Saviour, Champion, Lord, Master: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: I'll Do Anything Response: Alone in darkness, Harry is introduced to the pleasures of having power over those who gladly take the knee by someone who sees the Apex Predator behind his Avada-Kedavra-green eyes. Praise Him! Worship Him! And Fear Him! For you created Him!

Challenge Information: DZ2's 'I'll Do Anything' Challenge: When Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, he went from Mr Popular to Mr Persona Non Grata: as the torment of isolation continued, Harry thought he would never find a truly-loyal companion ever again. Oh, how easily he forgets exactly how popular/coveted he is by certain people.

Rules: Dark or Evil Harry

Powerful Harry or stronger

Harry/Romilda pairing ONLY

How Romilda Vane approaches Harry is up to you

When she does, however, she MUST convince him that being their hero isn't the way to show them what he's capable of, hence the Dark alignment

When Harry asks how he can trust some apparently-crazed yandere-like fangirl, Romilda MUST do something to prove her loyalty that doesn't hurt Harry. In her mind, she will NEVER harm him, she will NEVER lie to him and she will do ANYTHING for him (think of her as Harry's version of Bellatrix if that helps)

Even though he ends up being paired with her, Harry does NOT have to show genuine 'love' for Romilda: she could just be a means to an end/a shield against idiots for him

Any and all other pairings for other people are welcome

Guidelines: Crossovers

Super/OP Harry

Dark-Lord Harry

Romilda is actually a darksider who convinces Harry to join Tom

If/When Harry's feeling REALLY stressed/angry, Romilda willingly allows him to hurt/punish her

As part of her devotion to him, Romilda calls him 'Master' instead of lover, even when they become romantically involved

Given her yandere-like attitude, Romilda willingly curses/hurts anyone/everyone who doubts/questions/betrays her lord/lover

Romilda swears an Unbreakable Vow/Blood Pact to serve Harry in whatever way he wishes

Harry discovers other 'fanboys/fangirls' who willingly side with the new Dark Saviour and are willing to do anything NOT Romantic to please him/make him happy

Ginny is made to 'see the Light' reigniting her old crush/obsession with the BWL, but now, she is firmly on his side as she believes only in him

Although Romilda is Harry's official pairing, he convinces her of his teenage need/desire to 'experiment' with others (one night stands that mean nothing to him)

Forbidden: Light or Grey Harry

Harry paired with anyone except Romilda Vane

Romilda using Harry

Romilda abandoning Harry

Harry forgiving any of his betrayers

Harry taking Romilda's vow to do ANYTHING for him without proof

Other than that, it's up to you…

Author's Note: So, here we have a serious sick-and-twisted Dark-Harry story with themes that might just leave some of you running for the doors, but, hey, such is the fun of Fanfiction.

Also, yes, it is an old plot bunny, but with some new fun and changes, as well as a fuller adventure, so enjoy…if you can.

Added Note: I know she's younger than Harry in canon, but, in this story, Romilda entered Hogwarts in the same year as Harry.

Recommended Reads: Apex by JustBored21, A Champion's New Hope by Rocag, Aspirations by megamatt09, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, The Hollow Prince by FirstSilverKing, Kill me if you can by PercyPendragon3, Harry Potter: Rise of Darkness by Rezurex, Harry Potter: Lord of Darkness by AngelSlayer135, To Be A Master by red-jacobson, Dark Discoveries by aTasteOfDarkness, Worthy of Magic by Sage Ra and The Purge by Redbayly

Key Pairing: VERY Dark/Evil Harry/Romilda;

Other Pairings: Colin/Ginny; Others TBD

Normal Speech



Chapter 1: His New Pet


'No,' thought Harry, trying to make himself as small as possible as he heard Albus Dumbledore call his name out for the third time in the last couple of minutes, his final roar emphasised by a tone of anger, annoyance and even what sounded like desperation, if not deluded self-belief. 'This…this can't be happening: not like this…not now! It…it's not possible!'

However, as he tried to make himself smaller, if only to avoid having to do anything he didn't want to do, constantly arguing against the latest method with which Fate seemed to love being a bitch to him, the only thing he got for his efforts was a strong, unkind push from Hermione, which was followed by a disgusted cry of insistent urging, as though she thought he should just step into the spotlight.

