Under the Cursed Moon - CH - 79

The seminar was in full swing.

Wizards and witches from across the magical world had gathered beneath the silver-glass dome of the Orrinfield Alchemical Hall, nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. The scent of rare herbs and stewing elixirs drifted through the air, and conversations in thickly accented tongues echoed through stone corridors.

Hermione was in her element.

Her quill danced over parchment with sharp precision as she nodded along to a bearded potion master from India, who was explaining the alchemical breakdown of Unicorn Blood Stabilizers. Nearby, a Potioneer from Spain gestured wildly about the ethics of sentient cauldrons.

Hermione absorbed it all—formulas, concepts, brewing techniques. Her eyes sparkled, her mind racing faster than the bubbling cauldrons. She had already written thirty-two pages of notes. And it was only Day Two.

Harry… was bored.

He tried. He really did.

But potion theory made his brain itch, and the constant talk of viscosity, ratios, and temperature windows just made him sleepy. Still, he was proud of Hermione and gave her space to flourish.

While she was engaged with her craft, Harry wandered, talking to various guests who had strayed from cauldrons and burners. He found himself deep in conversation with a seasoned potionist from Russia who knew some rare warding techniques used to protect forest sanctuaries, and an old French alchemist who casually mentioned an anti-possession rune array once used during the last vampire rebellion.

That’s when it happened.

A pulse of familiar magic shimmered behind him. He turned just in time to see a glowing silver owl Patronus glide through the seminar’s high window, graceful and silent.

The voice that followed sent cold steel down his spine.

“Teddy is in danger.”

There was no hesitation.

No questions.

No discussion.

Harry met Hermione’s eyes across the room. She had frozen mid-sentence, the quill falling from her hand. They didn’t need to say a word.

Hermione vanished the ink on her robes with a flick.

Harry summoned their gear with a gesture.

And with a shared nod, they both disapparated.

They landed in the front garden of Black Mansion, where snow dusted the iron fenceposts. The wards instantly recognized them, pulsing in greeting.

Then they caught the scent.

Teddy. Luna. Vampires. Dozens.

Harry’s eyes flashed. Hermione’s narrowed. They dropped to one knee, touched the frozen ground—and transformed.

In less than a second, two massive wolves thundered through the snowy forest, paws pounding, snow spraying in their wake.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t think.

They just ran.

They broke into the clearing with terrifying force, two blur-furred shapes barreling between the stunned vampires and their targets.

Harry, massive and black-furred, slid to a halt in front of Teddy and Luna, his hackles raised and a low growl in his throat.
Hermione, lean and silver, flanked him with surgical precision, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

The effect was immediate.

The Cullens gasped.
The shapeshifters backed up in startled recognition.
The Volturi stiffened, hands twitching at their sides.
And Teddy, eyes wide, breathed, “Dad…”

Then, before anyone could blink, both wolves shifted.

Magic flared as skin replaced fur. Cloaks wrapped around them in flowing motion. The snow swirled briefly in place, dancing in response to their arrival.

Now Harry Black stood tall before them all, dressed in black, his wand in one hand and his emerald eyes locked onto every vampire in sight.

Beside him, Hermione, calm but coiled like a spring, her hair wild with wind and magic, stood poised and ready.

Harry didn’t say a word.

He simply opened his mind—and used Legilimency.

He scanned the surface thoughts of every Volturi guard, and then some among the witnesses.

“The boy must be dealt with—too dangerous.”
“Kill the witch first, silence her before she speaks.”
“If the child dies, there are no more questions.”

Harry’s eyes darkened. His wand pulsed with barely leashed rage.

The silence in the clearing was heavy—the kind that weighed on the chest like a boulder. Not a single vampire dared breathe. Not a witness twitched. Even the ever-loyal Volturi guards were rooted in place, uncertain for the first time in centuries.

Harry Black stood at the center of it all, wand in hand, the snow hissing softly as the magic in the air burned cold around him. Beside him, Hermione, equally silent, equally powerful, a storm cloaked in calm.

Teddy stood just behind them, eyes wide in awe.
Luna, a small smile on her lips, watched with no fear—only certainty.

