Chapter 125 - Ch 124 - Why do you have Friends?

In the familiar study, Daphne's mother poured Lucifer a cup of tea, which included her secret recipe, her own "breast milk."

She had used 'Aguamenti Lactis': A targeted variation of the standard Water-Making Spell (Aguamenti), modified to channel nutrient-rich milk from tits of women who had gotten pregnant at least once, instead of pure water. Supporting the process of lactogenesis.

"Let's take things one at a time," she said.

"First, some good news. Amelia Bones asked me to inquire--aside from your Anti-baldness bracelets, do you have any alchemical devices that might enhance Auror safety? The Ministry is looking to make a purchase."

Lucifer considered. "The Ministry must already have stable alchemical partners... Simple items like that shouldn't be beyond them. Why approach me?"

"Cost," Evelyn replied succinctly, "Bones' greatest concern is controlling expenses--while still ensuring quality, of course."

"What's the target price?" He asked.

"She didn't say," She admitted, "But by my estimate, they'll want it within twenty Galleons apiece. Cornelius Fudge... well, you know what he's like."

"I'll think on it," Lucifer said calmly. He had no interest in chasing low-margin trade. But if Lady Greengrass had brought it to him, it meant she wanted him to accept.

"Amelia Bones has a promising future. She already holds enormous authority despite her age... When Fudge steps down, she could very well be the next Minister. Compared to Scrimgeour, she is far more respected within the Ministry. Consider this an investment in advance... Of course, if it troubles you, forget it. I could even provide you with private compensation."

"That won't be necessary, Evelyn," Lucifer replied firmly. "This is a trivial matter. For your sake, I wouldn't refuse regardless. The only question is how much profit, not whether I'll lose."

"Good." Lady Greengrass smiled warmly, then set her own cup down, "Now that the good news is out of the way--it's time for the bad. Parkinson, Macmillan, Travers, and several other families came to me. Their words were... less than polite."

"There's no need to respond," Lucifer said lightly, lowering his own cup, "Give me a list of names. When the time is right, I'll pay each of them a visit..."

"Darling, you mustn't underestimate them," The shrewd woman inside her who had gone to school with those very people warned, "Apart from the Macmillans, the others consort openly with Dark wizards--and those rats in the sewers wield many strange and subtle methods. Wizards are still only human. Some curses kill silently."

"My concern has never been them," Lucifer said quietly, his eyes lifting toward the distant Scottish Highlands. "It's Dumbledore. Before I left the castle, he urged me to keep you under restraint. And I gave him my word."

"Don't worry, like I said, I won't write against these families first. That is my respect for the Headmaster."

Respecting strength was one of Evelyn's principles.

"But one day, Lucifer, when your own power surpassed Dumbledore's, it would be the old man's turn to show you respect... That is not a contradiction, 'simply the way of the world'. However, he truly is troublesome, and powerful to discard unpleasantaries that went his way...."

Lady Greengrass murmured, following the boy's gaze who had stolen her very soul, "But perhaps that's for the best. Imagine if there were two lords of equal power, standing on opposite sides. For the pure-bloods, their comfortable days would truly end..."

Anyway, she changed the subject. "In a few days, there will be a gathering. Do you wish to attend? The Rosiers and Notts are warming to you--they could be courted."

"If I have time, I'd rather spend it on something I actually enjoy," Lucifer replied with a shake of his head, "Lux's renovations are finished, but I've yet to see it... With some time before I leave for France, I'd prefer to make a few modifications."

Evelyn Greengrass did not press him further, though she did insist on one point--he would have to accompany her to Amelia Bones' home in the coming days. Certain matters required his presence in person, not her as a proxy.

This time, he did not refuse. Her eyelid twitched. She took him to the bedroom, and 'satiated' the long hunger in the bones.

xxxxxx

The following morning, Evelyn had launched herself into a near death battle of glaring menace, since it was Makima who had shown herself to pick her Lord up first, then even brought Daphne and Astoria to visit Lux's residence, with Hermione waiting there already tapping her foot at the entrance.

Their mother was acutely familiar with this hateful controlling schemer whose brain was full of nothing but pure madness and bloodshed over the year. And, for some reason her womanly instincts were on high alert every time, she had definitely 'slept' and eloped with her lover!

Evelyn just knew it somehow.

Leaving the Grangers' house, Hermione's smile never faded.

The heat felt entirely different from the damp, ancient chill of Wiltshire or heavy, magical air of Diagon Alley. It was sharp, baking the asphalt until the horizon shimmered like a misplaced 'Disillusionment charm.'

Muggle car horns blared, engines roared, and the heavy scent of exhaust fumes cut through the dry air of Sunset Boulevard.

Hermione Granger adjusted the strap of her leather handbag, her fingers instinctively brushing the wand concealed in her forearm holster.

Beside her, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass stood perfectly still.

Their pureblood poise stopping them against the chaotic swirl of Muggle tourists. Despite the oppressive humidity, neither sister showed a single drop of sweat—a testament to generations of posture lessons and subtle, non-verbal cooling charms woven into their linen travelling robes.

Before them soared Lux Tower.

"It's so big... And, excessively Muggle on the outside," Astoria murmured, tilting her chin up. Her dark eyes tracked the clean, soaring window squares of the Art Deco masterpiece, "Yet, there is a pulse to it. Can you feel that, big sis? It doesn't smell like magic, but tastes like 'firewhiskey."

Daphne didn't answer immediately. She was watching the heavy glass doors, her expression a masterclass in aristocratic skepticism, "It feels like a volcano masquerading as a monolith, little sister. Lucifer has always lacked subtlety.... Look at the masonry—not a single protective rune carved into the exterior stone. A basic 'blasting curse' from a rogue wizard could shatter the facade."

"He doesn't want subtlety, Daphne," Hermione said, an all knowing small smile tugging at her lips as she stepped between the two sisters, "He wants to be seen. And don't let the exterior fool you... If a rogue wizard tried to cast a blasting curse at this, the spell wouldn't just fizzle; Ambient wards would swallow the kinetic energy.... and channel it directly into the nightclub's sound system downstairs. Come on. He's waiting, and he specifically requested we don't keep him lingering."

"He says he's been alive for millennia; I think he can survive five minutes," Daphne countered, though she stepped forward, her heels clicking rhythmically against the concrete.

"Oh, it sorta feels like Rapunzel who was captured at the top of the tower..."

"Who?"

"I haven't heard that story before?"

"Never mind..."

As they crossed the threshold, the oppressive Summer heat vanished instantly. It was replaced by a cool, crisp breeze that smelled faintly of expensive bourbon, whiskey, and old, soaked dried blood.

The lobby was a masterclass in silver-screen glamour: geometric mirrors, polished black marble floors that reflected the ambient light like a dark lake, and low, amber lighting that seemed to cling to the skin.

"The architecture," Hermione noted, leading them toward the private elevators, "was heavily influenced by European designers... Lucifer boasts that the grand foyer statues were sculpted by the very same architects commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte... He claimed he won their favor by giving Napoleon a flawless cavalry strategy for Austerlitz. Though knowing that boy, and ignoring his exaggerated origins, he probably just traded it for a decent bottle of elfish wine!"

"So you really do have been to this place before, huh?"

"Yes, Professor McGonangal brought me, and I was given a tour after we purchased school supplies..."

Mr. Wendell had even arranged a few of his own furniture deliveries and cleaning crews. The humangous area was spacious, private, elegant, tasteful and proper.

"He told me he stole them from a palace in Elba," Daphne remarked dryly, pausing to run a manicured finger along the flawless marble base of a winged victory statue.

"Children, The history changes 'depending' on how much Lord Lucifer's had to drink and who he's trying to impress."

Makima corrected their inputs with her own, as she the girl's for a tour who seemed to have treated her utmost respectfully, and totally disciplined under her command.

"Either way, it's beautiful, Mam," Astoria said, her eyes wide as she took in the sweeping staircase that led down into the belly of the building, "Is that where the music comes from? It feels... heavy."

....From beneath their feet, a low, thrumming bass vibrated through the floorboards. It wasn't the chaotic noise of a standard 'Muggle establishment', but a rhythmic, seductive pulse that felt almost alive, humming at a frequency that was mimicking a heartbeat.

"That is the cellar," Makima explained, guiding them toward a private lift clad in polished brass, "The Lux Nightclub. But before we explore his underworld, we go to the top. He insists on hosting tea—or his version of it—in the penthouse."

