muttered, adjusting her stance to keep moving forward.

"It's not just the weight," Hermione said, her voice strained. "It's like... like it's digging into our minds, too."

Fleur nodded. "An enchantment, perhaps? A ward to weaken intruders?"

Harry glanced back at the group, his expression resolute. "Stay close. Don't let it get to you."

As they reached the massive gates, they saw that the fortress walls were not made of stone or steel, but a writhing, pulsating material that seemed to be alive. Faces appeared and disappeared in the blackened surface, their mouths open in silent screams. The gates themselves were enormous, carved to resemble a grotesque maw that seemed ready to devour them.

"Well, that's... unsettling," Daphne said, eyeing the gate warily.

Harry stepped forward, placing a hand on the cold, writhing surface. The gate responded immediately, the massive doors creaking open with a deafening groan. Beyond the threshold lay darkness so complete it seemed to swallow all light.

"No turning back now," Harry said, stepping through the gate.

The interior of the fortress was a labyrinth of twisting corridors and endless shadows. The walls seemed to ripple and shift, making it impossible to get a sense of direction. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and faint whispers echoed through the halls.

"Stay close," Harry reminded the group, his voice steady despite the eerie atmosphere. "This place is designed to disorient us."

As they moved deeper, they encountered the first signs of resistance. Shadows detached themselves from the walls, forming into humanoid shapes with glowing red eyes. They moved with unnatural speed, their clawed hands reaching for the group.

Harry was the first to react, summoning a surge of magic that blasted one of the shadow creatures into oblivion. "They're made of pure malice," he said, analyzing the enemy. "Destroy them with light or strong magic!"

Hermione conjured a bright orb of light that she hurled at another shadow, dissolving it instantly. "Keep moving! They're trying to trap us!"

The group moved as a unit, fighting off the shadowy assailants while navigating the twisting corridors. Despite the constant attacks, they maintained their focus, their bond keeping them grounded in the ever-shifting environment.

After what felt like hours, they reached the heart of the fortress: a massive chamber dominated by a pulsating, black crystal that seemed to be the source of the fortress's malevolent energy. The crystal was surrounded by shadowy figures, far more solid and menacing than those they had encountered earlier.

"This must be the source," Harry said, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. "Destroying it should bring this place down."

"But how?" Tracey asked, eyeing the crystal warily. "It's... enormous."

Harry stepped forward, his magic flaring as he prepared to strike. "Together."

The shadowy guardians attacked as one, their movements a blur of dark energy. Harry and the others fought with everything they had, their combined magic creating a dazzling display of light and power. Fleur conjured a storm of fire, Daphne wielded a shimmering silver blade of magic, and Hermione unleashed spell after spell, her precision unmatched.

Tracey, though less experienced, held her own with defensive spells that protected the group from the relentless assault.

In the chaos, Harry reached the crystal. Channeling his Death Divinity, he placed his hands on its surface. The crystal resisted, lashing out with tendrils of dark energy, but Harry's resolve was unshakable. With a roar of defiance, he unleashed a surge of power that shattered the crystal into a million shards.

The moment the crystal was destroyed, the fortress began to crumble. The walls and floors dissolved into shadows, and the oppressive energy dissipated.

"Run!" Harry shouted, leading the group back the way they had come.

The fortress collapsed around them as they raced toward the exit, the shadows clawing at their heels. Just as the last remnants of the structure fell into the void, they crossed the threshold and found themselves back on the desolate plain.

The group collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. Despite their exhaustion, there was a sense of triumph in the air.

"Two down," Daphne said, her voice tinged with relief. "How many more to go?"

"Three," Harry replied, standing and helping the others to their feet. He turned to look at the horizon, where the next challenge awaited. "Let's keep moving."

The group nodded, their resolve strengthened by their victory. Together, they pressed on, ready to face whatever Hell threw at them next.

Fourth Task: The Trial of Eternal Flame

The path to the next task led the group across a barren wasteland that shimmered with heat. In the distance, an enormous volcano dominated the landscape, spewing fire and ash into the crimson skies. Rivers of molten lava carved through the land like veins, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur.

"Let me guess," Daphne said, wiping sweat from her brow, "we're heading straight for that nightmare."

"You'd be correct," Harry replied grimly, his eyes fixed on the volcanic peak. "This trial is called the Trial of Eternal Flame. We need to retrieve a shard of primordial fire from its heart."

Fleur frowned, her Veela instincts prickling. "Fire that cannot be extinguished... it is said to burn the soul, not just the body."

"Lovely," Tracey muttered. "Can't wait to see how this one tries to kill us."

The journey up the volcano was grueling. The ground was scorching to the touch, and the air grew hotter and thinner with every step. Lava oozed from cracks in the rocky surface, forcing the group to carefully navigate their way upward. Harry led the way, his magic forming protective shields to deflect bursts of flame and falling debris.

"Keep moving," Hermione urged, her voice strained. "Stopping will only make it worse."

The group pressed on, sweat soaking their clothes as they climbed higher. The mountain seemed alive, groaning and shifting beneath their feet, as if resenting their presence.

At last, they reached the volcano's fiery core: a massive cavern filled with molten lava and blinding light. At the center of the chamber floated a shard of flame, pulsating with an otherworldly brilliance. The shard was surrounded by a ring of fire that spiraled upward like a living entity, its tendrils lashing out at the intruders.

Harry stepped forward, his magic flaring to life as he studied the shard. "This is it. The shard of primordial fire."

"But how do we get it?" Daphne asked, shielding her eyes from the intense light.

"Carefully," Harry said, a hint of wry humor in his tone.

The group worked together, their combined magic forming a protective barrier as Harry approached the shard. The living fire lashed out, testing their defenses, but they held firm. Harry reached out, his hand trembling as he grasped the shard. For a moment, the flame seemed to resist, its heat searing his skin, but his Death Divinity surged, quelling the fire's fury.

As Harry secured the shard, the volcano began to tremble violently.

"Time to go!" Tracey shouted, her voice tinged with panic.

The group fled the cavern as the volcano erupted around them, dodging streams of lava and falling rocks. They barely made it out before the entire peak collapsed in on itself, sealing the fiery chamber forever.

Fifth Task:The Trial of the Soul

The final task awaited them in a realm unlike any they had encountered so far. They found themselves in a vast, featureless expanse of white, where the very air seemed heavy with an intangible weight. In the distance stood a solitary archway, its surface shimmering with a ghostly light."This is the Trial of the Soul," Harry said, his voice hushed. "Here, we face ourselves."

"What does that mean?" Fleur asked, her brows furrowing.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure. But we'll find out soon enough."

As they approached the archway, they were enveloped by the ghostly light. Each member of the group found themselves separated, standing alone in an endless void.

In this void, each of them was confronted by a spectral version of themselves. These doppelgängers were not mere reflections but embodiments of their deepest fears, regrets, and insecurities.

For Hermione, it was a version of herself consumed by failure, berating her for every mistake and shortcoming.

For Daphne, it was a version of herself, cold and detached, mocking her for letting down her walls and showing vulnerability.

For Tracey, it was the timid, uncertain girl she used to be, reminding her of how far she still had to go.

For Fleur, it was a twisted image of herself consumed by vanity, sneering at her for clinging to her humanity.

And for Harry, it was a shadow of himself, embodying his fear of becoming a monster, of letting his power consume him.

Each member of the group fought their own battle, not with magic or strength but with courage and self-acceptance. They faced their fears head-on, refusing to let their insecurities define them.

When they emerged from the archway, the group was visibly shaken but stronger for the experience. The ghostly light faded, and the featureless expanse dissolved into a familiar landscape: the desolate plain where they had begun their journey through Hell.

"You all okay?" Harry asked, his voice filled with concern.

Hermione nodded, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That was... difficult. But I think we all needed it."

"Speak for yourself," Daphne muttered, though her tone was softer than usual. "I'm never doing that again."

Tracey gave a shaky laugh. "We survived. That's what matters."

Fleur stepped closer to Harry, placing a hand on his arm. "We're stronger now. Together."

Harry nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Together."

With the trials behind them, the group stood at the edge of the plain, gazing toward the horizon. Though they were battered and weary, there was a sense of accomplishment in the air.

"That's it," Harry said, his voice steady. "We've completed the tasks."

"But the journey isn't over," Hermione reminded him.

Harry's smile widened. "No, it's not. But we're ready for whatever comes next."

The Book of Death rested on a black obsidian pedestal, its leathery surface pulsating faintly as though alive. The group stood in a cavernous hall, the oppressive air of Hell pressing down on them. The room was lit by an eerie, pale light emanating from the book itself, casting long shadows that seemed to twist unnaturally.

"That's it," Hades said, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "The Necronomicon Mortem, the Book of Death. Within it are the names of all mortals destined to die."

Harry stepped forward, his expression solemn. "This is what we came for."

The group followed him cautiously, their footsteps echoing against the stone floor. Harry reached out, his hand steady as he opened the book. Its pages were filled with dense, ancient script that seemed to shift and writhe as they looked at it.