When Harry turned to ask her what she was doing making him the centre of attention – something he never wanted to be, even from day damn one, he didn't hesitate to add – he was a little saddened, if not disbelieving to see her looking at him with an air of smug-laced rage, disbelief and what could only be described as disappointment.

As bad as her look was, however, it was nothing compared to the look of sheer hatred that Harry noticed he was receiving from Ron, who looked like he wanted to rip several new holes into Harry because of this new development, even as the emerald-eyed scion turned away from the eyes of his friends and made his way towards the Headmaster.

However, as it always seemed to do, opinions and bigotry followed Harry as he walked forwards.

"He's a cheat!"

"He's not even seventeen yet!"

"You're surprised?"

"It's Potter: he probably bribed someone to put him in!"

"Or he used Dark Magic."

"That's right! You do remember he's a Parselmouth, right?"

"And you've heard he can throw off the Imperius!"

"Look at him; he's not even denying it."

"I'd bet money he's the first to die."

"I'll take that bet."

The mocking cries, as well as magpie-minded add-ons, seemed to follow the fourteen-year-old Gryffindor all the way through to the back room, the sound of people whom were willing to actually bet on him dying – when even a blind man should have been able to see that he didn't want anything to do with the Triwizard Tournament – was like a red rag to a bull.

A bull that was already borderline-rabid, charging at the bars of its prison, causing them to buckle under the strain, all because of the raging sea of raw-nerve-like emotions that burned inside of Harry already.

And his mind and body weren't the only things to feel this rage, as Harry's magic proved when, as he slammed the door behind him, Harry actually jumped when the ancient door leading through to the antechamber exploded behind him, showering the floor in dust, ashes and shrapnel.

Of course, this was just more fuel for the already-out-of-control fires of rumours and hatred from the Hogwarts rumour mill.

Rather than face them, knowing from two years past that any attempts to justify himself would only feed their fires of disbelief even more, Harry made his way into the back room, trying and failing to shut out the jeering as he tried to focus on what he was meant to do now.

Especially since he knew that, yet again, as always seemed to be the case in one form or another since he'd first walked through those doors, he was now all alone against a school full of people who thought of him as a liar, a glory-hound and a traitor to their home away from home.


Or so he thought…


'Merlin's beard!'

As Harry vanished into the back room, he was blissfully, as well as distractedly unaware of a single pair of dark-chocolate-coloured eyes, the owner of which caused them to widen in awe, wonder and no small amount of longing as the aforementioned owner watched Harry's ire cause the door through to the champions' meeting room to explode.

At the same time, the owner of the eyes licked her rose-pink-coloured lips softly as she watched the soul whom, for many a year now, had been her long-time crush and the sole source of her desires for her future at Hogwarts, disappear into the back room. Though not before the baying hyenas, the circling vultures and the bone-picking jackals attempted to make a meal out of his clear-and-present signs of pain, anger and apparent silence in response to this latest batch of craziness that threatened his path to greatness.

As she heard them, badmouthing her Saviour, making him out to be the bad guy, she felt her heart burn while, not for the first time in her life, did she feel her nails dig hard into the palms of her hands – which, as she knew all too well by now, would later reveal she'd cut herself in keeping her silence about how these nobodies had turned on her idol so eagerly and ravenously, even his so-called friends.

And that sickened her: their attitudes, their beliefs and the way they went from hero-worshipping to stabbing him in the back.

All of them…not one of them realised it, but she knew the truth.

They were all insects compared to the apex predator that slumbered inside of his power's core, like a sleeping dragon with a flame powerful enough to turn the whole world into a charbroiled meatball with one breath, should it be tickled and roused!

But, of course, she was the only one who could understand that; she was the only one who knew of the God that lingered behind those beautiful green eyes, under that sexy black hair and within that frail, but clearly-pretending-to-be-meek physique.

She was the only one who saw Harry James Potter as that and, because of that gift, she didn't even dare to think of calling him a thief, a liar, a traitor or a Dark Wizard.

No, he was something much more than that.

Hell, none of these feckless turncoats knew it, but He was moreperiod!

Something more than the superstar Seeker, and flyer who, in her eyes, looked like Hermes-in-human-form himself, as he flew through the air on his winged sandals when he soared around on that broomstick of his.

