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Harry Potter and the Shattered Ring Chapter 11 (Bridge of the Fell Omen)
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 21:56:18 +0000 UTCThe howling wind and the distant toll of Stormveil's bells provided an eerie backdrop to the confrontation on the narrow bridge. Harry stood his ground, while Melina moved to flank Margit.
"Stay back," Harry called to her, his eyes never leaving the towering figure before them.
"Harry, you can't—"
"I need to do this alone."
Margit's strange features twisted into something resembling amusement. "Thou art either very brave or monumentally foolish, young Tarnished."
"Maybe both," Harry replied, grace energy crackling around his hands.
"Verily, it matters not." Margit twirled his staff with unexpected grace for his size. "Thy journey endeth here."
The Fell Omen struck first, his staff becoming a blur as it swept toward Harry's head. Harry ducked and rolled, feeling the wind of the strike pass over him. The narrow bridge left little room for error – one misstep would mean a fatal fall into the abyss below.
"Come now," Margit taunted, his formal speech contrasting with his deadly grace. "Surely thou can offer more sport than mere evasion?"
Harry responded by raising his hands, grace energy surging through him. Thirty bolts of golden light materialized above his head, each humming with power.
"Oh?" Margit's eyes widened slightly. "The sacred arts of the Golden Order? From a Tarnished?" He actually laughed, the sound echoing off the wind. "How fascinating. Yet..."
The bolts launched toward Margit, streaking through the air like golden comets. But before they could reach their target, seven swords of pure light appeared above Margit's head. They were different from Harry's attacks – more refined, more focused, their light almost blinding in its intensity.
"Thy spellcraft lacks refinement, Tarnished," Margit declared. "Allow me to demonstrate proper mastery."
His seven swords met Harry's thirty bolts in a spectacular collision of light. The difference in quality was immediately apparent – each of Margit's swords carved through multiple bolts, dispersing them like mist before sunlight.
"Impossible," Harry breathed, watching his attack dissolve.
"Nothing is impossible for those who truly understand the Golden Order," Margit replied. "Thou wields its power like a child with a borrowed sword – all force, no finesse."
Harry barely had time to raise a magical shield before one of Margit's remaining swords struck at him. The impact sent him skidding backward on the bridge, his boots scraping against stone as he fought to maintain his balance.
"Thy stance is poor," Margit critiqued, advancing with measured steps. "Thy grip on grace is tenuous at best. Tell me, Tarnished, how dost thou expect to challenge Godrick when thou canst not even match his doorman?"
"Like this," Harry growled, channeling both grace and his own magic together. The combination created a new kind of light – not purely golden like Margit's, but shot through with threads of blue and silver.
Margit's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Thou seeks to blend magics? A dangerous gambit."
"I'm full of surprises," Harry launched a barrage of these hybrid spells, forcing Margit to move defensively for the first time.
The Fell Omen's staff spun, deflecting some attacks while his summoned swords intercepted others. But a few got through, singing the edges of his strange garments.
"Better," Margit acknowledged. "But still..." His free hand shot forward, golden chains erupting from thin air to wrap around Harry's legs.
Harry slashed through them with a blade of combined magic, but Margit was already closing the distance, his staff aimed at Harry's heart.
"Thy focus on attack leaves thy defense wanting!"
Harry threw himself sideways, almost losing his footing on the narrow bridge. The void beckoned hungrily below, but he managed to right himself just as Margit's staff struck where he had been standing.
"I notice thou favors thy right side," Margit continued his critique even as he pressed his attack. "A common failing among the self-taught. Allow me to correct this weakness!"
A hammer of golden light materialized in Margit's off-hand, swinging in from Harry's left side. Harry was forced to block with pure magic, the impact numbing his arm.
"Good!" Margit actually sounded pleased. "Adaptation in battle is crucial. Perhaps thou art not entirely without promise."
"Do you always talk this much during fights?" Harry grunted, launching another combination attack.
"When the opponent proves interesting, yes." Margit batted aside Harry's spells with almost casual grace. "It has been an age since I faced one who could blend magics thus. Though thy technique remains crude..."
He demonstrated his point by suddenly unleashing a complex pattern of attacks – staff, hammer, and summoned swords all moving in perfect coordination. Harry was forced to retreat, desperately blocking and dodging.