"Let's find your names," Harry said, scanning the pages with a sharp eye. His magic flowed into the book, causing the script to settle and reveal its secrets.

One by one, they found their names written in the ominous text. Hades explained the process: Harry would channel his Death Divinity to erase their names, severing their ties to mortality and granting them immunity from death by natural causes.

As he erased Fleur's name, the page shimmered and then went blank. Fleur shivered, her Veela magic responding to the severing of her mortal bonds. Daphne and Tracey followed, their reactions similar, though each woman bore a determined look.

Finally, it was Hermione's turn. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Harry. "Are you sure this is the only way?"

Harry nodded. "It's the safest way to make sure you're with me for as long as possible."

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped forward. Harry erased her name, the glow of the book reflecting in her eyes.

When they were done, Harry moved to look for his own name. His fingers turned the pages with purpose, but his brows furrowed as he scanned the text.

"It's not here," he muttered.

"What?" Hermione asked, stepping closer.

Harry closed the book and leaned back. "My name's not in the Book of Death."

Everyone froze. The weight of his words settled like a stone. Hades himself looked taken aback, a rare expression of confusion crossing his usually stoic face.

"Impossible," the God of the Underworld said. "Every mortal's name is here."

Harry scratched the back of his neck, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the stunned silence. "Ah, yeah. About that... I absorbed Death a while ago, back when I mastered it. So, technically, this book is mine now. I'm not in it because I am Death."

The group stared at him, their expressions ranging from shock to disbelief.

"You what?" Daphne asked, her voice sharp.

"Mastered Death," Harry repeated, yawning. "The Hallows, the power... all of it. I bring Death now, not the other way around."

Fleur blinked. "So... you cannot die?"

"Pretty much," Harry said, closing the book with a decisive snap. "This thing is more of a book with cool names for me now." 'Hell, if I really wanted to, we could pick names for children out of this.' Quite the thought, no?

With the task complete, Hades led the group out of Hell. The oppressive darkness faded as they climbed the steps to Olympus, the air growing lighter and warmer with each step. When they emerged into the radiant halls of the gods, they were met with applause and nods of approval from the Olympians.

Harry, however, barely noticed. A strange sensation washed over him, starting as a dull ache and quickly escalating into an overwhelming pressure. He staggered, falling to one knee as his head swam.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was laced with panic.

"I'm... fine," he managed to say, though his vision blurred. Before anyone could react, his eyes rolled shut, and he passed out. Yet, somehow, his body remained standing, an eerie stillness overtaking him.

The Olympians rushed forward, their faces marked with concern. Athena was the first to speak. "Get him to a bed. Quickly."

Apollo and Asclepius, gods of health and medicine, moved swiftly, guiding Harry's rigid form to a luxurious chamber where they laid him down. The group hovered nearby, worry etched into their faces.

"What's wrong with him?" Daphne demanded, her tone sharp with anxiety.

Asclepius placed a hand on Harry's forehead, his expression thoughtful. "His body is undergoing a profound transformation. His mortal shell is being reforged into a divine one. This is the onset of deification."

The words hit the group like a thunderclap. Hermione's hands flew to her mouth, Fleur gasped, and Tracey looked as though she might faint.

"How long will this take?" Fleur asked, her voice trembling.

"That depends," Apollo replied, his golden aura flickering. "But if he is to reach his full potential, we must assist him. He needs divine power to stabilize his transformation."

The Olympians gathered, their forms radiating power. Each god extended their hands, their divine energies pooling into a shimmering orb of light. It pulsed with incredible force, the sheer weight of it pressing against the walls of the chamber.

The orb descended onto Harry's still form, sinking into him like water into parched earth. His body absorbed the power hungrily, and his aura flared—a dark, deathly energy that made even the gods uneasy.

The girls watched in awe and trepidation, their hearts heavy with worry and hope. "He'll wake up soon," Athena said, her voice firm. "And when he does, he will be stronger than ever."

The group settled into an uneasy vigil, waiting for the moment when Harry would open his eyes once more.

Harry's consciousness stirred in a void unlike any he'd ever experienced. It wasn't dark, nor was it light; the space was an amalgam of existence itself—a ceaseless swirl of possibilities, infinite and alive. For a moment, he was lost, his mind grappling to make sense of the boundless energy around him. But then, instinctively, he reached out with his will.

A flicker of intention became reality. The void trembled as shapes emerged. Towering pillars of black obsidian veined with threads of silver stretched upward, connecting to a vaulted ceiling adorned with constellations that pulsed like living stars. The floor beneath him shifted, becoming smooth black marble laced with streaks of deep crimson. The walls of the palace formed, etched with intricate, deathly designs—skulls, roses, and motifs that spoke of finality and beauty in equal measure.

Massive thrones appeared along the hall's edges, carved from bones that gleamed like polished ivory. At the far end, a dais rose, bearing a single, towering seat of power. It was wrought from an alloy that seemed to shimmer with the darkness of a starless sky, accented by veins of iridescent light. Harry knew this was his seat, the throne of the god of death.

Braziers of blue and silver flame lined the hall, casting an ethereal glow that danced along the surfaces. From the high arched windows, a panorama of a strange and vast realm could be glimpsed—a plane where shadows danced and death's calm embrace reigned supreme.

"This... is mine," Harry murmured, his voice echoing in the grand chamber. The words carried weight, and the palace solidified further, each detail radiating an authority that resonated with his very being.

Turning away from the throne, Harry's gaze was drawn to something hovering above the palace's great central courtyard. A sphere of impossible beauty floated there, contained yet limitless. Its surface rippled with colors beyond comprehension—hues that seemed to exist between moments of perception. Inside, shapes and forms shifted constantly, a chaotic ballet of divine energy.

Harry stepped closer, drawn to its presence. He could feel its power, a vortex of raw creation and destruction. The sphere wasn't just divine—it was the essence of divinity itself, a manifestation of the cosmic order.

He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing the surface of the sphere. It was warm, cold, soft, and sharp all at once—a contradiction in every way. Without hesitation, he plunged his hand inside, and the sphere exploded with light.

A flood of energy surged through Harry, tearing him apart and rebuilding him simultaneously. He felt every fiber of his being shift, refine, and evolve. His body grew taller, muscles reshaping with divine perfection. His bones hardened to an unbreakable core, his very essence becoming a symphony of power and elegance.

His hair, once messy, now flowed down his back like a cascade of black mess of spikes tipped with pure white. It shimmered faintly, moving as though stirred by an unseen breeze. His eyes, which had always been green, now blazed with icy blue light, nebulae swirling in their depths. They radiated not only sight but purpose—a light that seemed to illuminate the truth of existence itself. His pupils were no longer black but white, as if the light within him was too powerful to allow any darkness to remain.

His robes shifted as well, forming into a regal kimono. The fabric was an intricate tapestry of the night sky, swirling with deathly blacks and deep blues, punctuated by flecks of starlight. His aura burned with deathly majesty, the air around him heavy with a profound stillness that spoke of finality.

"Perfect," Harry whispered, looking at his reflection in the polished marble beneath him. He flexed his hands, feeling the power that coursed through his every cell. He was no longer mortal; he was no longer bound by anything as fragile as humanity.

As he took in the changes, a faint tug at the edge of his awareness caught his attention—a link, fragile but undeniable. He felt it pulse faintly, a connection to something or someone. He furrowed his brows, but decided not to delve into it just yet.

"Not now," he muttered, straightening. "There's more to do."

Harry took one last look at his palace, at the sphere now settled into the heavens above it, and he smiled. This place, this domain, was his. A sanctuary and a symbol of his newfound divinity.

With a thought, the world around him blurred. He was done with this introspection. It was time to return to the waking world.

As his eyes opened in the mortal realm, Harry felt his body, stronger and more attuned than ever before. His new form radiated power, the remnants of his transformation still visible in the faint glow of his eyes and the aura that surrounded him. He rose from the bed where his companions had watched over him, and the air in the room seemed to hold its breath.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing forward. The others followed, their faces a mixture of relief and awe.

"Looks like I'm back," he said, his voice carrying a deeper, more resonant tone. He glanced around, taking in their expressions. "Let's not keep the gods waiting."

As they left the room to rejoin the Olympians, Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of his transformation. He was no longer merely a man. He was a god—a force of death, of endings and utter chaos with a ton of destruction mixed in.

The air atop Mount Olympus was still and serene, a stark contrast to the emotions filling Harry and his group as they prepared to leave. The sun cast its golden glow over the assembly of gods and mortals. Each member of Harry's group stood with their belongings packed, the weight of the moment pressing on their hearts.

Harry glanced at his companions: Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, and Fleur. Each wore expressions that balanced joy and melancholy. Their time on Olympus had been transformative, yet the call of home pulled at them.

Zeus stepped forward, his muscular frame and weathered face showing a rare gentleness. "You've proven yourselves worthy of the respect of gods. Rarely does Olympus host mortals who leave such an impression." His gaze lingered on Harry. "Remember, should you need us, we will answer."

