Harry Potter / Warcraft Crossover. A Weapon. A Hero. And now… a loose end. Harry Potter resolves to destroy the enemies who betrayed him on his terms, only to find all his plans torn asunder when he's summoned to a new world plagued with the same enemies of his own.


I don't own Harry Potter in any way. JKR has those rights... Also, Warcraft is owned by Blizzard Entertainment, etc etc.

*Author's Note *

Inspirations: The Black Scorpion by etincelle047

Chapter First Published: 2013-01-26

Chapter Last Update: 2013-03-13

Chapter 2 – A Wrong Turn to Felwood

After he left the manor, Harry shadow walked to his new refuge. Shadow-walking was an art that had long been over-looked by the wizarding community. Primarily it was because of a few Dark Lord's who utilized it in the past, but also because it was just so darn hard to learn. Instructions on the art were rare, and to learn the ability, one must immerse one's self in pure darkness and 'find the path.' Not only does it require supreme patience, it requires a sensitivity to magic that is almost unheard of in modern times.

He barely knew anyone who would even have the potential to learn the infamous branch of magic. Sirius likely could have learned it, as could his parents. No one really stood out amongst his Hogwarts peers. Hermione was book-smart, but her actual practical skills were nowhere near Harry's. A few of the more powerful Slytherin girl's he had quietly observed in the past such as Tracey Davis or Daphne Greengrass likely possessed the subtlety to learn the method of travel, but Harry knew they had been murdered in the first few years of the Demon War.

He was slowly making his way along the almost invisible road that would ultimately lead to his primary safe-house, feeling absolutely giddy with what he had done. It was over. There would likely always be questions about whether he was dead or not, but then again, no one would be able to tell his body from Dumbledore's.

He had almost reached his destination when he suddenly felt a lurch in his body. It wasn't like a portkey and their hook-like pulls behind one's navel. This was something else.

Something sinister.

He immediately felt the fel-magic behind whatever was affecting him. Demon Magic. He inwardly swore at the implications. He had his battle-robes on, but he was nowhere near equipped to his satisfaction to fight demons properly. He had his sword strapped to his back, but he would be unable to unleash the weapon while he shadow-walked. Holy weapons plus shadow realm equals bad news. He was about to duck out into the nearest shadow and then apparate to his destination when he felt something new, and then finally understood the implications.

Most demons came from worlds of darkness. Hence all demons at one point had to be summoned from a shadow plane. Once they entered the real world, they would stay there until dismissed. If the summoner dies, then the demon permanently stays on the normal plane of existence.

And the feeling he noticed right now was just like whenever he observed Burning Legion warlocks amidst their summoning rituals. Someone was somehow summoning him.

'Oh Shi-', were his last eloquent thoughts before his body popped into nothingness and was summoned away from the realm of Earth.


Lord Banehollow was a proud Dread Lord. In fact, he was one of the highest ranking Nathrezim who had participated in the Third War on Azeroth. However, when the Burning Legion was defeated at the World Tree upon Mount Hyjal, Generals such as Banehollow found themselves leaderless and amongst troops with no supply lines or clearly defined mission.

He had managed to collect a few thousand demons and warlocks in Felwood and form them into a somewhat cohesive force, but he knew it would never be enough to support Lord Sargeras' ambitions upon his eventual return to Azeroth. Sargeras had been obsessed with Azeroth for over 10,000 years. The world was an obscenely rich source of raw magic, which would normally cause demons to thrive and multiply in droves. The godlike beings known as Titans had experimented heavily on this world with various magical means before the group abandoned the world. The remnants and power of these experiments sung to the demons and drew them forth like moths to a flame.

There had been multiple invasions of Azeroth over the past ten millennia. Some were direct invasions by the Burning Legion and its forces, and others were indirect such as when the Legion sent its enslaved servants, the Orcs, through the portals created.

All campaigns resulted in the same thing… failure.

Banehollow knew another invasion would eventually occur, but he did not know when. He knew his role would be to build an army to support the next invasion, but that could not happen while the forces of this world were still strong. If the demons were to set up permanent colonies and begin to breed, the native forces would easily notice and crush them like insects. For the past five years since the end of the war, his only ambition had been to gather unaligned demons and wait for the return of their Master or his chief lieutenant, Kil'Jaeden.

This ambition changed recently when an old tome was discovered amongst the ruins of Az'shara. The ruined area of land represented the outskirts of the once majestic Night Elf city that was the source of the original invasion of Azeroth. The prideful elves had been their own downfall. It was amusing to Banehollow that their inability to find this one specific book when they meticulously cleansed the ruins would now be their undoing.