"See how each strike flows into the next?" Margit lectured as he pressed forward. "The Golden Order is not merely power, but harmony. Balance. Something thy chaos-tinged casting lacks."
"Maybe," Harry acknowledged, gathering power for a bigger spell. "But sometimes chaos has its own wisdom!"
He released a wave of hybrid magic that transformed the very air into swirling blades of light. Margit's eyes widened fractionally as he was forced to create a dome of golden energy to shield himself.
"Impressive force," the Fell Omen admitted as the attack dissipated. "But observe the cost – thy breathing is labored, thy stance weakened. A true master knows that efficiency is as important as power."
To demonstrate, Margit launched a precisely aimed sword of light that slipped through Harry's guard, opening a shallow cut on his cheek. A single drop of blood fell, disappearing into the void below.
"First blood," Margit noted. "Usually, this is where the pattern becomes clear – the Tarnished grows desperate, makes mistakes, and falls to their death or my blade. Shall we follow this familiar dance?"
But Harry surprised him by laughing. "You know what your problem is, Margit? You're so focused on patterns and proper form that you forget something important."
"Oh? And what might that be?"
"Sometimes," Harry grinned, blood still trickling down his cheek, "the best technique is simply hitting harder than the other guy."
He slammed his foot down, channeling power directly into the bridge beneath them. The stone cracked as grace and magic surged through it, creating a wave of force that rushed toward Margit.
The Fell Omen leaped over it with inhuman grace, but Harry had anticipated this. Thirty more bolts of hybrid light appeared, these far more focused than his earlier attempts.
"Better!" Margit called out as he twisted in mid-air, his own summoned weapons moving to intercept. "But still not enough!"
The sky above the bridge became a storm of clashing energies, golden light meeting Harry's hybrid magic in explosive confrontations. Each detonation lit up the approaching darkness, casting bizarre shadows on the walls of Stormveil Castle.
Margit landed with perfect poise, but Harry noticed something – the Fell Omen's movements were slightly slower, his breathing just a bit heavier.
"Thou begins to grasp the fundamentals," Margit acknowledged. "Perhaps in a century or two, thou might even become formidable."
"I don't have centuries," Harry replied, thinking of Artan and Roderika waiting in the dungeons below. "And I don't need them."
He began channeling power again, but differently this time. Instead of launching it outward, he let it build within himself, grace and magic swirling together in increasingly complex patterns.
Margit's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Thou seeks to internalize the energies rather than project them? A dangerous gambit."
"Everything about this is dangerous," Harry's voice had taken on a strange resonance as the power built within him. "But sometimes the only way forward is through."
"Foolish child," Margit raised his staff, golden light blazing around him. "Thou would risk self-destruction? For what purpose?"
"To save my friends," Harry's eyes began to glow with hybrid light. "To stop a monster. To prove that your precious order isn't the only path to power."
"Then come," Margit's own power flared in response, his summoned weapons multiplying until the air above him was thick with golden armaments. "Show me the strength of thy conviction!"
The two figures faced each other on the narrow bridge – one ancient and towering, wrapped in the pure light of the Golden Order, the other young and burning with combined powers never meant to mix.
"Let us end this dance," Margit declared, his weapons poised to strike.
Harry's response was simple: "Gladly."
The air crackled with residual energy from their previous clash when Harry took a different stance. Blue light began to swirl around his Carian sword, which Artan had given him, coalescing into crystalline patterns distinctly different from the golden glow of Order magic.
"Carian sorcery?" Margit's eyes widened slightly. "First the Golden Order, and now the arts of the Royal Family? Thou art full of surprises, Tarnished."
The blue light stretched and shaped itself into a massive sword, its edge gleaming with intellectual brilliance rather than holy power. Despite its size, it moved as though weightless in Harry's grip.
"A practitioner of both schools..." Margit mused, his stance shifting subtly. "Such versatility is... rare. And concerning."
Harry charged forward, the Carian greatsword leaving trails of starlight in its wake. His first swing was a horizontal slash that should have bisected Margit at the waist – but the Fell Omen simply wasn't there anymore.
"Too slow," Margit's voice came from behind him. Harry spun, blade whistling through the air, but again found only empty space.
"How are you—" Harry began, but had to break off as Margit's staff nearly took his head off.
"One who masters both Order and Moon magics..." Margit moved with impossible speed, seeming to flow around Harry's attacks like water. "Such a one could become truly dangerous, given time."
