And that same exam week, Evelyn's second article was finally published.
"The Magical Chronicles: The House of Lestrange"
If Rosier had been an introduction, this was a bombshell.
The name Lestrange was infamous across Britain. Even if no direct heirs remained at Hogwarts, countless pure-blood children could trace distant ties to the family.
Compared to Rosier, the Lestranges carried a darker, more fearsome reputation--one deeply woven into wizarding history!'
So when the Prophet hit breakfast tables, all of Hogwarts devoured the article. Why, they wondered, had Lady Greengrass ranked Lestrange only as a lineage, a step below a great house?
"The Lestrange family was founded in the thirteenth century by Corvinus Lestrange, a notorious Dark wizard. His wand was unusual: its core, the feather of a three-legged raven, and its wood, yew-the wood most beloved by dark sorcerers. The family crest likewise bore a raven, uncannily close to Ravenclaw's emblem."
"Measured by sheer longevity, the Rosiers are a thousand-year dynasty. The Lestranges, younger by several centuries, lack that depth of heritage."
"Measured by contribution to magical society, the Lestranges pale even further. From their founder onward, they became known for producing Dark wizards. Their wealth and power came not from scholarship or invention, but from ruthlessness."
"The tenth head of house coveted the
Philosopher's Stone--and perished at the hands of Nicolas Flamel. The loss crippled the family, forcing them to scatter into foreign branches just to survive. It was, in truth, the beginning of their decline."
"In Britain, the most famous descendant was Rodolphus Lestrange, who briefly held the office of Minister for Magic. He attempted to shutter the Department of Mysteries under the guise of 'budget cuts'-but no one supported him. His resignation soon followed, citing health reasons, making him the shortest-serving Minister in history."
"The Lestranges clung to their standing through marriage pacts with other pure-bloods, but behind the façade lay uncomfortable truths: countless Muggle ancestors. The reason? Centuries of inbreeding crippled their fertility, and congenital defects nearly destroyed them.
Time and again, their bloodline would have died out--were it not for discreet marriages into Muggle families. These truths, however, the Lestranges buried with ferocity."
The Great Hall went silent.
Every line of the article shredded Lestrange pride to pieces. No praise. No redemption. Only exposure and condemnation.
The so-called paragons of pure blood were laid bare as hypocrites, their "noble line" surviving only through the very Muggles they claimed to despise. For many readers, a chill ran down their spines.
The Lestranges, for all their bluster, were a house built on rot. And now everyone knew it.
...
The backlash never came.
The French main branch was long extinct. The British Lestranges were rotting in Azkaban. The American branch had even changed its surname to escape the stigma.
Evelyn had picked his target with precision: strong enough to shock, weak enough to be unable to strike back.
The Serpent inside her was showing how to squeeze "soft fruit first."
"Lucifer," Hermione meanwhile pouted at the Gryffindor table, cheeks puffed, voice sweet but sulky, "Since, I am going to France, why don't you come with me, instead.... to meet that 'vixen succubus?"
Ever since Lucifer had read her the tale of Garden of the Eden, she had adopted the phrase "Succubus" as her own personal weapon. And in her book, France was absolutely crawling with them.
He gave her a stern look, "Don't be ridiculous. It's academic work. You know perfectly well how busy I am, besides Mr. Granger 'wouldn't approve'. But its not like we have no way of contacting each other, I also won't vanish for the whole break," he added, "I'll be home for a few days first. Lady Greengrass has words to share with me..."
Hermione's sulk melted into a grin, "Fine. I'll ask Mum then." She didn't have any other retort cause that same thorny woman was turning the entire wizarding world 'upside down' with his articles.
Pure-blood pedigrees stripped bare, reputations shattered. She had longed for months to leap in, to tear down Lucifer's sacred trousers and raise hell, but 'kept quiet...'
Those articles had now become her very lifeline to survive and focus unrest on. With holidays approaching, she itched for something dangerous, something exciting, Evelyn was dying to get 'pregnant', she would make Lucifer bore her name, no matter what.
She needed it on the body, inside, just anywhere she could please 'his cock.'
xxxxxx
'Enough days had gone past,' Lucifer thought, 'Voldy was stubborn with me, let's see if luck favoured Dumbledore instead.'
"Morningstar', Headmaster Dumbledore isn't in at the moment," the stone gargoyle muttered as it slid aside to reveal the spiral staircase.
Lucifer blinked. "He's not? Will he be back tonight?"
The gargoyle's stone face creased in something like uncertainty. "He should be. Fawkes is still here, after all. These days are... unusual. The Headmaster doesn't stray for long."
"Then I'll wait inside." Lucifer's tone was casual, but resolute. The gargoyle hesitated, then stepped aside.
Such privileges were rare in Hogwarts. Only McGonagall and he had this right. Her, because she was essentially the true backbone of the school. Lucifer? Because he had frightened the gargoyle into submission through force of presence--and because he had visited the office so often, the poor stone beast no longer dared to bar his way.
The Headmaster's office was hushed and fragrant. Strange silver instruments puffed white vapors into the air, filling the room with a subtle perfume that calmed the nerves.
On the massive desk sat the battered Sorting Hat, perched on its shelf. Lucifer's gaze lingered on it. He had always wanted to sit down and properly talk with it, to "catch up," but every visit to this office brought more pressing business.
Today was no different.
Instead, his eyes slid to the corner.
There, upon a carved perch of aged walnut, stood Fawkes. Not the brilliant creature Lucifer had seen before, but an old, haggard bird, feathers dulled and ragged. He approached, his voice soft, "Fawkes..."
Fawkes leaned forward, pressing its head against the boy's fingers. A weak, weary croon escaped its throat.
Lucifer chuckled. "So that's it... You're telling me you're usually radiant, but you don't understand why I wonder why you haven't burned yet."
The phoenix was on the cusp of death.
Once a phoenix reached the end of its cycle, it would age rapidly-plumage fading, body weakening--until it erupted into fire and was reborn, fresh and magnificent. Fawkes could have ended this cycle at any time.
Yet he waited. Another frail warble.
Lucifer's smile deepened. "So you're building up for a greater fire? Accumulating it... to burn hotter than ever?" He stroked the bird's head gently, "That's up to you. When you've risen again, I'll take you out for a proper flight."
Fawkes closed his eyes with a faint trill. He turned away, leaving the bird in peace, and was about to sit on one of the sofas when a voice hissed his name.
"Morningstar! Morningstar!"
He turned sharply. From a frame on the wall, Phineas Nigellus Black was waving at him.
Lucifer arched a brow. "Phineas. Don't tell me you've finally seen reason and want me to move your portrait elsewhere?"
"Pah! Don't toy with me, boy," Phineas huffed, his beard twitching with indignation, "I'm not going anywhere. The Headmaster's office is my rightful place."