She reached out, but instead of pressing a button, she placed her palm against a smooth, dark glass panel next to the lift. The air shimmered.

Instantly, a complex lattice of ancient Babylonian runes flared a brilliant, defensive violet around the brass casing before fading back into transparency.

"What kind of ward was that?" Daphne asked, her eyes narrowing with professional interest, "That wasn't British Ministry work."

"It's a localized Blood-and-Intent Ward," The Control Devil replied, the elevator doors sliding open with a whisper of velvet, "You brown hair, why don't you tell the others."

"O-oh, well, Lucifer said he had spent two months layering them. Sooner, it will learn to ignore the Trace completely, or so he said."

"Correct, Miss Hairnest. In fact, within the boundaries of Lux Tower, the 'Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery' will be entirely nullified once it has mastered the sentient magic. The ambience here is so densely concentrated and heavily masked that the Ministry's sensors in Whitehall just see a massive, blank blind spot over it.... Once you're inside, even an 'under-seventeen' witch could cast a Lumos without a single owl showing up."

"It's Hermione Granger!"

Astoria's face lit up. "Wait, truly? I can use my wand without Mother writing a furious letter about the 'International Statute of Secrecy?"

"Maybe next year."

"As long as you don't blow up the penthouse," Hermione smiled, ushering them into the lift, "Step inside, you two."

The express elevator did not simply ascend; it defied gravity with a smooth, sickening speed that made Astoria catch her breath, her hand reaching for the brass handrail.

"Twenty-one floors?" Hermione said confused as the digital display flickered past the numbers with dizzying speed, "wasn't it fifteen when I came over?"

"The Muggle blueprints and city records say fifteen, but Lucifer added a few floors of his own design. He calls it 'spatial optimization.' The British Ministry would have a collective aneurysm if they saw the sheer density of the 'Undetectable Extension Charms' holding this place together....It violates three different international treaties on physical architecture."

"Each floor has a designated activity, right?" Daphne asked, watching the floor indicator glow, "Knowing him, it's an absolute circus."

"It's highly organized chaos," Hermione said, ticking them off on her fingers, "The lower levels—'one through five—are dedicated to the logistics of his lifestyle. Garden, swimming pools, entertainment arcade....The kitchens on floor two are entirely automated, managed by a modified Vampire contract he negotiated himself....No bonding, no master-servant dynamic; just union wages, competitive benefits, and weekends off..."

"Floor three is the high-security vault for currencies. Floor four is an indoor shooting and dueling range, fully enchanted with localized repairing charms so you can cast Dark hexes without bringing the ceiling down.... 'Floor five' is a wardrobe that spans three different centuries of wizarding and Muggle fashion."

"One thing you missed, our magic' is different from 'yours', so if we use that, it wouldn't be identified by the Ministry, but a different matter when you witches wave your wand. That needs some work...."

"Different? Different how?"

"Shall I display you two sisters 'kissing each other' without using Imperious?"

"What?? NOO?!"

Daphne and Astoria's faces turned scarlet, matching a horror comically etched as they clutched on each other's shoulders, but suddenly turned away blushing furiously, cheeks flushed.

"Fufu...."

"Granger! That's not a laughing matter."

The lift chimed softly, passing the tenth floor.

"And the middle floors?" Astoria asked, leaning closer to the glass display, she was feeling hot even with the Cooling Charms' placed, intending to change their talk.

"Six through twelve are guest suites for people who... overindulge at the club, or supernatural entities seeking asylum from their respective ministries..." Hermione explained with a conflicted tense in her nose, before she sniffed, "Thirteen is an entire floor dedicated to an indoor garden of bioluminescent flora from the Amazon, which he uses for his private potions, poisons, and cocktails.... Fourteen is Mazikeen's territory—a training floor filled with throwing knives, combat dummies, and weapons that haven't been legal in Europe since the Goblin Rebellions of 1612."

"Woah..."

"That's terrific."

The lift slowed, the air growing noticeably thicker and richer with the scent of burning cedar, expensive tobacco, and a trace of sulfur.

"And fifteen through twenty?" Daphne inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know that..."

"They are Private lounges, a screening room with every magical and Muggle film reel ever made, a library that rivals the 'RestrictedSection' of Hogwarts, and finally, his sanctuary."

The doors slid open directly into the penthouse. The space was vast, bounded by massive, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the sprawling, sun-drenched expanse of Los Angeles, (It's in Britain)

The morning sunlight washed over plush velvet sofas, Persian rugs that looked older than the Founders of Hogwarts, and a massive, multi-level mahogany library towering in the eastern corner.

"Ah, The women of my life, conquering the Dirty World!"

Lucifer Morningstar stood by the sweeping outdoor balcony, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in one hand. He wore a bespoke three-piece suit without a tie, the top buttons undone, his dark eyes sparkling with anarchic delight.

Astoria didn't hesitate; she strode across the polished marble floor and threw her arms around his waist, "Hey! You didn't tell us the building vibrated. It feels like we're sitting on top of a dragon..."

"It's called ambiance, my dear star," Lucifer laughed, kissing the top of her head before looking up to meet Daphne's smirk and Hermione's fond, exasperated gaze.

He extended an arm, drawing Daphne into a brief, one-handed embrace, "Daphne, just a night. And, you look remarkably like your mother Evelyn when she almost plotted a Wizengamot coup. I love it. Splendid tailoring, by the way."

"She did what?!"

"And you look like you've been up for three days, what were you even discussing with Mother all night," Daphne replied, though she smiled, stepping back to admire the panoramic view of the Pacific horizon, "Though I suppose sleep is a mortal concept you merely toy with."

Lucifer turned his full attention to Hermione, his expression softening into something intensely warm and entirely genuine. He walked over, cupping her cheek with his free hand, and kissed the other, ignoring the theatrical groans from his two friends.

"Granger.... The tower was dreadfully dull without you. 'The Vampires' have been moping, and I've had to read my own mail, so I left the Greengrass estate early."

"You managed to survive for a day, Lucifer," Hermione murmured as she turned her face to whisper against his lips, though she leaned into the touch, her posture relaxing completely for the first time since the day she left after the Dinner at Kin's Chef.

"Though I see you've already redecorated the west wall. Is that what I think it is?"

"An absolute necessity," Lucifer declared, gesturing toward a glass display case resting on a neoclassical pedestal. Inside lay a leather-bound, slightly singed manuscript.

"Look at that. A first edition, signed copy of William Shakespeare's The Tempest. Will gave it to me after a particularly rowdy night at the Globe. He insisted Prospero was based on my early work in Mesopotamia, though I told him the theatricality was all his. He even spilled a pint of mead on page forty-two."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,"

Hermione walked over, her inner librarian instantly captivated. She stared through the glass, her eyes scanning the faded ink, "What on Merlin's name---He actually signed it 'To the Light-Bringer, with fearful symmetry.' Lucifer, this belongs in the British Library's magical archives. The preservation spells alone are ancient."

"It is in an archive," Lucifer insisted, waving a hand dismissively as he poured three glasses of sparkling, chilled elderberry wine for the girls, "Mine. Now, who wants a tour of the true luxuries? I've had the kitchen prepare a spread that would make a Roman emperor weep, and I believe Daphne wanted to inspect my defenses."

xxxxxx

The tour was a whirlwind of the extraordinary, a blurring of Muggle history and ancient wizarding lore.

On the twelfth floor, they walked through a private gallery that felt like a localized rip in the timeline. Astoria gasped at a genuine Roman chariot preserved in a perfect stasis field, while Daphne examined original, unpublished sketches by 'Leonardo da Vinci—sketches that, when viewed through a specialized monocle, revealed hidden arithmancy equations for permanent human levitation?!

But the true heart of the tower's security lay beneath the earth.

They took the private lift all the way down, bypassing the roaring, glittering crowd of the main Lux Nightclub—which was just beginning to fill with Hollywood's elite—and arrived in the deep cellar.

The transition was jarring; the heavy bass of the music above became a dull rhythmic thud, amplified by the thick stone walls. The air here was cool, smelling of damp granite, oak barrels, and an undercurrent of raw magic.

"The Prohibition-era tunnels," Makima explained as they walked down a corridor lined with thousands of dusty bottles, "Howard Hughes used them to smuggle starlets and contraband in the thirties... Lucifer bought the property precisely because of this subterranean connectivity. It's entirely unplottable."