The ritual outlined within the book was quite simple in theory, just difficult in execution. It would summon the most deadly foe of the Legion, and then through fel-magic, bind the person's mind to the summoner.

Just the very thought of performing this ritual made Banehollow cackle with near childlike glee. The greatest enemy to the Burning Legion upon Azeroth right now was the Night Elf priestess Tyrande Whisperwind. Her mate, Malfurion could have potentially been the enemy, but his soul had been rumored to have been lost amidst the endless forests of the Emerald Dream, a parallel reality to Azeroth that reflected the land in its once primordial glory. Apparently, dark forces were overrunning the Dream, and Malfurion's spirit had been trapped there for nearly four years

'Sucks for him,' thought Banehollow maliciously.

The ritual would not summon Malfurion in theory because his soul was currently not on this plane of existence. Which left Tyrande as the next largest threat. He couldn't wait to enslave the warrior priestess. She would eventually stand at his side as they waged battle, marched forth, and slaughtered her own kin. Until that day however, she would need to be broken. She would serve as entertainment for his loyal troops here in Shadow Hold.

The ritual required him to sacrifice a servant, which seemed totally justified to Banehollow. 'Sacrifice a servant to gain a more powerful one. A totally acceptable price to pay,' he thought.

This concept is why he didn't think twice upon incapacitating Shadow Lord Fel'dan, the highest member of the Shadow Council upon Azeroth. New ants would rise to take his place eventually. But here was the opportunity to gain a servant stronger than any the Legion previously held. Besides, the succubae that served Fel'dan seemed thrilled at the possibility of having Tyrande as a playmate.

The ritual was set up in the deepest part of the Shadow Hold and the Dread Lord was assisted by his primary servant, Ur'dan. He never really liked the orc, but he was crafty and had his uses. Banehollow was aware the wily orc ran a huge business selling Xorithian Stardust to other warlocks, but Nathrezim let it slide so long as it didn't affect his primary duties. He may be greedy, but he was intelligent and loyal.

Ur'dan was easily able to create the sacrificial circle required to empower the ritual once he was instructed. All that was required now was for Banehollow to sacrifice his own blood and channel his demonic magic into the circle.

The summoning circle required a much greater effort than Banehollow cared to admit. The notes described how the amount of magic required was directly related to the power and distance of the enemy. It took nearly two minutes for the circle to complete, by which time Banehollow had dropped to a knee in exhaustion.

He was almost too tired to look up and gaze upon his new slave, when he suddenly heard a roar of rage from the dead center of the circle.

Instead of finding Tyrande Whisperwind when he looked up, he discovered a young human male with dark hair and malevolent green eyes that briefly locked eyes with Banehollow before the human shouted "Nathrezim!"

With one smooth movement, Banehollow watched as the young warrior's sword was unsheathed from his back and removed Ur'dan's head. Banehollow quickly realized that the ritual failed, and whoever this warrior was, they were definitely not enthralled by the magic of the ritual.

The warrior turned his head to Banehollow, who barely had time to raise an exhausted arm to launch one Carrion Swarm at the human before he saw a flash of the human's silver sword fly under his chin.

The Dread Lord Banehollow's last thoughts before his demonic soul rematerialized in death amongst the wastes of the Twisting Nether was, 'Well shit, that wasn't a good idea.'


As Harry felt himself summoned, he tried not to panic. The instant he felt his body enter the stream of the summoning, he felt his mind undergo an attack ten times worse than he had ever felt from Voldemort. It slammed into his Occlumency shields with malicious intent. Whoever was behind this did not mean to read Harry's mind and plumb his secrets. The person meant to completely dominate Harry's personality and subvert it to their own. The will behind the attack was incredible, and Harry could only hope that he could last out the pain.

He didn't know how long it took to arrive, but the moment the pain stopped, he found himself standing upon a large five meter wide circle drawn in blood. He saw a Nathrezim slump to a knee and look down in what appeared to be exhaustion. 'This must be the fucker who summoned me,' he thought as he lost control of his temper and shouted, "Nathrezim!"

Harry abhorred Nathrezim. They were the field generals of the Legion. Intelligent and wily, they were often the last opponents to die on any field of battle. They had a sense of self-preservation that was unequalled, and taking them out early in a pitched battle between armies was almost next to impossible.

