Don't Stick In Crazy

Don’t stick in crazy

Chapter 1

Summary :  A wise man once told that don’t stick your dick in crazy as it would ruin your whole life. But Harry Potter flung into the past, in an universe so similar yet so different from his own, seemed adamant to stick his, in as many crazy women as possible. But hey, you couldn’t really blame him, could you? The guy doesn’t even remember his fucking name, so damn him, if he was going to follow some old fossil’s advice. He makes his own destiny with one crazy after another.

A.N -:  So it had been almost two weeks of absence from my end for which I heartily apologize. My old laptop had a sudden seizure on 11th and after a week long treatment the doctors advised to dump it in a dustbin. Thankfully I had sufficient back up. This chapter is edited in my new spanking lappy that i brought just yesterday. Me blabbering aside, I hadn't stopped putting word on my phone so expect almost daily updates for the next 4-5 days after I edit the heck out of them. I will put the next chapter of MLIB tomorrow and the Patron stories' after that.

So thanks again guys for being patient for this long.

As for this story- Its the start of a proper plotlined story that will have plenty of action with magical wands as well as Harry's own wand. Just as I said in my intro. Eagerly waiting your response and feedbacks. The story contains a bit of dark themes early on, like drug rape, implied murder and depressed MC. So yeah, forgot to mention that earlier. My bad.

Cheers.

His dark eyes roved across the gathered people. Colorful dresses adorned each of their bodies, faces alight with joy at the union of two lovers not caring a single bit about the tumultuous circumstances outside the heavy-duty wards of the wedding canopy. An impressed look crossed his face at the sheer audacity of all the congregated people, considering most of them were on the hit list of the currently rampaging Dark lord of the wizarding Britain. He would have respected their daring if it was not suicidal, especially the family of the redheads who seemed entirely nonchalant even with the stigma of blood traitors attached to their foreheads. His pity for the tall blond bride for tying herself up with such a bunch of reckless morons in any other situation would have been immense, but here…

Well, his eyes drank in the features of the gorgeous blond gliding into the embrace of the groom. The white backless wedding dress which implied the purity of the woman almost made him burst out into laughter as his hands had been entirely familiar with the feel of those handfuls of round veela flesh during his participation in the tri-wizard tournament.

Perks of being a world-famous quidditch player, huh?

The tall redheaded groom’s scarred lovesick expression also sickened him. The man would have been an able match beside the flawless beauty of his once consenting partner if not for the ugly ropey tissues running across his chiseled pale face like clawed by a vicious animal. Which was probably the case, anyway. But even with the glaring imperfection of the groom splayed out for the entire wizarding world to see, a single quality of his triumphed over all the collective traits that the bride’s family brought to this relationship.

His blood.

Even on the continent, nobody dared question the pedigree of the Weasley breeding notwithstanding their abysmal life choices. But the thought of a pureblood getting tied to a filthy part-human for life escaped his comprehension entirely. Those blond sluts should be used to sate your physical needs only… nothing more.

His country, Bulgaria, treats them just the way these animals deserve.

The pearly laughter of the mother of the bride drew his attention. The tall, curvy woman dancing with a short-goateed man made him snort in his drink. If only he had time to taste how much the mother differs from her daughter.

Maybe next time…

Viktor Krum loosened the collar of his heavy suit, head swiveling around in search of his actual target. The reason he accepted the surprise invitation to his one-time competitor’s marriage ceremony.

There…

The petite girl swaying in the embrace of another lanky redhead, chocolate voluminous curls tied in an elaborate knot; the lilac dress robes clung to every delightful curve offered by the beauty.

Well, the bossy, pretty girl certainly had turned into a stunning woman.

Hermione Granger.

Or Hermy-own-ninny or whatever shit that he made up on the spot that day.