"The wine selection is entirely chronological," Lucifer called out, walking backward down the aisle, his arms spread wide, "From modern-day Napa vintages all the way back to the amphorae of ancient Greece. If you want a drop of the wine served at the wedding in Cana, it's in vault three. Though personally, I find it a bit too sweet... Lacks character. Overrated miracle, if you ask me."

"Bloody hell, Mum would never even let me touch red wine?! You are underage, I ought to put a stop."

"Stop fretting, Hairnest, and enjoy."

"Y-yes Mam!"

"And what is behind that door?" Daphne asked, stopping in her tracks. She pointed to a heavy, iron-reinforced oak door etched with deep glowing silver runes. Unlike the rest of the tower, which felt warm and inviting, this door radiated a distinct, chilling aura that made the hairs on Astoria's arms stand up.

Lucifer's smile turned slightly wicked, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Ah. The dungeon. Or, as Hermione likes to call it, 'The Repository of Incorrigible Artifacts.'"

The bushy haired girl stepped forward, drawing her vine wood wand with a fluid, practiced motion, "The safety measures here are absolute, Daphne. The door is keyed to a multi-layered ward sequence. If anyone enters without Lucifer's direct blood signature or my specific magical output which I insisted on seeing it the first time.... the room triggers a localized 'spatialcollapse'. The intruder is immediately shunted into a pocket dimension with no exit."

She tapped three specific runes on the iron bands: Ansuz, Thurisaz, and a modified Greek Omega. The heavy locks turned with a series of metallic cracks that echoed like gunshots in the quiet corridor, and the door swung open.

Inside, the room was vast and cast in a pale blue luminescent light that emanated from the stone floor itself. Rows of obsidian pillars held items of terrifying power, each trapped behind a shimmering, humming containment field.

"This is where we keep the things that shouldn't exist in either the Muggle or magical worlds," Makima said, her voice dropping to a serious, authoritative tone, "Things Lord Lucifer collected over millennia, and things, I've... confiscated from never mind species, who thought they could hide their treasures across the Planet away from the ShipRaiders."

Astoria walked slowly toward a central pillar, her eyes wide. Inside the field floated a silver dagger, its blade dripping with a thick, black substance that dissolved into smoke before hitting the stone pedestal.

"Is that...?"

"A blade forged in the First Age," Lucifer said softly, standing close behind her, his hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder, "It doesn't just kill the body, Astoria. It cuts the thread of the 'soul' entirely. No ghosts, no moving on, no resurrection.... A nasty little trinket. A Mystical Arts' user in New Orleans thought he could use it to capture Morpheus, or your words The Sandman, I took it as a tax for his poor taste."

"And that?" Hermione pointed to a massive, ancient stone archway standing in the center of the room, draped in heavy, velvet curtains that seemed to ripple and sway without a breath of wind in the sealed vault.

"A localized, controlled portal to the underworld," Makima said, standing beside Lucifer and resting her hand over his, "A safety measure. A way to ensure that if anything truly catastrophic happens—if the International Statute falls or a supernatural war breaks out—we have a back door. But it requires a 'dual-blood sacrifice' from both of us to open it from this side."

Lucifer looked upwards at Makima, his eyes reflecting the blue light of the vault, a smirk returning to his lips, "She keeps me grounded, girls. And I keep her from spending all her time dissecting the living corpses. It's a perfect partnership. Crime-fighting, ward-weaving, and a bit of light world-saving."

"I am sure that's just metaphorical."

Hermione pointed, to which other two girls nodded seriously, albeit even much so than what Lucifer liked, he never intended to hide anything.

Leaving shadows of the dungeon behind, they locked heavy doors and returned to penthouse just as the sun began to peek at the Pacific horizon.

On the left side of the loft, a massive bookshelf spans two floors and featuring a prominent stained glass window of the Virgin Mary, reflecting the themes of celestial beings, fallen angels, and divinity.

It included a grand piano, a plush sofa, and a mini bar stocked with top-tier liquor. The Balcony opened to a seating area with a hot tub. The Interior designers mixed iconography, including Hindu deities like 'Lord Krishna', to reflect the ancient origins of celestial characters.

"I want this room! Lucifer, let's turn it into my bedroom, please? I can bring Tracey and have fun here... without being looked at wrongly."

Daphne was pointing at the cigar lounge in the penthouse, which, alongside a massive master suite, also included a study and a drinks room. Of course, it was not just that, Lucifer'd set it up with a television and game console, making it an entertainment den.

"No," Hermione objected instantly, even before the boy in question spoke, "Every room on this floor already has its use! There are plenty of guest rooms below--you don't need one on this floor."

Daphne pouted, "Going up and down in the lift is a pain. Living on the top floor would be so much easier."

"You'd be too noisy. You'd disturb Lucifer," Hermione countered, a little too urgently. That room was the only one that could be converted to another bedroom. The study was non-negotiable, and Daphne couldn't very well just move into Lucifer's master suite... could she?

Tracey would kill her first, and then curse the boy into oblivion.

Astoria spoke softly: "Sister, the room is big. Maybe we could just put two beds in it?"

Hermione nearly fainted. 'Great. Now both sisters are ganging up on me.'

"Enough." Lucifer raised a hand to silence the bickering, "If you all want this floor, we'll just partition it into more rooms. I'll expand the space with magic. Problem solved."

"Look I didn't question earlier, but isn't the unrestricted use of 'Extension Charms'... illegal?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Illegal?" Makima from the balcony's pool in a bikini that was borderline inappropriate, and embarrassing for the young girls scoffed, "Those laws are for you common folk. Even with heavy crimes, no one can touch us."

Even the well-behaved Astoria didn't see anything wrong with that.

Hermione fell quiet. She understood all too well. Ordinary wizards obeyed the Ministry's laws to the letter. But among the upper circles, it was rules of power and influence that mattered. The Grangers sat right at the very edge-wealthier than the common folk, but nowhere near the privileged elite.

After inspecting the Tower, found no major flaws. His thoughts quickly turned to renovations. First--the interior space of the penthouse. They thought it was too small? He would enlarge. It was immediately doubled in size, partitioned into three more suites. With a glance at Makima, she had already used Extension Charms, the effects would last for centuries, without issue.

However, Expanding entertainment areas without proper furniture would leave them barren. Better to wait until he acquired more furnishings, moving them around with magic was trivial anyway.

"Daphne, tell your mother sometime to connect the fireplace to the Floo Network."

"I'll go to the Ministry right now!" Daphne declared, grabbing Astoria's hand.

Hermione, curious about the Ministry, wanted to tag along too, but was cruelly given the reality check of being a Muggle-born with no blood relatives there would kindly "escort her out." She scowled visibly at the blatant display of Discrimination!

Before leaving, Daphne summoned two house-elves and instructed them to fetch spare furniture from Greengrass manor to outfit their bedrooms, and to prepare anything else the penthouse might need.

Lucifer shook his head helplessly. He truly didn't want to be seen as living off others' wealth--but with Greengrass mother heiress who came with her own staff and resources, what was he supposed to do? Refuse?

After the girls left, he continued his own work, and asked Granger to come pass time with him. She watched him powering up 'Anti-Intent' wards to deter thieves.

The boy explained about 'ConfundusCharms' woven throughout the grounds, to prevent curious neighbors from peeking over their fences. With houses and muggle shops so close together, one tall perch would be enough to spy into any of the floors illegal activities.

He explained about cloaking the address itself in concealment magic--less powerful than the 'Fidelius Charm,' but far more convenient to use. Only those his Guards below approved, and he personally invited or checked would be able to find the place.

Finally, he turned his attention to the garden on 13th floor. Lucifer had no intention of growing rare magical herbs there, but he did want a pleasant mix of exotic plants to purify the air and beautify the space more.

Usagi fluttered out of his pocket, peering curiously around.

"Woo-woo?"

"That's right," Lucifer said with a smile, "From now on, this is your second home. As for your nest--forget it. I don't want to be poked by your mother's horns endlessly... Listen to her, whenever she asks you to go back and play with your 'Aunts and sister."

"It's really amazing how you can talk telepathically. Maybe, I will adopt a pet too this year... I was thinking about Cat, what do you say?"

"Expected."

"Hmmm? I hear the amusement in your words."

"Get an ear clearing from my secretary Shuna. She does it best."

"Every time I hear a new name...."

Usagi coiled itself around his neck like a scarf, perfectly content.

