Harry Potter Promise NR.8 - Sex Stories

Harry Potter Promise NR.8

... as he was blasted back, which cut off abruptly as he hit the wall and fell to the floor, unmoving. Harry hid his fear for his friend, and continued to fight. He wouldn't give in, but he prayed that someone would show up soon. He was advanced for his age, but he couldn't hold his own indefinitely. As if to prove his point, a cutting curse connected with his leg at that moment, and he went down, cursing. Voldemort smirked. "Now, Potter. You've been causing me some trouble. It is time for you to pay." Harry didn't reply, beyond spitting at the floor in disgust. Voldemort's smirk turned into a sneer. "You are a fool, Harry Potter. And you will lose everything." He then raised his wand, the Killing Curse on his lips, when the fountain that took up part of the Atrium sprang to life. Called the Fountain of Magical Brethren, there were statues of a witch, wizard, goblin, house elf, and centaur. All of them were suddenly alive; it was the goblin statue that stood in front of Harry, while the house elf threw itself at Bellatrix, and the centaur dragged Harry out of the line of fire, depositing him by the now empty fountain, next to a still unconscious Neville. Harry looked around, confused, before his eyes lit on his savior. He didn't know exactly what to feel, but he was relieved, as Dumbledore entered the fray, taking over the fight with Voldemort. He was calm and composed, and whatever else Harry may have thought about the headmaster, he did admire the old man for being able to ...

... fight the Dark Lord without breaking a sweat. Neville coughed at that moment, and Harry reached out, thankful that the centaur statue had brought him over to his friend. "You all right?" he murmured quietly, helping the Longbottom heir sit up slowly. Neville nodded slightly, but then stopped and winced. "My head hurts," he admitted. And I think my arm might be broken." He held the limb to his chest, trying to control the pain that spiked through his body. Harry grimaced. "Just stay still. You'll be fine." Neville nodded again, mindful of his headache this time. He probably had a concussion. "What about you?" he asked worriedly, noting the blood that seemed to be spreading from Harry's upper leg. Harry looked down at the injury. "Cutting curse," he elaborated. "Not too deep, but I'm not sure I'll be walking out of here without help." It hurt to admit that, but he knew not to lie to his friends. They didn't deserve that. Not if he could help it. There were some things he couldn't share with them just yet, but if he could do it, he would be honest with them. "Stop calling me that!" Both Gryffindors looked over at the fight, and were amused to see how Voldemort seemed to be reduced to an upset toddler; Harry figured Dumbledore refused to call the Dark Lord by anything other than Tom, a name he knew the man – or whatever he was – hated. Dumbledore still looked calm and composed. "It is over, Tom. Your followers below have been rounded up. The Aurors and the Minister are on their way." ...