He snarled in his mind at the arrogance that the girl showed throughout the night of the ball as if a world-renowned quidditch player with dozens of worldwide sponsorships would be a total novice in the English language; teaching him her fucking name in that condescending manner, as if he was some kind of uncivilized cave dweller.

Even if he had not invited the girl to the ball with him, he would have still remembered the face of the brunette with crystal clarity.

The only girl who had stopped him from taking what was rightfully his, rejecting his advances after the ball, leaving him blue-balled in the courtyard when he tried to fuck that stupid bitch. Girls even younger than the fourth year had been eager to drop their knickers and spread their legs for him but her…

An angry vein throbbed in his temple. Even the pleasure of splitting dozens of tight, virgin British pussies didn’t lessen the smarting of his pride at the girl’s rejection—the girl he desired the most during his stay at Hogwarts.

Though he wondered where exactly Mr. Harry Potter had been hiding throughout the ceremony, considering those three seemed joined at the hips during his stay in Scotland, never traversing the corridors without each other. Not that he had any business with the supposed chosen one.

Viktor’s lips quirked in a smile to see the redheaded fool of her target’s partner clutching his stomach. His left hand was now inside his suit pocket, fingering a small, empty vial.

The sporting smile on his mouth widened; the Bulgarian quidditch superstar tried to smother his hilarity. The hurried way that the Weasley male dashed out of the spacious tent, leaving a despondent young woman in his wake, tested his self-control not to burst out laughing at the fool’s plight.

Viktor snatched a glass full of wine from the nearby table, brows furrowed as his left hand now rummaged through his trouser’s pocket. A tiny vial containing a few drops of clear liquid rubbed against his palm. The concoction would make his following approach so much smoother and hassle-free.

Striding across the congested dance floor and evading a lot of swaying couples, the world-renowned quidditch seeker smiled roguishly at a busty little redhead girl, the sister of the groom if he was not mistaken. For just a moment, he thought about approaching the buxom girl before steeling his mind for his proper mission.

Can’t get distracted.

It’s a shame though. If her mother, who was dancing with an older redheaded male of similar features to the groom in a conservative robe, was any indication then Viktor would likely have continued to enjoy his fruits of labor in the decades to come.

The buzz-cut young man rubbed the inside of his left wrist absentmindedly, wincing at the sudden flare of pain that erupted from the area before hastily dragging his sleeve well past his palm, glancing around surreptitiously to check if anybody had seen him.

Viktor breathed a sigh of relief; thankful that the swaying couples seemed too engrossed in each other to pay him any notice.

Close shave there…

The Bulgarian wizard finally reached the morose brunette with his awkward hobbling gait, both of the vials inside his suit and trouser pockets now containing just plain air.

“Hermy-own!” Thickening his accent to the extreme, the famous Bulgarian raised his voice a bit to be heard above the loud cacophony of music blasting throughout the wizarding tent.

“Viktor?”

The bushy-haired brunette whirled around at the familiar call, eyes widening in disbelief to see the man standing in front of her. The familiar hairstyle, the thick unibrows, the hook-nose, and the wide, not-so-attractive face left no doubt about the accented voice’s identity. A small flush crept over her pale face, remembering the last time she was this close to the wizard.

Rough forceful hands pawing at her clothed bum along with hot, messy lips forcing onto her unresponsive lips—Hermione Granger shivered at the dirty memory of her first wizarding ball. Thankfully, she had been able to separate from the demanding wizard when his hand started creeping into her knickers. The following loud slap still rang in her ears, with adrenaline pumping in her veins; she somehow escaped from the dire situation with her sanctity intact. She also avoided the wizard for the rest of the year, always traveling with one of her friends in the empty corridor.

“Uh—I wasn’t aware that they invited you?” Hermione said, eyes searching for the youngest Weasley male around the tent’s entrance.