And then, a voice broke the stillness.

Not loud. Not commanding.

But absolutely shaken.

“I… had no idea you had property in Forks, Mr. Potter.”

Heads turned sharply.

Every Cullen froze.

Edward blinked. Bella’s mouth parted slightly. Emmett took a single step back. Even Carlisle looked stunned.

“Potter?” he whispered.

But Harry didn’t answer them. His green eyes were locked onto Aro, whose pale face was now showing a rare thing: panic.

Because Aro, Marcus, and Caius had once stood on the wrong side of history.
They had sided with the Dark Lady in Britain’s magical war, seeking power among shadows.
And they had seen what Harry Potter did to that darkness.
To her.
To the vampires that followed her.

They had lived only because he let them live.

Harry’s wand tilted slightly in Aro’s direction. His voice was calm, flat, merciless.

“If you want to talk,” Harry said, “you can talk in my mansion, which is nearby.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Volturi ranks with complete disregard.

“But if it’s a fight you want…”

He took a single, deliberate step forward, and the snow beneath his boot cracked like glass.

“…we can do that here. I’ll crush all of you like little bugs.”

The line settled in the clearing like a drop of fire into oil.

A few of the witness vampires gasped aloud. Some instinctively stepped further from the Volturi. Others looked between Aro and Harry, suddenly re-evaluating their loyalties.

Even the shapeshifters were stunned by Harry’s bluntness—and the fact that the Volturi didn’t move.

Because that was the real shock.

Not the threat.
Not the presence.
But the fact that Aro didn’t retaliate.

He nodded.

He agreed.

“Of course,” Aro said with a stiff smile that no longer reached his eyes. “A conversation… would be far more productive.”

And in that moment, the illusion cracked.

The Volturi, the supposed rulers of vampirekind, the ones who passed judgment on all others, had just stepped down at the feet of a wizard.

The witnesses stared at Harry Black—Harry Potter—as if seeing a god in mortal skin. They had no idea who he was.

Not until now.

But if he could speak to Aro like that, and Aro listened—then he was something more than legend.

And now they knew.

They were in his land.
They were under his gaze.
And they were utterly at his mercy.


The grand sitting room of Black Mansion had never been so full.
The enchanted walls—carved from living oak and wrapped in centuries-old runes—seemed to pulse faintly as vampires from every corner of the world settled into armchairs, long sofas, and polished wood benches that had grown out of the floor itself at Harry’s unspoken command.

The air was thick with a strange blend of tension, curiosity, and awe. The Cullens sat to one side, calm but alert. The Volturi, to the other, stiff with forced civility. The visiting covens filled the rest of the room—some confused, others still whispering about what they’d seen in the clearing.

And in the center, seated before the old hearth where fire crackled without smoke or wood, was Harry Black.

Or as many now remembered—Harry Potter.

No one questioned his authority. No one even dared to raise their voice.

Because here, in this ancient seat of power, in the land he owned, Harry was the law.

Outside, the world was very different.

Snow had stopped falling. The sky had turned clear and blue, and sunlight glinted off the branches of the towering fir trees surrounding the mansion.

Teddy and Renesmee ran through the open woods that circled the manor like a private kingdom.

He had turned into a mid-sized direwolf cub, bounding ahead through the powder, his tail wagging. Renesmee chased him, laughing, her curls flying, her joy unfazed by the diplomatic crisis being handled just inside.

For them, it was simple.

They had found each other again.
And that was enough.

Aro sat with his fingers laced delicately beneath his chin, studying Harry with a mix of admiration and discomfort.

“As I said before,” Aro spoke gently, “Renesmee is a marvel. But marvels, Mr. Potter, can become… problems. We must ensure she is not—”

“Stop.”

Harry’s voice wasn’t loud.
But it echoed.

It was the kind of stop that froze time.

All eyes turned.

Harry’s green gaze was fixed on Aro with terrifying clarity.

“You’re not taking her.”

Caius began to growl something under his breath, but Hermione—now seated beside Harry with an open notebook and two potions on the table—didn’t even look up as she lifted her wand slightly. Caius went silent instantly.