Lucifer shrugged. "Then why call me? I've better things to do."
"Wait, wait! Don't be so impatient." Phineas leaned forward conspiratorially. The other portraits stirred awake, blinking as they leaned in, clearly eager to eavesdrop on whatever drama was about to unfold.
"That Greengrass woman has been stirring the cauldron quite a bit lately," Phineas said. "This whole 'History of the Wizarding World--'-a massive project, and dangerous too. Many enemies she'll make. But..."
His eyes gleamed. "I say good on her! A Slytherin should aim high-earth, shaking deeds, not mediocrity."
Lucifer folded his arms, unimpressed. "And?"
Phineas cleared his throat, coughed, and rubbed his hands sheepishly, "Well... it's inevitable she'll write about the Black family. One of the most noble, most illustrious lineages in wizarding history. Without us, whole swathes of magical heritage would vanish. Don't you agree?"
The boys's lips curved. "Go on."
"I was thinking," Phineas continued, "when she does write about us, maybe you can persuade her perhaps... emphasize the positives. We've had our little scandals, sure, but those can be left vague... No need to dwell. Let others dig for the dirty details if they insist. You--let her focus on our grandeur."
His eyes gleamed with hope, "What do you say?"
Lucifer laughed softly. "Ah. So that's your angle. Been hearing things about me being their ward, eh?"
The other portraits looked at Phineas with open disdain. Typical Slytherin opportunism-even in death, still scheming for his family's reputation!
"You want me to gloss over the filth," Not being too out of touch, Lucifer said mildly, "It's possible. But tell me, Phineas... what will you give me in return?'"
Phineas froze. "What...?"
"I said," Lucifer repeated, his smile sharp, "what benefit will you offer me for such kindness? Did you think I'd do it for free?"
Phineas' mouth twisted. "Benefit? What can I give? I'm a portrait, boy! A dead man! I have no gold, no lands, no vaults to offer."
His expression darkened, "So you want a free favor? That's the Black family way? Taking without giving? How... 'miserly."
"You dare?!" Phineas' beard bristled. "Let me tell you something, Morningstar'--aside from the Greengrasses, no family in Britain surpasses the Blacks in wealth! We fear no one---"
"And yet here you are," Lucifer cut in smoothly, "trying to get me to do your dirty work without offering a single knut. Pathetic."
Phineas' face turned purple with rage, "I can't give you money, but I can speak well of you to Dumbledore. Whisper in his ear, make sure he teaches you powerful magic."
Lucifer spread his hands. "And what good is that? The Headmaster would teach me regardless. You add nothing."
Then he leaned forward, his voice a blade, "Tell me, Phineas... you strut about your 'illustrious family. But your last heir rots in Azkaban. No wife, no children. Do you know what Muggles call that?"
He sneered, "An 'extinct' line. A house with no future."
The portrait trembled violently, Phineas' finger stabbing at Lucifer, yet no words came. Fury, humiliation, and helplessness choked him into silence. And at that very moment, the office door swung open with a quiet creak.
Albus Dumbledore stepped in. He had heard enough to catch Lucifer's last remark. His gaze flicked from Phineas' trembling form to the calm boy standing in the center of the room. For a moment, the old wizard said nothing.
Because deep down, he too felt the sting of Lucifer's words. He was, after all... an "extinct line" himself.
After Lucifer had finished snapping back at Phineas Nigellus, he heard movement behind him.
Turning around, he found himself face-to-face with Albus Dumbledore, who stood at the doorway with a rather peculiar expression.
"Good evening, Headmaster," Lucifer greeted him warmly.
"Good evening, Mr. Morningstar," Dumbledore replied, quickly composing himself before walking to his chair, "You've come at quite the convenient moment. I had actually been planning to invite you for afternoon tea in a few days before you all left."
Lucifer caught the hidden meaning in his words, "Professor, has there been... unrest lately because of those papers?"
Dumbledore, already seated, let out a weary little smile at the question. Unrest? It was more accurate to say all the unrest had been intercepted by him. Ever since Evelyn Greengrass's very first article was published, complaints and letters of protest from pure-blood families had mysteriously changed their destination from Greengrass Manor to upon Hogwarts like a blizzard.
Some letters were openly furious, others tried coaxing or threatening Evelyn into restraint, hoping she would "think carefully before writing again."
Some had gone further, declaring that their noble families had no need for a mere widow's judgment--and that she certainly wasn't worthy of passing it.
And now that today's paper had released Madam's piece on the 'Lestrange family', the number of outraged letters had multiplied. The first article on the Rosiers had at least been relatively positive... but the Lestranges? That was no critique--it was an open insult.
Dumbledore serving his forefathers contracts, and magical vows had spent the entire day placating infuriated 'pure-bloods', barely finding time for himself by evening.
But he hadn't gone or written to advise the family's Matriarch in retreat, he had even handled howlers sent to woman's daughters, before they even reached the Great Hall.
Though the world at large painted Dumbledore as a soft-hearted figure--and though some suspected he might disapprove of 'Magical Transportation' Head's writings--he had no intention of letting external pressure dictate Hogwarts' scholarship.
If even a student's serious academic work could be muzzled by outside influence, then what kind of Headmaster would he be?
Instead, he wanted to caution Lucifer as their ward to be careful, 'sentient oaths' have prevented targeting the members who had taken Greengrass name: less you want to lose magic', and reduce half of your lifeline, some even included impotency, cutting off continuing their 'family's line!'
Inside Hogwarts, Dumbledore could protect him. He would make sure no one reached their hand inside these walls. But once holidays arrived... he could not be Lucifer's guardian every hour of every day.
Lucifer listened, nodded thoughtfully.
"Thank you for the warning, Professor. I'll keep that in mind."
Then, with a slight pause, he added, "Although... if some foolish pure-blood truly tried to ambush me outside... chances are, they'd be the ones regretting it'. Forgive my bluntness, Professor, but... would you mind terribly if my friends were to strike back--rather hard? In all honesty, I wouldn't even know someone was trying to harm me."
Dumbledore blinked. "How hard, exactly they will do?"
Lucifer's lips curled, "For instance... hard enough to send them off to meet Merlin."
The air in the office seemed to chill by several degrees. After a brief silence, Dumbledore drew in a slow breath.
"If any other student said such words, I would dismiss it as childish bravado--'treating life and death as if they were casual topics. But you, Lucifer..." His pale blue eyes fixed on the boy with piercing intensity, tinged with something almost like pleading. "...your thoughts, your vision--they are already far beyond your peers."