“Fleeur called.” Viktor Krum shrugged his shoulder apologetically. A small grimace formed on his face, his voice trailing at the end. “Hermy-own, I wud like to say sorry for dat night. I vas drunk and you looked so beautiful—”

Hermione grimaced internally. Maybe she had been too harsh on the Bulgarian. After all, she saw him drink a lot of wine that night. And she couldn’t deny that deep inside her mind, it absolutely thrilled her to cause a man of his fame to lose his mind in lust.

Didn’t Professor Dumbledore preach about forgiveness and second chances?

Yes, everybody deserves a second chance. Especially for a crime that was committed years ago in such an extreme situation.

Hermione smiled at the tall wizard prettily—her earlier nervousness slowly ebbing with that comforting thought.

Viktor Krum reciprocated the small smile, hands snatching a glass full of champagne from a nearby server with his idle hand.

“So, where’s Harry Potter?” Victor surreptitiously exchanged the drinks in his hands as the woman cast a look around the tent amateurishly at his question, offering the girl one flute. “I wud like to talk with him.”

“Umm… he couldn’t attend.” Viktor stopped himself from snorting as the girl stared at the ground while lying on his face, a flush creeping onto her neck.

“Vell, let just da two of us enjoy tonight, then.” Victor pushed the flute of drink into the girl’s hand, who, after a bit of hesitation, took it reluctantly.

Hermione Granger gulped the champagne quickly in her nervousness, finishing the flute without even bothering to taste the fruity beverage.

Viktor himself followed suit, crowing internally as the most troublesome part of the night went ahead without a hitch.

Soon you will get your due, you uppity mudblood.

***

Fifteen Minutes later

Hermione fidgeted on her steps. Burning hotness spread throughout her body like wildfire. The lilac dress constricted her physique like an angry boa constrictor coiling around its helpless prey, slowly pushing the prey toward its doom. Fat drops of sweat ran across her porcelain skin, making the tight dress transparent with the unnatural amount of liquid produced from her sebaceous glans.

Hermione’s steps faltered. The hyperventilating girl fell forward toward the muscular chest of his dancing partner, panting as she had just been running non-stop for the last fifteen minutes.

What’s happening to me?

The brainy Gryffindor cursed herself for accepting the innocuous request of the Bulgarian seeker for a dance. The abrupt departure of Ron Weasley upset the bookworm despite herself. The thought of the redhead coming across her in the arms of her Yule Ball partner sent a thrill of vindictive pleasure in her mind—an apt response for leaving her like a fool amid all the swaying couple.

One dance turned into two and before Hermione could realize she had been dancing for the last dozens of minutes, her original partner for the wedding ceremony was nowhere to be seen.

Viktor’s rough hands slowly knead her back, while one hand dropped to her hips, trailing along the silky dress agonizingly.

Hermione should have been disgusted by the wizard’s wandering hand, considering Ron had been hinting for the last few months of committing to a serious relationship. But the Bulgarian’s demanding hands felt so good on her skin that Hermione thought just for a second if her other best friend had reverted from his promise and started weaving his magic again.

No! She shouldn’t think like that.

Unfortunately, the mutual decision not to engage in a physical relationship anymore with her noble black-haired friend only forced her body into a state similar to drug withdrawal—the furious dicking that her best friend provided daily to her nubile body cut off abruptly since the disastrous end of their sixth year. She was absolutely certain that if her body wasn’t in such a randy state, then the creep would have faced a similar fate that she bestowed upon the perverted Bulgarian’s cheeks years previously.

Hermione tried to force herself apart from the unintended embrace but was strongly repelled by the muscular wizard. The grip on her back, along with the hand on her thighs, tightened mightily. The potent scent of cologne wafted inside her nostrils, the overpowering male scent assaulting her mind, making her weak in the knees at the unprecedented desire that flowed through her veins.

“You seem restless, Hermione.” Viktor Krum whispered. “Let's go get some fresh air.”