Another glance around as he withdrew his sword brought his attention to a green thing with overlarge tusks protruding from his mouth that stood next to the Dread Lord. The green man had the most ridiculous looking hat on Harry had ever seen, and the sight of it made want to kill the thing just on principal. A slight shift in course and a swing removed the green dude's head before the thing could so much as whimper in fear.

He turned his head to the Dread Lord, who at this point had noticed Harry was there and about to fight him. The Dread Lord raised his hands in attempt to ward off Harry's next blow.

Harry feinted to his left, which the Dread Lord fell for easily, before Harry pivoted and swung his sword at the demon's exposed throat. The demon managed to cast a fairly strong Carrion Swarm at Harry, which he failed to bite back the grunt of pain it inflicted.

But through the pain of the fel-curse, Harry felt the satisfaction of resistance against the sword as it travelled through the Dread Lord's neck. A second later, Harry heard the very welcome thud of the impact of the demon's head upon the ground and the batlike sounds of fel-magic evaporation as the power left the corpse of the Dread Lord.

Harry realized he wasn't out of danger yet and turned around. He saw no one in the immediate vicinity, but realized with all the noise he had just made, reinforcements were very likely to be coming soon. He glanced at the wound at his side and let out an annoyed sigh.


It would take two weeks to heal from the damned thing, and that was only after it drove him to the brink of exhaustion sometime in the next day or so. Carrion Swarm introduced demonic insect constructs into the victim's body. Without treatment, he would slowly fade in and out of consciousness as his magic fought the curse. He would need to find way out of this cave, find shelter and food, and lay low for two weeks.

As he proceeded forth out of the part of the cave he came to one disturbing fact. He was no longer on Earth. With the little he knew about space / time and demonic summoning techniques, the time he had spent "in transit" exceeded any he would have had while on his own world.

The thought brought him to an immediate stop. He instantly turned around and marched back to the two corpses and looked for any information he could find about the ritual that brought him here. He found a few tomes scattered about, along with numerous documents that looked like battle plans and troop strength listings written in demonic. Harry had interrogated demons before during the war, and translation charms slowly taught a person both the language and the system of writing while they were in place. He could understand everything written here.

Seeing the value in this information, Harry took it all. Demons were always at war with someone. This information could prove useful if he could make it out alive. Maybe even buy him some limited protection with new allies. He then took all the weapons and gold he found upon the green dude, seeing as he no longer had a use for them. The currency was a standard mix of gold, silver, and copper. But the weapons Harry found very intriguing. It had the hint of magic upon it. Enchantments. But there were no runes present.

He would enjoy figuring that particular puzzle out later.

With one last look at the summoning circle that brought him here, Harry strode out of the room. He could recreate the circle later from a memory in a pensieve.


Arko'narin was on her last legs emotionally. A Shadow Council faction hitherto unknown in Felwood had captured her and her friend of the past decade, Trey Lightforge, five days previous. In addition, not only had she been captured and brought to their base, she found out it was the primary headquarters of the Shadow Council's entire organization on Azeroth.

The fear she felt when she had been stripped naked in front of their leader Fel'dan still made her shiver. It was a feeling she hated, and she continually alternated between shivering in fear of what her fate would be and shivering with cold as the Orcs and Satyrs present hadn't even left the Night Elf her underwear.

A rescue was out of the question. She knew this. No one knew they were proceeding to this part of Felwood. Despite it being against all protocols of the Alliance, the duo had set out without notifying anyone, as they were trying to be quick to capitalize on a lead they had acquired on the Shadow Council.

They had been overwhelmed by enemies before they could even reach the entrance to the old Druid Barrow-Dens. Minutes later, they were bound and already being transported as prisoners into the depths of the ancient unused Druid caves of hibernation.

She guessed Trey was dead by now. They had taken him the previous day, and the absolute inhuman howls that had gone on for hours had long since stopped. She only hoped that her death would not be as agonizing as what he had endured. She prayed for something quick, but doubted they would be that merciful.

She looked around the room. Groups of Satyr's and Felguards roamed aimlessly, and occasionally an Orc or two would wander by and sneer at her as she lay chained within her cage. It was barely tall enough for her to sit upright, and the Orcs that brought her one meal a day had not seen fit to take her to a toilet, so she had been forced to relieve herself right in the cage, much to the amusement of the Orcs who merely sat and watch as she defecated on herself.