Harry thrust his sword downward with all his might, finally catching Margit in a defensive position. Their weapons locked together, staff against magical blade, sending sparks of gold and blue cascading into the void below.
"Is that why you're trying so hard to stop me?" Harry grunted, pushing against the deadlock. "Afraid of what I might become?"
"Afraid?" Margit's strange face twisted into something like a smile. "Nay. Merely... practical."
Golden light suddenly engulfed Margit's staff, transforming it into a massive hammer. Before Harry could react, it smashed through his Carian blade, shattering it into motes of blue light that scattered in the wind.
Harry tried to leap backward, but Margit was already swinging the hammer toward where he would land. He barely managed to twist aside as it cratered the bridge where he had been standing.
"No space to cast," Harry realized as Margit pressed forward relentlessly. Golden daggers materialized in the Fell Omen's off-hand, forcing Harry to dance between hammer and blade with barely inches to spare.
"Well, well," Margit's voice carried a note of genuine appreciation as Harry narrowly avoided a combination that would have ended any lesser fighter. "Thou art of passing skill. Warrior blood must truly run in thy veins, Tarnished."
"You haven't seen anything yet," Harry panted, but internally he was worried. Margit wasn't giving him the space or time he needed to properly cast either school of magic. Every time he tried to gather power, those daggers would force him to move, breaking his concentration.
"Oh? Then pray show me more," Margit's attacks came in perfect sequences, each movement flowing into the next with terrible grace. "Show me what drives thee to master arts that should be mutually exclusive. Show me the ambition that burns so bright it blinds thee to thy limitations!"
The hammer came down again, and this time Harry wasn't quite fast enough. Though he avoided a direct hit, the shockwave sent him stumbling dangerously close to the bridge's edge. Far below, the mists seemed to reach up hungrily.
"Thy footwork grows sloppy," Margit observed, daggers flashing in the dying light. "Thy breath comes short. How much longer can thou dance on this knife's edge, Tarnished?"
Harry glanced behind him at the bottomless drop, then forward at his seemingly unstoppable opponent. The path to Stormveil's gates lay beyond, but first he had to survive this gauntlet of gold and steel.
"As long as it takes," he declared, gathering what power he could despite the constant pressure of Margit's attacks. "I didn't come this far to fail now."
"Noble words," Margit acknowledged, his weapons blazing brighter. "But words alone will not save thee from what comes next."
The Fell Omen raised both hands, and the very air seemed to thicken with golden light. Harry set his stance, knowing that the next exchange could well decide everything – not just his fate, but that of those counting on him within the castle's walls.
Golden light blazed as Margit unleashed a devastating combination. Swords materialized and struck from multiple angles while his hammer swept in wide arcs, leaving Harry no room to counter. Each movement flowed into the next with deadly precision, forcing Harry further onto the defensive.
"Too many openings!" Margit declared as his staff transformed back from the hammer, its pointed end gleaming wickedly. "Too many weaknesses!"
Harry tried to parry, but Margit had already slipped past his guard. There was a terrible moment of clarity as Harry saw the staff's point align with his stomach, then blinding pain as it punched through his flesh. Warm blood spilled over his hands as he instinctively grabbed at the wound.
"Too slow,"
"HARRY!" Melina's scream cut through the haze of pain. Through blurring vision, he saw her draw her dagger, preparing to join the fight.
Despite the agony, despite the blood flowing freely from his wound, Harry managed to grip his Carian sword tighter. With a roar that was equal parts pain and defiance, he swung upward, catching Margit's arm with the magical blade.
The Fell Omen pulled his staff free – an action that sent fresh waves of agony through Harry's body – and stepped back. Though Harry's strike had landed, it had only managed to create a shallow cut on Margit's ancient flesh.
"Still thou persists?" Margit observed, noting Melina's approach. "And thy companion seeks to intervene? Nay, this dance is between thee and me alone."
Margit slammed his palm against the bridge's surface. Fifteen swords of pure golden light materialized in the air, hanging like deadly stars before plunging into the stone between Harry and Melina. They formed a barrier of interlaced golden energy, cutting Melina off from reaching Harry's side.
"Harry!" Melina struck the barrier with her dagger, but it held firm. "Let me help you!"
Blood continuing to drip from his wound, Harry pressed one hand against the injury while raising the other. Golden light gathered around him as he called upon Urgent Heal, the most basic of healing incantations. The warm glow seeped into his flesh, gradually knitting the wound closed, but he could feel how much blood he'd already lost. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish.