Leaning forward slightly, he continued:
"Lucifer, I do not know the full extent of your power. But every time Severus speaks of your work, it is clear you can already handle most dangers that come your way. Still, I beg you: unless absolutely necessary, do not resort to killing.' This isn't sentimentality.... Every act of murder leaves marks upon the soul-marks that no words can fully describe. It can alter your magic, even your very character. That is not a burden to take lightly."
Lucifer on the receiving end smiled calmly and nodded, "Professor, I've read of this in many books. It's precisely why executions in the wizarding world are so rarely carried out by wizards themselves... You all seem almost cursed--whenever one wizard kills another, something strange is etched 'upon the killer.'"
"Countless studies prove it. Herpo the Foul discovered this very phenomenon when he devised the method of making a Soul Shard--the essential act 'being a murder', using that unnatural rupture to tear the soul apart."
That was why Grindelwald' had always been cautious. It had taken him significant effort to purge the aftereffects whenever he did slain one of his kind. But that did not mean he was unwilling to kill. If someone dared provoke him, he did not shy away.
Gellert had slain countless people and still walked the earth unbroken. To live in constant fear of consequences would make him no better than a farmer raising pumpkins.
"Professor," Lucifer promised, smiling faintly, "my dream is simply to enjoy the vacation in peace... and to find 'befitting wives'. Violence has no appeal to me--unless others bring it to my doorstep. I will never strike first."
Dumbledore's mouth twitched, clearly caught off guard by the blunt modesty of such a "dream." But Lucifer's assurance nonetheless brought him some comfort.
Then, a thought crossed Dumbledore's mind. His eyes gleamed with a hint of amusement.
"By the way, will you be visiting Nicolas this Summer? From the tone of his letters, you two seem to have been getting along well. He won't even tell me the details of before the term--keeps it 'shrouded in mystery'."
Lucifer blinked innocently. "You'll understand when you receive my late Christmas, New year's gift, Professor. With all that happened, many things left my mind..."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, "If you say so... then I look forward to it with great anticipation."
"Don't forget my gift either," he teased.
"To be honest," Dumbledore sighed, "choosing a gift for you is dreadfully difficult... I have no idea what young people truly enjoy these days. And you aren't particularly fond of sweets---"
"Oh, I'm rather fond of the gold made by 'Philosopher's Stone,'" Lucifer interrupted smoothly.
"...." Dumbledore. 'There is simply no continuing this conversation.'
"Mr. Morningstar," he asked tiredly, ignoring the outrageous suggestion, "was there something in particular you wanted from me this evening?"
Lucifer nodded. "Yes, Professor. I've wanted to talk about the Chamber of Secrets."
In an instant, a spark of sharp light flashed in the old wizard's eyes, his gaze growing intensely.
"You seemed to be hiding some details. Please-'tell me everything."
Not just him-the portraits of former Headmasters on the walls had all opened their painted eyes.
"That Chamber again?!"
The most agitated of all was Armando Dippet. During his tenure, a student's death had been a permanent stain on his record. Only shortly after Myrtle's death, Dumbledore had taken over as Headmaster.
"Like I said, it was not Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore said evenly to calm the man down, "That was not her intention--she was bewitched by Tom Riddle."
"That's right, Dippet. Weasley? Gryffindor through and through," Phineas Nigellus Black barked, "Who else might it be? Her twin brothers, nonsense! The Heir of Slytherin a Gryffindor? Foolish children, naming Harry Potter all year, you might as well claim you're the Heir yourself, at least that would make more sense!"
Lucifer narrowed his eyes, turning his head just slightly, "Phineas, if you want to hear the truth, then shut your mouth. Otherwise, I'll happily silence you myself."
"You-!" Phineas' eyes bulged, but before he could say another word, Armando Dippet hurriedly ducked into his portrait and clamped a hand over Phineas' mouth with surprising force.
"Lucifer. I promise, no one will interrupt us."
Only then did he turn back around. He pulled out a notebook and placed it atop the vast oak desk.
"Potter had given the diary to Lucius, but I was lucky enough to study it. Here is a replica, of course it doesn't have Riddle inside, but carries his magical signature for proper study."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. He could not immediately discern the true nature of the object, but when he had gotten real diary from Harry, it laid complex spells across--'powerful restraints woven one over the other.'
....Familiar signature, which meant Lucifer hadn't told him everything that day, that's reason he wanted to summon the boy before term ended.
And, this replica had those spells too just in case.
The black haired smiled lightly. Dumbledore's gaze sharpened at once, he needed this to study what Tom had actually done, but alas Mr. Potter didn't give the chance, however since Malfoy' family's abused elf was set free, reason was noble.
Without a sound, the Elder Wand appeared in his hand. Lucifer glanced at it too--'his first time' seeing the legendary wizard's wand in person.
It resembled the knucklebones of a hand, its shape noticeably distinct from ordinary wands. His eyes narrowed too as if finding something wrong with it, but didn't say what.
Dumbledore too did not reach for the notebook. Instead, his voice was calm, deliberate.
"Lucifer... I must ask you to tell me everything, in detail."
He nodded, then recounted everything from the very beginning: his first suspicions of Ginny's strange behavior, her abduction in the empty room on Sixth floor, and finally his own direct exchanges with the notebook's remnant of Tom Riddle.
His voice was steady, his manner almost disarmingly honest. And that was precisely his strategy.
The moment Lucifer had decided to hand over a Replica diary, he had already resolved not to hide his own ambition. What of it? Was ambition such a shameful thing? Better to display it openly than pretend otherwise.
What could Dumbledore truly do to him for it? Never in Voldemort's wildest imaginings would he have expected this boy to surrender a undestroyed diary, which could result in his secret being exposed to the 'Light Wizard.'
In Voldemort's eyes, Dumbledore was wary of every ambitious wizard who might someday surpass him.
But after years of regret over how he had once dealt with Voldemort, Dumbledore had changed. He was no longer the same man.
The office was utterly still, save for Lucifer's voice. Every portrait leaned in, listening intently. When he finally finished-having squeezed out every detail he could--he pushed the notebook toward Dumbledore.
Phineas Nigellus couldn't help but grin. Classic Slytherin. Toss away a cursed, troublesome object the moment it loses its usefulness. The boy had even fed it purest blood and tortured it. The Sorting Hat had been spot on.
Even Dumbledore's eyelid twitched slightly. Lucifer's candor was... unsettling. Yet he found himself oddly pleased. This level of straightforward honesty was something even Harry Potter had never offered. Dumbledore had sensed Harry's evasions during Mr. Fletchley, and Headless Nick's double attack, but he had chosen to respect them.
Lucifer, however, was almost too forthright.
"Mr. Morningstar," Dumbledore said gravely, "even if you are unharmed now, I must warn you: never trust anything that can think for itself, unless you can see clearly where it keeps its brain. Such objects are nearly always the work of Dark magic. That diary was no exception. 'Prolonged contact with such an item is perilous...."