Arko'narin was too exhausted to care about the smell or embarrassment. The numb feeling generated when her thoughts pondered the events she had endured thus far only told her that she was slowly breaking down mentally. It would not be long now, and she knew that. They at least had left Karri, her nightsaber mount, alive to this point. The cat had even managed to procure more food than she had so far.

'They probably wanted to fatten her up for a feast later on,' she thought bitterly.

She loved Karri. The nightsaber had been with her for nearly five centuries. Mounts that bonded to Night Elves tended to acquire unnaturally long lives. In her three millenniums of life thus far, Karri was only the second mount she had. Her original mount had lived nearly two thousand years, and it had taken Arko'narin nearly a hundred years past Nia's death to work up the courage to bond to another mount.

Her thoughts on her mount were interrupted by the sound of battle approaching.

'Could someone be attempting to rescue me?' she thought with hope. Then she realized the direction was all wrong. The fighting was not coming from the barrow entrance, but from deeper within. The only person who was that direction who was her ally was Trey, and she knew almost for certain that he was dead.

True utter fear gripped her. Was this a demon revolt? It certainly wasn't unheard of. She had previously been on missions in her long life where they had come upon the aftermath of a demon revolt. No one knew what caused them, but the result was always the same. Hundreds of demons dead by their own hands. And if this was a revolt, she doubted she would emerge with her innocence unscathed before she was put to death.

A tear rolled along the young night elf's cheek. 'Oh Elune, please, do not let this be the end,' she thought as she prayed to the Moon Goddess that had been the salvation of her people so many times in the past.

She gripped her knees tighter as sound of fighting approached. A quick glance at Karri told her that the cat was ready to do battle with whatever came if it gained even the slightest chance at freedom. Her last hope before a door somewhere behind her was thrown open was to wish that she could die on her feet and not in a cage.


They were unending.

He slew Warlock after Satyr after Undead looking weird people with big ears. There were even a few fel guards thrown in randomly. Enemies seemed to come from almost every direction, but at least their training sucked. He sliced through them with a reckless abandon that bordered upon mindless.

But something angered him even more as he progressed further out of this stronghold that he had randomly found himself inside.

There were humans among them.

'Betrayers,' he inwardly raged. How dare this scum work alongside the Burning Legion. After he killed a succubus matriarch that stood over the savaged remains of some sort of Holy Knight, he finally took the chance to rest. Physically he was fine. But the fel-curse upon him was slowly sapping his magical strength.

The knight's fate unnerved him. Harry could tell the fallen man's soul had somehow been corrupted before it had been forcibly extracted from the body. It certainly sounded like something these demons would do. Harry himself had obviously been the victim of an attempted takeover of his mind and soul. It wasn't that far of a stretch to assume that they tried similar methods on others to enthrall them.

He proceeded into the next room and found a lone human there, tending some tomes of knowledge. Harry petrified and cast some binding ropes upon the man, causing him to fall unceremoniously upon the ground.

'Let's find out some information,' he thought as he cast Legilimens the human.

'Where are we, human?' he thought mentally at the man.

The man attempted to resist the question, but Harry easily squashed down the resistance, 'Shadow Hold.'

'Where is Shadow Hold?'

'It is located in Felwood,' the man responded.

'Where is Felwood,' Harry asked, and he could feel the shock emanate from the man at the question.

The man faltered in his response, but the answer came eventually. 'Felwood is in the northwestern part of Kalimdor, the western continent of the world of Azeroth.'

Finally, there was Harry's confirmation. He was no longer on Earth. Instead, he was on some Burning Legion occupied world called Azeroth.

On a whim, Harry asked, 'Are there any prisoners kept here?'

The man resisted more than he had previously, but through a bit of force, Harry prodded out an answer, 'Yes, some Night Elf slut we've been ordered to leave unsullied. She's apparently a two thousand year old virgin, and her maiden's blood will be excellent for a strong ritual.'

Harry felt himself enraged at the response, especially when he saw the flit of a memory of a beautiful light purple-skinned woman with blue hair and glowing white eyes who sat naked in a wooden cage. Her most prominent feature beyond her ample chest were her foot long ears that extended backwards from her head in a point. She was obviously the female version of the corrupted beings he had fought earlier within the tunnels. He was about to extract himself from the human's mind when he saw a memory of the human's laughter as he taunted the woman as she was forced to sit in her own waste.

"Where is she?" Harry growled aloud, completely forgetting to project his question into the human's mind.

'In… the next… room.' The man managed to think before blood began to flow from his eyes, ears, and nose.