"A valiant effort," Margit commented, watching Harry's healing attempt with what almost seemed like sympathy. "But thou knows as well as I – that blood cannot be replaced by mere healing magic. Each drop spilled weakens thee further."
Harry struggled to keep his stance steady, the Carian sword wavering slightly in his grip. The healing magic had sealed the worst of the damage, but he could feel the effect of blood loss taking its toll. His vision kept threatening to tunnel, and even maintaining his balance required conscious effort.
"Stay back, Melina," Harry called out, his voice rougher than usual. "I won't let anyone else get hurt because of me."
"Admirable sentiment," Margit readied his weapons once more. "But foolish. In thy weakened state, thou can barely stand, let alone fight."
"Then I'll fight on my knees if I have to," Harry replied, gathering what strength remained to him. "But I'm not stopping."
"Such determination," Margit's strange features twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. "It would be admirable if it were not so wasteful. Look at thee – swaying like a sapling in the wind, yet still speaking of victory."
Behind the barrier of golden swords, Melina continued to search for a way through. "Harry, you're in no condition to continue! Let me help!"
But Harry kept his eyes fixed on Margit, even as blood dripped from his armor onto the abyss below. Each drop that fell reminded him of how much weaker he was becoming, how much harder each movement would be.
"Tell me, Tarnished," Margit asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, "what drives thee to continue? When thy body fails and thy blood runs thin, what power keeps thee standing?"
"The people counting on me," Harry answered, his voice steady despite his wavering stance. "The ones you're helping Godrick torture. They don't get to give up, so neither do I."
"Ah," Margit nodded slowly. "Then perhaps it is mercy to end this quickly, before thy nobility becomes thy undoing."
The Fell Omen raised his weapons once more, golden light blazing around him. Harry tried to center himself, to find strength where there should be none left. Behind the barrier, Melina watched in helpless frustration as guardian and challenger prepared to resume their deadly dance.
But now the odds had shifted dramatically. Harry's wound might be closed, but its cost in blood remained. Each movement would be slower, each spell weaker, each reaction time dulled by his loss. And Margit, despite his minor injury, seemed as fresh as ever, his ancient power undiminished.
"Let us end this farce," Margit declared, rushing forward with deadly purpose. His staff blurred through the air, meeting Harry's weakened defense.
What Harry didn't anticipate – couldn't have anticipated – was the sudden movement of Margit's tail, previously hidden beneath his robes. It whipped out like a striking snake, catching Harry squarely in the chest. The impact sent him tumbling backward, over the edge of the narrow bridge.
Margit turned toward Melina, expecting to see despair in her eyes. The moment stretched, filled only with the howling wind and the distant echoes of Stormveil.
Then he felt it – a presence behind him, above him.
Pure instinct took over. Golden light erupted around his staff, transforming it into a massive hammer just as he thrust it upward. The timing was perfect – barely a heartbeat before Harry's Carian Greatsword would have split him in two.
"Impossible," Margit breathed, genuine surprise in his ancient voice. "Thou should be—"
But Harry wasn't finished. In a move that caught even the experienced guardian off guard, he released his grip on the blue sword. As the massive magical blade dissipated into motes of starlight, Harry dropped, his boots hitting the bridge's surface.
Before Margit could bring his hammer down, Harry was already inside his guard. Golden light blazed in Harry's hand, forming a dagger of pure Order magic. The blade plunged deep into Margit's stomach, mirroring the wound he'd inflicted on Harry earlier.
"Guh!" Margit grunted, actual pain crossing his features for the first time. "Clever... most clever..."
Blood – strange and golden-tinged – seeped around the magical dagger embedded in his flesh.
"How did thou survive the fall?" Margit asked, his voice tight with pain but still carrying that note of formal speech.
"I grabbed..." Harry panted, the effort of his maneuver clearly taking its toll on his blood-depleted body, "the underside of the bridge. Waited for you to turn away. Basic misdirection."
"Ah," Margit almost seemed amused despite the dagger in his gut. "Using mine own certainty of victory against me. Perhaps... perhaps I did underestimate thee, young Tarnished."
Behind her barrier, Melina watched in tense silence as the two wounded warriors remained locked in their stance, neither willing to be the first to show weakness, neither sure if their strike had been decisive enough to end the fight.
