In the age of swords and sorcery, before the Statute of Secrecy, magic ran through the veins of Great Britain like blood through a beating heart. Wizards and witches ruled kingdoms, guided mortals, and shaped the fate of the world. Chief among them was Merlin, the Archmage of Camelot, and counsellor to King Arthur Pendragon. But not all wielders of the arcane shared Merlin's vision of unity.
Morgana Le Fay, Arthur's half-sister and once Merlin's brightest pupil, grew disillusioned with the rising order of muggle governance. Where Merlin sought balance through structure and restraint, Morgana championed wild, elemental magic, free from human law. As the rift deepened, whispers of her experiments with ancient, forbidden power spread through the halls of Camelot and into the ears of Arthur's knights.
The final battle was waged not in a field of honour, but across the very hills and mountains of the Isles. For seven days and nights, the skies over Britain bled lightning and fire as the magical elite — Merlin, Anouwre, the High Druid Ciren, and others — joined mortal forces under Arthur's banner to hunt Morgana down. On the eighth day, mortally wounded and betrayed by those she once called kin, Morgana vanished into shadow, leaving behind a parting gift, never to be seen again.
A curse.
Wrought from her own dying essence and bound into the bones of the world, Morgana's curse tore at the foundations of magical identity itself. No wand, no spell, no bloodline was left untouched. It twisted how magic manifested in witches and wizards, creating imbalance and misunderstanding across the ages. It muddled instinct, clouded emotion, and seeded discord between male and female practitioners of the arcane. The deeper the magic ran, the more its expression was skewed — both physically and sensually.
Witches were cursed to be forever horny, to seek the sweet release to their carnal desires, yet to be denied at every corner. Their magical prowess mirroring its influence on their bodies.
The reverse happened to the wizards, the stronger they became the harder it was to build muscles accompanied by the shrinking of a certain body part.
Worse, it etched silence into the hearts of those who suffered most. Witches were compelled to no longer speak of their torment to those who might understand and wizards blind to their own coldness, disgusted by the witches whenever they showed signs of their true selves. Trust eroded. Shame and secrecy became tradition. Over centuries, the magical world fractured, rebuilt itself, and buried the truth beneath lies.
Of course, with this blindness came hollow solutions. Fertility potions, which the men had to take only once to sire an heir, to avoid the frowned upon act of sex. Proper etiquette forced upon women. Clothes that hid as much skin as possible and so much more…
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On one fateful day, when the dark lord marched into the cozy home of Lily and James Potter, something unforeseen happened. In her desperate plea and love, the boy survived, and Voldemort was slain.
However, the cursed lightning mark atop his forehead wasn't the only thing imparted that night, because Lily hadn't only passed her protection onto him. No, along with it came her version of the curse, easily triumphing over the one Harry was supposed to receive.
He was indeed the Boy Who Lived with no one the wiser about his curse.
But was it really a curse?
No one knew. Not even Harry.
Until he finds out.
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Harry's childhood was miserable under the Dursleys. On top of the neglect came his urges, which set in once puberty started. He had to relieve himself daily and if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to sit still or sleep one bit. He became all fidgety and desperate.
Occasionally, weird phenomena would happen around him, from a gust of wind that lifted skirts to blouses whose buttons popped.
The only time he somewhat found solace was when exercising. Physical exhaustion seemed to keep his lust in check. It helped that with all that training he had gotten rather handsome. Muscles popped up all over his body, not overly large ones as bodybuilders, but well-defined ones like years of training with your own body weight would bring you. He found it a bit weird that he could sustain them with how little the Dursleys gave him to eat. Neither did he quickly get fat, when he was able to eat more than normal during rare occasions like the winter holidays.
His member between his legs also never seemed to stop growing.
When he got the letter of acceptance to Hogwarts on his 18th birthday he was overjoyed. It meant that he wasn't going crazy.
Yet it didn't go as he had hoped.
When he asked the friendly giant, who helped him with his school supplies, he was met with a look of utter disgust.
Diagon Ally was also a massive let down. All around him beautiful witches, yet not a single one wore anything remotely considered revealing. They all wore robes that covered them from neck down.
And so continued Harry's torture.
He somehow managed to befriend Ron Weasley, however, when he hinted at any form of intimacy the ginger rejected everything, saying those kinds of things were only important once they had a wife and needed an heir.
His 'apparent' rival Draco Malfoy didn't make any of his school life better.
So instead, Harry put all his focus into studying magic. Anything that could help keep his desires under control or created an opportunity for him to release was hungrily devoured. He learned everything ranging from Transfiguration, especially Human Transfiguration, to hide his raging boner, to the confundus charm, to have some privacy, and so on. Anything and everything that could help mask his true self, so that he could fit in.
The invisibility cloak was a massive help, both in acquiring books from the forbidden section, and in staying hidden when he desperately needed a release.
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The first cracks in his worldview started to form at the end of the year, when he watched how Hermione furiously blushed, practically turning into a tomato, as well as the soft moans she desperately tried to suppress while the Devil's Snare squeezed her body with its roots.
Yet back then he couldn't bring himself to believe what he had seen. It was impossible that someone was as horny as he was. It simply couldn't be.
Unfortunately, when he woke up in the infirmary a week after the school year ended, she was already gone. Both, she and Ron, had taken the train back to London. Only Dumbledore remained and the presents from his friends. He begrudgingly was brought back to the Dursleys, where he spent his summer slaving away.
But that image never left his mind. How the Devil's Snare constricted around Hermione, showcasing her wide hips and fat ass. How she slightly arched her back when the roots squeezed her juicy thighs.
The more he thought about it the more he was certain that it wasn't a coincident. Those images kept him up a few nights.
He would have never thought that Hermione of all people hid something that appetizing under her robes.
Doubt that he imagined everything kept him from writing her an owl. He would check for himself when the next year started, though. Definitely.
And what is another three months. He already thought against his urges most of his life he would survive those as well.
Regardless of that, he used the summer break to learn more magic, especially the books in his family's vault inside Gringotts. Potter wasn't an ancient house for nothing, there had to be some interesting spells.