He was much more than the one who'd unwillingly, but bravely and with no care for anything, but his goals, had moved to risk his life, tackling fools, madmen, weaklings and other such weak, pathetic, easily-squashed insects to ensure that his school stayed open, and that his peasant hordes all stayed safe and that his palatial mansion of a castle stayed as much a sanctuary, if not an actual palace, for the one, true, King of the Castle.


And he was a King.

He was the King of the Pitch, even though jealous ingrates used Dark Magic to compel Bludgers, Dementors and even cursed broomsticks to impede his rise to glory.

He was the King of the Pride, as was evident by the proud, golden lion on his chest, and the fact that, according to the weaklings, he'd even been chosen by the last King to wield the Hogwarts equivalent of Excalibur itself.

He was the King of the Year, no matter how that insufferable know-it-all and her Niffler-shit-brained boyfriend tried knocking him down.

And he was the one, true King of the School, and only the King deserved to be risen to his lofty standards and made a Champion, for all to idolise and worship, as they should have done ever since he'd done them a favour and vanquished the Devil from the face of the Earth.

Three times now, if the rumours were true, although those rumours were spread by fickle idolisers who'd gone from calling him hero to calling him villain once again, just as they had done two years ago, they were but peasants before his greatness.

The idea only amused her; didn't they realise he held their very lives in his hands?

Didn't they understand the power he could command, if only he allowed himself the chance to reign supreme?

Didn't they understand that, in tickling his sleeping dragon, they were just marking themselves as prey?

No; of course, they didn't understand…they couldn't understand.

But maybe…


Maybe there was a way that they could


As she considered how pathetic these weaklings were compared to Him, the chocolate-eyed girl felt her anger grow again when she saw two who prided themselves on claiming they were his most-faithful subordinates now whispering among themselves, clearly plotting new ways to betray their rightful Lord and Master and show themselves for the yellow-bellied fair-weather friends they truly were.

As she watched the cowardly one of the two mutter and gesture like a drunken idiot who probably couldn't even take a piss without the she-devil traitor holding whatever was supposed to be present between his legs, she saw his lips forming words like liar, traitor, Dark Wizard and, at one point, even wager on him dying.

'What an insect!'

Her King hadn't understood yet, but the coward was like a cockroach; difficult to kill, just as annoying and nothing more than a smear when he would be crushed.

Devoured by the Dragon that slumbered inside her King and, afterwards, shit out of his ass like the worthless dung heap he was.

Of course, the girl who claimed to be his friend was worse.

She who claimed she was the greatest of their class…ha!

She couldn't even hold a candle to Him!

She was nothing more than a copycat, hypocritical, self-delusional little cheat who got off on making Him feel like He couldn't achieve anything, and yet, when she needed Him to play hero, she was there, thinking she had the right to be His voice.


Well, if she was going to follow the herd and try and pick at His carcass, then that was something that was definitely not going to happen again.

The girl with the chocolate-brown eyes would make sure of that.

And then, who knows?

Maybe He would reward her faith in him by allowing her to give herself to Him.

And maybe they would stand tall over the whole school, if not the whole world, as these peasants learned what it really meant to commit treason.

And, even if His only wish for her was to let him use her as he wished, to warm his bed and, one day, Merlin be kind, maybe even carry his children in her belly and be there for whatever He needed of her, she would give herself to him gladly.

First things first, of course.

Help Him understand that He was so much more than the weakling these cowards and traitors had tried to make him become.


"How did you do it?"

"I didn't."

"Come on, Harry; you don't have to lie to us."

"I'm not!"

"Whatever, you might have let your best friend in on it, though."

"Let you in on what?"

"How you cheated."

"I didn't cheat!"

"Yeah right; more likely, you couldn't bear the thought of someone else stealing your spotlight."

"How can you say that?"

"Come on, Harry; you must have done this to show off. I mean, even Fred and George couldn't do it and they're two years older than you; so, just tell us how you did it and we'll forgive you."

"Forgive me? For what? You know what? It doesn't matter! Forget about it!" spat Harry, a part of him deciding he'd had enough of this unnecessary back-and-forth tennis rally between Ron and Hermione ambushing him in the Common Room, questioning him, backing him into a quiet corner and leaving him without a way out.

It was bad enough that nobody else, much less any of the wise adults in the school, believed he had nothing to do with his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire, but this was even worse.