Aphrodite approached, her usual sultry demeanor softened. "Do visit again, my dears. Olympus will always welcome you." She winked at Harry, making Hermione and Daphne exchange a look.

Artemis and Athena came next, offering quiet but sincere farewells to the group. "You've grown strong," Artemis said, her tone firm but kind. "Your journey continues, but remember the lessons learned here."

Hades stood apart from the others, a smirk playing on his lips. "You've left quite the mark, Harry Potter. And you know where to find me, should you ever crave the company of the dead."

As the gods stepped back, the group took a moment to reflect. Harry bowed low, his companions following suit. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

The descent from Olympus was bittersweet but far from somber. The group laughed and chatted, reminiscing about their time with the gods and the challenges they had faced.

"Do you think we'll ever get used to this much power?" Tracey asked, her voice light but thoughtful.

Harry chuckled. "Doubt it. But it makes life interesting, doesn't it?"

Fleur glided alongside them, her silvery blonde hair catching the light. "Interesting is one word for it," she teased. "Let's hope Britain is ready for us."

They traveled swiftly, their movements elegant and precise thanks to the flying techniques Hermes had taught them. Gliding effortlessly through the air, they marveled at the scenery below—a patchwork of lush forests, shimmering lakes, and rolling hills. It was a testament to how far they'd come, not just physically but as a unit.

Just as Britain's familiar shores came into view, the serene skies darkened. Black smoke swirled around them, curling like malevolent tendrils. The sudden change was jarring, but the group didn't falter.

"Looks like someone's throwing us a welcome party," Daphne said dryly, her wand already in hand.

From the smoke emerged cloaked figures, Death Eaters, their voices shouting incantations. The green flash of Avada Kedavra lit the air like deadly fireworks, spells streaking toward Harry and his companions.

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione repeated mockingly under her breath, rolling her eyes. "How original."

Instead of panicking, the group responded with practiced ease. Harry raised a hand, his control over magic honed to perfection. The curses veered off course, bouncing harmlessly through the air before ricocheting back to their originators. Several Death Eaters fell, struck down by their own spells.

Daphne and Tracey deflected with graceful flicks of their wands, while Fleur conjured barriers of shimmering silver that dissolved the curses mid-flight. Hermione, ever resourceful, sent a wave of disarming hexes that left the remaining attackers scrambling for cover.

The ambush was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Harry hovered in the air, arms crossed, surveying the fallen Death Eaters with a critical eye.

"Warm welcome," he muttered, shaking his head. "But I really don't like green lights. Gives me bad memories."

The girls chuckled, joining him as they descended to the ground. Fleur patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, mon amour. You'll never face them alone."

"Not that you need us anymore," Tracey teased, though her smile was warm. "You could probably handle the whole lot of them without breaking a sweat."

"Maybe," Harry admitted, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But where's the fun in that?"

As they regrouped, their laughter echoing in the clearing, the tension from the ambush melted away. Together, they resumed their journey, a united force bound for Hogwarts—a home they were more than ready to protect.

The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley bustled with life as Harry and his companions landed softly in the alley's quiet corner. Their arrival went unnoticed, thanks to Fleur's deft application of a silencing charm as they touched down.

"I missed this place," Hermione said, taking in the sight of the familiar shops, their windows glowing warmly in the evening light. "It's good to be back."

Tracey sniffed the air, smiling. "Is that freshly baked pumpkin pasties I smell? Merlin, it feels like we never left."

Harry chuckled, the sight of the lively street warming his heart. "It's not Hogwarts, but it's close enough. Let's head to the Leaky Cauldron for the night. A proper pint and some rest sound perfect right now."

The Leaky Cauldron was as charmingly shabby as ever. Its worn wooden beams and flickering lanterns gave the pub a rustic feel that was comforting in its simplicity. Tom, the barkeeper, looked up as they entered, his face splitting into a toothless grin.

"Well, if it isn't Harry Potter!" he exclaimed, wiping his hands on a rag. "Been a while, lad. And with company too. Welcome back!"

Harry returned the grin, nodding. "Good to see you, Tom. Think you've got room for us?"

"For the Boy Who Lived and his friends? Always," Tom said with a wink. "Take a seat. I'll get you all sorted."

The group made their way to a cozy corner, settling into a large round table. The chatter and laughter of other patrons created a lively backdrop as they took in the atmosphere.

Tom brought over tankards of Butterbeer and platters of hearty pub fare: roast chicken, warm rolls, and steaming bowls of stew. The group dug in, the simple but delicious food reminding them of home.

"This is exactly what I needed," Daphne said, leaning back with a contented sigh. "No gods, no Death Eaters, just good food and a warm fire."

Tracey raised her tankard. "To peace and quiet—however long it lasts."

The others laughed, clinking their drinks together.

Harry leaned back, observing his friends with a fond smile. Despite everything they'd been through, they were here, together, stronger than ever. He felt a pang of gratitude that was hard to put into words.

As the evening wore on, their conversation turned reflective.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" Hermione asked, swirling the remains of her Butterbeer. "After everything?"

"Normal's overrated," Fleur said with a smirk, tossing her silvery hair over her shoulder. "But I think we'll find our own version of it."

"Agreed," Harry said. "Besides, we've handled gods and Death Eaters. Whatever comes next, we'll deal with it. Together."

The fire crackled softly as the group relaxed into the evening. Tracey and Daphne began a heated debate over which was better: Chocolate Frogs or Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, while Hermione pulled out a book on advanced Arithmancy, much to Fleur's amusement.

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching the scene with a sense of calm. This was what they fought for—moments like these, surrounded by friends, safe and at peace.

As the night deepened, the Leaky Cauldron's crowd began to thin. Tom came by with keys to their rooms, and the group slowly made their way upstairs.

In the quiet of his room, Harry stared out the window at the moonlit street below. His thoughts drifted to everything they'd accomplished and the challenges that lay ahead. Despite the uncertainty, he felt ready.

He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore; he was fighting for them—his friends, his family, and the future they were building together.

With that thought, Harry climbed into bed, letting the warmth of the evening's memories lull him to sleep. Tomorrow, they'd return to Hogwarts, their home away from home. But tonight, they rested, cherishing the calm before whatever storm awaited them.

The skies over Hogwarts were an oppressive gray as Harry and his companions approached the castle. Their coordinated outfits—sleek black robes trimmed with silver, accented by matching silver pendants in the shape of a phoenix rising from ashes—gave them an air of undeniable unity and purpose. Together, they looked less like students returning to school and more like a formidable team stepping onto a battlefield.

"Well," Tracey remarked dryly as the imposing towers of the castle came into view, "it doesn't exactly scream 'welcome home,' does it?"

Daphne, always sharp-eyed, nodded toward the castle's windows. "Look at that—no lights in the upper towers. That's not just neglect. It feels...wrong."

Fleur's expression darkened. "The air is heavy. Something is not right."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he stretched his magical senses outward. He inhaled deeply, feeling the sharp tang of foreign magic tainting the wards of the castle. It didn't take long for him to identify the source: Death Eaters, crawling through the hallowed halls like rats in the dark.

"They're inside," Harry said grimly. His voice was calm but carried an edge of fury. "A lot of them. The school's mood reflects the people in it—these bastards are draining Hogwarts of its life."

The group tensed, ready for action. Then, without warning, Harry vanished, leaving a faint ripple of energy in his wake.

In an instant, Harry reappeared in the shadows of a deserted hallway inside the castle. The Death Eaters were spread out, their dark magic permeating the air. Through the telepathy spell he cast earlier, Harry's voice reached his companions' minds.

"There are four clusters of them. Tracey, you take the Astronomy Tower. Daphne, head to the library. Fleur, the dungeons. Hermione, the courtyard. I'm handling the Great Hall and the strongest ones I can sense. Make it quick—no magic that Voldemort can detect."

There was no hesitation, only nods of affirmation before the group moved into action.

The Great Hall was unnervingly silent when Harry entered. Five Death Eaters stood near the staff table, their wands drawn, muttering among themselves. They didn't notice Harry until he was upon them.

With a blur of motion, Harry closed the distance between them. The first Death Eater's wand was snapped in half before he even realized someone was there. Harry's fist connected with the man's chest, sending him flying into the wall with a sickening crunch.

The others turned, but Harry was already on the move. A sharp kick disarmed one, sending her wand clattering to the floor. Another tried to cast a spell, but Harry caught his wrist, twisting it until the wand dropped. The last two barely had time to scream before Harry incapacitated them with swift, brutal efficiency.

Standing amidst the unconscious bodies, Harry surveyed his work with cold satisfaction. He could feel Voldemort's wards stirring faintly—likely triggered by the small amount of magic he'd used in teleporting here—but the response would be too slow. Hogwarts would be purged before the Dark Lord could act.

Elsewhere in the castle, Harry's companions were just as ruthless.

