Harry Potter Old Magic Fanfiction Novels & Stories

“Because of the dates, the timeline and everything. Doxante magic is not twenty something years old.” He jumped and sat on a chair that was spinning, saying some spells and I watched it unravel with wide eyes. “The hocus sticks spell” “Exactly. The spell that makes things wetter.” “Like a vagina.” He completed his sentence and I was shocked. Something inside of me tightened and I swallowed very hard. “How come you look this young?” “Anti aging?” I could perceive the sarcasm in his tone. “I believe in magic but definitely not time travel.” “Okay, you caught me. Doxante magic is passed on from generation to generation.”

When I tried to send him back to Valhalla, Ben crossed over instead. I jump up from the bed, the magic book crashing to the floor. That's it! When I did the spell before, I had no idea what I was doing, but my subconscious did. It brought me my past-life loves. So, it should work again. I grab my wand and swallow down the lump of emotions pressing in the back of my throat. Gently, I lay the prism on my pillow and point my wand at it. Please work, please, please, please.

He blew a white substance into the air and I almost jumped out of my skin when the elderly woman we watched leave earlier stood so close to us staring at kyle most scarily. “What the fuck,” I exclaimed as I quickly pulled kyle behind me and placed myself in a defense mode. “What do you want,” Harry asked the old woman while pointing a magical substance towards her. “She is mine,” the old woman said, her voice echoing over and over again “Sorry, she is mine now,” Harry said to her and before she could say another word, Harry broke something that look like an egg, and there was smoke everywhere. “Run, “ he said and I dragged kyle's hand as we started running deep into the woods.

She takes a few hesitant steps back, her gaze brimming with growing terror. “You… you’re not our mother,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fear. She turns and runs toward the old woman for protection. A smile tugs at my lips. Ah, how sweet it is to see terror blooming in these helpless creatures. “You got that right, brat!” I declare, letting the spell burst forth from my hands in waves of undeniable power. The old woman and the children don’t even have time to react; the magic strikes them with a subtle yet precise force, like a venomous dance that envelops them, plunging them into a deep, unbreakable sleep.

he said. The old woman shifted, unresponsive. Jon stepped closer. She was sallow, pale, and deflated. There wasn’t much going on inside, but she wasn’t a complete vegetable. Her eyes would not look at anything directly, certainly not another human’s. They seemed to seek out the middle distance between objects and gaze at nothing. She hadn’t visibly aged since the final photo from upstairs, while her children certainly had. Another ageless wonder. His life was starting to get crowded by them. Father poured some brown liquid into a snifter. “You’re looking at the great magical failure, just like her organization,” Father began. “She reached beyond to pluck power, to realize herself in totality

"She's a Witch!" The moment the gem slipped from my grasp, a sudden void consumed me, the magic dissipating with my relinquished hold. Stepping back from the booth, a profound stillness cloaked me as I observed the crowd converging. Panic etched itself onto the faces of men, women, and children alike. The murmurs of discontent swelled into an angry chorus, echoing through the air. In the distance, the clamor of approaching soldiers added urgency to the unfolding scene. A ripple of anxiety coursed through me as I trembled, gazing one final time at the old woman. "You glowed," she whispered. A mirror hung on a twisted post, and my reflection revealed tendrils of cerulean sparks dancing on my i

His steps carried him through the forest to a stone cottage tucked away in the trees, the home of the old wizard who had raised him. He didn’t knock. He pushed the door open to find the old man already awake, stirring a dark liquid in a steaming pot. “I had the dream again,” James said, his voice sharp and restless. The wizard turned his head slowly but said nothing. “This is the third time this week,” James continued, his tone rising. “It’s always the same, the fire, the slaughter, the man and woman dying for the child. Why won’t it stop?” The old man only hummed, as though he’d heard it all before, and turned back to his pot.

He felt uncomfortable as he hates the feeling of ants biting. After a minute of torture, he could finally pull out his arms and what he saw is a tattoo of the house sigil. “Good, it seems like you passed the test” he heard the headmaster saying then continued “ Now you can enter this door” Earth looked at him with a questioning look. How can he enter when the door is still not closed? “Am I supposed to say a magic word like Alakazam, or open sesame for the door to open?” he finally asked jokingly to ease the tension.

" Alvian, who was too angry, immediately left the meeting room. Leaving those who were silent and nothing to stop him from leaving. "My meeting continues, what do you all think?" "To be honest, I completely agree with that young man Damian's opinion. In the past, I also had the view of always wanting to destroy the enemy when they needed help. And when I did that, I lost. But when I stretched out my hand to them, we were no longer enemies. . Not being a rival, but I got them. I won in that state!" Harry, the oldest of them. 70 years and still looks very fresh to this day. The middle-aged man looked at the only young girl in their meeting room this time. And it gave Harry a new spirit, before

AURORA’S POV I couldn’t have imagined such a death even in my darkest fantasy; suspended in the air, surrounded by candles with weird fragrance. My death meant the return of someone very evil. It also meant the death of my little girl. I tried to use my magic but it was all in vain. My body was drained of all strength. Despair had taken root in my heart and had grown like Cuscuta engulfing my heart; draining it of the tiniest bit of hope that was left.