Rayquaza would always belong to the skies. But for now, little Usagi was still too small, and life beyond Earth's atmosphere held too many dangers. She preferred curling against her father's chest, basking in his warmth, and dozing off.

Compared to the start of term, her size hadn't changed much. The meteorites Lucifer had collected were long since devoured, and her growth now depended solely on nature's pace.

Few minutes later, Daphne and Astoria were already back, they had even stopped in Diagon Alley to buy ornamental flowers and herb seeds,

With someone pulling strings at the Ministry, things went quickly. His fireplace was not only connected to the Floo Network, but granted unusually high clearance--only special Floo powder could be used to enter, and it was now linked directly to Greengrass Manor.

Convenient, discreet, and safe.

House-elves had also furnished several of the bedrooms. To celebrate the housewarming, the group decided on an outdoor barbecue. 'The Vampires' prepared ingredients and then withdrew--leaving the four of them to enjoy their private little world.

Hermione, after so long learning from Hannah Abbott, had grown adept at cooking. At least, Daphne devoured her food with shining eyes and a satisfied smile.

"Ahh-!" Daphne bit into another rib, cheeks stuffed, glowing with happiness, "Lucifer, your house is better than ours. Diagon Alley's so close, and all those Muggle shops nearby--way more fun than what we get in the wizarding world."

Astoria nodded eagerly. The clothing boutiques had dazzled her, each shop luring her in. Their manor might have been larger, but it was quiet, empty-lifeless. The bustle here was intoxicating.

Hermione sniffed. "Funny, isn't it? Weren't you the one sneering at Muggle things back at the start of term? 'Arguing with me day and night?"

Daphne flushed crimson. "Granger! Don't bring up the past!"

Yes, she had once been a staunch 'pure-blood' supremacist. If Lucifer's looks hadn't stunned her into silence back then, they might never have gotten this far. But people changed. Once she dropped her tinted lenses, she realized--it was the wizarding world that lagged behind. In everyday comforts, in life's little pleasures, Muggles were far ahead. Combining both worlds was the true ideal.

"I'm not dredging up the past," Hermione teased, rolling her eyes. "Just... reminding you of history."

Furious, Daphne slammed her rib onto the plate and lunged at "Miss Hairnest" with greasy fingers who squealed and bolted across the garden.

Laughter and shrieks filled the air.

Watching them, Lucifer felt a peculiar peace. His dream was already half-realized. All that remained was for him to become his true celestial self--and then he could enjoy this life without a headache.

The Greengrass sisters settled into Lucifer's home without hesitation.

Hermione, too, spent nearly every day of the first week there. Only out of respect for her parents' proximity did she still return to her own house at night.

By day, while he busied himself, the girls did homework or shopped. Every evening, they returned with arms full-bags and boxes piled high enough to cover the massive tea table.

Astoria favored beautiful clothes. Daphne bought anything that caught her fancy. One day she marched in with several oddly-shaped hookahs.

Lucifer stared silently, he had stashed away powders, drugs, cocaine and every other caviar hidden for this very reason. Curiosity of teenage girls. And now... 'several trash bins!'

"Daphne," he asked carefully, "do these bins... have some special magical use?"

"Hm?" She blinked at her prizes. "No, not really. I just thought they'd be perfect for holding potion waste. I'm going to give one to Professor Snape as a Thank-you gift for helping Astoria over the years... I hear he was a good friend of Dad's."

Lucifer patted her head approvingly, "Brilliant. Truly brilliant. Now, you three stay here and enjoy yourselves. I'm going to see an old Muggle friend who's back on break."

"Will you be back for dinner?" Astoria asked softly.

The boy shook his head, "I'll eat out. Don't wait up."

"Alright-be quick, and come home safe," Hermione said while holding a long pipe that held choco powder inside, and ready to powder her nose for the third time.

Daphne, hugging her bin gleefully, scampered upstairs to wrap Snape's "gift."

Lucifer couldn't help laughing, eager to see the man's expression when he opened it. With a snap, he vanished.

.......

"How's the holidays been treating you?"

This dinner with Hannah had been arranged before the term ended. But Lucifer had spent nearly all his free time checking the updates, so aside from confirming time, he hadn't really kept up with her life.

The blonde tilted her head, thinking for a moment before replying:

"It's much easier than school. At first it was wonderful--I went shopping at nearly all my favorite stores, tried all the food I'd missed. But now... it feels dull again."

She chuckled at herself.

"Really, it's like this every break. The novelty fades, and I end up missing Hogwarts--friends close at hand, interesting things always happening. And, of course, watching Quidditch."

"You really do love Quidditch," Lucifer observed.

She looked like she belonged in the Cooking club--a soft, and big pretty girl. Yet she was also heart for sport.

"I suppose you're waiting for your chance to shine in the matches?" He teased on purpose when she didn't respond.

Hannah's expression dimmed slightly.

"No, I'd rather watch Delia hit the bludgers and make goals before she unfortunately graduates next year. She's better in the air, more experienced, and enjoyable to watch them Diggory."

"That's fine," Lucifer said casually. "Gives you another year to be a support audience yourself. Besides, your team wasn't winning this year anyway... If she had played, she'd only be blamed for the losses. Since, Diggory takes all fame away."

Hannah was long used to this Gryffindor boy's bluntness, but she still choked on that remark.

"Even though we lost the first match against RavenClaw by more than two

hundred points," she said stubbornly, "theoretically Hufflepuff still had a chance at the Cup, if Tom Riddle kept his snake underground."

"Oh, sure, sure-your optimism is... familiar," Lucifer replied with a wry smile.

She shot him an exasperated glare. "Just wait. Next term, Hufflepuff will crush Gryffindor."

"You know me--I don't care who wins. Everything depends on the shoulder of 'TheBoy Who Lived.' But if you do, I'll congratulate you."

The subject itself didn't matter. What mattered was who he was talking with. And across from him sat a strikingly pretty girl. Even Quidditch talk was entertaining in that light.

"I've loved the Tutshill Tornados since I was six. Their Keepers's dive-rotation technique? They pioneered it. From then on, I have watched their every match."

"How many have you actually seen?" Lucifer asked curiously.

"Not many," Hannah admitted, shaking her head, "Mum and Dad work too much to take me anywhere far, so most of the time I just watch the moving photos in the paper."

He thought wistfully that if there were proper TV broadcasts, the wizarding world would discover a whole new realm of entertainment. In fact, broadcast magic had existed long before Muggle television--but it was hopelessly outdated. The equipment was expensive, clumsy, and required a wizard to constantly channel magic as a "living camera," their eyesight dictating the angle.

No innovation, no progress, and fewer and fewer craftsmen who even knew how to build the devices. No wonder 'Nicolas Flamel' held such contempt for modern alchemists-stagnant, complacent, unworthy of the name.

They lingered in the dessert shop until sunset before heading out again, this time to a nearby Sweden restaurant. Other regional dishes, though? Most were mangled beyond recognition to suit local palates.

Hannah was surprised to find Lucifer so knowledgeable about Sweden food. Her fondness for him deepened, tinged with admiration.

"Next time I'll bring some photos of my hometown. The mountains and rivers there are beautiful."

After dinner, they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, lively Hannah would Floo home from there. Before they parted, he slipped her the WhatsApp Notebook and instructed: "Don't use owls anymore. It's 'inconvenient-and dangerous."

Dangerous? Of course.

If Hermione ever discovered owl post flying back and forth to Abbott household, she'd never stop nagging.

Soon enough, the evening passed into the eve of Lucifer's departure for France. That night, Lady Greengrass's message arrived. She would be taking him to visit Amelia Bones.

He collected several prepared samples and stepped through the Floo Network to Greengrass Manor. From there, he and Evelyn traveled together to Amelia Bones's home.

Her house was in a small village in Manchester. To the Muggle neighbors, it was invisible, cloaked in magic. This was the way of wizardkind: though some mingled with Muggles, their worlds rarely touched.

"You've arrived at just the right time," Amelia greeted them warmly as they stepped from the fireplace, "I've just finished late night dinner. Not as good as a house-elf's work, perhaps--but edible. Susan is asleep too."

"Dinner made by the 'Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?' Who would dare claim it's inferior to an elf's?"

Lady Greengrass quipped.

It was the first time Lucifer had ever seen her joke so openly. Clearly, she and Amelia shared genuine trust.