"Professor, I have confidence in my own strength."
"And I hope you learn to restrain that confidence before it turns into arrogance."
"I will. But had Ginny's involvement remained a secret, like I asked? I gave her my word."
"That is only right," Dumbledore agreed at once, "Miss Weasley's secret will be safe with her family. None of the other professors will spread it to others. I trust that this ordeal will help her grow."
The old man paused, then his expression softened.
"Mr. Morningstar, I must thank you once again. You and Mr. Potter has delivered this school from a terrible crisis. 'Fifty years ago', Tom Riddle won himself an award through deception. But... you have already earned two, including Mr. Weasely has deserved it as well."
His eyes gleamed.
"Now, please-dispel the protective magic you've placed on this diary as well. I must examine it further."
Lucifer inclined his head. He began carefully unweaving the spells. Some, Dumbledore recognized; others, he did not. In fact, many of the methods were unlike anything in modern magical practice, nor even in traditional British wizardry.
They were techniques across the parallel earths he had gone to, Constantine's--methods meant for restraining dark forces. Secrets never shared beyond a chosen few.
Dumbledore could only marvel. Lucifer's repertoire of unusual arts was astounding. At last, the layers of wards dissolved, he opened the diary.
"Professor, allow me to demonstrate."
He dipped his quill to the page and wrote: Old Tom, are you still unwilling to hand over Slytherin's true legacy to me?
Almost at once, words scrawled themselves across the page in reply.
'Lucifer, I have said it before: give me ten pounds of dragon's blood, allow me to fully revive, and then the legacy will be yours.'
The quill scratched again.
"Then we have nothing left to discuss. It seems I must turn you over to someone who can deal with you properly."
'What do you mean by that?'
For the first time, a sharp pang of dread stirred within Voldemort's fragment inside Lestrange's vault that hadn't caught up with the present yet.
'What did he mean--hand me over to someone who could deal with me?'
'Would he really... give me away?' Inside Helga's cup, the fragment of Voldemort's soul began to panic.
After all, this was for a few minutes, a momentarily a 'fifteen-year-old Voldemort'--far less experienced, far less ruthless than he would one day become. When Lucifer's actions strayed outside his expectations, the boy's composure faltered.
'Lucifer, we can still negotiate. I am sincere-truly sincere. You must believe me!'
The words appeared across the page almost instantly, hurried and desperate. But Lucifer didn't even glance at them. He simply pushed the notebook toward Dumbledore.
"He doesn't know yet the diary has been destroyed. It's responding which means there is at least one more item like that... Memory halt will dissolve at '3:33 am'. It would become useless, just empty pages."
"Thank you, Mr. Morningstar', it's enough," the Headmaster said gravely. He lowered his gaze to the diary, then picked up a quill and wrote upon a blank section of the page:
'Tom, I never thought we would meet again like this. As I write, I see before me the clever, handsome young Head Boy I once knew, fifty years ago.'
The ink seeped into the page. The Cup fragment absorbed the words--and at once, the 'familiar aura' struck him. This was no echo of Lucifer's energy. This was someone else. Someone he knew far too well.
'Dumbledore!'
'Yes. It is I.'
Dumbledore confirmed it without hesitation, his quill scratching onward:
"Such an extraordinary achievement. I recall... you were only in your fifth year, weren't you? To create something so horrific at that age... Hogwarts has never seen another student like you."
He paused, then chuckled softly, glancing up. Across the room, Lucifer was locked in a silent staring contest with Fawkes the phoenix. Dumbledore gave him a faint smile before bending to write again.
"Forgive me--my phrasing was imprecise. I should say... the most gifted student before you."
This time, the diary fell silent. No words appeared in return. Dumbledore waited patiently, but when nothing came, he finally closed the diary with a sigh of genuine regret. Like Lucifer before him, he sealed it once more with protective magic.
The Devil, sensing the exchange had ended, quietly looked away.
Dumbledore stroked the black cover with a thoughtful hand.
"Fate is always filled with uncertainty. Yet every so often, it throws a surprise into our path, as though mocking us with its own twisted humor. Lucifer Morningstar... such a peculiar name."
His pale eyes rose to meet the black's.
"When I first saw your name appear on the Hogwarts register, I felt a sudden impulse to see you for myself, but couldn't... It seems as if your father had left the planet itself. This year, that very man's boy is now sitting before me, having been given his own name, Lucifer Morningstar. In any case, I feel honoured to welcome back Merlin's family into the wizarding world."
"What?!" Lucifer widened his eyes, his face the perfect picture of shock. Once, he had been too cautious to act before Dumbledore, but now he wielded both his secured mind, prowess and expression like weapons--'seamless, flawless.'
There was no father, Lucifer himself had came to this very Earth years ago, and made good memories, prompting him to visit once again.
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, his sigh heavy, "Such brilliance has rarely graced these halls. Of course there was one, before you, the most gifted student Hogwarts had ever known. Yet even his brilliance could not prevent him from straying into darkness. At school, Tom Riddle was the model of excellence--handsome, intelligent, impeccably polite. Compared to you, he was... gentler. Before graduating, he asked Armando for the chance to remain as a professor of 'Defense Against the Dark Arts.' But at my urging, Armando refused him."
"And so he vanished. He wandered the world, burying himself ever deeper in the mire of 'Dark magic'. When at last he returned... he was no longer Tom Riddle, but 'Lord Voldemort'. No one, save those who knew the truth, would ever connect the two."
"Then what if a muggle-born with the same name enters Hogwarts, Tom Riddle is not that rare of a name. They would probably feel like changing it," Lucifer remarked dryly-then frowned, shaking his head, "No, that's not an 'easy task... in Britain, why should an innocent be damned? It should be Voldemort' who does it!"
"That hardly matters," Dumbledore replied, half-laughing at Lucifer's racing mind, "Perhaps only you-or I--would dare speak Voldemort's name so casually."
He glanced at the clock.
"It's late, Mr. Morningstar'. You may return to your dormitory, for Herbology' exam you have to attend tomorrow. Leave the rest to me."
Lucifer nodded, pausing only to stroke Fawkes' head before striding toward the door.
From Harry, he had received only a destroyed artefact. Now he held in his hands one that still thought, still whispered, even if for limited time. What new consequences this would bring, no one could yet predict.
Still, Lucifer had made his calculations. Dumbledore knew Riddle like a page, if anyone he would be the best to confront such a person, and look for Voldemort's belongings, wherever or whatever it might be on this vast land of humans.
That was one of the reasons Lucifer dared entrust the diary to him. After he left, Dumbledore studied the diary intently. Raising the 'Elder Wand,' he murmured a string of incantations, testing its nature.
At first, relief softened his features. Then his expression grew grave, shadowed by the weight of what he had found.