In the Astronomy Tower, Tracey ducked and weaved through spells with snake-like precision, delivering devastating blows that left her opponents crumpled on the floor.

Daphne moved through the library like a ghost, her strikes swift and silent, leaving no trace of the Death Eaters she dispatched save for their unconscious forms.

Fleur's Veela magic radiated an aura of fear in the dungeons, paralyzing her enemies before she dismantled them with precision and grace.

In the courtyard, Hermione's strategic mind and quick reflexes made short work of her targets. Each move was calculated, efficient, and decisive.

Once the final Death Eater fell, Harry reached out through the telepathic link. "It's done. Meet me in the Great Hall."

Moments later, the group reassembled, their expressions steely but triumphant. Harry extended his hand, and with a surge of magic, he summoned every student and teacher in Hogwarts to the Great Hall. The sudden influx of people startled the crowd, but before panic could set in, Harry raised his voice.

"Everyone, listen to me!" he called, his presence commanding immediate attention. "You're safe now. The Death Eaters that infiltrated Hogwarts are gone. They won't return."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as realization set in. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her expression a mix of shock and gratitude. "Mr. Potter...what happened? Where have you been?"

Harry met her gaze with calm determination. "I've been hunting Voldemort's Horcruxes and dismantling his forces. What happened here was just another step toward ending him for good."

The room fell silent as the weight of Harry's words sank in.

Harry continued, his voice steady. "There are two Horcruxes left. I know where they are—or at least where they should be. With your cooperation, we'll destroy them and take the fight to Voldemort himself."

Professor Flitwick stepped forward, nodding. "You have our support, Harry. Tell us what you need."

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Then we have a lot to do."

As the students and teachers began to organize, Harry and his companions stood together, their bond unshaken.

"Back where it all started," Daphne said softly, her voice carrying a note of nostalgia.

"Not quite," Tracey corrected with a smirk. "We're stronger now. Smarter. Together."

Harry glanced at them, his heart swelling with pride. "We've come too far to fail now."

With that, they turned their focus to the challenges ahead, knowing that their journey was far from over—but their determination burned brighter than ever.

The Room of Requirement shimmered into existence as Harry walked past its entrance, his thoughts focused on his goal. The door appeared, smooth and unassuming, but the magic behind it buzzed faintly against his senses. Without hesitation, Harry pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was vast, dimly lit, and filled with shadows that danced along the walls. At its center, resting on a simple stone pedestal, were the two final Horcruxes: Helga Hufflepuff's Cup and Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem.

Harry approached them with calm confidence, his steps echoing softly against the cold floor. His senses prickled as he neared the artifacts, dark magic radiating from them in oppressive waves. He reached out, and his fingers brushed the smooth surface of the cup. Instantly, a chill shot through his arm, but Harry's will was ironclad. The curse embedded in the artifact unraveled in the face of his mastery over death magic, disintegrating like smoke in a breeze.

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the Sword of Gryffindor from thin air. The blade gleamed with an ethereal light, reflecting his resolute expression as he brought it down onto the cup. A high-pitched screech echoed through the room, and a jet of black mist shot out before vanishing into nothingness.

One down.

Harry turned his attention to the diadem. He lifted it carefully, feeling its ancient weight in his hands. The dark magic here was different—more cunning, more insidious. As he held it, he felt a faint tug in his mind, and Voldemort's voice slithered through his thoughts.

"Harry Potter," the voice rasped, low and mocking. "So eager to play the hero, yet so blind to the futility of it all."

Harry smirked, gripping the diadem tightly. "You're a little late to the party, Tom. I've already destroyed all the others. Your Horcruxes are finished."

A furious hiss echoed in his mind, followed by a cold laugh. "You think you've won because you've destroyed a few trinkets? The war is far from over. My forces are already at your doorstep. Soon, Hogwarts will fall, and you with it."

The connection snapped as abruptly as it had formed. Harry's expression hardened as he felt the growing unease among the students and staff within the castle. Voldemort's telepathic taunt had reached them too.

Harry exited the Room of Requirement, the diadem still in hand. As he made his way through the corridors, the anxiety among the castle's occupants was palpable. Students whispered in panicked tones, and teachers exchanged worried glances. Harry paused in the middle of the Great Hall, drawing all eyes to him.

"Listen up!" he called, his voice steady and commanding. The room fell silent. "I know you've heard him. I know he's trying to scare you. But I'm telling you right now—there's nothing to fear. Voldemort is desperate. He knows he's losing. I'll handle this. You're safe."

The students' fear ebbed slightly, replaced by cautious hope. Professor McGonagall approached Harry, her eyes sharp with concern. "Mr. Potter, what exactly are you planning?"

Harry's lips curved into a small smile. "Trust me, Professor. Just keep everyone inside the castle."

Without waiting for a response, Harry turned and strode toward the castle entrance, his companions following close behind. As he reached the main doors, he stopped and turned to face them.

"Stay here," he said firmly. "This is my fight."

Hermione frowned. "Harry, we're not just going to let you—"

"I'll be fine," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This isn't a battle—it's a lesson. For him."

Reluctantly, they nodded, and Harry stepped outside alone.

The air was cold and heavy as Harry walked toward the edge of the cliff overlooking Voldemort's forces. Below him stretched an army of black-clad Death Eaters, giants, acromantulas, and werewolves, their ranks stretching far into the horizon. Voldemort himself stood at the forefront, his serpentine features twisted into a cruel smile.

Harry stood tall, his black-and-silver robes billowing in the wind. The diadem rested lightly in his hand, a silent declaration of his victory over Voldemort's Horcruxes. He surveyed the gathered forces with a calm, almost bored expression.

"Is this it?" Harry's voice carried across the valley, amplified by his magic. His tone was sharp, almost mocking. "Is this the best you can do, Voldemort? This...ragtag group of rejects?"

Murmurs rippled through the Death Eaters' ranks as Voldemort's smile faltered. Harry continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "You've been planning this for decades, and this is what you bring to the table? Pathetic."

Voldemort stepped forward, his red eyes narrowing dangerously. "You underestimate me, Potter."

Harry laughed, the sound cold and menacing. "Underestimate you? I'm mocking you, Tom. I'll kill them all in twenty-five seconds flat. Care to time me?"

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily, their confidence waning under Harry's unshakable presence. Voldemort's fury was palpable, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Harry raised the diadem for all to see, his voice echoing like a thunderclap. "This little war of yours? It ends here."

With that, he tossed the diadem into the air and clenched his fist, shattering it with a burst of deathly energy. The resulting explosion sent a shockwave across the valley, rattling the Death Eaters and sending a clear message:

Harry Potter was done playing games.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was tense with anticipation, the students and teachers gathered closely, murmuring in hushed tones. Harry's absence outside the castle weighed on them like a storm cloud, and the faint echoes of Voldemort's forces outside were a grim reminder of the danger they faced.

Suddenly, a shimmering projection materialized at the front of the hall. Gasps filled the room as Harry's figure stood tall and commanding in the ethereal image. His black-and-silver robes gleamed, and his face was calm, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made everyone in the hall sit up straighter.

"Everyone," Harry's voice rang out, clear and steady, "I want you to see this. I want you to know that you are safe because I'm here. Watch closely."

His projection turned, and the image shifted to show the massive army gathered outside the castle gates. Voldemort's forces stood like a dark tide, stretching across the landscape. The gasps grew louder as the enormity of the enemy was revealed.

Outside, Harry stood on the cliff's edge, surveying the battlefield below. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he began to walk toward the throng of dark forces. The projection in the Great Hall followed his every move, giving the students and teachers a perfect view of the unfolding confrontation.

Harry's pace quickened, his walk becoming a fast stride, then a jog. His aura flared, black and electric, radiating power that made the very air shimmer. The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered as he pushed harder, breaking into a run. With each step, his presence grew more imposing, and by the time he was sprinting, his eyes blazed like twin infernos, filled with the raw anticipation of battle.

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily as they saw him approach. The giants roared, shaking the earth, but even their thunderous bellows couldn't mask the fear spreading through the ranks. Harry didn't stop. He crashed into the enemy like a tidal wave.

Harry's fists moved faster than the eye could follow, each punch sending enemies flying in arcs through the air. His strikes were brutal yet precise, bones breaking and spells shattering as he tore through the ranks of Death Eaters with nothing but his body.

A masked man lunged at him, wand raised, but Harry's hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the man's face and slamming him into the ground. Another tried to curse him from behind, but Harry spun, his leg sweeping out in a devastating kick that crumpled the attacker like paper.

The projection in the Great Hall shifted to focus on Harry's movements, and the students watched in awe and horror. Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, and Fleur exchanged glances, knowing well the strength he wielded, but even they couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly he dominated the battlefield.

Harry leaped high into the air, somersaulting over a group of giants. As he landed, the impact sent a shockwave that toppled them like dominos. He ducked under a massive fist, driving his own hand upward into the giant's jaw with enough force to send it crashing backward.