His best friends, the two people who'd stood by him as he faced all the bullshit that he'd had to deal with over the past four years, now, they were just another pair of faces in the crowd of non-believers. And, what made it worse was the fact that he had said, time and time again, that he didn't want anything to do with this stupid Tournament, much less the idea of entering, even if he were old enough to get past the Age Line.

Any real friends would understand that and agree with him, especially since both of them had been within earshot when he'd said it.

But no!


It was clear that all Ron cared about was Harry had, apparently, done it and kept the secret from him.

And all Hermione cared about was knowing how he'd cheated and how he'd done what older students couldn't.


Let them have their delusions; as far as Harry was concerned, they were just as worthless and useless as the rest of these freaks, if this was what their friendship, and all he'd risked for them, meant to these Wormtail wannabes!


That was how badly Harry took their treachery…


As the two Gryffindors stared at Harry in abject disbelief and outrage – as well as envy that couldn't have been any clearer on Ronald's face, even if his face suddenly turned neon-green – the emerald-eyed scion snapped, "I told you I didn't do this, but, apparently, my word isn't good enough for you. What? Do I have to swear a magical vow?"

"Like you would even dare!"

As Ron sneered at Harry, the young wizard scoffed before he asked, "Do you know something, Ron? I would have thought, given the fact that you were as close to me as you are to her, when I told you I didn't want anything to do with this Tournament, you'd be smart enough to realise that what I say is what it is, but I guess brains skipped a kid in your rabbit warren!"

Ron actually made to attack Harry, only to be pulled back by his girlfriend, as Harry turned his ire on her, "And as for you, Hermione, given the fact that Albus Dumbledore himself put up the Age Line around the damn thing, and that Hogwarts already had a Champion named, and that I am only fourteen-fucking-years-of-age…"


Harry didn't even bother acknowledging her scolding him, "You'd realise that, and I willingly admit it, I don't know the first thing about getting past such powerful magic, even if I wanted to!"

"But you said Moody said a high-powered Confundus Charm could have worked."

"And you think I'd do such a thing?"

"Well, you can throw off the Imperius a lot easier than me…uh…I mean, better than anyone else," said Hermione, though not before her face flashed with envy at the fact that this was something Harry could do that she couldn't.

"And you're a Parselmouth; who knows what sort of Dark Magic you're capable of with help from that filthy language?"

And, just like that, the Golden Trio died that night in Gryffindor Tower.

But, as a wise person once said, this was the way the world ended…

Not with a bang, but a whimper.

And it was Harry who whimpered, but only for a moment before, drawing himself up as tall as he could manage, he faced his two former friends, his eyes burning with tears that, quite frankly, he refused to shed while they were standing there, as he clenched his fists tightly, grinding his teeth together as he hissed at them, "You…you…you hypocrites! After everything I have done for you, all I've risked, all I've lost…"

"What? Sleep and money? Big deal!"

"Oh, really? Well how about my family, Mr Sleeps With A Rat-Animagus?" asked Harry, his voice icy in its tone, as he glared daggers at Ron, before he added, "Or how about nearly losing my life trying to save your sister? Do you remember that? You should, since you proved you don't even have the brain cells to rub together long enough to replace a wand! Or what about nearly losing my sanity because of the Chamber, the Basilisk and the Acromantulas? I bet you remember them, Weasley: without my help, you'd be Spider Food!"

Ron paled, but only for a moment, before he snorted, as though Harry wasn't even talking right, while the emerald-eyed rage-machine turned his ire back on the prick's girlfriend, "Or what about the countless number of times I've had to lose time, precious study opportunities and even the chance to better myself because you two decide that I have to be put between the two of you, like I'm meant to be the wall between two dicks!"


"Granger, I swear, if you tell me to watch my language again, I'll make you eat those stupid, pathetic badges you've decided to use my name to move; you do realise that's a form of plagiarism and fraud, don't you?"

"What are you…"

"Going to do about it?" asked Harry, earning a shocked, angry look from Hermione, while Harry sneered, "Oh, just question anyone who's bought one of those pathetic things and then explain that you are wrong if you think I support freeing House Elves! In fact, you could say the whole idea makes me want to spew!"

Hermione's hand went for her wand.

But, as he'd said, thanks to all he'd gone through, as well as added aid from a certain wolf, Harry was faster.