"What did you discover, Dumbledore?" Armando Dippet asked at once.
"Horcrux," Dumbledore whispered with a sigh, "By his fifth year, Voldemort had already forged one. Remarkable-and terrible."
The portraits stirred in confusion. Most looked blank, including Armando and Phineas. Only a few recognized the word-and among them, Dilys Derwent went pale with horror.
"A Horcrux?!" she shrieked. "How dare he create such a thing!"
Dilys Derwent-one of Hogwarts' rare female Headmistresses, and once the matron of St. Mungo's Hospital for 'Magical Maladies and Injuries'-was more alarmed.
Dilys Derwent knew very well what a Horcrux was.
"What exactly is it, then?" Phineas Nigellus demanded irritably, "As a fellow Headmaster, how is it that you know while I don't? It makes me look rather foolish, doesn't it?"
"Idiot," Derwent snapped. "What did you even do when you were alive? Spend all your time tormenting students instead of studying magic?"
Phineas was so thoroughly scolded he could not lift his head. The other portraits -those who had no idea what a Horcrux was either--shifted their gazes awkwardly, avoiding the subject.
"Enough, Derwent," Dumbledore interjected gently, "'Horcruxes are exceedingly rare. It is perfectly natural that most would not know of them."
The heavy-nosed Modycurs Egerton stepped forward to smooth things over. He began to explain to the others the purpose of a Horcrux, as well as the general method of its creation. By the time he was finished, every face in every frame had darkened with horror.
Armando Dippet looked the worst of all. His complexion had gone chalk white. A student had created something so vile right under his very nose, and he had never noticed a thing. Worse--he had admired young Tom Riddle. Praised him.
Encouraged him.
"I misjudged him... I misjudged him so badly..." the old man muttered, trembling, his voice choked with anger at himself.
"Armando, this was not your fault alone," Dumbledore reassured him. "I was at the school as well, and I too noticed nothing. Now is not the time for regret. We must focus on what is to be done."
"What's to be done? Isn't it obvious?"
Phineas shouted, "Destroy the Horcruxes, then kill the body of Voldemort wherever it's hiding! Right now he's just a scrap of soul--less than a ghost!"
"Horcruxes are not so easily destroyed," Derwent countered, frowning deeply, "Perhaps the Killing Curse might suffice--but that carries its own risks. Fiendfyre could also work, though it is perilous beyond measure."
"Let's not rush," Dumbledore said calmly, setting the diary aside, "This is a rare opportunity. Through this replica, I may learn more of Voldemort's thoughts. Mr. Morningstar has indeed done me a great service... We do not know who advised Riddle, how many did he make, what and where they are?"
At this, a faint smile touched his lips.
For years, Dumbledore had suspected that Voldemort had made Horcruxes. Now, at last, he had proof. More than that--he held in his hands a living fragment of Voldemort himself that was hidden somewhere. With this, he might glean secrets untold.
And yet, deep inside, unease coiled like a serpent.
Lucifer had explained how Ginny Weasley had received the diary--slipped secretly into her schoolbooks. Nearly certain, then, that Lucius Malfoy had planted it.
Revenge, most likely, for Arthur Weasley's raid on Malfoy Manor the previous summer. "But one thing was clear: Lucius could not have known what the diary truly was..."
Voldemort would never share the secret of immortality with anyone. If Lucius had known the diary's significance, he would never have dared use it as a petty weapon.
Dumbledore's mind raced through the structure of the Death Eaters. Lucius had always maintained a high position-wealth, political ties, charm. But he was never in the innermost circle. Voldemort's most guarded secrets would not be entrusted to him.
So why, then, had he been given this Horcrux? The answer came to Dumbledore with chilling clarity. Because that diary was not the only one. Mere proof of it's replica responding till time described, stated so clearly...
Voldemort had created more. How many, was this hidden the only one?
"Ah, Tom..." Dumbledore thought grimly, "Even after years, you've given me another riddle far greater than you know."
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~~~Read the Chapter in Auxiliary Volume 0
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Lucifer shifted his consciousness into his small world to check on the state of his "Runic Serpents" found in dungeons of Tempest, after he deposited flesh of Basilisk in there.
The changes there were already considerable. The giant stones he had once placed were now riddled with burrows, and the air in that area was noticeably hotter than elsewhere.
The serpents had shed once already, and the quality of their discarded skins was excellent. Lucifer had collected them carefully--once he finished upgrading "WhatsApp," these materials would be put to good use, with his great-great-great granddaughter and wife Kurumi's Zafkiel.
But one problem still nagged at him. Life was good. Eat, sleep, bask in the sun-repeat. And yet... why were they not reproducing?
Only two female serpents were pregnant. The rest? Not a twitch of progress. The greatest failure of filial duty is leaving no heirs!
Lucifer had even consulted old Newt about the matter. The answer had been simple in his letter:
"Runic Serpents are naturally lazy creatures. To spark their biological urges, all three heads must agree. If even one slips into... 'shall we say, the sage's calm, then nothing will happen."
And at such times, Newt had hinted, "external aids" might be required to encourage their enthusiasm. Cough, cough. His wording was vague, but Lucifer understood perfectly well.
Still, Newt hadn't studied the subject deeply-after all, the Runic Serpent was not yet endangered enough to require that kind of intervention.
So, he decided to seek out a true Potions Master.
"Morningstar'... do you dare repeat that?" Severus Snape fixed the boy with a stare cold enough to kill. He was certain this brat had finally grown too arrogant.
He was asking him-a Potions Master-to brew... 'that kind of potion?'
"Professor, please don't think so crudely," Lucifer said with an expression of total seriousness. "This is for a far greater cause. My own knowledge base is insufficient. Only a master such as yourself could manage it. A student turns to his teacher when in need--what could be more reasonable?"
"Reasonable?" Snape let out a sharp laugh, "Reasonable, you little poltergeist?!"
"Professor, don't be so quick to refuse." Lucifer calmly laid his trump card on the table.
'The No Magic' Elixir.'
Wizards' & Witches have to rely purely on the natural passage of time to regenerate their magic',
While not high-tier Yggdrasil magic, Ainz used towers ingredients to successfully back a joint venture with the alchemist Nfirea Bareare. Together, they even developed specialized medicinal potions for the Underworld's Black market, including advanced fever medicines and highly marketable 'oral contraceptives!'
In his spare time, Ainz had brewed quite a stock.
"What is this?" Snape asked, frowning at the crimson liquid in the vial.
Lucifer answered leisurely, "A friend's progress, I know is not merely talent and effort. This potion has played no small role..."
Snape's face twitched, though he said nothing, simply staring at the devious boy as if waiting for the performance to unfold. When he heard the Elixir's effects described, however, his expression changed.