Blood and chaos surrounded him, yet Harry's movements were as fluid as a dance. He was a blur of destruction, and the Death Eaters couldn't lay a finger on him.

As he landed a final devastating blow, Harry paused, glancing at the battlefield. Most of Voldemort's army lay defeated, their bodies strewn across the field. The few remaining fighters hesitated, trembling as they faced the seemingly unstoppable force before them.

Harry smirked and raised a hand, crackling with magic. "Almost forgot about the timer," he muttered. "Time to wrap this up."

He thrust his hand skyward, chanting a thunderous spell in a deep, commanding tone. The sky darkened in an instant, storm clouds swirling violently above. Lightning crackled, illuminating the battlefield with blinding flashes.

"Perun's Wrath!" Harry roared, and the heavens answered. Bolts of lightning rained down, striking with pinpoint accuracy. The remaining Death Eaters screamed as the electrified fury obliterated them in mere moments.

Silence followed, broken only by the hum of dissipating magic. Harry lowered his hand and glanced at the projection, his voice carrying across the castle and the battlefield.

"Twenty-five," he said, his tone casual, almost mocking. "Just as I promised."

The projection zoomed in on Harry's face as he turned toward Voldemort, who stood at the far end of the battlefield, his red eyes burning with fury. Harry's smirk widened, and he called out, his voice a thunderclap that carried across the field and into the Great Hall.

"How about we get to the main course, my dear punching bag?"

Laughter erupted in the Great Hall, a release of the tension that had been building for hours. Harry's girls exchanged knowing smiles, their pride in him shining through. The students, who had been on the brink of despair moments before, now looked on with hope and admiration.

The projection shifted back to the battlefield as Harry walked calmly toward Voldemort. The dark lord's forces were gone, annihilated in mere seconds, and now only he remained.

In the Great Hall, the students whispered among themselves, their eyes glued to the image of Harry. For many, this was the first time they truly understood the extent of his power. The teachers, too, were stunned, their expressions a mixture of awe and disbelief.

As Harry drew closer to Voldemort, the projection shimmered and vanished, leaving the hall in silence. All eyes turned toward the castle entrance, where the faint echoes of the impending confrontation could still be heard.

Hermione leaned closer to the others, her voice quiet but firm. "This isn't just Harry's fight anymore. He's showing us what's possible. He's showing us that we have a future."

Fleur nodded, her silver hair catching the light. "And that future begins with Voldemort's end."

They turned their attention back to the doors, waiting for the moment when Harry would return victorious, just as he always did.

The battlefield was quiet save for the soft rustle of wind, carrying the faint scent of scorched earth and fear. Harry stood tall, his black-and-silver robes flowing in a nonexistent breeze, his piercing nebula-like eyes fixed on Voldemort. The Dark Lord's crimson gaze flickered between rage and confusion as he stared at the destruction of his forces and the unflinching mortal—or god?—standing before him.

Voldemort raised his wand, his voice sharp. "You are no more than a boy playing with forces beyond your comprehension!"

Harry tilted his head, an amused grin tugging at his lips. "And you're a man desperately clinging to an image of power that doesn't exist anymore."

In the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the projection of the scene continued, giving everyone a front-row seat to the showdown. The students were riveted, leaning forward in their seats, while the teachers exchanged stunned glances. Among them, Rita Skeeter scribbled furiously in her emerald-green quill, her glasses perched on her nose as she alternated between writing and smirking.

Harry extended his hand, conjuring a small golden cup out of thin air—the final Horcrux of Helga Hufflepuff, and the second-to-last anchor to Voldemort's wretched soul. The sight of the object sent a visible jolt through the Dark Lord.

"You've been busy," Voldemort hissed.

"Oh, you've no idea," Harry replied casually. He spun the cup in his hand like a toy before gripping it tightly. His eyes locked onto Voldemort's, and with an audible crack, he crushed the ancient artifact in his bare hand, magical energy bursting forth like a dying scream.

Voldemort staggered back, his face contorting in agony. The onlookers in the Great Hall gasped. Rita's quill paused mid-sentence as she whispered, "Oh, this is delicious."

The projection zoomed in on Voldemort's face, capturing every twitch and grimace of his pain. Harry's voice, smooth and cutting, filled the hall. "What's wrong, Tom? Did I hit a nerve?"

"Stop calling me that!" Voldemort bellowed, his voice raw.

Harry shrugged. "But it's your name, isn't it? Tom Marvolo Riddle. Such a dramatic anagram you came up with." He made a mock pondering face. "Too bad it's just as unoriginal as everything else about you."

With a flick of his fingers, Harry sent a wave of energy that engulfed Voldemort. When the energy dissipated, gasps and laughter erupted from the Great Hall. Voldemort's once dark and menacing robes were now bright pink, shimmering obnoxiously in the light. A shiny red clown nose adorned his face.

Harry stood back, arms crossed, admiring his work. "There. Now you look the part. I mean, you've been acting like a clown for years—it's about time someone dressed you properly."

The students roared with laughter, and even some of the professors couldn't suppress their grins. Rita Skeeter was writing so fast that her quill appeared to be smoking.

Excerpt from one of Rita's past articles floated into Harry's mind, no doubt thanks to her publicity-seeking efforts:

"The self-proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort, is nothing more than a paranoid, snake-obsessed narcissist with delusions of grandeur. While his followers terrorize, he cowers in shadows, afraid of children. Is this the leader of whom the Death Eaters are so proud? Or is this a cult held together by fear and mediocrity?"

Voldemort screeched in fury, hurling curses toward Harry. A jet of green light flew toward him, but Harry simply sidestepped, yawning as the Killing Curse zipped past harmlessly. Another followed, and Harry casually batted it away with his hand, sending it careening into the air like a stray firework.

"Is that the best you've got?" Harry asked, feigning disappointment. "No wonder your Death Eaters spend more time running than fighting."

Voldemort snarled, launching a barrage of spells, but Harry vanished, reappearing behind him with a light tap on his shoulder.

"Tom, you're so tense! Let me help you loosen up." Harry grinned and delivered a light flick to Voldemort's forehead. Despite its gentleness, the flick sent the Dark Lord tumbling backward, sprawling into the dirt.

Rita's voice echoed faintly in the Great Hall projection. "A flick?! Did he just—oh, the readers will eat this up!"

Harry approached leisurely as Voldemort scrambled to his feet. The Dark Lord's composure was cracking, his breath ragged and his eyes wild.

Harry raised his hand, summoning the diadem of Ravenclaw, the final piece of Voldemort's fragmented soul. He held it up for all to see, the projection making sure the image was burned into every student and professor's memory.

"Recognize this, Tom?" Harry taunted. "This is it, your last little safety net."

"No," Voldemort whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," Harry said, his voice mocking. He crushed the diadem effortlessly, and a final, anguished wail tore through the battlefield as Voldemort's soul fragment was obliterated. The Dark Lord fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

In the Great Hall, Rita's voice was barely contained. "This is history. No, this is poetry! The fall of Voldemort, orchestrated like a symphony of humiliation."

Harry stepped closer, looming over the defeated Dark Lord. "You feel that, Tom? That's mortality creeping back in. No more Horcruxes. No more cheating death. It's just you and me now."

He glanced toward the projection, ensuring the entire school could hear his words. "I've been teaching the students here the importance of perseverance, of fighting back against impossible odds. And today, they get to watch the biggest lesson of all."

Harry reached down, grabbing Voldemort by the collar and hoisting him up with ease. "But first…" He waved his hand, conjuring a massive mirror out of thin air. "Take a good look at yourself."

Voldemort's reflection stared back at him: a pink-clad, clown-nosed figure with a defeated expression. The hall erupted in laughter once more, the sound carrying through the battlefield.

Harry leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "You've terrorized these people for far too long. It's time to end this little farce."

With that, he tossed Voldemort aside like a ragdoll. The Dark Lord hit the ground with a thud, scrambling to regain his footing. Harry turned back to the projection and spoke directly to the students and staff.

"This isn't just about me. It's about all of us. And together, we're going to make sure this clown never threatens anyone again."

As Voldemort rose shakily to his feet, Harry cracked his knuckles, his eyes glowing with battle lust. "Now, Tom, let's see if you've got anything left. Because I'm just getting started."

The projection flickered off, leaving the Great Hall buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Harry's voice echoed faintly as the image faded:

"This is what real power looks like."

The battlefield was eerily quiet now, save for the labored breaths of Lord Voldemort. He lay sprawled on the scorched earth, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Harry stood over him, an unyielding figure bathed in the glow of otherworldly power. Voldemort's crimson eyes, once filled with arrogance and fire, now flickered with desperation.

His wand, his Horcruxes, his immortality—gone. All of it destroyed by the boy, no, the god, who now loomed above him with an infuriatingly calm smirk.

"How…?" Voldemort rasped, his voice cracking like dry parchment. His mind raced, clawing for an answer, a plan, anything that would undo this nightmare. "How could you… you… overpower me? I am Lord Voldemort. I am eternal!"

