London burned again.
The fire didn't spread by natural means—it slithered, hissed, and climbed up the walls as if the flames themselves were alive. People ran, screaming, while the air trembled under the stench of sulfur and brimstone.
A tear had opened above Westminster, jagged and crimson, like a wound in the sky. From it, something massive crawled out.
It was shaped like a man, but far too wrong to be human. Its skin shimmered like obsidian. Its eyes burned with eternal hunger.
It was a demon!
The Ministry of Magic had sealed off the area, Aurors weaving defensive barriers as fast as they could. But the creature walked through their spells as though they were mist.
"Protego Maxima!" shouted one witch. The barrier erupted into shards of light and failed. The next moment, her body was flung backwards into the pavement.
"Fall back!" an Auror, captain yelled, voice cracking. "It's not responding to suppression charms! We need—"
He didn't finish the sentence. The demon turned toward him and spoke in a voice that sounded like gravel grinding over bones.
"It's been so long since I've feasted on mortals. Bow down. You are in the presence of a Duke!"
The captain raised his wand again. "By order of the Ministry, you are—"
The demon's clawed hand cut through the air. The man never had a chance to finish the incantation.
And then… the world stopped.
A soft hum, like the breath before lightning, rippled through the chaos. The fires dimmed. Sound itself seemed to hush, not by force, but by reverence.
A young woman stepped from an alleyway.
She wasn't dressed in Auror robes, but in simple dark garments. Her black hair hung loose, eyes calm and unreadable. No wand in sight. No crest. No mark of allegiance.
"What the hell is a civilian still doing here?" roared an Auror.
But no one knew.
The demon turned, gaze settling on the newcomer. "A stray mortal dares walk toward me?"
She didn't answer. She simply raised one hand.
Magic swirled around her—invisible yet vast, bending the air like heat above desert sand. The demon sneered and lunged, claws carving through the street.
The woman lifted two fingers.
The ground erupted.
Ribbons of blue-white energy coiled upward, weaving through the air like serpents. They met the demon mid-strike, wrapping around its arms and chest, searing runes into its flesh. The creature howled, flames bursting from its wounds, only to be swallowed by the same light binding it.
"Impossible," it growled, thrashing. "You wield power without conduit… you are—"
The woman stepped closer, eyes narrowing. She whispered a single phrase, barely audible even to herself.
"Go back to Hell."
She extended her palm.
A circle of light expanded beneath the demon's feet. It was an intricate pattern of sigils and infernal script. The moment her hand closed into a fist, the runes ignited.
The demon screamed, its form fracturing into a thousand pieces of shadow before imploding into nothingness.
Then silence.
Only the faint scent of ozone remained, the air shimmering where the creature had stood.
The Aurors, still frozen in shock, lowered their wands.
"Merlin's beard…" one muttered. "What kind of spell was that?"
"She didn't even—she didn't say a word!" another stammered. "No wand… no incantation…"
The captain struggled to regain composure, staring at her. "Identify yourself, witch. What division are you with?"
The woman tilted her head slightly. For a heartbeat, her expression softened.
"I'm not with the Ministry."
Her voice was quiet and distant, as though spoken from far away.
The Aurors glanced at one another, uncertain about the next course of action. But before anyone could react, the air shimmered, and she vanished.
No pop of Apparition, no ripple of magic.
She was simply gone.
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
The next day, every newspaper carried the same headline:
"UNKNOWN WITCH BANISHES A DEMON DUKE IN CENTRAL LONDON AND SAVES AURORS."
In the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Kingsley Shacklebolt read the report twice.
"Wandless magic," he murmured, leaning back. "Not even Dumbledore could achieve any significant spell bare-handed. Just who's this girl?"
The young Auror who had brought him the copy swallowed. "Sir, eyewitnesses described her as just out of school, with black hair, no wand, no crest. She appeared after the unit was almost wiped out."
Kingsley tapped the parchment. "And she erased every trace of demonic residue afterwards. That means she understood the summoning matrix." He paused. "We've seen something like this before."
He stood, eyes darkening.
"File her under special observation. Code name: The Wandless Witch."
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
Far from London, in a small cabin hidden deep within the Scottish Highlands, the witch everyone was going crazy about sat by a window, sipping tea.
Her name—not that anyone knew it, at least in this part of the world—was Alisa Novikova.
Outside, snow was falling softly. Inside, runes pulsed faintly along the floorboards, a containment seal glowing just beneath the surface. At its centre, trapped inside a transparent sphere, writhed a small, twisted figure. If one looked closely, they'd actually realise that it was the demon she had vanquished yesterday.
"Still fighting?" she murmured, setting down her cup.
The fragment hissed in a dozen voices at once. "You can't… contain… me!"
Alisa raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps not forever." She traced a sigil in the air with her fingertip. Lines of light formed, tightening around the sphere until the whispers were cut off.
She exhaled, fatigue creeping into her expression. Sealing a demon, instead of banishing one, drains much more power, and it also demanded precision and emotional control. One slip and the spell would unravel, letting the monster loose.
Thankfully, she was very good at staying focused when in combat.
Her hands trembled faintly.
On the table beside her lay a worn book—Advanced Principles of Cross-Transformation. It was the latest tome on the topic, and she had bought it just a couple of days ago before leaving Russia at last. It was filled with her margin notes, which were corrections, improvements, dismissals.
But like all the books before it, it was utterly useless for her research.
She was trying to find out how one could change genitals without also affecting their sex. So far, she had no success.
Gods, what will I do?
She couldn't just go on living like… that! She had grown a… man part… just a little higher than her pussy.
Alisa came to Britain, hoping to catch a legendary academic on the subject, the famed professor McGonagall. However, she didn't think her plan through, as usual, and had only just realised that the woman was actually a professor who lived and taught in the country's magical school—Hogwarts.
She closed her eyes, and her mind returned to the last time she fought a demon before yesterday.
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