"Morningstar... are you certain this potion truly recovers the very essence of magic' itself after core exhaustion?"
A potion to prolong a battle itself? Imagine the Ministry Aurors, Duelist, and all kinds of people lining up outside boy's door to beg for a drop.
This was something altogether different. Snape knew many recipes that could increase magical power, but such potions always carried a price--draining the future to bolster the present, leaving lasting scars. He had never dared touch them.
But this-this potion had no side effects. It enhanced, rather than diminished.
"Honest business, Professor. If I'm lying, I'll pay tenfold. You'll see the results immediately," Lucifer said with a dramatic flourish, "Not just my friend---even Hermione, and Astoria used it to continue fighting in a duel days ago. No harm at all... And really, 'Professor, wouldn't you like to step beyond your current limits? Though you'd still be no match for me, at least as Head of Slytherin, shouldn't you be stronger than the other Heads?"
Snape could only stare at him, "Morningstar', I must admit--I envy how you can speak such outrageous words with a perfectly 'straight face."
"I merely acknowledge my friends strengths and weaknesses honestly. That, Professor, is something you cannot do. After all, aside from your skill in potions, you've no other virtues worth mentioning."
Snape drew in a deep breath. Even Voldemort himself had never needled him so. He wisely changed the subject, "So. A... stimulating potion. For Runic Serpents. Is that right?"
"Exactly."
"Three bottles of your Elixir. And five Runic Serpent skins. Then I'll help you."
"Are you mad?" Lucifer retorted. "One bottle. Three skins. Professor, these are relic-grade potions. If you don't want them, plenty of others do. I hear one of Slytherin's former Heads, Alfred Vance -was quite the 'Potions Master himself.' And they say he adored talented, ambitious students. Talent, I've never lacked. Influence? I'm not above using it. I daresay he'd be delighted to help me, even in his old age."
Snape's face tightened at the name.
He had asked so boldly because he thought Lucifer had no one else to turn to. But Vance... Vance was another matter entirely. Even Slughorn revered him.
Snape hadn't expected Lucifer to know Vance's reputation so well--let alone understand him so precisely. Losing the upper hand in the negotiation, he could only scowl darkly and agree to this Devil's terms.
Taking the potion and the parchment of brewing notes, he stalked away in frustration. As the days end near, Hogwarts slipped into a rare spell of calm.
Dumbledore busied himself with catching up on correspondence with his former students, seldom appearing in public. Snape buried himself in the research of Lucifer's custom potion, ignoring even Filch's endless complaints.
Remembering the Christmas's gift, he had gotten a magical photo from last year's Quidditch where he was referee, and deeply annoyed, with portions of 'boomslang skin, and powdered bicornhorn' that were stolen from Snape's private stores.
Snape coincidentally had given Lucifer a magical, animated photo of Hermione Granger in the act, along with "The Registry of Retribution," a gruesome, illustrated book detailing archaic, brutal punishments and detention methods for students.
He chuckled darkly, finding some relief in that.
[PS Note: Characters Casted.
"Amelia Bones" --- Elizabeth Olsen.
"Susan Bones" ---- Sadie Sink.
"Hannah Abbott" - Gwen Stacy, from The Amazing Spiderman.
Certain Changes: These three will be added in Harem as per demand, in story's Epilogue Chapter, Neville will have to be satisfied with Ginny.
Rolf will get Iris.]
(Special - These are new additions, so if there are any Continuity errors stating otherwise, ignore them. I will correct when I have time.
Harem is fixed: Hermione, Evelyn, Susan, Amelia, Hannah, Gabrielle, Darcy, Alexandra.]
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And as for Evelyn from Harem herself? She remained relentless-still stirring the pot!'
Her third article of 'The Annals of the Wizarding World' was published, this time introducing the Santos family-a dynasty that had risen in Spain but spread across South America, so influential that they had built an entire hidden school of magic in the tropical rainforests: Castrobruja.
During the war against Grindelwald, Vicência Santos had served as 'President of the International Confederation of Wizards', one of the most outstanding figures of the past century for their house.
Lady Greengrass ranked the Santos family as "noble," and few disagreed. In fact, some eager readers even wrote to her arguing that she had underestimated them. But Evelyn stood firm--after all, the Santos had never produced truly top-tier wizards.
They survived by sheer numbers, by longevity and fertility, not by brilliance. Their influence was wide, but not deep.
On the last day before disbanded, the students' minds were already far from their books. Magical Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky, 'The Atmospheric Charm', was used by Professor Flitwick to let students enjoy who couldn't as a reward for passing their exams, this spell he said was heavily used inside the Ministry of Magic to create weather.
And soon the grounds outside the castle rang with laughter and shrieks as dozens rushed out for a massive snowball fight. Lucifer released 'Doll-Granger' and after a bit of tinkering, she now had ten snowball--launching turrets mounted on her back.
Within minutes, the courtyard had turned into a scene from some bizarre wizarding play: 'Snowball-firing Transformers' battling schoolchildren.
"Here." Hermione came running up, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, holding out a pair of pure white knitted gloves. Lucifer accepted them, but before slipping them on, he pressed his warm palm against her cold face, making her blush even deeper. Only then did he pull the gloves over his hands.
"They fit well. You made these yourself?"
Hermione ducked her head shyly. "I... used a bit of magic. If I tried by hand, the stitching would have been awful."
"Magic is just another form of handiwork,"
Lucifer said encouragingly. "And you did a fine job."
"Lucifer, here!" Daphne Greengrass came running up next, tiptoeing to wrap a pastel pink scarf around his neck. He glanced down at the ridiculous girlish accessory, suppressing a sigh.
But when he saw the hopeful look in the young witch's eyes, he lowered his head and let her tie it. Astoria, not to be left behind, silently produced a 'black snow-cloak' and draped it over his shoulders.
They hadn't celebrated much of it due to attacks, Hermione's cat form, and then later well, petrification. Now, the overall look was absurd--a clash of white gloves, pink scarf, and black cloak--
But what could he do? Each gift was given in earnest, and he was not about to refuse them.
Instead, with a flick of his wand, Doll Granger doubled the rate of snowball fire, pelting the crowd mercilessly, especially targeting exposed necks and faces. Snow slipped down collars and sleeves, and shrieking students scattered in disarray.
"Hmph. He really knows how to enjoy himself."
From the sidelines, Susan wrinkled her nose, muttering under her breath, "Even the nobles don't get treated with this much attention... Playing in the snow, and he's got half the girls fawning over him."
"Susan..." Hannah whispered cautiously at her side.
"Why shouldn't I say it?" Susan tilted her fired redhead stubbornly. Ever since Ginny Weasely had declared she was taught that hex by Lucifer, girl had carried herself with a new boldness, "If he's not afraid of gossip, why should I be?"