Such was Hermione’s state of mind that she entirely missed the absence of the thick accent that she had become accustomed to hearing from the Bulgarian wizard. As much as her mind struggled to put up resistance against the strong grip that steered her away from the throng of people toward the exit of the tent, her limbs remained wholly uncooperative to her desires—Hermione Granger followed Viktor Krum just like the sheep mindlessly follow the shepherd, mindless of its upcoming doom.

***

“Barry! Barry! BARRY!

The made-up name bestowed upon him for the event rang loudly inside his eardrums. But the current storm of emotions raging inside his mind quietened the loud croaking of the old Muriel lady quite convincingly.

Harry wished he could forget the last fifteen minutes of conversation between the two ancient remains of the headmaster’s age. His desire to always poke his nose into business that was detrimental to his well-being came to the forefront again. What the hell was his need to search for Professor Dumbledore’s past, anyway? He should have just remembered the old man from all the times he helped in tight spots, saving himself from an early expulsion, and donating Gryffindor points for some silly reason. Even when he hardly deserved any of it. Now the various allegations put forth by Ron’s great-aunt muddled his perception of the old warlock forever. The long list of speculation forced him to contemplate whether all the supposed help from the venerable headmaster was really from his old bleeding heart. Or was there some nefarious scheme guiding the Headmaster’s concentrated effort?

Wasn’t he the one to dump him with the Dursleys?

Every action committed by the old headmaster seemed like some all-encompassing plot to direct him in a certain direction with the new perspective. No wonder people say ignorance is bliss…

Harry Potter abruptly stood up from his seat, excusing himself from the gaping Elphias Doge and the frowning Prewett woman. With a mumbled apology, Harry scuttled away from the pair, dodging the eccentric pair of Lovegood’s attempt to cajole him into their discussion about some conspiracy. The anonymity of the chubby unknown physique of Barry Weasley helped him evade the attention of all the people dressed colorfully inside the tent. Alas, the polyjucied Boy-who-lived’s mind was far from the unusual phenomena of being ignored by the wizarding masses.

The young wizard stumbled from one group to another, from the carrot-topped relatives of his best mates to the silvery blond goddesses gliding through the floor, enchanting half of the population inside the canopy. He might have even passed his ex-girlfriend Ginny in the embrace of a darker-skinned boy. But the incident that a few months prior would have awoken the monster living inside his chest in fury didn’t even budge it this time, the beast seemed to have gone into a deep slumber—not an ounce of that passionate ember flared at the busty redhead’s proximity with another male.

I guess I wasn’t meant to be in a normal relationship…

That realization wasn’t entirely alien to the young wizard. The thought of embracing the madness that his life regularly turned into was always in the back of his mind. Of shedding the Dursley-induced cravings of normality. To truly give the masses the thing that they always craved.

A maverick. A hero. The boy-who-lived. Now the Chosen One.

It wouldn’t even have required that much effort on his part.

Harry Potter sighed. All decisions about his life in the wizarding world flashed in his mind. Were those his own decisions, or a hidden master’s carefully guided path that Harry thought were his own choices?

‘The only person Lord Voldemort ever feared.’ The same sentence that he had heard dozens of times from Headmaster’s supporters now presented an all-new meaning. Were they really talking just about Headmaster’s vast magical knowledge or something else…

Something much more sinister.

A hand on his shoulder stopped his forward movement, eyes downcast, gait eerily similar to an inferius.

“Harry!” A furious whisper reached his ears.

“Sorry mate. It’s Barry. Not Harry.” Harry Potter mumbled robotically; mind still somewhere else.

“Fucking snap out of it, Potter!” A hard shove jolted Harry out of his stupor.

Harry stared at the ashen-faced Ron Weasley, craning his neck upward, which was quite unusual as he was quite a bit taller than the lanky redhead in his original body.

“Ron! What happened?” Harry checked his vicinity to see if anyone had noticed his friend’s proclamation. “Why are you giving out my identity to the whole tent?”