“If,” Harry continued, “Renesmee ever becomes a threat to the world, I will deal with her myself. You won’t have to raise a single finger.”

Aro opened his mouth, but Harry raised a hand.

“That’s final.”

And just like that, the Volturi's claim was erased.

To distract from the tension, Hermione clapped her hands lightly, and candies began to appear in trays of silver and emerald, serving two kinds of refreshments.

Blood-pops, enchanted lollies infused with rich flavorings—rare, luxurious, and impossible to replicate.

And small vials of the blood-replenishing potion, a deep crimson brew Hermione had perfected specifically for the Cullens.

While the Cullens accepted them without surprise, many of the visitors, and even a few Volturi guards, sniffed the bottle suspiciously.

“This,” Hermione said, “is what the Cullens use to avoid human blood. It’s brewed from magically cultivated blood essence, sustainable and replenishing. No harm, no deaths.”

Some were skeptical—until Benjamin tried a pop and closed his eyes with a low hum of delight.

“Stars… that’s good,” he muttered.

Even Marcus, usually silent, took a polite sip of the potion. His eyebrows lifted faintly.

Then Hermione added, almost too casually, “And here’s something… experimental.” She slid another vial forward. This one shimmered faintly, golden-pink.

“It allows vampires to experience being human. Temporarily. A few hours of warmth. A heartbeat. A breath. Enough to remember.”

Silence fell again.

That was something not even the Volturi had dreamed of. The power to taste their lost humanity.

Hermione smiled faintly. “If cooperation continues… I may provide it.”

The conversation lasted another hour, but there was no more posturing.

The threat of Harry, the promise of Hermione, and the unity of the Cullens and their allies had ended any hope the Volturi had of dominating the meeting.

Aro eventually rose, offered a slow bow, and said, “We thank you, Mr. Potter… for your wisdom.”

Harry didn’t smile. “You’re not welcome to return without permission.”

The Volturi filed out—silent, thoughtful, subdued.

With the Volturi gone, their shadow lingering only faintly in the winter air, the mood inside Black Mansion slowly shifted. The tension, though not fully gone, had begun to loosen, like frost melting under warm sunlight.

The Cullens lingered in the great hall.
The shapeshifters—Sam, Jacob, Paul, and Seth—remained near the back wall, still watchful, still processing.
And the remaining visiting vampires, though respectful and quiet, had not yet left.

Because now, a new question had taken root in every mind.

They had seen the Volturi—those who judged the fate of their entire kind—hesitate.

They had seen Jane, the infamous enforcer, retreat.

And they had heard Aro, ancient and elegant, utter the name with something close to fear:

Potter.

Edward was the first to break the silence, still stunned. He looked at Harry, who had sat down on the edge of the hearth with Teddy now curled beside him, drowsy from running through snow and too many sweets.

“Harry,” Edward said gently, “I heard Aro’s thoughts. Caius too. And Marcus. They weren’t just cautious around you.”

He paused. “They were terrified.”

Alice, who sat cross-legged beside Jasper, nodded slowly. “Even Jane’s brother—Alec—his mind was like a cornered animal when you entered the clearing.”

Rosalie crossed her arms. “You’ve mentioned before that you fought with the Volturi... but this isn’t about a fight. This is something else.”

Carlisle, ever patient and kind, stepped forward, his voice low. “Harry… why did Aro call you Potter? And what happened between you and the Volturi?”

All eyes turned to him now. Even the shapeshifters listened in silence.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing. Hermione, seated beside him, watched him closely, waiting to see if he'd answer.

He looked up, calm, controlled—but behind his green eyes was a fire that had not dimmed with time.

“I’ve fought wars,” he said. “I’ve buried too many people. And some time ago, the Volturi thought they could tip the balance of power during a dark time in our world.”

Jasper’s expression changed—military recognition flickering in his eyes.

Emmett leaned forward. “And you fought against them?”

Harry smiled faintly.

“I didn't just fight them,” he said. “I won.”

Everyone stilled.

“And I let them walk away,” he continued, “on the condition they never involved themselves in wizarding world's affairs again.”

Edward’s voice was cautious. “And if they had refused?”

Harry didn’t blink. “They’d be ashes.”