As Hermione flew through the air, a la Snape in the Shrieking Shack, Harry turned his wand on Ron, who just stepped back in fear and one-sided, impotent rage, earning a scoff from Harry as he drawled, "Wow, you actually can make a clever move when you want to without some insufferable know-it-all or headache-inducing banshee pulling on your strings, Weasley! Good, now make another clever move and get the fuck out of my sight; I never want to see or hear either of you pathetic traitors calling yourselves my friends ever again."

"Don't worry, we won't!" sneered Ron, spitting at Harry's feet before he ran to Hermione, helping her to her feet before he looked back to Harry as he added, "But do me a favour, mate…and die in the tasks; you'll make me a bloody fortune when you do!"

"And are you sure you can afford the payment if I don't?" asked Harry, before he returned Ron's sneer with one of his own as he added, "Oh wait, I forgot: I'm the one with a king's ransom under Gringotts! Whereas you and your stupidly-ignorant family don't even have two nuts to rub together…and I don't just mean the money!"

Again, Ron made to attack, and, again, the only one desperate enough to touch him, stopped him, while Harry sneered, "Maybe someone should tell Mummy to stop spending so much on feeding the elephant in the room…meaning you."

"At least I have a Mum."

"Oh, wow, Weasley…ouch; that hurt," snarled Harry, before he scoffed as he added, "Oh, wait a moment: no, it didn't. You know, it's almost like I've had so long to get over their deaths that I've honestly become desensitised to it. I mean, let's face it: I first heard they died in a car crash, not as heroes. And then, well, let's not forget I was a baby when they died, so how, exactly, did I even have them to begin with? And the only memory I have of them now involves screaming and begging before they died…and pictures of times and people I've hardly ever met, much less known, so, hmm…let me think: why does it hurt me?"

"You…you heartless, ungrateful, disgusting sociopath!" growled Granger, earning a mocking aww from Harry as he nodded to the redhead.

"Gee, use smaller words, please, Granger, you're confusing your boyfriend," drawled Harry, before he sniffed once as he added, "Now, do me a favour, would you, children? Don't go away angry, just piss off!"

With that, Harry walked towards the stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower's dorms.

Once he walked into the fourth-year dorm, the young wizard took everything that belonged to him, storing as much of it as he could in his trunk before, slamming the lid audibly, he breathed deeply.

As he breathed deeply, Harry turned to Neville, Dean and Seamus, all of whom were somewhere between confused and suspicious.

Seeing the looks, Harry scoffed, "Don't worry, sheep in lions' clothing; I'm going. Right now, I'd sooner bunk with Death Eaters-in-Training and giant, man-eating snakes than spend one more night wondering what's going to kill me first: Weasley's snoring, Weasley's night-time farts, Granger's incessant nagging, the migraines from both of them, Weasley's BO or this Tournament, which, just so we're clear, I didn't enter…not that any of you believe me, I know…ah well, nighty-night all."

As he walked out of the dorm, dragging his trunk behind him, Harry reached the Common Room where he saw Ron and Hermione skulking away, both of them leering at him with hatred evident on their faces.

Harry, on the other hand, just had one thing to say to them.

And all it took was one finger.

And, just like that, the Golden Trio died once and for all.

If ever there might have been a chance to get it back, it was lost when the two fuck-ups of the trio decided their egos were more important than the truth straight from the Thestral's mouth?

So why didn't Harry care?

Now that was a question he doubted even the bossy, insufferable know-it-all could answer…


As the two idiots left him alone in the darkness of the Common Room, Harry dragged his trunk to the sofa in front of the fireplace, letting it slam down hard before, sinking onto the sofa, he breathed deeply as he stared deep into the flames.

To anyone who might have been brave enough to look, his expression was still cold and hard, filled with anger, fury, disbelief and no small amount of betrayal as he watched the flames dance in the hearth.

Then, as he stared at the flames, Harry felt his head fall forwards before his hands rushed up to meet him as, unable to stop it any longer, the full emotional turmoil of the night caught up with him as he sobbed profusely, his hands becoming damp with his tears while his body trembled in pain, the levels of which only seemed to grow as he added his friends' betrayals and decision to choose ego, pride, vanity and their own delusions over faith in a friend who'd risked everything for them.

Truly, Harry was alone, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do now.


"You don't need them."