Harry tilted his head, his glowing, nebula-like eyes narrowing with something between amusement and pity. "Eternal?" he echoed mockingly, his voice as smooth and deadly as a blade. "Tom, you were never more than a man desperately afraid of death. And now… look at you."

Harry gestured casually, conjuring a mirror from thin air. Voldemort saw his reflection and recoiled in horror. His once pale, snake-like features were deteriorating, black veins crawling across his skin like cracks in broken porcelain. His crimson eyes were dull and clouded, no longer holding the spark of life—or power.

Voldemort's thoughts churned, a storm of anger, hatred, and despair. How had this boy, this child of a filthy Mudblood, risen so far above him? Every calculated move, every spell, every life sacrificed for his ambition—rendered meaningless in the face of Harry Potter's ascension.

"I am a master of magic," he thought desperately. "I am the Dark Lord. He cannot defeat me. He cannot—"

But even as he tried to will the words into truth, his body betrayed him, trembling under the weight of Harry's presence. It wasn't just power—though that was immense—it was something far worse. Harry exuded inevitability, like death itself made flesh.

Harry crouched beside Voldemort, his grin widening as he leaned closer. The glow of his eyes illuminated Voldemort's paling face, and for the first time, the Dark Lord felt the true weight of his own mortality.

"You know," Harry said, his tone almost conversational, "for someone who feared death so much, you really made a mess of things. Horcruxes? Splitting your soul? Honestly, Tom, you should have done some research. If you'd just accepted death, you wouldn't be here… fading into nothing."

Voldemort's lips curled into a snarl, though the effort cost him. "You… dare lecture me?" he spat, his voice trembling. "You know nothing of power!"

Harry chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, sending a shiver through Voldemort's broken body. "Oh, Tom. I don't just know power—I am power. And death…" He stood, spreading his arms wide as his aura flared. "Death answers to me now."

Voldemort's mind reeled. "Master of Death?" The realization struck like a hammer. The boy—no, the being—standing before him wasn't merely a wizard. He was something beyond human comprehension, a divine force that had made death itself his servant.

Harry raised his hand, and Voldemort's body was lifted into the air, writhing helplessly against the invisible grip. Tendrils of black energy snaked around him, tearing at his soul, peeling away the fragments of his existence layer by layer.

"Please…" Voldemort choked, his voice barely audible. His pride warred with his survival instinct, but the pain overwhelmed him. "Spare me…"

Harry's expression darkened, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Spare you? After all the lives you've destroyed? After the terror you've unleashed on the world?" He leaned closer, his voice a whisper that carried like thunder. "No, Tom. You don't get mercy. You get what you deserve."

With a flick of his wrist, Harry summoned a swirling vortex of darkness. Voldemort's essence, the fractured remnants of his soul, was torn from his decaying body and drawn into the void. He screamed—a sound of pure anguish that echoed across the battlefield and reverberated in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, where students and teachers watched in stunned silence.

The vortex shifted, revealing an image of Hades' domain: a bleak, endless expanse of torment. Harry's voice cut through the cacophony of Voldemort's cries. "Say hello to Hades for me. I'm sure he'll find a fitting eternity for you."

As the last fragments of Voldemort's soul were consumed by the vortex, his body disintegrated into ash, carried away by the wind. The battlefield was silent once more. Harry turned to the projection still running in the Great Hall, addressing the gathered students and staff.

"It's over," he said simply.

The room erupted into cheers and applause, a wave of relief washing over everyone present. But Rita Skeeter's quill never stopped moving. She was already crafting her next article, one destined to be her magnum opus.

Excerpt from her previous works flashed in her mind as inspiration:

"Voldemort: The Coward of Darkness."

"The Dark Lord's Greatest Weakness? Fear."

"Harry Potter: The Boy Who Rose Above Death."

She smirked as she wrote, already imagining the headline: "Voldemort the Clown: How Harry Potter Turned the Dark Lord into a Laughingstock Before Sending Him to Eternal Torment."

Harry turned away from the battlefield, his laughter ringing out—not cruel or mocking, but triumphant and strangely calm. It wasn't the laughter of a man gloating over his victory. It was the laughter of someone who had faced death, mastered it, and come out stronger on the other side.

The projection faded, leaving the students and teachers in awe. The legend of Voldemort was over, replaced by the undeniable truth: Harry Potter was now a force beyond reckoning, a living god who had reshaped the very fabric of life and death.

And in the depths of Hades' realm, Voldemort's screams echoed, a fitting end for the one who had once sought to escape death but had instead found eternal damnation.

The atmosphere in Hades' realm was exactly what one might expect—dark, ominous, and filled with the faint echoes of tormented souls. The River Styx bubbled and gurgled ominously as boats floated lazily across its black waters. The great palace of Hades loomed above, its dark towers reaching into an eternal twilight sky. It was a realm designed to break even the most defiant of spirits.

Unfortunately for Lord Voldemort, it was also ruled by Hades.

And Hades was in a particularly good mood today.

Voldemort, or rather what remained of him, was dragged unceremoniously by two towering skeletal guards into the throne room. His essence flickered faintly, barely holding together after Harry's divine intervention had shredded him. He had no legs, and his arms looked more like melting shadows.

The throne room itself was a mix of intimidating grandeur and… questionable taste. Flames licked up the walls, eerie green and blue lights illuminated vast statues of tortured souls, and the floor was polished obsidian, so shiny that Voldemort could see his own pathetic reflection. He hated it.

At the center of it all sat Hades, leaning lazily on his throne with a smirk that would have put Harry Potter to shame. Beside him, Cerberus lounged like an oversized lapdog, one head chewing on a glowing bone, another snoring loudly, and the third watching Voldemort with a curious tilt of its massive head.

"Well, well, well," Hades drawled, straightening up and clasping his hands together. "If it isn't the self-proclaimed 'Dark Lord.' Or, should I say…" He leaned forward, grinning. "Dork Lord."

Voldemort glared—or at least, he tried to. Without proper eyes or a fully functioning face, it was more of a dark blob quivering angrily. "Hades," he hissed, his voice echoing weakly. "Release me from this wretched place. I am Lord Voldemort! I demand respect!"

Hades blinked, then burst into laughter so loud it caused the entire throne room to shake. Even Cerberus stopped gnawing on his bone to snicker, his middle head letting out a wheezing chuckle.

"Respect?" Hades gasped between laughs. "Oh, Tommy boy, you're in my domain now. Respect isn't exactly on the menu. But hey, if it makes you feel better, I've got something special just for you!"

With a snap of his fingers, Hades conjured a mirror in front of Voldemort. But this wasn't just any mirror—it was enchanted to show Voldemort at his most humiliating moments.

The first image appeared: Voldemort getting slapped around by a baby Harry Potter in Godric's Hollow.

"Ah, the good old days," Hades mused. "Nothing like getting defeated by a diaper-wearing wizard, eh?"

The next image flickered into view: Voldemort, bright pink robes and clown nose in full glory, screaming as Harry Potter destroyed his Horcruxes one by one.

"Classic Potter move," Hades said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "You really leaned into that whole 'dark and terrifying' thing, didn't you? But let's be honest, you're more of a comedic tragedy."

Voldemort screeched in frustration. "This is an outrage! I am a master of magic, a conqueror of death—"

"—a loser at life," Hades interrupted, finishing the sentence for him.

With another snap of his fingers, Hades summoned a swarm of tiny imps, each carrying a miniature replica of Nagini, Voldemort's beloved snake.

"They're your biggest fans," Hades explained with a grin. "They just want to cuddle."

The imps swarmed Voldemort, poking and prodding his essence with their little toy snakes. Every time one poked him, he let out an annoyed growl.

"This is ridiculous!" Voldemort shouted, flailing uselessly as the imps continued their assault.

"Oh, you think this is bad?" Hades leaned back in his throne, a wicked smile on his face. "Wait until karaoke night. I hear Bellatrix is scheduled to perform her rendition of 'I Will Always Love You' tonight. And guess who gets front-row seats?"

Voldemort's shadowy form seemed to shrink in horror.

"And one last thing," Hades said, snapping his fingers again. A parchment appeared in front of Voldemort, detailing his new job.

"Congratulations!" Hades said cheerfully. "You've been promoted to Head Janitor of the Underworld! Your duties include cleaning Cerberus's… output, shining my throne, and maintaining the lava pits. Don't worry, you'll get plenty of breaks. By that, I mean none."

Voldemort glared at the contract, his nonexistent hands twitching. "You can't make me do this."

"Oh, I can and I will," Hades replied with a wink. "Welcome to eternity, Tom."

As Voldemort was dragged off by the imps to begin his first shift, Hades called after him, "Hey, Tommy boy! Don't forget to smile! After all, you're a real killer at parties!"

Cerberus barked in agreement, and Hades leaned back in his throne, thoroughly satisfied.

"You know," he muttered to himself, "this job never gets old."