"...I'm afraid," Luna who was sitting somewhat beside them sighed dreamily.
"Afraid of what?" Susan asked, puzzled at the odd girl's earrings.
"That you'll burst into tears," Luna replied serenely, pointing toward the boy herself, "Didn't I tell your friend before? Lucifer has excellent hearing."
Susan froze-and sure enough, when she glanced up, Lucifer was already looking at her, smiling faintly, and ran a finger slowly across his throat in a silent gesture.
"Ahhh! Lovegood, Abbott why didn't you remind me earlier!" Susan Bones squeaked, close to tears.
"You know, I was hanged upside down by him, hehe~"
Ginny's evil giggles didn't help her predicament at all, who then turned attention to gaze at the 'Boy Who Lived' carrying a girlish infatuation.
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"So bold now, are you? Whispering about me behind my back?"
Susan wilted instantly, surrendering with practiced speed, "I was wrong! Just-just don't hang me upside down. You can do whatever else you like..."
"Where do you even learn these bizarre ideas?" Lucifer asked flatly, staring at her, who was tied to a chair.
"Aunt Amelia lent me one of her books," She admitted sheepishly.
"Read fewer of her books," He sighed, shaking his head. His hands, however, did not stop. He pinched Susan's soft, baby-fat cheeks as if kneading dough.
"Mmm-stop it!" She tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in making him squeeze harder.
"Weren't you awfully arrogant this afternoon?" Lucier asked making the tone of his voice dark.
"I was wrong," Susan's good natured Hufflepuff girl said at once.
"I've heard Miss Bones is quite skilled at 'crafting Men's Morris board' (also known as Merrels). So your Christmas gift next year for me will be that. If I'm not satisfied..." Lucifer's lips curved into a faintly wicked smile, "I'll put a 'Flatulence Hex' on you for a whole day. Then you'll truly understand what it means for your belly to rumble like thunder."
Susan's eyes went wide with horror, and she nodded miserably. Lucifer's methods of torment were too many.
Those loose hairs covering her sweaty forehead entirely. If she really had to endure a full day of nonstop... well, her backside might as well be forfeit.
[SP: Her Aunt wouldn't be 'murdered' by Voldemort in July of 1996. If somewhere along the line, it was written as such, forget that error in writing. (Might be in 5th year]
"I agreed, didn't I? So can you let me down now?" Susan squirmed against the ropes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She'd heard from Granger, that every time she'd come here to practice, somehow she always ended up bound in some strange fashion.
With a flick of his hand, the ropes flew to Lucifer and vanished into his wand. With another gesture, steaming plates of food appeared on the nearby table, "Eat, then back to bed."
Susan's face might still be round with baby fat, but her figure was growing, and to become bigger for his liking. She needed more nutrition--only then would his "rope techniques" would have a proper canvas to display themselves on. Hers were currently a step behind the girl's best friend.
She dug into the ribs without hesitation, mumbling between bites, "I risked so much sneaking here. I was terrified of running into Filch and Mrs. Norris. And you're just sending me back after dinner?"
Lucifer lounged in his chair lazily, "It's past curfew. What else exactly did you think we'd be doing?"
Susan swallowed, thought for a moment, then said earnestly, "I haven't learned any useful spells this year. Aunt is a whole lot better than DADA professors here.... why don't you teach me something? Last week in the Dueling Club, I still couldn't beat Marietta Edgecombe."
That caught his attention. He studied her for a moment, surprised.
The heiress of "Bones Family's" determination and hunger to grow stronger were rare traits in the wizarding world. Hermione loved knowledge for its own sake--magic was another subject to master, another puzzle to solve. But such breadth meant her focus was often scattered; she wanted everything, and risked mastering nothing.
Daphne, on the other hand, only learned what she needed. Her real interests... 'layelsewhere.' to capture a certain Davis girl's fancy.
But Susan---Susan wanted power. She wanted to duel, to grow stronger, purely for the love of magic itself.
No, most of her extended family, including grandparents, uncle, aunt, and cousins were all murdered personally by Lord Voldemort during the 'First Wizarding War,'
'There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as... they walked the corridors. Susan, whose uncle, aunt, and cousins had all died at the hands of----'
That's what Hannah had said in one Herbology' class, to which Susan who had eavesdropped, had replied bad that she had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry Potter.
A rare and valuable temperament.
"Very well," Lucifer nodded. "Since you're here, I'll teach you one spell."
Susan beamed, shoveling down her food in a rush so she could finish quickly. Wiping her mouth, she leaned forward eagerly. "Teach me one with real power--something strong, an attack spell!"
Lucifer considered, then raised his wand. A searing red light split the air.
"Reducto! the Blasting Curse."
The blast echoed like a whistle across Hogsmeade.
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'The Bones Family Merrels Board'
The game consisted of a wooden grid with 24 intersections. Each player received nine stone pieces. The goal was to create "mills" (rows of three), which allowed a player to capture an opponent's piece. The game was won when the opponent was reduced to two pieces or could not make a legal move.
How Amelia crafted it, you ask?
The Base: She sourced a solid slab of ancient English Oak, known for its resilience. Using a precise, fine-tipped carving chisel, she manually cut three concentric squares connected by crosslines. She refused to use a simple transfiguration spell, believing that manual labor instilled the wood with lasting 'familial wards.'
The Finishing: She sanded the wood until it was smooth as glass, then sealed it with a lacquer infused with Occamy eggshell powder, giving the lines a faint, silver-blue iridescent glow when touched.
The Pieces: Instead of wood, she hand-polished 18 smooth river stones collected from the grounds of the 'Ministry of Magic'. She enchanted nine stones to glow a deep, steady obsidian black, and the other nine to emit a soft, warm amber light (Susan's Hufflepuff color).
How she played it with Susan?
The Setting: They played on rainy Sunday afternoons in the study, sitting by a roaring fireplace. A pot of precisely brewed Earl Grey tea sat between them.
The Atmosphere: While Amelia was a strict disciplinarian at the Ministry, the game board was a space of quiet bonding. She never "let" Susan win. She believed that coddling a child in a dangerous world was a disservice.
The Gameplay: Amelia played with a calculated, defensive strategy, quietly blocking Susan's attempts to form a mill. When her niece finally outmaneuvered her through a clever, unexpected sacrifice, Amelia wouldn't smile openly, but her eyes would soften with fierce pride.
She used the game to subtly teach Susan how to anticipate threats, manage resources, and stay calm under pressure.
Holiday memory at the Bones manor!
xxxxxx
The very next day, they were back on the train, heading towards King's Cross. Lucifer watched Rowena fly beside the train with Hedwig, and he noticed both of them had been getting along well.
Easily best friends with the way they interacted.