Suddenly, Harry's head snapped up, while his hands hurried to wipe the tears from his eyes as he heard a soft female voice address him.

Looking to the source of the voice, Harry was surprised to see a dark-brown-haired girl standing in the archway between the stairs to the dorms and the Common Room, her eyes as rich and dark as Belgian chocolate as she looked at him. Curiously, the girl was dressed in a loose-fitting pair of darkest-red-coloured pyjamas while, as she looked at him, Harry saw what looked like a tissue in one hand, which, as she moved over to where he was sitting, the girl then handed to him, earning a surprised look from Harry.

Even as he took the tissue, wiping his eyes and even blowing his nose, Harry sniffed as he asked, "W…what?"

"You don't need them," said the girl, extending a hand to Harry, which surprised him, especially when, as he held out the tissue to her, to return it to her, the girl scrunched it up tightly in her hand, despite the snot and tears that stained it, as she went on. "You never did. Being the hero, respecting their wishes and trying to do whatever you could to help them: they've earned you nothing, but pain and misery while the pathetic insects got to live their happy-go-lucky lives. They were never worthy of being anywhere near you, Harry James Potter; pathetic insects like them only ever deserved to be crushed beneath your boots, or cowering in your shadow."

'Oh great, another crazy moron: ye gods, I'm a freak magnet…God help me, the Dursleys were right!' thought Harry, scoffing as he moved away from the girl, "Look, just leave me alone. I don't have time to deal with any more psychos thinking they can just come along and fuck with my mind."

With that, he turned his back on the girl.

"I'm sorry to waste your time, Master."

Suddenly, Harry spun back around when the girl spoke to him, though it was her choice of words that caused him to stare at her in disbelief, if not in a fit of rage, which only burned away inside of him, fuelling his already-dangerous levels of fury.

Nearby, Harry caught sight of the flames increasing in their glow, earning an awestruck, if not worshipful look from the brunette as she looked back to Harry before, to his shock, she did the last thing he would have expected anyone to do.

She bowed to him, prostrating herself before him as she whispered, "F-f-f-forgive me, I did not mean to anger you; you shouldn't have to waste your great power on a weakling like me, Master. Not when you have so many more important things to do, like making yourself the sole survivor, the one true Champion of this Tournament: then, they'll all know your greatness, and they'll either fear it like the cowards they are, or they will kneel before you and worship your greatness, just as many others do."

"You're crazy."

"Perhaps," agreed the girl, keeping her head to the ground as she smiled, before she added, "But I also know you'd never believe me to be worthy enough to call myself your friend, my Lord; so, instead, I offer myself in whatever other ways you desire, even as your slave. I wish only to serve you, to do as you wish of me as I do what I can, whatever you ask, to help you become greater than any other. I will do anything for you, Master: whatever you ask, I will serve, and all who would challenge or disgrace you…they will be my enemies, because they are yours."

'Again…crazy,' thought Harry, looking down at the girl as she remained on her hands and knees at his feet.


Suddenly, he found himself wondering if this was what Tom felt like when his Death Eaters offered their lives to him?

It was weird.

And yet, as he looked down at the girl, Harry couldn't help, but be reminded of the dark impulse he'd felt rising up within him, when he'd decided he was done entertaining the weak and the spiteful.

He remembered how good it had felt to be able to let it all go, to speak his mind and throw off the muzzle, collar and shackles that everyone else in this ass-backwards, fucked-up excuse for a world had decided to put on him.

It was as she'd said.

Being their hero wasn't going to get him anything, but pain and misery…

So maybe, he shouldn't be their hero anymore.

And while the weak didn't accept it, there were those who would.

This made him wonder: was this girl one of them?


As this curiosity crossed his mind, Harry walked back towards the girl, whom, to his amusement – even if he didn't admit it aloud – actually flinched, as well as shivered, when he stood over her, casting a long, dark shadow across her body.

Once she was bathed in his dark shadow, which only caused her to start breathing heavily, almost as though she was feeling honoured and ecstatic to have him looking down his nose at her, while she was forced to be in the shadow of his greatness, Harry felt a smile tug at his lips as he asked her one obvious question.

"What's your name?"