Blood dripped from both their wounds now – Harry's red and human, Margit's strange and gleaming with traces of golden light.
The air crackled with tension as Margit's entire arsenal manifested around him - golden hammers, swords, and daggers floating in a deadly constellation. Despite his wound, the Fell Omen moved with terrifying grace.
"Let us see how thou handles the full extent of my power!" Margit roared, launching into a devastating combination.
The hammer came first, sweeping in a horizontal arc that would have crushed Harry's ribcage. As Harry ducked under it, daggers materialized and thrust toward his face. He weaved between them, only to find Margit's sword of light descending from above.
"Still quick on thy feet," Margit observed, his weapons leaving trails of golden light as they danced through the air. "But how long can thou maintain such agility?"
Harry's movements were precise but economical, using the minimum motion necessary to avoid each strike. Blood still seeped from his stomach wound, leaving dark droplets across the bridge's weathered stone.
"Running low on blood, are we?" Margit pressed his advantage, his attacks flowing into each other with increasing speed. "Yet still thou persists in this futile dance!"
The Fell Omen suddenly leaped high into the air, his hammer blazing like a second sun. "Let us end this farce!"
The hammer crashed down with devastating force, cratering the bridge where Harry had been standing a split second before. But the young warrior had already rolled clear, coming up in a defensive stance.
"Stand and fight!" Margit demanded, noticing that Harry hadn't attempted to counter-attack once in the last exchange. "Or has blood loss finally robbed thee of thy courage?"
Harry's breathing was labored, but his eyes remained sharp. "Just... taking my time. Studying."
"Studying?" Margit's weapons whirled around him as he advanced. "Thou art in no position to play scholar!"
Two massive hammers of light formed in Margit's hands, each bigger than the last. "Perhaps this shall motivate thee to action!"
The dual hammers moved in perfect synchronization, creating a devastating pattern that should have been impossible to avoid in the narrow confines of the bridge. Yet Harry continued to weave between them, his movements becoming almost rhythmic.
"Stop this mockery!" Margit slammed both hammers down simultaneously, sending shockwaves through the ancient stone.
That's when Harry made his move. Using the impact as cover, he launched himself skyward. Three golden rings materialized around him, spinning with speed.
"Triple Rings of Light?" Margit's eyes widened in recognition. He brought up his hammers, shattering two of the rings in quick succession. But the third slipped through his defense, slicing deep into his arm.
"Guh!" Margit grunted, golden blood spraying from the wound. Yet his face showed more appreciation than anger. "Most impressive. To time such a spell in the midst of my assault... No mere Tarnished possesses such skill."
Harry landed lightly, though the effort clearly cost him. "Maybe... you're underestimating... what Tarnished can do."
"No..." Margit's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "There is something more. Thy endurance exceeds mortal limits. Even with such grievous wounds, thou fights on. Unless..." His expression shifted to one of understanding. "Ah, of course. A Golden Seed."
"Figured it out, did you?" Harry managed a tired smile.
"The sacred essence of the Erdtree itself," Margit mused. "To think thou would consume such a precious gift. No wonder thy life force burns so bright, even as thy blood stains the stone."
"Had to... level the playing field somehow."
"Indeed." Margit's weapons began to glow brighter. "But even a Golden Seed's power has its limits. I can see thy strength waning, young one. How much longer can thou maintain this pace?"
Through the barrier of golden swords, Melina watched with growing concern. "Harry! Don't push yourself too far!"
"Listen to thy companion's wisdom," Margit advised, his weapons reforming around him. "There is no shame in accepting one's limits."
But Harry's eyes held a determined gleam. "Funny thing about limits... They're meant to be broken."
"Such bravado!" Margit actually laughed. "But bravado alone will not breach Stormveil's gates."
"Then let's see what bravado and skill together can do," Harry replied, gathering his remaining strength.
Margit's expression turned serious. "Very well. Show me the full measure of thy determination, young warrior. Hold nothing back, for I certainly shall not!"
Blood continued to drip from Harry's wound, while golden ichor seeped from Margit's injuries. The barrier of light swords flickered between them and Melina, casting strange shadows across the ancient stonework.
"One final clash, then?" Margit suggested, his arsenal of golden armaments swirling around him like a deadly corona.
"One way or another," Harry agreed, gathering both golden and blue light in his hands.
