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Harry Potter had somehow found himself bound to a tombstone and bleeding profusely for the second time in his life. Mind you, it had been a few years since the first incident – he was now twenty six years old, a combat hardened Master Dueller, yet a sweet-looking, young Muggle girl still got the drop on him.
Delaney had asked him out on a date after he stumbled into the cafe she worked at. He asked for a large caramel frappuchino with extra whipped cream, 4 shots of espresso, and she asked for his number. He was tired and a bit flustered and stammered out the string of numbers – an hour later, he had a date with the chatty, innocent looking barista. Delaney was objectively attractive, Harry could admit to that. She had long, straight black hair, bangs, a soft, heart shaped face and big doe eyes. She wore some heavy, dark make-up, but her thick eyeliner and black lipstick wasn’t unattractive to him at all. When they met up that afternoon, she turned up in an all black ensemble, a long dress with detailed embroidery and lace, and heeled boots that almost put her at the same height as him. She was very pretty, if a bit intimidating, but then again, Harry has been almost exclusively talking to witches and wizards for the past fifteen years of his life, he was more than used to eccentric individuals. That being said, maybe he should have paid more attention to certain details. Like how she had a beautiful glass pendant, with something red swirling inside. Or how she grabbed his arm just a touch too tight for comfort, long, sharp nails almost digging into his forearm even through the thin layer of his shirt. Maybe the strange glint in her baby blue eyes, whenever he blushed from her lewd comments.
It wasn’t exactly a bad date. They spent a lovely few hours wandering the streets of New York, Delaney acting as an excited tour guide as she showed off her favourite place to eat (a quaint family owned italian restaurant, he made a note to come back the next time he was in New York), a popular gelato shop a few blocks away, and then a nice, if a bit rundown park. They sat on a bench, watched the ducks idle around the lake, people watched and then tried to make up stories for the pedestrians passing them by.
In fact, everything was going splendidly, until the sun started to dip, and suddenly it was getting dark, the lights turning on with an ominous click to illuminate their little spot. He offered to walk her home, but Delaney wanted one last stop before she went home, apparently it was part of her daily routine to visit the cemetery just around the block from her building. Harry wasn’t one to judge – he himself was laden with guilt and grief most days, even after all these years. His travels now prevented him from visiting the graves, old and new, back in England, but the ache never quite went away. And so, without any further questions, he followed her dutifully down dimly lit alleys as it got darker and darker, until they ended up in front of some heavy iron gates. Delaney pushed them open easily, smiled at him, and gestured for him to go first. He heard the gates click shut and rattle from the force, but he was a bit out of it, thrown off by memories of the last time he was among so many headstones, a tapestry of lives lived fully or ended unjustly short.
The next thing he knew, there was a woosh, and then something heavy connected with his head. He was out like a light.
And here he was, arms and legs secured to a cross-shaped tombstone, hanging rather uselessly above the ground by a few inches. Under him was a collection of items, bundles of dried herbs, a wicked sharp knife, and a bunch of candles in different colors and sizes. There were a few symbols drawn under him on the granite surface, most of which he couldn’t even make out, some that looked alarmingly similar to runes. He was no Master at runes, but even he could tell that the circle seemed somehow off balance, not to mention the glaring fact that Delaney was a Muggle. She didn’t have the magical core to ignite the runes. She seemed wholly unaware of this fact or maybe completely unbothered by it as she hummed and muttered under her breath in what sounded like broken up, butchered latin. By this point, Harry was fairly sure what was happening – he was, yet again, unwillingly partaking in a ritual, himself as the sacrifice. Again. Now, sure, two times could be a coincidence, but pushing the hilarity of the situation aside, even he had to admit that it was weird that it has happened twice in his twenty six years.
“So uh… Have you been planning this for a long time?” Harry asked awkwardly as he tugged on his restraints again. It was useless, Delaney must be stronger than he assumed, it was still a mystery to him how she dragged his unconscious body through the cemetery, then managed to lift and secure him so high up, all before he woke up. And her knots were solid as well. She didn’t answer his question, just shot him a look, as she kept up the chanting. It was rather ominous. Even if Harry was fairly sure whatever she had organized here would eventually fail, he was getting anxious as more time passed, and the shallow cut on his arm was used as a source for more runes, drawn in his blood. The combination of blood and runes needed focus and delicate handling, he was very well aware of that after his years of traveling. Some magical settlements viewed blood and blood magic as sacred, something to be used as a last resort, while others, especially in Asia, used it almost daily. British wizards were a bit prejudiced in this regard too, but he had become accustomed to the fact that British wizards were kind of, well, assholes.