"Ro…Romilda," replied the girl, her voice shivering as much as the rest of her as she explained, "Ro-Ro-Romilda Vane…but you may call me whatever you want to call me, my Lord Potter. I…I only want to help you show them what the real lion inside you looks like! And when you're able to stand victorious, I…I will accept any and all rewards, if any, that you might want to give your…your…your devoted slave."


'I know I should hate this,' thought Harry, a part of him both amused and aroused at the way that this girl was willingly submitting to him, clearly beyond willing, if not eager – or perhaps desperate – to please him and do whatever he wanted her to do.

And that thought brought out a different side to the Fourth Champion; an amused, even evil-instinct-driven side, which laughed to himself as he mused, 'But I can't hate it; huh…weird…but I guess anything's better than being their bitch anymore, right?'


And it was there, in that dimly-lit Common Room that, with one thought, the hero that was the Boy-Who-Lived fell.

And the real Harry James Potter came to Hogwarts, with just one goal.

Looking out for the only one who mattered.

Harry James Potter.


"How do I know I can trust you?"

As Harry hissed out his question, he saw Romilda cower before him, in a way that made Harry think of another eager-to-serve-him being, as she whimpered, "I…I am only here to…to do whatever you ask, I…I promise: whatever you wish of me, I will serve, Master; I…I swear it…"

"Yeah? Well, talk is cheap," sneered Harry, turning his back on Romilda again, but only so she couldn't see the smile that crossed his face as he felt the darker side of him growing stronger with this girl's hopelessly-devoted nature being proven more and more with each passing second, while he asked her, "And, while I am very well-off, financially-speaking, the fact remains: how can I trust someone's words, especially someone I don't know? I mean, I've had people make promises before, but they all broke them and lied to me."

"What can I do?" asked Romilda, her voice weak with fear as she imagined disgracing her saviour, and He-Whom-She-Would-Gladly-Serve any further than he seemed to believe that she had done.

Besides, hadn't she said that she would have faith in Him, and that he was a King while all others, even her, were peasants who should be doing like she was doing and bowing at his feet?

Yes, it was true; she wanted to be his and give him whatever he desired of her, in whatever way his mind, body and emotions desired, but, clearly, her Lord…her Master…her King needed some more-viable proof of her eagerly-given sense of devotion to him.

Keeping her head bowed, Romilda quickly continued, "Tell me, my Lord; how might I prove myself to you? I'll do anything…anything."


To her surprise, Romilda heard only one word from her lord, though, when she dared to look up, she saw his feet had turned back to her, indicating he was looking down his nose at her once more, like she was nothing more than his dog, which was his right, of course.

At least until she'd earned the right to prove her ultimate devotion to him and giving him the greatest gift that she could think of.

"My Lord?"

"You said you'd do anything," said Harry, his voice cold, but edged by a note of personal amusement that seemed to suggest he liked how she was eager to be his slave, as he told her, "So strip, Romilda Vane: show me just how far you're willing to go…for me."

Even as he watched the girl obey, peeling off her pyjamas to expose the skin beneath, Harry still felt a sense of personal satisfaction, which soon became tinged with the expectant male teenage arousal of an ordinary fourteen-year-old boy as he saw how deliciously attractive she clearly was underneath her clothes.

All right, so her breasts weren't really anything to write home about, but she'd managed to maintain a figure that was definitely worthy of the Hall of Fame, at least as far as his teenage fantasies were concerned. Not that he'd had much of a chance to have any fantasies, thanks to the idiots, the traitors and, of course, the only comparison for teenage indulgences being the disgusting sounds he'd often heard from Dudley's, not to mention Petunia and Vernon's bedrooms in Privet Drive.

That was enough to give anyone an incurable case of erectile dysfunction, if ever he saw one.

And yet, as Romilda revealed her body to him, Harry felt his tongue trace his lips while he felt his blood rush south, causing him to feel a strain in his trousers as he whispered, "All of it."

"As you wish, Master."

Moments later, Romilda Vane stood completely naked, exposed, vulnerable and delicious a sight to behold in front of Harry, clearly so devoted to obeying his wishes, no matter how dark they were, or how twisted he might become that she'd not even bothered to hide her breasts, much less her clean-shaven womanhood as she stood before him, though she did keep her eyes down, as though she was unworthy to meet his eyes.

When Harry looked her up and down, licking his lips again at the thoughts and dreams that suddenly crossed his mind, he actually smiled when he noticed something about the girl's body that both amused and made him curious at the same time. "You're wet."