“Hermione’s missing!” Ronald Weasley almost shouted out loudly, his pallid face looking decidedly unhealthy.

Harry thought about asking about his friend’s health before Ron’s sentence registered in his mind.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s head swiveled in every direction around the wizarding tent, panicked eyes searching for voluminous chocolate curls atop a slim physique. “You two were just dancing together!”

“I had to go to the bathroom and… and…”

“And what, Ron?” Harry asked, gritting his teeth in anger.

“And she was nowhere to be seen when I came back!”

“Let’s spread out and look for her,” Harry said. The reassurance in his voice didn’t mollify the redhead. “And I doubt anyone can take her on with a wand, anyway.”

Harry chuckled good-naturedly. Or tried to, at least.

“Harry—” Harry’s humor evaporated at Ron’s next sentence. “Ginny said she saw her dancing with Krum.”

Harry Potter swallowed thickly. Even though Hermione never revealed what happened at the end of the yule ball to him, her avoidance of the Bulgarian didn’t portray an amicable parting of the ways between the two. And now, all of a sudden…

“Let's go, Ron!” Eleven inches of a polished stick of holly sprang into his hands. Just as the duo was rushing past the couples to reach the exit, a bright mass of light glided into the wizarding tent before settling over the central refreshment table, coagulating into the shape of a graceful, gleaming lynx.

All the dancing couples stopped in their tracks. Every person inside the canopy held their breath, heart palpitating in fearful anticipation. The lynx opened its mouth and the deep baritone voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt chilled Harry’s bones.

‘The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.’

A drop of sweat dripped from his eyebrows. Harry Potter stared at the determined expression of his best mate and nodded. An unspoken agreement passed between the two.

“Just apparate, you fools! I have lowered the wards!” Arthur Weasley shouted over the panicked crowd, waving his wand furiously and muttering under his breath.

Before even the completion of the Weasley patriarch’s sentence, loud gunshot-like cracks filled the air. Every wizard and witch, capable of instant disappearance hightailed out of the wizarding tent in the blink of an eye. With underage magicals taken by their older relatives for the bumpy ride of a side-along apparition. Ron and Harry changed their direction from the exit of the tent toward the congregated mass of red and silvery-haired people. Ron, in his hurry, shoved a pair of old couple roughly out of the way making Harry apologize on his friend’s behalf.

“Ron, fucking wait!” The redhead didn’t listen to his friend’s cries, barreling between the masses with his lanky frame.

Harry cursed in his mind at the unfamiliar feeling of his limbs. The thickset frame of Barry Weasley shot his hard-earned coordination completely.

Just when two-thirds of all the guests had successfully escaped from the looming ministry raid, the shocked cries of various people rang throughout the tent. Harry didn’t have to think long for the reason of the sudden panic as dozens of loud cracks echoed from the outside of the tent. No doubt arrival of the ministry workers. Or was it a group of death eaters? Was there any distinction left anymore?

Certainly not by the way the order described the situation to him.

A sudden stillness settled around the sparsely populated tent. A palpable blanket of magic licked over the skin of Harry’s, making him swear loudly.

Anti-apparition ward! And extremely powerful ones, by the feel of it.

A mass of red light impacted the entrance of the canopy, blowing the enchanted veil to smithereens. A mass of black-cloaked figures rushed inside, shooting furious curses indiscriminately.

Death eaters then.

Harry raised a strong protego, blocking the incoming curses his way. By the thankful look on the faces of the middle-aged couple beside him, he shouldn’t expect any reinforcement from his immediate vicinity.

Shit.

‘Bombarda!’

The collected shout of three blasting curses barreled his way. Even the feeble resistance put up by him seemed to upset the bunch of Voldemort’s bootlickers somehow.

Harry corkscrewed his wand jerkily. A furious whisper left his lips.

“Protego Maxima!”

The disguised boy who lived put every ounce of his willpower into his strongest defensive spell, the wand growing hot at the excess of magic channeled through the wooden stick.