Amelia merely rolled her eyes at the banter and ushered them toward the table. The house was modest-two stories, simple and functional. More than enough for Amelia and her niece, as Evelyn had already explained.

A single woman, living with a child.

The duty of carrying on the Bones family line now rested with Susan's branch. Whether Amelia didn't want marriage--or simply had never found the right person--'no one could say.'

Evelyn had said men were too afraid and "prideful" to court her. Even during Hogwarts years, she had never seen or heard the woman was dating anyone. Second, Amelia herself wasn't interested in romantically world activities to boot, her sole attention went to safeguard the 'Wizarding World', after their family's tragedy.

Dinner was plain: a hamburger steak, fresh and juicy beef paired with a tangy homemade sauce. The only flaw was the baked beans that accompanied it.

Lucifer barely touched them.

"Not fond of beans, are you?" Amelia Bones had noticed, smiling as she teased, "Susan once told me you were very particular about food-and that's why you got along with the Abbott child. Seems she was right."

He didn't bother with false courtesy. "I prefer rice. Long-grain, if I can get it."

"Then next time I'll remember. For now, eat more meat." With a flick of her hand, another steaming hamburger steak floated out of the kitchen and landed neatly before him.

Lucifer thanked her and tucked in. But after the meal, it was time for business. The three of them moved into the sitting room. With a wave, he placed three alchemical items on the table: a glass sphere the size of a fist, a cloak, and a necklace.

"Three?" Amelia asked with interest. "Do they all serve the same function?"

"Not exactly," Lucifer replied, picking up the glass orb first. "This is the 'Eye of Warning'. It's similar to a foe-glass. But unlike the foe-glass, which reacts only when danger is imminent, this requires you to attune it with your own magic. Once attuned, if anyone within fifteen meters directs hostile intent at you, it will glow and vibrate."

He smiled faintly. By now, his mastery over magical attunement was polished to a fine art-so much so that even Nicolas Flamel had praised him. What once required complex, clumsy craft, Lucifer now refined into sleek, efficient tools.

"Very practical," Amelia admitted, nodding. Her eyes shifted to the cloak.

He gave it a sharp flick, and the 'Cloak of Wardings' soared to the coat rack by the door. He fired a spell at it. The impact shimmered across its surface like water rippling--no damage. Then another. And another.

By the fifth spell, the cloak disintegrated into tatters, fluttering to the floor.

"Each cloak can withstand about five standard spells from an ordinary witch or wizard," Lucifer explained calmly, "But note--standard spells. Against a Head-of-House-level opponent, or a Killing Curse, or... certain other dark magics, its durability will be significantly reduced."

"Do you have another?" Amelia rose from her chair. "I'd like to test it myself."

Lucifer, prepared for the request, handed her a second cloak. She tested it-'five spells again' before it shredded. He couldn't help smirking inwardly. For all her authority, Amelia Bones's strength was no more than average Auror level.

"I'd advise you let Alastor Moody try it," He remarked dryly. Amelia's expression stiffened, betraying the truth behind the title she carried.

Lady Greengrass laughed outright, making no attempt to hide her amusement. Amelia shot her a glare, then smoothly redirected the subject. "And the necklace?"

"That one's expensive," Lucifer warned. "It isn't really designed for Aurors."

He lifted the 'Guardian's Pendant.'

"Inside is a crystal that stores magic power. As long as it's not overstrained, it absorbs your excess magic naturally. When full, its defensive capacity is roughly five times stronger than the warding cloak--enough to withstand an ambush from ten opponents for a while. More importantly, if the crystal shatters, it triggers a 'final built-in' Apparition spell, teleporting you two kilometers away."

By the time he finished, both Amelia and Lady Greengrass had eyes gleaming like hunters who'd spotted prey. Defense and escape. A survival talisman.

Yes, magical escape devices existed--but they were rare heirlooms, guarded jealously by old families.

"Dear, how much? I want ten." Evelyn spoke first, decisive and rich.

Amelia's heart burned with envy. She couldn't afford ten. She could barely justify even one. Yet as 'Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement', she knew better than anyone how many enemies lurked in the shadows, sharpening knives for her back.

"Why buy?" Lucifer waved it off with an easy smile, "Yours is already prepared, Madam. If you want more, I'll need time--they're not easy to make."

Lady Greengrass smiled, satisfied. Family didn't quibble over gold. Her daughters had spent a week under the boy's roof without her raising a word of complaint.

"Director Bones," Lucifer said smoothly, tapping the Eye of Warning with his wand, "These--fifty Galleons apiece. The Cloaks of Warding-one hundred each. As for the Guardian's Pendant..." His smile sharpened.

"That one can't be measured in Galleons. But if you agree, I'll sell the first two to the Ministry at half-price. And I'll gift you five pendants. Use them to build your network."

It was like the heavens dropping a feast into her lap. But Amelia Bones did not lose her head. If anything, her sharp instincts screamed louder.

"Morningstar," she said quietly, eyes narrowing. "Such generous concessions... What is it you want in return?"

Lucifer's smile deepened, sly and deliberate, "For now? Nothing. Consider it... a political donation."

Her eyes hardened. Political donation? In Europe and America, neither the Muggle nor the wizarding world was unfamiliar with the concept of political donations. In fact, a sizable portion of the Ministry of Magic's operating budget came from them.

The other major source? Gringotts. The goblins ran the bank fat with gold, but every year they too had to hand over hefty "protection fees" to the Ministry.

And political donations didn't always mean piles of gold. Influence, connections, favors, or certain "conveniences" all counted as contributions. Of course, the Wizarding world's game was cruder than the Muggles'.

Lucius Malfoy's political donations, for instance, were as unsubtle as bricks of gold: he either gave them directly to Cornelius Fudge or funneled them through St. Mungo's.

This boy's offering to Amelia Bones wasn't merely about money. It was influence, it was leverage, it was a chance to make her stronger within the Ministry.

Officially, the Auror Office was only one branch under the 'Department of MagicalLaw Enforcement'. But in practice, as the Ministry's armed division, Scrimgeour and Bones stood nearly as equals. Cheap, high-quality gear for Aurors would win their loyalty, their gratitude-and by extension, their loyalty to her. Every subordinate admires a commander who cares about their survival.

And then there was the Guardian's Pendant. That was for the upper echelons. The higher you climbed, the more afraid of death you became. Outside of a handful of legendary figures, a pendant was as good as an extra life. Five pendants. Amelia would keep one for herself. The other four? Each one could cement an alliance, buy loyalty, purchase favors beyond imagination.

Lucifer said his piece, then fell silent, smiling faintly as he watched her weigh her decision.

Amelia Bones sat in thought for a long moment before glancing toward Lady Greengrass. Their eyes met--the woman shook her head instantly.

"Amelia, you know our tradition. The Greengrasses never take sides. Tonight, I am merely Lucifer's guide. Every decision, every word spoken, is his alone."

"But he's only---" Amelia began, her brows furrowed.

"Only twelve?" Evelyn cut her off, her tone sharp, "And? Some are born with gifts others can never fathom. Dumbledore, in his fifth year, was already conversing with wizards a century older on equal terms. Did anyone call that unnatural?"

"...Fair point." Amelia let out a breath, then nodded reluctantly. The evidence lay before her. These creations weren't the work of an ordinary child.

"Mr. Morningstar, your offer is... 'tempting." She admitted it openly, though her voice was steady, "These three products between middle-tier and upper-tier officials--they cover everyone I'd ever need to safeguard....

But the very fact that your offer comes with no conditions makes it the most dangerous kind of condition. Without knowing your true intent, it is difficult to accept such help."

"My intent?" Lucifer tilted his head, as if in genuine thought, "Tell me, Madam Bones-what do you think of Cornelius Fudge?"

The sudden shift of topic surprised her. But after a pause, she answered carefully, "A conservative, traditional Minister. Diligent in his duties."

Lady Greengrass let out a cold laugh, translating bluntly, "An incompetent man who embodies the flaws of every Minister before him, obsessed with power, and terrified of anyone who might 'threaten it."

Amelia said nothing. She lowered her head. She did not deny it. Fudge's weaknesses were no secret.

Everyone of sense in the Ministry knew. His flaws weren't even the worst part. His one virtue-that he was easily swayed-was what kept the system running. Departments deceived him, coddled him, and carried on as they pleased. So long as no catastrophe erupted, his rule endured.