Hogwarts had never seen a night like this. The Great Hall was transformed, shining brighter than ever, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, the castle was alive with joy. The long battle against Voldemort was over. Harry Potter, the Master of Death and now a true legend, had led the charge and emerged victorious.

The enchanted ceiling sparkled like a brilliant night sky, but instead of stars, it displayed fireworks in vivid, ever-changing patterns. Dragons of light roared across the heavens, phoenixes burst into dazzling flames, and golden snakes slithered elegantly before exploding into showers of shimmering sparks.

Tables were laden with feasts so grand that even the house-elves had outdone themselves. Platters of roasted meats, trays of sparkling desserts, and goblets filled with the finest butterbeer and pumpkin juice filled the air with tantalizing aromas.

As the students and staff celebrated, a sudden hush fell over the hall. The grand doors swung open, and Harry Potter strode in, his black and gold robes flowing behind him like a shadow kissed by light. His piercing blue eyes, with their nebula-like glow, scanned the crowd, and a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. Behind him followed Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, and Fleur, each radiant in their own elegant attire.

The room erupted into cheers and applause.

"Harry Potter!" someone shouted from the Gryffindor table. "The guy who makes saving the world look easy!"

Ron, sitting at the edge of the table, cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, "Oi, Potter! Next time, leave some glory for the rest of us!"

The Slytherin table erupted in laughter. Blaise Zabini smirked and added, "Careful, Weasley. He might save you next, and then you'll owe him a life debt. Nobody wants that."

The banter lightened the mood even more, and Harry gave a mock bow, his grin growing. "I'll try to remember that, Ron," he called back, his voice laced with humor.

Professor McGonagall rose from her seat at the head table, her stern demeanor softened by the rare smile on her face. "Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate the end of a dark chapter, but to honor those who brought us into the light. Mr. Potter, your bravery and determination have united us all. To you, and to all who stood by your side, we owe our deepest gratitude."

The hall erupted into cheers once more, with students pounding their goblets on the tables and shouting Harry's name.

Hades, who had popped in as a guest of honor, raised his goblet with a devilish grin. "To Harry! The only mortal who's ever made death look like a casual afternoon stroll."

The room roared with laughter.

Music filled the hall, courtesy of the Weird Sisters, who had been convinced by Dumbledore's portrait to perform one last Hogwarts show. Students danced, laughed, and let loose in ways they hadn't in years. Even the typically aloof Slytherins joined in, their usual airs of superiority dropped for the night.

At the Slytherin table, Daphne and Tracey were surrounded by friends, while Fleur and Hermione laughed at a joke Blaise had just told. Harry sat at the head of the table, his usual composed demeanor relaxed as he clinked glasses with his housemates.

At one point, Seamus Finnigan approached, wobbling slightly from too much butterbeer. "Oi, Harry," he slurred, "do us all a favor and let someone else be the hero next time, yeah? My ma says I'm lookin' too pale from all the worrying!"

Harry chuckled, patting Seamus on the shoulder. "Noted, Finnigan. I'll try to leave some villain-slaying for you."

As the festivities reached their peak, Harry stood and tapped his goblet with a spoon, creating a resonant ding that silenced the hall. All eyes turned to him as he stepped onto the raised platform near the teachers' table.

"I've got something to say," Harry began, his voice steady but warm. "Tonight, we celebrate victory. But for me, it's more than that. Tonight, I celebrate the people who've stood by me, who've fought with me, and who've given me a reason to keep going."

He turned to Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, and Fleur, each of whom was now standing, their eyes wide with curiosity and emotion.

"I realized something during all of this," Harry continued. "I don't want to face another day without knowing you're all by my side. Not just as allies, or friends, but as my family. As my partners."

Gasps filled the room as Harry pulled out four small boxes, each containing a ring so unique it seemed crafted to match its wearer perfectly.

"Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, Fleur," he said, dropping to one knee with effortless grace. "Will you marry me?"

For a moment, the hall was silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Then, as one, the girls rushed forward, their faces lit with joy as they each exclaimed, "Yes!"

The hall erupted into the loudest cheer yet. Students and teachers alike rose to their feet, applauding and whistling. Even Peeves the Poltergeist flew through the air, dropping confetti and yelling, "Three cheers for Potter and his lovely brides-to-be!"

The party reached a new level of energy after the proposal. People danced and sang, toasts were made, and Harry found himself being pulled into a dozen conversations at once.

From the Gryffindor table, Ron shouted, "Four at once, Potter? Save some ambition for the rest of us!"

At the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood tilted her head dreamily. "I suppose it makes sense. Harry's always had the aura of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack leader."

The Slytherin table, of course, had a more measured reaction. Blaise smirked, clapping Harry on the back. "Trust you to outdo everyone even in matters of the heart."

As the night wound down, Harry and his fiancées sat together at the Slytherin table, watching as the Great Hall slowly emptied. They were exhausted, but the smiles on their faces told of a happiness that ran deeper than words.

"You know," Harry said, looking around at his friends, his girls, and the castle he'd come to think of as home, "this feels like the start of something incredible."

And, everyone agreed.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts had been transformed once again, but this time it wasn't for a battle or celebration of victory—it was for love. Rows of seats filled with magical and mortal guests alike stretched across the Hall. Golden arches laced with ivy and glowing orbs framed the front, where Harry Potter and his four radiant brides stood.

Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, and Fleur each wore gowns that reflected their personalities: Hermione's simple and elegant, Daphne's sleek and regal, Tracey's playful and intricate, and Fleur's ethereal and flowing like moonlight. Harry himself was dressed in robes of deep black embroidered with threads of silver and gold, exuding a divine elegance.

Cheers erupted as the ceremony ended with a magical burst of white and gold sparks that rained down gently like snow. The newlyweds turned to the crowd, their smiles shining brighter than any spell, as their family, friends, and even a few gods who had come down from Olympus applauded loudly.

At the reception, tables groaned under the weight of delicacies from every corner of the magical world. Laughter rang out as Fred and George Weasley enchanted goblets to dance, while Luna Lovegood gifted each guest a "ceremonial snorkack feather" for good fortune.

Even Rita Skeeter was there, though she kept a low profile. Her quill floated nearby, scribbling furiously:

"Harry Potter's Love Quartet: A Union of Power, Beauty, and Unbreakable Bonds."

Their honeymoon was spent in a realm Harry had crafted himself: a paradise untouched by time or danger. Rolling fields of emerald grass met crystalline lakes, and skies shifted between warm hues of sunrise and the cool twilight of stars.

The newlyweds spent days basking in the peace they had fought so hard to achieve. There was laughter as Harry and Tracey raced across the golden beaches, only for Tracey to trip and pull Harry into the surf. Daphne and Hermione debated the nuances of divine power, their voices carrying across the soft winds, while Fleur danced gracefully in the glowing moonlight, drawing her husband's awe.

The nights were filled with tender intimacy, a culmination of their love and trust. Wrapped in each other's arms, they spoke of the future, of dreams they had yet to fulfill, and of the family they wished to build.

A few years later, the Potter family grew. Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, and Fleur each gave birth to healthy, magical children. Their resilience and strength meant the process was smooth, nearly painless, though Harry remained at their sides every moment, his calming energy a constant presence.

Their first child, Celeste (Hermione's), had eyes that shimmered like a nebula, reflecting her father's celestial power. Daphne's son, Orion, was stoic even as a baby, with a calm intensity that promised greatness. Tracey's twins, Lyra and Felix, were bundles of energy, always moving and curious. Fleur's daughter, Aurelie, was the most ethereal, her presence calming anyone near her.

The castle-turned-home was soon filled with the giggles of children and the gentle hum of protective wards Harry had placed to ensure their safety.

"Daddy!" Lyra called, her little hands reaching for Harry as he walked into the sunlit garden.

Harry scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her around as her giggles filled the air. "What is it, little star?"

"Felix keeps turning the flowers into frogs!" Lyra pouted, pointing at her twin, who stood by a patch of croaking lilies, clearly proud of himself.

Harry chuckled. "Felix, what did I say about playing with nature magic?"

The boy grinned cheekily. "Only for practice, not pranks."

"That's right." Harry knelt, flicking a finger to turn the frogs back into blooms. "Now, how about we practice something more fun? Like creating constellations."

The children's eyes lit up as Harry waved a hand, conjuring a floating canvas of stars above them. With a guiding touch, he helped each of them shape the stars into animals, teaching them the delicate balance of creation and magic.

As the children grew, so did their powers. Harry made it a priority to teach them not just how to wield magic, but how to respect it. Lessons took place in the sprawling fields of their home, where the children practiced under the watchful eyes of their parents.

Orion, ever serious, stood with his wand pointed at a boulder. "Dad, how do I make it float higher without losing control?"

Harry crouched beside him, his celestial eyes warm. "Focus on the connection between you and the rock. Magic isn't just about power; it's about understanding. Feel the weight, and let it guide you."

Orion nodded, and the boulder lifted smoothly, hovering higher and higher until it rested gently in the air.