“Take cover behind the Weasleys!” Harry ordered the surrounding stragglers. “I can’t protect all of you.”

The frozen people around him seemed to get a second wind at his shout, diving toward the back of the tent where male Weasleys had formed a protective formation with a couple of Veelas helping them along.

Now standing in front of the masses as the first defense, Harry cursed himself for his hero complex. He doubted his superiority over his classmates in magical fighting would carry over to full-grown dark wizards intending to cause as much destruction as possible.

At least, the presence of either of his friend would have been a tremendous support.

‘Avada Kedavra!’

Harry dived out of the way of the killing curse, dropping his shield in the process. With adrenaline pumping into his veins, Harry summoned a table from behind the focused trio of death eaters, knocking them out of their feet by the heavy wooden collision. Loud spell fire from behind made Harry whip his head around. The death eaters had moved from the side and surrounded the resisting group of Weasleys and Delacours, boxing them in a pincer attack.

I need to finish these three quickly.

Harry Potter hardened his heart and aimed his wand at the dog-piled group of wizards groaning in pain, the cutting curse on the verge of his lips.

“Diff—”

A silent lance of muddy brown spell forced him to jump aside, eyes widening as an enormous gaping hole carved out from the tent where the spell connected with the heavily enchanted fabric.

Harry whipped his head at the sender of the powerful spell, brown irises dilating in fear.

No…

There at the entrance of the tent with resplendent dark robes coiled around a tall, chalk-white, serpentine frame stood the vision that haunted his every nightmare after joining the magical world.

Lord Voldemort.

The dark lord’s red irises glinted amusedly. Head tilted sideways as if evaluating his chubby frame for its worth.

“Another Weasley?” Snorted Voldemort. “And a brave one, it seems. Standing against my lieutenants alone.”

The dark lord raised his ivory wand, finally seeming to finish his evaluation and finding him lacking by the angry sneer on his face.

“Nobody will probably miss another one of you. With your proclivity to breed like animals.” Voldemort chuckled.

If Harry thought he was unprepared to face the Death eaters, then he had not even dreamed of facing his arch-nemesis. Especially when his Dumbledore-given mission was so far from being completed.

‘Damn it, Hermione! We should have stuck together.’

Even hopelessly outmatched by his adversary, Harry Potter slowly raised his shaking wand, the unfamiliar chubbiness of his fingers feeling like lead around the piece of Holly.

***

Viktor Krum grunted harshly. The veins of his thick forearm flared out from heaving the weight of a fully grown woman. A brunette, to be specific. An insensate one by the overdose of forbidden potion.

The sliver of bright moonlight peeked between the dense foliage of the oak tree, glinting against the muscular naked back of the Bulgarian wizard who thrust into the passed-out form of curly-haired brunette single-mindedly.

Viktor huffed disgustedly. The usual rush that flowed through his veins after splitting open a young virgin with his thick cock evaded him in this instant. With her earlier prudish behavior, the Bulgarian was absolutely sure that the mudblood would preserve her virginity in some moral sense or something. It seemed like he was wrong. So very wrong.

The angry wizard choked the unresponsive witch with his right hand, absolutely livid by the extreme looseness that allowed his dick to pass almost unobstructed within the mudblood’s fold.

“Fucking mudblood slut!” Viktor Krum pulled out his dick disgustedly from the brunette, dumping her over the overgrown moss of the Weasley family orchard.

The hard fall finally roused the brunette from her potion-induced coma. Hermione Granger blearily opened her eyes, blinking slowly to adjust to the sparse amount of moonlight breaking the dark monotone.

The misty night blew cold air over her naked skin, with goosebumps sprouting all over her pale skin.

“What—”

“Sleep well, Hermy-own-ninny?” This time the mocking, accent-less voice was hard to miss for the Gryffindor girl. “Still remember that night? When you slapped me in front of the entire courtyard.”