Harry would normally simply kill the man, but he wasn't feeling generous at the moment after the memories he had seen. He cast an extremely painful version of the Entrail-Expelling Curse at him, before he walked off without a second thought. Harry didn't even acknowledge the sickening wet sounds of the man's stomach and intestinal organs vomiting out of his mouth and nose.

After killing a few more satyrs, who were too busy drinking and fornicating with themselves to hear the sounds of battle, Harry came upon a room that looked similar to the area where the woman had been imprisoned in the human's memories.

He glanced around, and saw the woman quietly stare at him while attempting to not draw attention to herself. He was about to unlock her cage, when a booming voice from the door opposite yelled, "Who dares to disturb my rest before the summoning ritual?"

A large green Satyr slowly walked into the room, flanked by two guards. The Satyr proudly wore the raiment of a prince, thought Harry could hardly call the outfit princely, or even close to those of Satyr nobles he had killed in the past when he had snuck up on them while they had lost themselves in orgies. The demon had a sword in his belt that did not look appropriate to him. It was obviously some spoil of war that had been lazily placed there.

The Satyr's eyes fell upon Harry, and instantly showed rage at the smirk Harry had given the demon. "Adventurer, you've snuck into the wrong den. This place will now become your tomb."

The demon gave the most clichéd laugh Harry had heard in years. He didn't know whether to laugh at the thing or somehow cry in sympathy. Either way, Harry did what he did best to demons.

He killed it.

Instead of using his sword, Harry unleashed his wand out of his forearm holster in a quick draw and cast a silent Diffindo at the demon. The satyr barely registered shock at Harry's switch from sword to wand before the spell cut into his neck and severed his head from his body.

The two guards took one look at the fallen form of their leader and charged, their claw-like hands swiping at Harry in a completely untrained fashion.

'These are guards for a prince?' Harry thought with disappointment as he dodged between their blows before he cast a close-range Reducto at each Satyr. Their heads exploded with a muffled squelch sound, and their bodies quickly fell to the floor.

Harry took a look around, to ensure that the room was clear, then he slowly walked towards the caged woman, who he could tell was shaking with total mind-encompassing fear. As he walked he felt the curse from the Dread Lord gain more power. 'I need to get out of here. Hopefully I can trust her because I'm not going to be conscious much longer. I used too much energy to get this far.'

As he approached, Harry lifted his wand, and he could feel the woman tense. A large chained cat across the hall from her growled at Harry in warning. The cat was obviously sentient to some extent and a companion to the girl.

Harry cast a translation charm at the woman so that he could understand her language and slowly learn it. He cast one at the cat as well just in case. The woman closed her eyes in fear as the spell hit her, but after a few seconds, and no noticeable outward effects, she opened her eyes.

Harry was about to speak, when she quickly blurted out, "Please don't hurt me."


She couldn't help what she had just said. She didn't even know if the human in front of her could understand her, since she had just plead for her life in the language of her own Kaldorei people.

The man however, gave a tight smile. "I'm not going to hurt you. That spell I cast was a translation charm. It's simply there to help us understand each other and will help each of us learn the other's language."

Her eyes widened at the potential of such a spell, but her mind quickly came back to the danger they found themselves in. "Could you assist me in escaping, warrior-mage?"

He nodded and spoke the words, 'Alohamora' under his breath, but her sensitive ears easily picked up the phrase. The lock on her cage quickly fell away and she hustled out of the filth she had spent the last few days sitting in. She suddenly became very self-conscious of the fact she was naked, dirty, and smelled extremely foul.

The man quickly picked up on the source of how uncomfortable she was, and spoke, "Hold still, let me help. It'll only take about ten seconds start to finish to get you ready to go. Please close your eyes for a second."

She closed her eyes, and heard him say, 'Scurgify' a few times. She felt her skin feel lighter, and the smell that overwhelmed her nostrils from her experience slowly drifted away.

"OK, you should be clean now," she heard him say.

She opened her eyes, and looked over herself. She was clean now. Not a speck of dirt anywhere on her body, though this just made her even more aware that she was completely nude in front of a highly attractive male as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"My armor is just behind you, do you mind if I put it on?" She asked. He instantly sputtered a bit in embarrassment and stepped-aside. As she approached where her armor was thrown haphazardly upon the ground, she asked, "Can you free my mount? Her name is Karri. We'll need her to escape."

The man nodded, and cast a spell at the chain that bound Karri. Her friend and companion instantly sprinted forth and began to lick Arko'narin's fingers.