Meanwhile, Lyra and Felix were competing to see who could create the brightest magical firework. Fleur sat nearby, cradling Aurelie, who watched the display with wide, glowing eyes. Hermione and Daphne, ever the scholars, had started teaching Celeste advanced rune magic, the child's intellect already rivaling their own.

Years had passed in peace and prosperity, and now it was time for the next chapter of the Potter family's story. Harry and his wives watched their children, all now old enough to attend Hogwarts, bouncing with excitement as they stood around the living room at Potter Manor, discussing one topic and one topic only: the Sorting Ceremony.

"So how does it work?" asked Celeste, Hermione's daughter. Her nebula-like eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Do they read your mind? Or do you have to fight a troll? Mum, you fought a troll in your first year, right?"

Hermione chuckled, patting her daughter's shoulder. "I did, but that wasn't part of the Sorting, darling. That was... extracurricular."

Orion, Daphne's calm and composed son, sat cross-legged on the carpet, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Whatever it is, it can't be that hard. It's just a hat, right?"

"Just a hat?" Harry gasped theatrically, his eyes wide in mock horror. "Orion, that's not just any hat. That hat has been alive for centuries! It can see your soul, your deepest secrets, and your wildest dreams."

"Dad, stop," said Aurelie, Fleur's serene daughter, her lilting voice tinged with disbelief. "A hat can't do that."

Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Can't it?"

The twins, Lyra and Felix, practically bounced in unison. "What if it talks back?" Lyra asked.

Felix grinned mischievously. "What if it doesn't like what it sees? Maybe it sends you to—"

"Felix!" Tracey scolded, but even she had a smile playing on her lips.

Harry leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Let me tell you the tale of the Sorting Hat of Doom…"

The children gasped. Aurelie crossed her arms, clearly skeptical but intrigued.

"Once upon a time," Harry began, his voice low and dramatic, "there was a student so indecisive that the Sorting Hat couldn't make up its mind. The Hat hummed and hawed for hours, until it finally exploded!"

"Exploded?!" Celeste yelped.

Lyra and Felix exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Daphne shot Harry a warning glance but couldn't entirely hide her amusement. "Harry…"

"Fine, fine," Harry said with a laugh. "The real truth is—"

"No spoilers!" Hermione interrupted, grinning at her husband. "Let them wonder. That's half the fun."

The children groaned, though their excitement only grew.

The next morning, the family stood on Platform 9, the Hogwarts Express gleaming on the tracks, steam billowing into the air. The platform was alive with chatter and laughter as families said their goodbyes.

Harry crouched down to adjust Felix's collar, ignoring his son's playful protests. "You lot behave," he said, though his tone was teasing. "And remember, no matter what happens, the Sorting is just the beginning. The real adventure comes after."

"We know, Dad," Celeste said with a roll of her eyes, though her smile betrayed her excitement.

Daphne kissed Orion's cheek, smoothing his hair despite his stoic protests. "Remember what we talked about," she said. "Be kind, but don't let anyone walk over you."

"I know, Mum," Orion replied, his tone calm as ever.

Tracey hugged her twins tightly, whispering something that made them both giggle. Fleur knelt to brush Aurelie's hair back, her expression tender. "Be brave, ma chérie," she murmured.

As the whistle blew, the children began climbing aboard, turning to wave furiously. Lyra leaned out of the window. "Dad! Mum! You're sure you can't tell us anything else about the Sorting?"

"Not a word!" Harry called back, cupping his hands around his mouth. "But you'll love it. Trust me!"

"We love you!" Celeste shouted.

"We love you, too!" all four parents called back.

The train began to move, and the children's faces pressed against the glass, waving and shouting goodbyes until they were out of sight.

Harry stood there for a moment, his arm around Hermione, his other hand brushing against Daphne's. Tracey and Fleur stood close, their faces glowing with pride and just a touch of melancholy.

"Our little ones," Fleur murmured.

"They're not so little anymore," Tracey said, smiling wistfully.

Harry chuckled, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "They'll do great. They're Potters, after all."

And with that, they left the platform, their hearts full of pride and anticipation for the adventures their children would soon embark on.

The air in the Great Hall buzzed with anticipation as the first-year students stood nervously in a line, their wide eyes darting between the enchanted ceiling and the imposing staff table. Among them stood Celeste, Orion, Lyra, Felix, and Aurelie, each with a unique blend of excitement and apprehension.

Celeste glanced at her siblings, her shimmering nebula-like eyes betraying the curiosity she struggled to contain. "It's just a hat," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

"Yeah, a hat that can see into your soul," Lyra teased, nudging Felix, who smirked mischievously.

"Or explode," Felix added, recalling their father's exaggerated tale from earlier.

Orion stood stoically, his arms crossed. "It's a process. They put the hat on your head, and it chooses based on who you are. Nothing to worry about."

Aurelie's calming presence seemed to soothe her siblings, but even she couldn't hide her faint nervousness. "Whatever happens," she said softly, "we're all going to be amazing."

The Sorting Hat itself sat on a stool at the center of the hall, its patched brim and tattered folds illuminated by the flickering candlelight. Professor Longbottom—Neville, now much older and weathered—called out the names one by one.

When it was Celeste's turn, the hall fell silent. She approached the stool with a deep breath, sitting as the hat was placed on her head.

"Ah, what a mind," the Hat said softly in her ear. "Sharp as a dagger, with a will to match. And yet… oh, the ambition. Slytherin, of course!"

The hall erupted in applause as Celeste joined the Slytherin table, her parents' house.

Next came Orion. His steady demeanor seemed unshaken as the Hat pondered. "You have cunning, yes… and patience. But beneath that calm exterior, a hunger for greatness. Slytherin is where you belong."

Lyra and Felix were sorted quickly, the Hat noting their shared tenacity and resourcefulness. "Slytherin for both of you!"

Finally, Aurelie approached the stool. As the Hat touched her head, it hesitated. "Such compassion, but an edge of determination too. A rare balance… and perfect for Slytherin."

The Potter siblings sat together, greeted warmly by their new housemates, their nervousness replaced by pride. Across the Great Hall, Harry and his wives, concealed behind subtle glamours, exchanged knowing smiles.

Thousands of Years Later

The ancient ruins of London stretched out before the team of Aurors, the air heavy with the remnants of forgotten magic. Time had worn away the Ministry of Magic, but even thousands of years later, the faint scars of Harry Potter's legendary battles remained etched into the landscape.

Among the team were Elara Potter and Kael Black, direct descendants of Harry and Daphne, and Harry and Tracey, respectively. Their robes bore the insignia of elite Aurors, their movements confident but respectful of the history surrounding them.

"Can you feel it?" Elara asked, brushing her auburn hair back as she knelt to examine a cracked wand.

Kael nodded, his sharp features illuminated by a soft Lumos spell. "Residual magic everywhere. This wasn't just a battle—it was chaos. Voldemort's forces must've thrown everything they had here."

As the team moved deeper into the ruins, they discovered inscriptions and artifacts, including shattered fragments of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. One inscription caught Elara's eye:

"For those who fought, for those who fell, for those who believed."

Kael ran a hand over the faded words. "The final stand of the Order of the Phoenix."

Their discoveries sparked awe and reverence among the team, but they knew they were far from uncovering all the secrets buried here.

High above the scene, Harry and his wives watched from the ethereal plane they now called home. They had spent millennia enjoying each other's company, raising generations of children, and guiding their descendants from the shadows. But even immortality couldn't stave off boredom forever.

"I can't believe we're still watching ruins of our old fights," Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

"You're the one who can't let go of the past," Daphne teased, lounging beside him. Her beauty, like that of all his wives, had only grown more radiant with time.

"You do get sentimental," Tracey added, smirking.

Harry sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Well, I'm bored! I've been Death for ages, and I've barely stretched my legs across the universe. What's the point of being all-powerful if I don't see what else is out there?"

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "You want to leave us for some grand adventure?"

"Not leave," Harry corrected quickly, pulling four gleaming bracelets from the air. "I want to stay in touch. These will let us talk, no matter where I go. Video calls, holograms, even hugs if I can tweak the magic enough."

Hermione studied the bracelets, impressed despite herself. "A brilliant bit of transdimensional communication magic."

The wives exchanged glances, a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Go, mon amour," Fleur said with a soft laugh. "You'll be insufferable otherwise. But don't you dare forget about us."

"Forget you?" Harry pulled them all into a group hug. "Never. You're coming with me in spirit—literally. I'll call all the time."

With their blessings and promises exchanged, Harry prepared for his journey, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes as he stepped into the unknown, ready to explore what lay beyond the stars.

Author's Note (AN): Once again, I sincerely apologize for not posting for such a long time. I kind of forgot about . I write on WebNovel daily and have some stories there—some are finished, while many others remain unfinished—but there are plenty to choose from on WN. This story here goes on for quite a while, so if you'd like me to continue posting it here, just leave a comment (I believe it's called a review on this platform).