The potion-induced lethargy finally gave away. The mewling brunette scuttled backward. The full force of her situation hit her at once.

“No! Please say you didn’t?” Hermione cried out despondently. “Viktor?”

“Don’t say my name with that filthy whore mouth, you mudblood.” Hermione’s eyes finally adjusted enough to see the towering form of the naked Bulgarian glowering above her prone form. Even though the naked engorged flesh dangled between his legs, Hermione’s eyes were fixed on the inside half of the wizard’s left forearm. Where a scarily familiar inky black mark writhed in the caricature of a muggle tattoo.

A serpent coiled around a skull.

Voldemort’s mark.

Hermione’s effort to scuttle backward stopped abruptly, an eerie calmness spreading along her extremities.

Viktor Krum pointed his wand right between her eyes, a poison-green curse barely contained by the Bulgarian’s willpower.

“Dark Lord said I could keep you for myself after the death of your friend. But unfortunately for you, I don’t keep used-up whores.”

Harry!

Hermione’s panicky eyes turned toward the wizarding tent in the distance. Faint sounds of spell fire reaching her position along with bursts of multicolored lights accompanied by jeers of laughter and screams of panic.

How could I have been so naïve?

The smartest witch of her generation closed her eyes in despair, her best friend’s crooked grin flashing across her vision.

I am sorry, Harry…

***

A panicked Harry Potter barely kept up with the spells that seemed to spew from the dark lord’s wand relentlessly. And the unfamiliar physique also became a hindrance in dodging the curses, stumbling frequently in his effort of evasion. Was it too much to ask to provide a fit wizard’s hair or similar to his original size for his impersonation, at least?

‘Incompetent Order’ Harry grumbled after sidestepping a concussion curse, fatigue settling in at the continuous dodging for the last few minutes.

Such was the Dark lord’s might that he hadn't been even able to lift his wand and fire a spell from his end. Always staying on the defensive, the boy who lived danced to his opponent's tune.

And Harry was under no delusion that the dark lord was even trying.

His ears twitched. Every single shouted curse from behind sped his heartbeat, the cries almost forcing him to a panic attack. His worry for the Weasleys deteriorated his already sloppy wandwork, only keeping himself alive by the dark lord’s mercy. And maybe a little bit of his skill. Probably.

“It’s a shame that you belong to the blood traitor’s family.” The dark lord goaded. “My death eaters could have used a meat shield.”

Harry kept his gob shut. Not sure if the dark wizard would be able to identify him if he opened his mouth for a reply.

After the dark lord’s attempt at humor, the small lull finally provided the young wizard his first opportunity for offense. His wand hand raised in alacrity, the magic that he had performed hundreds of times in the past sped across his arms toward the foci subconsciously. The red of the disarming spell crossed the distance between the two combatants in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately for Harry his opponent was not any normal wizard for once.

The Dark lord swatted the fast-disarming spell like an errant irritating fly, his earlier bored eyes were now boring into his opponent.

Slowly a large smile bloomed on the horrific visage of the pale monster, jagged teeth gleaming from the floating candles light,

Harry almost pointed his wand at his temple and thought of killing himself for stupidity. Even after the Order's repeated warnings of staying clear of his signature spell he cast the same at the most crucial time. Harry doubted if his expiliarmus would be more convincing than him shouting his real identity for the whole world.

Stupid! Fucking stupid!

“Harry Potter…” Hissed Voldemort. Red eyes glinting with an unnatural fervor. “My dear, I should have known that there is only one person foolish enough to stand in my way like that.”

“Ruining a wedding, Tom?” Harry didn’t even try to deny the dark lord’s conjecture. “Not surprising for a guy who knows nothing of love.”