"Madam, perfectly put," Lucifer praised with a grin, raising his thumb toward Lady Greengrass, the dark cunning Slytherin' witch, before sighing, "But you know the saying--there's nothing worse than a fool who works hard. In the distant history, I watched how a diligent emperor worked himself straight into the grave, hanging from a crooked tree...."

He leaned forward slightly, voice steady, eyes cold, "That is how I see 'CorneliusFudge'. So... I want a Minister I can work with. Someone whose presence won't make every conversation a farce."

"Privileges, I'll earn with my own power. But in politics, I'll stand behind someone I can trust not to be a hindrance... After reviewing the Ministry files Madam gave me, only two names stood out: you, Madam Bones... and Barty Crouch."

His lips curled faintly.

"If the next Minister is Scrimgeour-well, she has told me how he despises her 'Annals of the Wizarding World', calling it subversive, even accusing her of writing under Dumbledore's orders. Do you think when he takes office, he and she will avoid conflict? Hardly. So yes---put pitifully, since I have been so kindly taken by Greengrass family--I support you simply for self-preservation. For peace."

Amelia's gaze deepened. She weighed every word, trying to discern how much was truth, how much concealment. But she had too little to go on. Lucifer Morningstar was still a mystery, his surface too polished, his depths unreadable.

Evelyn studied her man's demeanor. She hadn't known any of it, and her love deepened to another level.

At last, Amelia said, "If this is truly all you want, then I will accept your help and be grateful for it. But hear me now: should I one day succeed, I will not repay you by breaking the law or betraying principle... Any favor I grant will remain within the rules."

"Fair enough," Lucifer rose, extending his hand, "I look forward to the day of our mutual understanding and your success." His real motive laid in deleting the Trace officially, restrictions of not using magic' before coming of age, getting Emancipation.

She stood, shook his hand firmly. The deal was struck. From this day forth, Lucifer was Amelia Bones's benefactor--her shadow patron.'

"It grows late. I'll return with Madam for now. If the Ministry has further needs, or requires more Guardian's Pendants, you know how to rea---"

The Grand Sitting room fell into an abrupt suffocating silence, broken only by the faint clink of Amelia's wand hitting the polished marble floor.

Amelia had been mid-sentence, gesturing animatedly with her wand as she addressed Lucifer Morningstar, when her heel snagged the edge of the velvet rug. She stumbled forward with a startled gasp, the wand slipping from her fingers.

"Ah, my mistake..."

Dropping to her knees in a frantic attempt to retrieve it, she lifted her flushed face—only to misjudge the distance entirely. Her nose pressed flat against the dark, expensive fabric of Lucifer's trousers, right over the unmistakable bulge of his.... 'cock.'

"Eeeep.....?!"

A sudden overwhelming wave of heat crashed over her. The intoxicating, scent of ash, aged bourbon, and dark, smoky magic flooded her senses, making her head spin. Her breathing grew heavy and ragged, cognitive filters shattering in an instant.

"Haaa... Ha...." Driven by an inexplicable impulse, Amelia opened her mouth and bit down hard, an open-mouth 'Crunch!~' right against his testicles and thick base of his cock through the fine material.

Lucifer hissed sharply a low dangerous "Guhh...." escaped through clenched teeth as his entire body tensed. His jaw dropped, crimson eyes flashing with a glowing, infernal light that illuminated the shocked faces around them, "What in the name of the Nine Hells—!"

He choked out, his voice a strained growl of disbelief and sharp pain. His hands hovered uncertainly near her shoulders, frozen between shoving her away and processing the absurdity.

"Amelia! Have you lost your goddamn mind?!" Evelyn Greengrass snapped, her voice slicing through the empty room like a whipcrack. She stepped forward instantly, her own cheeks burning a furious crimson as she glared daggers at the dazed woman, "Step away from my husband this instant, you reckless little fool..."

Amelia Bones blinked rapidly, the haze lifting as horror flooded her features. Her face blazed an agonizing scarlet, heat radiating from her cheeks down to her neck. She recoiled with a mortified whimper, scrambling backward on her knees, one hand pressed to her mouth. "I—I don't know what came over me! The scent, it was... oh Merlin, I'm so sorry—"

Ignoring the gasps and murmurs rippling through her, Evelyn dropped gracefully to her knees beside Lucifer, propriety be damned. Her elegant hands immediately went to work, rubbing soothing circles over the front of his trousers where Amelia's teeth had left their mark on his genitals.

The fabric was warm from his body heat, slightly damp now from the bite.

"Deep breaths, darling," Evelyn murmured softly, her voice a mix of concern and possessive tenderness. She pressed her palm more firmly against the throbbing outline of his cock, massaging gently to ease the stinging ache.

Lucifer made an involuntary groan, half pain, half something darker as her fingers worked the sore testicles with careful, intimate pressure.

"There... just breathe through it. That idiot didn't know what she was doing."

Exhaling shakily, one hand finally settling on Evelyn's shoulder as he shot a heated glare at Amelia, "Bloody hell, Madam Bones, was that your way of sincerity? You nearly unmanned me. If those teeth had been any sharper..." He trailed off with a dark chuckle that sounded more like a growl, his glowing eyes narrowing.

"M-Madam Greengrass, your hands are the only reason I'm not incinerating the room right now."

Evelyn's cheeks flushed deeper, a pretty rose tint spreading across her face as she continued her ministrations, feeling the heat and subtle twitch of his cock beneath her palm, "Shh, I've got you," she whispered, leaning in closer so only he could hear the next part, "We'll tend to this properly later... in private. I'll kiss every mark better."

Her fingers traced the thick ridge of his shaft eliciting another quiet hiss from him, this one laced with reluctant pleasure.

The single lady Amelia remained kneeling a few feet away, trembling, her face still burning crimson, "Please, forgive me, Mr. Morningstar—'Lady Greengrass'. It was an accident, I swear! The magic in the air, your presence... it just... overwhelmed me."

Her voice cracked, mortification making her eyes glassy. But Evelyn's sharp glare silenced her mutterings. She rose slowly, helping Lucifer adjust his stance with one last proprietary tugging stroke along his balls, then turned her attention back to the attacker.

"Accident or not, you'll be apologizing properly," Evelyn said coolly, though her own cheeks remained flushed from the public intimacy, "And if I see you within arm's reach of my husba--- my ward again tonight, I'll hex your wandering mouth shut."

Lucifer straightened his jacket with a wince, the front of his trousers still tented slightly from the mix of pain and Evelyn's touch. He offered the fiery mother a wicked, appreciative smirk.

"Remind me to thank you more thoroughly later, my fierce little protector, haha.." His voice dropped to a velvet rumble, "Though next time someone gets that close to it, I expect to be you doing the biting... on purpose."

Lady Greengrass's lips curved into an elegant smile, her red cheeks glowing as she linked her arm with his and steered him away from the scene, leaving Amelia Bones to stew in her embarrassment amid the lingering, scandalized stare.

The Head of DMLE trembled rapidly, the haze lifting as horror and something far more complicated flooded her. 'Oh gods... that was my first kiss,' she thought, still tasting the clothing and heat of him on her tongue. In all her years, no lips had ever touched hers, and certainly not like this.

She had just bitten a boy's midriff, her niece's classmate no less. Shame burned through her, but underneath it, a treacherous curl of lust lingered low in her belly. The memory of that heavy weight between her teeth, the scent, the way his body had jerked...

It made her cheeks flame even hotter. Unconsciously, she licked her lips, savoring the lingering taste. 'What is wrong with me? That was his.... his reproductive… and I bit down like some feral creature.'

The fallen from grace was overwhelming, yet the heat between her own thighs was betraying her. Amelia Bones licked her lips again without thinking, stirring confusing, hungry thoughts, 'He felt so warm, so heavy… and, and, Lady Greengrass was touching him so freely. What's their actual relationship?'

She squeezed her thighs together, mortified.

"Forgive me, Mr. Morningstar… Lady Greengrass," Amelia whispered, voice shaky, she couldn't even look her benefactors in the eye properly, "It was inexcusable. I've never… that was my first time even being that close to a man. I lost control completely."

Lucifer let out a dark chuckle as the person beside her had fingers lingering possessively over the front of his trousers one last time. "First time, hmm? Bold way to start. Most people begin with a handshake."

His eyes flicked over her flushed face and the way she unconsciously licked her lips. "Though I'll admit… the mouth on you is memorable."

With a whisper of emerald flame, he and Evelyn vanished into the Floo.