"I know baby, I'm glad you're ok as well," she whispered.

The man slowly approached, but he didn't look at her, he looked at Karri, "May I heal your cat, it looks like she has a few wounds."

Karri growled, and Arko'narin couldn't help but chuckle at the nightsaber. She hated being referred to as a cat, but now wasn't the time for her usual antics.

"Just let him, Karri. We need to move."

She quickly donned her armor and weapons, feeling a bit more secure despite how perilous their situation was. A quick glance at the strange human found him with his hand on Karri's back while he waved a wand over whip marks that slowly disappeared.

He noticed her staring and said aloud, "My spells don't clean blood very well, unfortunately. She'll need a wash to get the bloodstains out, but her skin and muscles have been healed."

Arko'narin nodded her thanks, but what surprised her was the growl that Karri made which clearly said, "Thank you, human."

Arko'narin thought she was hearing things, but the human spoke again and said, "You're welcome, Karri."

"How can we understand her?" Arko'narin asked, her thoughts around the danger they faced completely overridden over this new found ability to understand her companion.

"It's the translation charm I cast on you both. For about the next twelve hours, you'll understand each other and permanently remember the words you spoke to one another. The more you two speak, the more words you'll understand."

"Amazing. The Night Elf people would truly be in your debt simply from this one bit of magic alone, stranger." Arko'narin realized she had yet to find out the man's name, or give her own. "My name is Arko'narin. I'm an attaché to the Emerald Circle sent by my people, the Kaldorei, to investigate the new fel sightings rumored here in Felwood."

The man snorted in an undignified way that Arko'narin found strangely appealing in how casually he treated her, "…and it looks like you found them. My name is Harry Potter, and I'm a Battle Mage… and victim of what I believe is a Dread Lord's summoning ritual. I'm not from this world."

Arko'narin felt her eyes widen, "Wait, you said Dread Lord? There's a Dread Lord in this Barrow Den? We need to get out of here immediately."

She felt panic rise in her body, despite the relatively few moments of calm she had just experienced. She was in no way ready to battle a Dread Lord. She may be two thousand years old, but a battle with a Dread Lord required unparalleled skills in battle, along with usually twenty or more companions."

"Don't worry," Harry said as he put his hand on her should. "The Dread Lord is dead. I killed him."

Arko'narin did not have words to respond to that statement. It was unheard of. The Fallen Prince, Arthas had been rumored to have slain a Dread Lord by himself, as had the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner. But those two were warriors of unequal skill and power. To hear that she stood before a being who had killed one was simply mind-blowing.

"He was weakened from the summoning ritual," the man continued, obviously aware of how unbelievable the statement had sounded. "I killed him and his servant, then stole all the documents they had in the room with them. If you want, you can have them if you can get me out of her to some semblance of safety."

The hits kept coming, and Arko'narin hardly knew how to respond. Not only had he fought and killed a Dread Lord, he had raided and stolen Shadow Council documents that would be invaluable to her people.

"You have my word. I would have given it simply for saving Karri and me. But this act will definitely not go unrewarded," she said without hesitation. And she knew the Kaldorei people would handsomely reward anyone who could have done deeds such as this. She would need to get him to Darnassus as soon as possible.

"We need to hurry though, I'm going to go unconscious soon from this wound," he stated as he grimaced.

She looked down and winced. It was a particularly nasty fel-curse, one that someone would likely die from if not given treatment soon. The fact he wasn't unconscious yet was remarkable in of itself.

"Right." She looked at her mount, "Karri? Think you can handle two people riding out of this?"

Her companion looked at her and cocked her head to the side, "Don't insult me, Arko. Just make sure I get a barrel of fish when we get back home."

She quickly threw the saddle back upon Karri's back, and motioned for Harry to sit behind her. Two strong arms encircled her waist, and he felt his hot breath just behind her ear.

"I'll use my wand to try and stun people as we go. I'm not sure I'll be much use in a few minutes," Harry said from behind her.

"Just hang on, Harry. I've got it from here. They won't know what hit them," Arko'narin said. She actually had started to get a bit worried. The dominating presence Harry initially gave off was steadily declining. The curse definitely was having an effect upon him.

"Let's go, Karri," she said while she gave her mount a pat on the side of the neck.

"Hold on," growled the great cat as she took off into the tunnel that led to entrance and freedom.


Cast of Characters:

Harry's Harem

Arko'narin – Night Elf, Warrior. Former Sentinel of Darnassus