Harry wondered if the recklessness that always gripped him in life-and-death situations was some kind of disease that he had contracted somehow. Goading the dark lord like that…

“Still sprouting Dumbledore’s nonsense…” Voldemort sneered, the ivory wand spinning along his long spidery fingers. “Rest assured, Harry Potter, no power of love will save you from my wraith.”

Harry mirrored his adversary’s stance, wand raised, heart thudding inside in his chest.

“Expulso!”

His initiative with the expulsion curse didn’t even faze the still Voldemort. Alas, he couldn’t say the same for the follow-up that came his way.

His protego maxima shed like wet paper after colliding with the dark lord’s blasting curse, after which the dark lord truly showed why people fear even intoning his name loudly. Every swipe of his wand blasted a half-a-dozen curses in Harry's direction, making the young wizard jump around like a headless chicken to evade any harm.

Harry tried the same technique of summoning the large tables from the dark lord’s blind spot which unfortunately was transfigured into steel javelin by a lazy wave of the bored Voldemort’s wand, whistling in his direction with deathly precision.

Harry rolled aside hurriedly, almost a dozen feet to his right, springing again with his wand raised. His limbs ached, sweat pouring in rivulets, along with the horrid feeling of magical exhaustion that he could feel slowly settle inside his bones itself.

“Unhand her, you bastards!” Ron’s angry shout forced Harry to cast his one eye sideways toward the commotion, his eyes growing large as saucers.

Two of the masked figures seemed to have incapacitated his ex-girlfriend somehow, levitating her stunned body toward the large hole in the canopy.

The presence of another pair of dark wizards obstructed Ron’s valiant effort to reach his baby sister. The jeers that the death eaters spewed toward the lanky redhead almost made the redhead froth from his mouth.

The other fighters were also too occupied, either to help Ron in overpowering his opponents or rescue Ginny from the quickly retreating pair of dark wizards.

Harry knew enough of the cruel world to realize the fate that awaited his ex-girlfriend if those two death eaters somehow crossed the ward line.

No! He couldn't leave Ginny to that fate…

Harry Potter gritted his teeth. His glare might have scared an ordinary wizard but the dark lord only found it hilarious by the smirk of superiority on that snakey face.

“Don’t worry, Harry. My death eaters would take good care of Little Ginny after your death.”

That’s fucking it!

“Bombarda!”

“Confringo!”

“Difindo!”

“Expilliarmus!”

“Sectumsempra!”

“Contusio!”

Harry Potter rained down the most destructive spells in his arsenal in a chain toward the dark lord’s direction with the entirety of his magical might. A crazy plan formed in his mind to save Ron’s little sister. Again.

He had previously seen both the headmaster and the dark lord breaking through anti-apparition wards. A simple query to his female best friend was enough to gather all the theoretical knowledge required to repeat the feat of magical supremacy. Thankfully, the anti-apparition ward was cast by the death eaters and not the dark lord himself. So at least he could realistically hope…

Harry scrunched his brows, hands balling into fists as the pressure pushing against his skin fought tooth and nail against his concentrated effort. At last, with the sound of glass breaking, the ward gave away against his determination, creating a lull in the fighting all around.

Remembering the three ‘D’s, Harry turned on his feet. His destination—the scurring pair of death eaters.

Unfortunately, in his focus on destroying the ward, Harry had completely overlooked the state of his adversary who, after abating his furious assault had not only steadied himself but also launched a deadly attack at the direction of the young wizard.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and vanish into nothingness, the triumphant young wizard’s eyes widened to see the bolt of emerald green rushing towards his torso, bringing a certain death along his way.

Already in the middle of his apparition, Harry closed his eyes and for the first time praying to the God that his relatives forced him to pray in the church every Sunday.

His body was in the process of twisting into nothingness when the death curse struck below his heart, an agonizing pain ripping through his body as if every cell of his body getting torn into pieces.

And with the horrible scream, the boy who lived vanished into nothingness never to be seen or heard again, leaving behind a devasted family of redheads along with a crazy megalomaniac laughing his head off.