Harry Potter : Bloodraven

"Kill it. And save the rest of the blood for later."

Voldemort's cold, dispassionate command sealed the creature's fate. The unicorn lay sprawled on the forest floor, its silver blood gleaming in the moonlight, its breath shallow but still there.

Maverick had watched in silence until now. But this was enough. He exhaled slowly, positioning himself above Quirrell, his voice slipping into the deep, eerie resonance of the Bloodraven.

"Leave..."

The word echoed through the trees, thick with unspoken menace.

Quirrell had his wand ready for the final strike but suddenly froze. His fingers twitched, and his body went rigid. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, he took an unsteady step back, his eyes darting frantically through the darkness.

Maverick had laced his voice with a sliver of his dominant spirit—just enough to push, just enough to make Quirrell feel that obeying wasn't a choice, but a command.

Then Voldemort's voice lashed through Quirrell's mind like a whip.

"Calm yourself, fool! Look up! Ahead of you!"

Quirrell's breath came quick and shallow as he slowly lifted his wand and turned his gaze in the direction he was ordered.

He saw a tall figure cloaked in black, hovering just above the trees. Its silhouette was sharp against the moonlight, watching with eyes as red as blood.

Quirrell's eyes locked onto the figure, and in that moment, he felt as though he had been stripped bare—exposed down to his very soul.

"Who… who are you?" he stammered, and instinctively took yet another step back.

And there was no response to his question, instead he saw it descend slowly to the ground and hover just about a meter from the ground.

The timid professor tightened his grip on his wand, gulped, and forced himself to speak again.

"Who… who are you?" His voice was steadier this time. "Yu.. you realize you are trespassing? I am a professor at Hogwarts, and—"

A low chuckle interrupted him.

"The Forbidden Forest," the figure said, voice deep and resonant, "does not officially fall under Hogwarts' jurisdiction. Even the castle's wards do not extend this far."

Quirrell faltered. That was true. The forest was dangerous, largely untamed, and beyond the castle's protective magic. He opened his mouth to respond, but the figure spoke again, this time with unmistakable mockery.

"I must say, I never thought Hogwarts had such… low standards. Hiring a wraith-infested dark wizard to teach children?" It laughed, the sound rich with contempt. "I always hear Dumbledore was incompetent, but this?" He left the words unspoken.

Quirrell stiffened, feeling a surge of indignation. But before he could gather himself to respond, Voldemort's voice rang sharp and commanding in his mind.

"Let me speak."

Quirrell hesitated, his breath hitching.

"Now, worm!"

His body jerked against his will as Voldemort forcibly seized control. Slowly, rigidly, Quirrell turned. His trembling hands rose to his turban, fingers fumbling slightly as he unwrapped it.

Maverick's eyes twitched under the mask. He had seen a similar scene in the movie. But watching it in real life was something else entirely. The pale, grotesque face that emerged from the back of Quirrell's head was even more disturbing in person.

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them as Voldemort's sunken, snake-like eyes locked onto him. Maverick, still hovering just above the ground, stared back, unflinching.

Then, Voldemort spoke. His voice was slow, thoughtful.

"I did not expect there to be a new Arch-Magus."

Maverick responded immediately, his voice thick with the ancient resonance of the Bloodraven.

"If you think that," he said, "then you're even more stupid than I thought."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Who are you?"

Maverick tilted his head slightly. "I should be the one asking you, right? Who are you, anyway?"

Voldemort's voice became colder. "Do not test my patience."

Maverick chuckled darkly. "I am merely here to meet the leader of the centaurs." He quickly invented a reason and spoke, "Imagine my surprise when I found a wraith lurking in Hogwarts."

His voice turned sharp, mocking. "I recently had to deal with someone like you, a wizard dabbling in demonology. And yet, here you are. What a coincidence."

Voldemort's expression twisted, his pale features contorting with rage. "A wraith?" he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Is that truly what you think I am? I am Voldemort. The Dark Lord. The name alone struck fear into the hearts of millions—so much so that they dared not even speak it."

"Oh..." Maverick smirked under the mask. "So you're that guy. The only King—wait, no, calling you a king would be an insult to every archmage. After all, you were brought down by an infant."

He let out a sharp, derisive laugh, the sound distorted and heavy through his mask, dripping with mockery. To Voldemort, the metallic echo made it even more cutting, as if the very air was amplifying the insult.

"Now look at you..." He continued, "a parasitic remnant of the once-mighty wizard. How the mighty have fallen."

Voldemort's features darkened, but then, out of nowhere, his tone changed—silkier, more persuasive. "You clearly possess great power... I could grant you even more. Wealth, knowledge, magic beyond your imagination. Stand by my side, and—"

Maverick cut him off with an even louder, sharper laugh.

"You?" he scoffed. "You are in no position to offer anything. Look at you." He gestured lazily. "A whisper of what you once were. You're not even qualified to stand as my equal, let alone my superior."

Voldemort's face contorted in fury.

"You dare—"

"I'm honestly surprised you're even alive," Maverick continued smoothly, as though Voldemort hadn't spoken. He leaned forward slightly, his crimson-tinged eyes gleaming. "I'm curious... how did you survive? How did the great Lord Voldemort come to this... clinging to the back of a little Magus like a parasite."