Harry's mind raced as he watched Margit's patterns, a desperate plan forming through the haze of pain and blood loss. Golden light gathered in his palms, but this time he held the energy differently, compressing it into dense spheres.
"Still clinging to life?" Margit launched into his most devastating combination yet. "Then allow me to end thy suffering!"
Hammers, swords, and daggers moved in perfect harmony, each strike flowing into the next. Harry managed to evade most of them, but one massive hammer caught his left arm with a sickening crack. The impact sent him flying backward into Stormveil's gate, his broken arm hanging useless at his side.
"The end approaches," Margit declared, advancing with weapons raised. "Face it with dignity."
The Fell Omen launched into his deadliest sequence yet, his spectral hammers, daggers, and swords. Harry darted through the storm of strikes, his instincts screaming with every near-miss. He spun to evade a dagger, only to be caught by the full force of a hammer, its brutal arc connecting with his left arm. The crunch of bone echoed across the bridge, and Harry's scream tore through the day. The impact flung him against the gates of Stormveil, his back striking the ancient stone with a sickening thud.
He crumpled to the ground, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side, blood trickling from his split lip. Margit advanced with weapons raised, his shadow looming like a specter of death. "The end approaches," he sneered. "Face it with dignity."
Harry hurled the two spheres of golden light directly at Margit. The Fell Omen raised his weapons to block the expected explosion, but instead, the spheres burst into brilliant flashes that lit up the entire bridge.
"A cheap trick!" Margit snarled, temporarily blinded by the intense light. "It changes nothing!"
But in that crucial moment, something strange happened. As Harry raised his sword, blue magic began to flow around it – not in the familiar pattern of the Carian Greatsword, but something entirely different. The magic reshaped itself into an ethereal greatbow, complete with a gleaming arrow of pure starlight.
"What is this?" Harry whispered, the knowledge of how to use it flowing into his mind from somewhere deep. "Loretta's Greatbow?"
There was no time to question it. Harry drew back the spectral bowstring, feeling power build with each passing second. The arrow grew brighter and brighter, humming with contained energy.
Margit's vision began to clear, but too late. "That spell... impossible!"
Harry released the arrow just as it reached full charge. It streaked across the bridge like a comet, leaving trails of stellar light in its wake. Margit tried to dodge, but his previous injuries had slowed him just enough.
The arrow struck him square in the chest, punching through his supernatural flesh before exploding in a burst of blue radiance. The blast lit up the darkening sky, casting long shadows across the ancient stonework.
"Ah..." Margit staggered, golden light beginning to leak from his wound. "So this... is thy true potential."
His form started to dissolve into motes of golden light, drifting upward like embers from a dying fire. Yet even as he faded, his voice remained strong and clear.
"I shall remember thee, Tarnished," he intoned, his eyes fixed on Harry with something like respect. "Smould'ring with thy meagre flame."
The dissolution spread, his lower body already scattered to the winds. "Cower in fear. Of the night."
Only his head and shoulders remained now, the golden lights swirling around him like a farewell crown. "The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter."
With those final words, Margit, the Fell Omen, guardian of Stormveil's gates, dissolved completely into thousands of golden motes that drifted away on the wind. The barrier of light swords faded, allowing Melina to rush to Harry's side as his legs finally gave out.
"That was..." Harry managed before slumping against her, his strength utterly spent. "I didn't even know I could..."
"Rest now," Melina supported him gently, mindful of his broken arm. "You've earned it. Though we'll have much to discuss about that last spell when you've recovered."
Above them, the storm clouds began to break apart, letting rays of sunset illuminate the path forward into Stormveil Castle. The way was clear at last, though the price of passage had been steep indeed.
Melina wasted no time using Minor Erdtree to heal Harry's broken arm, but she wondered how it was possible that he knew spells that he shouldn't know.
I hope I did this fight justice. Harry might have defeated Margit, but now he has to face Stormveil Castle and the one ruling it. Who will he meet inside this castle? Allies or more Enemies?
Comments
oWell
Thank you for telling me. I don't know how I made that mistake. It's fixed now.
Tyler Hooker
Just to let you know in case you haven’t seen the comments on Webnovel yet, you posted the wrong chapter eleven for this story, it’s the Hermione futa one that you accidentally posted
oWell
Harry and Melina already have a very strong friendship, turning into romance.
noru
All caught up, great story! I can't wait to see some more romance elements.