"I…I can't help it…" whispered Romilda, earning a raised eyebrow from Harry as he folded his arms, watching the girl with an air of curiosity as she continued, "I…I've always be…believed in…in you…and your…your greatness, my Lord. I…I've always wanted to…to stand this close to…to you and…and help you become better than…than everyone believes they can make you. You…you survived Death…twice! You…you banished a horde of Dementors…and killed a Basilisk…and you can speak to snakes, throw off the Imperius and you're the only one to…to survive the Killing Curse."

Harry's lips twitched in amusement as Romilda rolled off the list of his achievements, though not before he saw her juices trickle down her legs as she finished her list, indicating that the very idea of his power was enough to get her going. Indeed, maybe it was just her willingness to expose herself to him, as though waiting to see what he would do, or maybe it was his teenage hormones going ballistic, but Harry doubted he would last much longer before he ended up creaming himself too.

Still, it had been so long since he'd been able to have this much fun…why stop now?

"So…you're attracted to my power?"

"And…and the one who wields it," whispered Romilda, not even crying at her personally-embarrassing situation as she explained, "I…I know I…I'm nothing to you, Lord Potter. I…I know you…you can't take my…my word as…as proof and…and I accept that. But…but I can't…I couldn't just sit there and let these insects belittle you. Even I knew this Tournament was…was beneath you; that you wanted nothing to do with it. And…and if a lowly stranger like me can see that, then…then surely those who call themselves your…your friends should see that too."

"Good point," agreed Harry, a note of amusement in his words as he chuckled, "And so, to help me, you're willing to do anything for me, is that it?"


"And what? Are you expecting me to indulge your little obsession with famous Harry Potter? Maybe make you my girlfriend?"

"If…if that is…what you want me…to be…"

"Are you okay?"

"Just tired," said Romilda, gulping hard as she added, "The…the feelings you…you've let me experience in…with you, Lord Potter…and the time…and the excitement of…of finally being able to…to prove myself to you…to offer my help…it's draining."

"And yet I'm wide awake," said Harry, earning another gulp from Romilda, before Harry sighed. "Put your clothes back on…but just your pyjamas."

As she obeyed, Harry bent down before he picked up her underwear, chuckling softly at the dark, somewhat-crude thought that crossed his mind as he mused, "Now, for obvious reasons, I'm no expert in such ideas, but I imagine the thought of your willingness to do anything for me…well, I might start finding out about the fun of polishing my wand with something of yours, don't you think, Vane?"

"If…if that is what you wish, Master."

"And you don't mind me running off with your underwear?"

"All of me is yours, Lord; I…I'll do anything to prove it."

"I'm sure you will," agreed Harry, before he threw the girl's underwear into his trunk, sealing it again before he added, "And I'm sure I'll enjoy using a piece of you for my own pleasure…but, for now, you can help me get some rest; lie down."

Again, Romilda obeyed.

As Harry lay next to her, both of them resting in front of the fireplace, Harry turned away from Romilda as he told her, "Because I appreciate what you're willing to offer me, I'm going to say that you can give me a hug, but if you do anything else, even when I'm awake, you'll lose the only chance to fulfil your dream that you might have already had, understand?"

"I will never do anything you don't wish me to do, my Lord," said Romilda, before she gently wrapped an arm around Harry, holding him close to her body where, to her surprise, he lay his head upon her chest, even as he kept his gaze, and his arousal, away from her. "Sleep well, Master."

With that, once she was sure her Master was sound asleep and free of the mongrels, for now, Romilda closed her own eyes as she felt the warmth of Gryffindor Tower's fireplace wash over them.

However, as far as she was concerned, only He deserved to bathe in such comforts.

She was nothing more than his pet, keeping him comfortable and giving him a single supporter in a sea of cowards, traitors and fools.

But soon…they would all learn…

Wow, talk about flipping the script: Harry's lost a dullard duo, but gained something so much more important: a willing slave eager to be his pleasure and help him rise to glory…what else will happen?

Also, as Harry's mind and instincts turn darker, what will this do to the hero he once was, especially with a Tournament, morons, fools, psychos and delusional interfering busybodies on the horizon?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Harry tests Romilda's devotion to him once again, but as he does, he begins to notice she may not be the only one who wants to be controlled by their idol;

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