Zoning in again as he noticed Delaney finally rising from her crouch, she seemed to have finished the last of her design and was now chanting more loudly, clasping an old, falling apart at the seems book. It seemed like some sort of grimoire, but Harry could sense no resonance he came to associate with magical objects. It must have been a dupe, which made sense, if she got her summoning circle design from it as well. She was now closing in, knife in hand, and Harry was cursing his luck, because stupidly, foolishly he decided to just chuck his wand into his jacket’s pocket, instead of wearing a wand holster on his wrist, as he usually did. Still a bit disoriented from the hit to his head, unwilling to risk a wandless spell that could go awry, he could only eye the woman before him warily, as she abruptly sliced both of his forearms open. He hissed through gritted teeth, as blood started to drip noisily to the stone underneath him, rivulets of crimson straining the white granite. What was more alarming, was that his blood seemed to defy physics and inch ever closer to the runes drawn in black chalk. Delaney was repeating the same few sentences now, with rising volume, and Harry tried to tug himself free again, but his body was even weaker than he expected, the blood loss settling in fast. Just as he was berating himself, imagining the awful, catastrophic headlines that would swarm the world if anyone ever got wind of how he found his demise at the hand of a Muggle girl, in a butchered summoning ritual, the air seemed to change. There was a strange, static charge as the last of the symbols drank in the blood all glinting faintly in the moonlight. Then came a crack, light lightning in the distance, and the shadows seemed to stretch impossibly long, but maybe Harry was just losing too much blood at this point. In his periphery, he was aware of Delaney falling to her knees and gasping, but before he could make a snide comment, his attention was captured by the actual fucking demon towering before him.
Because there, in the middle of the messed up circle stood a hulking mass of muscle, well over six feet tall, skin darker than coals, with the occasional strange golden motif running down his arms and bare chest. It looked like lightning, or golden lava, running down his body in mesmerising patterns. Two massive horns twisted back from his forehead, almost giving him a crown, all onyx black with sharp, golden tips. He was humanoid, that much was clear, his upper body, most of his face, the long, braided black hair cascading down his back at least gave that illusion. But his eyes, molten amber, swirling and luminescent destroyed any resemblance to humans. He had no pupils either, just pure gold. His lower body wasn’t even there, replaced by a strange mix of mist and smoke, the smell of coal and sulfur wafting off him in waves.
“O, lord Demon, I thank you for answering my call! I-” Delaney was staring at the demon with a sparkling, joyous expression, still on her hands and knees as she stared up at him. She didn’t get to finish her monologue however, as the demon only sneered at her, then his full focus was back on him, gaze unwavering.
“Is this servant bothering you, my dear Master?” And what?
“What?”
“No, I summoned! I was the one to call you, lord Demon!” She was frantic as she gathered herself, standing on shaky legs. Ironic, given how he was the one still bleeding out. But suddenly the blood loss didn’t even seem as important, what with a bloody demon calling him Master. The glare the demon gave her was full of ridicule.
“Are you the one bleeding?”
“Well, no-”
"Are you the virgin I can smell?" Why was that even relevant?!
"No, I-"
“Are you the one feeding power to this circle?”
“Surely, yes, I made it-”
“Are you the one binding me to it?” It was with that last question that something clicked for Harry. The binding. That’s what was so off about the circle. The dumb Muggle book must have left that out, or maybe Delaney was just rushing too much, but a layer of protection wasn’t applied. There was no barrier to contain the demon she summoned to the circle.
“I hate Muggle magic!” He groaned as his head thumped against the stone he was still bound to. Time to improvise then. “Dear demon, would you be so kind as to get me down from here? Maybe it’s time to stop the bleeding.” He contemplated as suddenly the ropes vanished, and the ground was rushing towards him alarmingly fast. Before he could face plant, there were warm, muscled arms around his waist, and when his dizzy head finally oriented itself, he was cradled against an equally warm and sculpted chest. Delaney was on the ground again, raving and pulling at her hair, the perfect portrayal of hysteria. “Could you vanish her memories?” And woah, the demon's devilishly handsome face was really close from this position. The being just smirked, and the wailing stopped suddenly. It was kind of too late to specify how far back the memories should disappear, he guessed. Oh well. “Please, don’t leave my blood behind, it has been used enough as is… maybe close the wounds on my arms, if you don’t mind.” He was getting drowsy now, fatigue setting in as the adrenaline left his system. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open, so he didn’t even bother, slumping more against a too-still chest with no heartbeat that radiated heat. His arms tingled, and he was jostled slightly, then there was some rustling of fabric, but it was all too fractured to make sense to him right now.
“Sleep well, dear Master. I shall protect your dreams.” Harry could barely make out the quiet words, but they still lulled him into a restful sleep.