That was it. Voldemort's patience snapped.

"You insolent—" He roared, forcing Quirrell's body to raise his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of sickly green light erupted from the tip.

Maverick didn't move—at least, not in the way Voldemort expected. With a flick of his finger, a metallic shield materialized in front of him. The Killing Curse struck its gleaming surface and dispersed instantly, vanishing as though it had never existed.

The shield shimmered, its deep bluish sheen fading just a moment later as it began reverting to its original state. A near-perfect mimicry of vibranium—one of Maverick's more advanced transfiguration experiments. He could form it, but its structure was too unstable to last long. But he didn't need it to, as it was a perfect counter to the Killing Curse—perhaps even a bit excessive, if he was being honest.

Lowering his finger, he looked at Voldemort while curling his lips in amusement under the mask.

"Oh, how the mighty have indeed fallen." He shook his head, his voice rich with mockery. "Once, the Dark Lord's name was feared across the wizarding world. Now? You're not even a shadow of that name... That body you're parasitizing can't even muster the power of a Great-Magus. Pathetic."

Voldemort seethed, his snake-like nostrils flaring.

Watching Voldemort get riled up like this, Maverick's amusement grew even more. But he forced himself to hold back his thoughts as he had more important things on his schedule for the evening.

Besides, he had no plans to take down Voldemort now. He wasn't even sure if it was possible, because Voldemort might just flee from Quirrell's body at the last minute, which would make the plot unpredictable for him.

Voldemort had no knowledge of Maverick's thoughts. He only saw the figure in front of him, its crimson eyes narrow dangerously at him.

Then suddenly, the weight of the sky pressed down on his already broken soul, causing his snake-like pupils to widen in disbelief. He had only guessed before, but now he was sure.

"This is... Dominant Spirit... So, you are indeed a new Arch-Magus..." The heir of Slytherin stammered uncomfortably, but despite this, he did not lower his gaze. Evil as he was, his will was as firm as a mountain. If he were at his peak, Maverick figured he would have to unleash his spirit with full force to bring about a reaction.

But that was an if. Right now, the Dark Lord was nothing in front of his eyes.

"I don't have time to play with you," Maverick said in a dismissive tone. The indifference in his voice only fueled Voldemort's rage even more.

How dare this unknown wizard speak to him like that? Not even Dumbledore had ever dared to address him so disrespectfully, Voldemort thought, his mind burning with raw anger.

"You insolent—" he hissed, but then cut himself off. His anger burned hotter with every second, but beneath that fire, a cold, unwelcome truth gnawed at him. He was not at his full strength. The figure before him—whoever he was—was an Arch-Magus.

And even if that assumption was wrong, he knew better than to pick a fight in his current state.

The distorted voice once again, cut through the tension.

"Disappear, Riddle. You are not welcome here!"

Voldemort stiffened, his snake-like eyes glowing red with anger. The one thing he hated more than anything was the reminder of his Muggle heritage, and this figure in front of him knew about it.

But before he could voice how this mysterious figure knew that information, he heard it speak again.

"If we truly fight here," Maverick said, "the old monster in the castle might sense the magical fluctuations. I'm sure neither of us wants that to happen." He let the words settle, watching as Voldemort's expression darkened further. "Leave, and never return to harm the unicorns again. If you do, I will hunt you down."

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed with malice. "You think you can order me?" he spat. "You overestimate yourself. I will return to my full strength soon enough, and when I do, you will regret this arrogance."

Maverick tilted his head slightly. "We shall see."

Voldemort bared his teeth, but after a tense pause, he turned. His form lifted off the ground, his lower body shifting into black smoke as he glided through the air. His dark robes billowed like living shadows, and within moments, he vanished into the night, his flight spell carrying him swiftly away.

Maverick waited, watching the space where Voldemort had vanished. Only when he was sure the Dark Lord was far enough did he exhale quietly and turn his attention to the wounded unicorn.

Kneeling beside the creature, he placed a hand gently on its pale, silver bloodstained fur. The unicorn was barely clinging to life, its breaths shallow.

Without hesitation, Maverick muttered an incantation, channeling healing magic through his fingertips. A soft, golden glow enveloped the unicorn's wounds, sealing them slowly but steadily.

But it wasn't enough.

He reached into his storage ring and retrieved a handful of rare healing herbs, collected over the past two years during his travels across the world.

He crushed them with precise movements, mixing them with a bit of his magic, and pressed the herbal paste onto the unicorn's wounds.

Minutes passed in silence.

Then, at last, the unicorn stirred. Its breathing, once labored, began to steady. The raw wounds faded, its strength visibly returning at a remarkable pace.

Maverick watched, momentarily in amazement. No magical creature he knew of could heal this fast—except, perhaps, for a phoenix.

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing.

Then, without looking up, he spoke, his voice shifting once more into the distorted resonance of the Bloodraven.

"You can come out now."

The forest remained still. But Maverick had known for some time that someone—something—had been watching since even before Voldemort had left.

A faint rustling of leaves broke the silence. Then, from the shadows of the trees, a centaur emerged.

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Author's Note:

Just a quick update — up to Chapter 122 is already available on P AT r30n!

PAT r30n [.] com / RyanFic