Currently Harry, Ron, Hermione, Lucifer, Fred, George, and Ginny all got a compartment together on the Hogwarts Express ride home.
Fred and George sat alongside Harry and Ron, whilst Ginny sat next to Lucifer and Hermione who was taking up two seats owing to her lying down with her head on the boy's leg.
They played an exploding snap, set off the last of Fred and George's fireworks and practiced spells.
While he was looking outside the train window, Hermione's voice reached out to Lucifer, for playing catch up with her on some of the lessons she had missed.
When they were almost back at King's Cross, Harry had brought up something, "Ginny--what did you see Percy doing that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"
"Oh, that," Ginny said, giggling as she did, "Well---our dear older brother has got himself... a girlfriend!"
Fred and George stopped what they were doing immediately, with the youngest now having their full attention.
"It wouldn't happen to be the girl Hermione had been with in the hospital wing, would it?" Lucifer asked.
"You either already knew, or that was an incredibly lucky guess," Ginny said in awe.
"Lucky guess, I'd say," Hermione said playfully.
"Yeah, I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was--'you know - attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" Ginny asked the twins.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Fred said, looking like his birthday had come early.
"Definitely not," George said, snickering as he did.
The train finally pulled into the station and the Weasley's all left first, Harry giving Ron his phone number, or rather, the Dursley's.
As Greengrass sisters stepped off, they immediately felt the weight of many stares. Some were curious, others scrutinizing, but most carried one emotion--hostility.'
The ones glaring hardest were Slytherin 'pure-blood parents.' Their children might have been cowed by their ward Lucifer Morningstar at school, but the parents had no such restraints. Their loathing was written openly on their faces.
Astoria and Daphne had expected as much. Their mother's series of articles had already pushed..... It was no longer just Hogwarts--but a global phenomenon. Her writings had created a tide of opinion.
For the conservative pure-blood faction, this was a dire threat. It wasn't that they hadn't tried to stop, or intervene indirectly.
But Dumbledore's presence made any "unconventional measures" impossible. The moment threatening letters carrying strong magical signatures reached the place where 'they' thought Greengrass Manor was located, they fizzled uselessly, and went to Hogwarts instead.
And, the ones which were directed at Hogwarts at the very start had gotten purged already by Castle itself. Direct attack on the family line was 'prohibited' due to blood magic, and Unbreakable Oaths'.
That's why at pitiful attempts, some tried to fight back in print, submitting articles to counter Evelyn's. But those pieces vanished into the void. The great international newspapers not only refused to publish them--they didn't even send a reply.
The reasons were simple.
First: 'pure-blood rhetoric was laughable.' Their articles gushed so extravagantly about their own families it was practically satire--if published, they'd only become objects of ridicule.
Second: Lady Greengrass had anticipated this from the beginning. That was why she bought shares in the newspapers that published her essays. Academic battles weren't about who was right--but about who had the louder voice. And she had ensured her opponents would have none.
And third: allies. Though 'pure-bloods' made noise, their numbers were few, and their unity even weaker. Many who resented them were only too glad to back Evelyn quietly, fanning the flames. In short, she had time, place, and people on her side. Her success was only a matter of time.
Fourth: Demons raising hell.
Daphne and Astoria went to gather the boy who had been given leeway to sit with Gryffindor's on the train, under Hermione's scorching gaze, he was led away.
"Lucifer, it's been too long!"
Cause Lady Greengrass had arrived, she herself swept up to greet him, and immediately the hostile stares around her daughters softened and drew back.
But Lucifer's eyes had already flickered. He had already marked those who glared most viciously at his soon to be step-daughters. Soon, he would ask Demiurge to dig into their bloodlines and histories.
For now, he inclined his head politely.
"Good afternoon, Aunt."
Evelyn Greengrass smiled sweetly back at Lucifer, though her gaze soon shifted helplessly to her two daughters, who were still glued to his side.
"Have you girls forgotten your own mother? You spend every day, and even now you can't leave him alone."
"Mum, of course I missed you~" Daphne giggled, skipping over to cling to her mother's arm, her voice syrupy sweet, "I'm starving, let's go home and eat already."
Lady Greengrass tapped her on the forehead with fond exasperation, then turned her eyes back to Lucifer with the same vigour.
"I'm sorry, Aunt," He said with a polite shake of his head, "I've already promised Hermione I'd see her family today. I'll come to the manor tomorrow."
The older mother nodded gently, "I'll be waiting. There are some matters I need to discuss 'privately' with you."
After parting ways, Lucifer walked out of the station with Hermione to it's muggle counterpart.
Few minutes later, Harry's family showed up next and he scowled at them the whole time; the way his Uncle treated him, grabbing his arm like that, dragging him along.
It angered him, but he knew he couldn't lose himself in front of Muggles.
He and Hermione sat down on a bench until her parents arrived, "You going to be alright yourself, over the Summer?"
"Of course!" She nodded her face excitedly, her eyes so bright,"I can't believe you packed up so much for me to drink!"
The girl grabbed his shirt and tugged him down to kiss him fiercely on the cheek.
"I got time so... Look, your Mum has arrived."
"Hey, you are right!"
"Enjoy the vacation, you deserve a nice break..."
"Thanks. I hope you take care of yourself, and if there's any problem just mirror call me!"
Saying that, Hermione gave him a big hug, before departing towards her family. For obvious reasons, she didn't tell them about the Basilisk or being petrified, because they might not let her back at Hogwarts if she did.
It had become something of a ritual-unless there was some special circumstance, Lucifer would always escort Hermione back, and wait for her parents whenever school let out.
He understood perfectly well how they felt. They had sent their daughter into a world they did not understand, hoping she would thrive, yet plagued by powerlessness. Their status, their wealth, even their life experience meant nothing in the wizarding world. They could not comprehend what Hermione faced each day, and that helplessness became a constant, gnawing worry.
That was why old Wendell had thrown himself so wholeheartedly into helping Lucifer renovate Lux with some of his own contacts. It wasn't about bricks and mortar--but his way of making sure someone trustworthy would look after his granddaughter at Hogwarts.
So when the couple saw their pumpkin and the boy sitting hand-in-hand, and especially kiss, their faces lit up with bright smiles.
They took the pair to a fine restaurant they had already booked in advance.
During the dinner, he politely refused Mr. Granger's invitation to stay longer, before finally setting off in opening his words.
"You can reveal yourself now."
"Makima."
"Shall we go home, My Lord?"
Makima was one of the "Upper Demons" resembling a human woman in her twenties of average build, and marginally above average height. She had long light red/pale auburn hair, kept in a loose braid with bangs reaching just past her eyebrows and two longer side bangs that frame her face.
Her eyes were yellow with multiple red rings within them, making them the only visible sign of her inhuman nature, "Yeah, I miss the smell of alcohol."
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Author's Note
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