Necromancer Harry Potter Novels & Stories

She was the strongest witch from her clan, and I was her powerful hybrid child, until they came. The witch who had prepared the Anthurium must have known who I was, and surely had enough grudge against me and my mother to go to that lengths. To perform such a strong potion, a sorcerer must be willing to sacrifice a decade worth of their power - for a decade they will have no power and be unable to conjure up spells and someone had willingly done that in exchange for our death. I was going to find that person, and I was going to make death the easy way out for them. I flung the dead squirrel as far as I could, and with the back of my hand, I wiped my mouth before turning slowly to Damon. A wh

Just now did Charlando notice the little names at the lower part of the compartments, with names of different supernatural monsters, including, Dark-gold Pythons, Greenback Direwolf, Dark-scaled Rhinoceros, and so forth. "That old person Simpkin sure has large chunk of change to toss around. Reproducing a mixture? That is over the top! Mana doesn't exist any longer, and the magi are not faring any better. How might you make mixtures without mana?" considered old Tom as he shook his head unremittingly. "Then, at that point, shouldn't something be said about this thing?" Charlando waved around an enormous, fixed bamboo compartment that was very nearly a meter long. Hints of streaming fluid cou

"I won't let them harm us." Aunt Cleo's voice sliced through the air like a warning bell, her words laced with urgency and gravity. "Aqua, you need to grasp the true threat of the coven. They're not just ordinary casters. Each possesses unique abilities, ranging from unnaturally swift regeneration and inhuman strength to the sinister power to manipulate creatures and even people, turning them into spies. Some even boast of an unnerving form of immortality, extending their lives far beyond the natural order. And worst of all, they have the terrifying capability to absorb the powers of other casters."

However, for the orcs, a healing shaman can provide the same healing as a priest, and an elemental shaman can use offensive spells like a mage, which is enough, after all, many human mages can't play with many of their spells for a straight person like them. Seeing that they couldn't support themselves under the siege of humans, the centauress suddenly took out a metal token. “No good!” Christine saw the token and recognized it as a magic item, immediately consumed two spell slots to instantly launch a level one spell “Trance”, which could cause the target creature to fall into a trance, appearing frozen and unable to cast spells or use magic power to open magic items. Although there was a c

"But the Zergs attacked the transport. Now I'm stuck here, waiting for the students from the Academy to rescue us." Mythos Academy...Why does that sound so familiar? "And you?" he asks. "What are you doing here?" "Tourism," I lie smoothly. "By the way, what's your name?" "Arlo Napki." Arlo. The name hits me like a bullet. My memory clicks. Just yesterday, my rival mocked me with a trashy novel. It's a dark fantasy smut story where logic doesn't exist. I am the vicious Villainess destined to be humiliated and killed. Arlo, the pathetic male villain who awakens the power of Narcissus—cursed with useless beauty and zero combat power.

She bustled around, preparing the tea, I assumed. I sat at the small wooden table, watching Nyla creep toward a woven basket overflowing with bottles and strange objects. The key had to be in there somewhere. "The... the road was long," I managed, trying to deepen my voice. "Oh, but you're here now. That's all that matters." She set a steaming cup in front of me, and the sweet smell got stronger. "Drink up. It will help with your tiredness." I lifted the cup but didn't drink. Something about this felt wrong. Well, more wrong than pretending to be a dead man to trick a crazy mage.

"Scream as if I am dead." I screamed. The sound ripped through the forest, a raw, animalistic cry of grief, rage, and profound loss. I screamed until my throat was raw, until my lungs burned, and then I screamed some more. The Council arrived, drawn by the sound. The old man led them, his white eyes gleaming, his gray skin stretched taut over ancient bones. "The half-blood has done it," he declared. "She has killed the pureblood." He approached Niklas's still form. "Finally," he murmured. "After all these years, the Vollbrecht line is—"

He smiles as he watches the head of the clan and everyone around that room dead and bathing with their blood that put him in utmost content. He who sacrifices his very soul and is bound into the chains and clutches of that God. The master of the dead, a necromancer, and an alchemist. He who is supposed to be dead yet is alive and continues to like a cycle of a jellyfish and two. He is greeted as his very creation and façade of an older sister, replies. “As your very wish, master.”

Everything inside me goes cold all over again, the flicker of hope that had been there extinguished. I stare at him, dully, knowing it is not Lucas. But it is Lucas. Lucas’s memories, Lucas’s voice, his face, his hands. He begins to walk away from me, as if disgusted, and despite the shock to my system, my eyes catch some thing from the corner of them. The necromancer is standing on the balcony, holding a black spear which is both thick and heavy. His eyes are gleaming as he looks at Lucas’s back. And then he throws it with a speed that is terrifying.

This was no mere social dinner, it was a delicate meeting between leaders, where every smile carried subtle caution. The Blood Moon warriors eyed the elaborate dishes warily, unsure whether they should eat. After all, the witches’ pack had long held a notorious reputation, who knew if they’d cursed the food with dark magic? Amid this feigned merriment, Raven suddenly rose, holding a thin porcelain cup filled with Moonnectar. Soft light reflected in his deep eyes, revealing emotions only he understood, tender, melancholic, like stars shimmering behind a veil of mist.