"Merlin!"

xxxxxx

The next morning, Lucifer soared through the skies toward France. At his side, Rayquaza twirled and rolled joyfully, her serpentine body cutting through the clouds with ridiculous speed. She always darted ahead, then looped back as if teasing him, brimming with energy she couldn't possibly spend.

He had chosen flight instead of Igris's Shadow precisely for her sake--so the little one could stretch her wings, so to speak. But one moment of inattention, and they overshot their mark. By the time he realized, they were flying over Berlin.

Muttering, he tugged her back around, losing hours before they finally descended upon Nicolas Flamel's sprawling estate.

The first to greet him wasn't Nicolas or Perenelle, but Newt Scamander, standing rather awkwardly at the entrance.

"Grandpa Newt," Lucifer greeted warmly, grinning, "You really owe me a thank-you this time. If Lady Greengrass hadn't stirred up all that trouble, and pure-blood' were targeting me... 'now instead', Grandma Tina would never have let you leave America so easily."

Newt actually smiled. "First time I've heard someone justify causing chaos so righteously. If Tina hadn't explained, I'd never have believed her article could cause such a storm."

When Newt was among friends, his famed shyness melted away, replaced by a gentle, calming presence. Lucifer found it strangely comfortable.

Of course, no sooner had they started talking than he flicked open his 'Spatialteleport sphere,' and Grindelwald immediately began ranting in flawless German.

"I could have managed it myself, but she insisted to take any step needed to secure 'my future, " Lucifer shrugged, ignoring the grumbling voice. He walked alongside Newt down the mirrored corridors, sunlight streaming in fractured beams. Then he leaned in, dropping his voice.

"You really didn't bring your suitcase? Because if you didn't... then it's me protecting you, not the other way around."

Newt ducked his head, looking guilty, "Only brought a few small creatures. Enough to manage if something happens."

"How'd you slip past the French Ministry's inspections?" Lucifer asked, suspicious.

"They haven't changed their procedures in decades. I just had an owl deliver the case straight here to Nicolas. No risk at all."

"Tch. I'd bet good money there are Aurors tailing you the second you set foot outside."

"No bet needed," Newt said blandly. "They were already following."

By the time their banter ended, they had entered a lounge. Nicolas Flamel sat in a rocking chair before a massive screen, watching a film.

Lucifer flopped onto a seat beside him like he belonged there. He glanced at the title. 'Bram Stoker's Dracula.'

"A Muggle vampire story? Don't you find that a little... contradictory?"

Nicolas shook his head. "There's fiction in it, yes. But there are truths woven in too. Before the Ottomans overran Constantinople, the Church, desperate for greater power, deliberately transformed certain priests into vampires to enhance their magical strength...."

"Of course, the Ottoman wizards were stronger. Most of those vampires were destroyed. But a few survived. One of their descendants is the 'writer of this very film."

Lucifer blinked, then laughed under his breath. That was the benefit of talking to relics like Nicolas-you never knew what insane fragment of forgotten history you'd stumble into.

Christian zealots turned into vampires by the Church itself? Truly, human hypocrisy knew no bounds.

He didn't argue. Instead, he sat through the entire movie with the old man. Only when the credits rolled did the lights rise and Nicolas adjusted his chair upright, his frail frame somehow emanating authority.

"After 'Festival of the Solstice Star'," Nicolas said casually, "old friends will be gathering here. A three-day symposium. Perfect opportunity to spread your WhatsApp project."

"You found Whomping Willows?" Lucifer asked immediately, since it was a task Evelyn was finding difficulties in to bribe certain authorities in Africa doing transportation, he had written to Flamel' if he could do anything with how own networks there.

"Ten saplings. They're in the garden now. All paid by Greengrasses. Not as fine as Hogwarts' tree, but workable."

"Small problem. I'll cultivate them back to standard soon enough." Lucifer waved it off.

"And you? Any progress?" Nicolas probed.

The boy shared his latest updates. The basic version of 'WhatsApp,' how he had bypassed time's limitation itself, alchemy materials and without runic serpents or willows, had been cut down to 'fifty-five Galleons apiece.'

Affordable enough to reach the mass market. One month's wages for a wizard--'for instant communication?' Irresistible. As soon as adoption spread, others would be forced to join. Social gravity was inevitable.

Owls were charming, but in a world where everyone else was chatting in real time? You'd be left behind. Nicolas's eyes gleamed, his ancient mind parsing every word. Basic version, Lucifer had said. Which implied there was an advanced one.

He didn't press. He'd find out soon enough. Newt, however, perked up at the mention of runic serpents. He leaned forward, eager. "How did you solve their breeding problem?"

Lucifer smirked, "I didn't. I handed it off to Snape."

The answer stunned Newt. When he explained that within a fortnight Snape had concocted a working solution, even the legendary magizoologist could only mutter:

"...A true... aphrodisiac master."

"Speaking of which, teacher," Lucifer said sheepishly, rubbing his palms together, "Mind if I bring a couple of... friends here sometime?"

The old alchemist instantly caught on, grinning wickedly. "This is your home as much as mine. And Perenelle has long wanted to meet your little girlfriends."

Then he leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows like a mischievous boy, "But a word of advice-half-Veela is still only half. If you want to know what a true Veela feels like..." He chuckled darkly. "I won't tell you. Experience it yourself."

Lucifer matched his grin.

Newt turned scarlet, eyes fixed anywhere but them. Because really-what was he supposed to do? How does a centenarian react when a six-hundred-year-old codger and a twelve-year-old boy are swapping tips about Veela women?

So, Newt Scamander, red-faced from Nicolas's off-color humor, all but dragged Lucifer out of the lounge. To escape the embarrassment, he insisted they check on the runic serpents. He enchanted his Suitcase to display Tempest's dungeon.

After a careful inspection, he frowned slightly, "They're livelier than before, but the conception rate still isn't great."

"I figured as much," Lucifer replied at once, "I'll write to Snape later-and send him his 'Summer Exchange gift.'"

The boy smirked faintly. The so-called 'No-Magic Elixir' was the perfect bait. One dose and you felt power seeping through every bone, every nerve. Who would turn down the chance for another bottle? Not Severus Snape. The man's hunger for power ran deeper than most.

"Your professor sounds like a good man," Newt said approvingly. He raised his wand and with a few practiced flicks reshaped the serpents' habitat--small, subtle changes that Lucifer himself would never have thought to make. The difference was immediate.

The runic serpents wriggled from their stone dens, gliding about, more animated than before. Lucifer shook his head in wry resignation.

Newt had given him all the guidance in detail before, down to the notes he'd shared on WhatsApp.

Aura and Mare had followed every instruction faithfully. And yet-there was a gap. Some things could be taught. But genius? That was talent. You either grasped it or you didn't. Books and lessons might carry you above the average, but they could never put you among the very best.

"You're planning to plant the Whomping Willows there?" Newt asked, nodding toward a stretch of flattened grassland by the lake.

"Why? Problem?" Lucifer caught the hesitation in his tone.

"I know you want to use nutrient solutions to accelerate their growth. But the best growth is always natural. Willows thrive in areas rich with magic. Your pocket-world isn't ready yet. Too few creatures. Too little magical cycle. It'd be better to plant them at Nicolas's estate."

Lucifer's brow furrowed, magic' wasn't rich, because the place itself had been nothing but a four dimensional landmark of the Underworld, "What about your world then, Grandpa Newt?"

"That would work," Newt admitted. "But ten saplings is too many. I can manage five at most."

"How about I give you one as a gift? There is a place I have where it will grow perfectly," Lucifer said showing a grin, "I would have also shared it with Nicolas, but he's too old to be minding dangerous trees."

"Another place like this?" Newt pressed.

"Even better. Oh, and I just got another idea, two Gryffindor's idiots hurt the Willow at Hogwarts. How about I plant one there as well?"

The words made Newt go quiet. Two Whomping Willows encircling Hogwarts? That wasn't just landscaping--that was a gauntlet. Did Lucifer realize what sort of nightmares that could trigger in some of the students?

"You think Dumbledore will agree?" Newt asked warily.

Lucifer only smiled. "He'll agree. Professor Sprout will be delighted, and might give me House Points enough to those 'puffs jealous."

Of course, what delighted him most about visiting Nicolas wasn't the company. It was the access, endless stockpiles of alchemical materials.

Lady Greengrass needed more Guardian Pendants to keep her allies loyal. Bones needed to "consolidate" her 'image', which meant another batch. Doll Granger had upgrades waiting to be carved into her frame. Ten, maybe fifteen more artifacts needed forging.

Lucifer stepped into Nicolas's laboratory and promptly vanished into bliss. To him, it was like a mouse loose in a rice bin. Like a Niffler locked inside Gringotts. He could've lived there.

By the next morning, Nicolas was still waiting for the boy to show for breakfast, only to learn from a house-elf that he hadn't left the lab all night.

When Nicolas stormed in, his eyes nearly rolled into his skull. Rare metals and priceless herbs were scattered haphazardly across the tables, half-used, half-destroyed. Piles of precious residue lay like trash on the floor.

Now he understood the phrase "a wastrel spends with no heartache."

The old man swept the table clear in one furious motion and seized Lucifer by the arm, "Boy! You're twelve years old, and you spend your days like an ancient hermit, locked in a lab? There are beautiful girls waiting for you outside, and you can actually sit here?"

"They're not going anywhere," he muttered. "You just don't want me burning through your stash."

Nicolas glared. "Yes! Exactly! 'Centuries of collection, wasted in a single night. When I'm dead, you can have the lot of it. Do whatever you want then. Until that day-hands off."

Most people would have been overjoyed to hear such a promise. Nicolas's hoard could transform a pauper into one of Europe's wealthiest men overnight. But Lucifer only made a face.

"By then I'll probably have no interest left for it. Decades away."

Nicolas nearly choked. 'This brat's just waiting for me to kick the bucket, isn't he?!'

"Fine! Next time you mouth off like that, don't expect me to make another Philosopher's Stone ever again!"

Lucifer's eyes lit up. "You're going to make one? Now? But the raw materials are so much more abundant than centuries ago. We could raid North America, half their ingredients come straight out of plantations. I could sweep a continent clean without anyone noticing."

Nicolas only shook his head, eyes suddenly far away. "Find me a reason to want to live again. Then we'll talk."

And that was the end of it. After breakfast, Perenelle herself shoved Lucifer out of the house. Centuries of marriage had left her patient, but watching her husband vanish into his laboratory for days on end was still a sore spot. She'd be damned if the boy picked up the same habit.

Young people should play, laugh, love-live. Not waste away among fumes and formulas.

So unless Lucifer showed up with Darcy on his arm, she wasn't letting him back in. Now he stood outside the Valentine household, scratching his head.

It was "The Festival of the Solstice Star" (also known as The Mid-Summer Exchange) a global wizarding holiday celebrated annually on July 10 by wizards, witches, and magical creatures worldwide.

It is the wizarding world's premier summer gift-giving holiday, serving as the mid-year counterpart to Christmas. July 10 marks the night when the cosmic magical currents of the year reach their perfect equilibrium. Centuries ago, the 'International Statute of Secrecy' required a day where wizards globally could gather in hidden sanctuaries, open-air markets, and wizarding villages without Muggle interference.

They chose this night to trade magical goods, celebrate survival, and strengthen community bonds.

The Canopy of Stars: Wizards use the 'Caelum Stellatum charm' to turn the ceilings of their homes, taverns, and the Great Hall at Hogwarts into a brilliant, swirling map of the July night sky, complete with shooting stars.

The Midnight Feast: Families and friends gather for outdoor midnight picnics under heavy concealment charms, drinking chilled Butterbeer and iced Firewhisky.

The Gift-Giving Ritual: "The Secret Snitch"

Unlike winter holiday gifts which are often practical, July gifts are meant to bring magical joy, luck, and whimsy for the upcoming second half of the year.

The Presentation: Gifts are traditionally delivered by Owls precisely at dusk. The wrapping paper must be enchanted to briefly glow like starlight when touched.

How in Merlin's name was he supposed to whisk Miss Valentine away tonight? Her father would duel him to the death. But... maybe sneaking off with the younger one would be easier?

As he hesitated, the door swung open-and a tiny figure barreled out into his chest.

"Ow-"

Lucifer steadied the tiny figure who had just cannoned into him with a 'Rocket-Headbutt'. The little one giggled uncontrollably as he caught her, "Alexandra, you'll hurt yourself one of these days," he scolded lightly.

"I knew you'd catch me!" the girl laughed, bright and fearless.

He pinched her round cheeks with mock severity. "What happened to calling me big brother?"

"Because my sister doesn't call you that. So I won't either!"

"Oh? Then I'll just make your sister call me 'big brother' first," Lucifer teased.

A voice, smooth and silken, drifted from behind. "You still dare think I'd call you big brother?"

Darcy glided into the room in a flowing sapphire dress, her eyes narrowed in feigned annoyance. Yet no matter how she tried, the smile tugging at her lips wouldn't stay hidden.

Lucifer's own lips curved upward as he looked at her. A year apart, and Miss Valentine was no longer the delicate bud he remembered-she had blossomed further, a striking flower whose beauty was almost cruel in its perfection.

Most Veela possessed a kind of standardized loveliness, dazzling but lacking uniqueness. Darcy, however, was different. Her beauty struck like a blade, sharp and unforgettable, with eyes that could shake the soul after only a glance.

"Not allowed?" Lucifer raised an eyebrow, stepping inside with Alex perched on his arm. The room was warm-no, hot and it explained Darcy's choice of a light dress indoors.

"You've grown taller again," She remarked, almost wistful. When they had first met, he'd been shorter than her by a head. But now---he stood above her.

"Me getting taller isn't the problem. You--don't grow too much more, or you'll end up with a frame too big for your beauty."

Before Darcy could reply, Madame Valentine swept in with a tray of sweets, "Lucifer, dear, sit, sit. Have a bite before dinner."

"Thank you, Madame." He accepted politely, popping a biscuit into his mouth, then another into Alexandra's.

The older girl's sigh was exasperated, "She's eaten enough already. If she keeps stuffing herself she'll turn into a little pig."

"Doesn't matter. Children grow fast--it's good for them to be plump," Lucifer shrugged.

"I don't want to be a pig!" Alexandra squealed, cheeks puffing as her sister shoved the last three macarons into her mouth, clutching the dessert plate protectively.

Lucifer shot Darcy a pointed look, "You're stingy."

She only smirked, triumphant.

She only smirked, triumphant.

To distract herself from the loss of sweets, Alex dragged out schoolwork, a magical jigsaw puzzle-and bent over it earnestly, leaving Darcy free to finally talk with Lucifer.

Monsieur Valentine was still working late. Good news: he'd make it home for Starry dinner. Bad news: he'd barely make it in time to catch the tail end, closer to eight. Darcy had long since gotten used to it.

So she chatted with Lucifer instead, about Hogwarts, about Lux tower, and slyly tried to prod him about Greengrass who had publicly declared him their ward and of course Hermione Granger.

What she didn't realize was that her "intel" was already outdated.

"So that's why you waited until yesterday to visit us, you were with them?" she pressed, feigning nonchalance.

"Not entirely!" Lucifer protested loudly, "I've been busy setting up the new items. Half the penthouse is still unfinished. And teacher had given assignments nonstop. These holidays are busier than the school itself."

He sighed, adding, "Even now, there's a mountain of work left undone. I'll have to pull overtime when I get back."

Truthfully, he wanted to remodel the entire penthouse like Nicolas's enchanted mansion, a fully automated magical household system like shown in 'Beauty and the Beast.'

But the workload was immense. So far he'd only managed the living room and kitchen.

Darcy frowned sympathetically, "You're on summer break. They won't even give you a few days' rest? That's too harsh."

Lucifer nodded gravely. "Utterly inhuman. But what can I do? Once I'm stronger, I'll make them pay it back in full."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous. A strict teacher only means they care about you. If I had a teacher like yours, I'd count myself lucky."

She, of course, assumed his teacher was Dumbledore. Who else could forge a monster like Lucifer?

"Brother! Play fishing with me!" Alex whined, waving a toy fishing rod.

Lucifer abandoned Darcy without hesitation, plopping down on the carpet beside the little one. Together they cast their rods over the enchanted toy pond, waiting for the magically animated fish to bite.

Within minutes, he had a small pile of catches. Alexandra, meanwhile, hadn't hooked a single one. Her lower lip trembled, tears threatening, until she begged Darcy to help.

'Sisters united'--they still lost, but not as miserably.

"Children, dinner is ready!" Madame Valentine called.

The dining room table was laid with the feast of France: buttery foie gras, rich boeuf bourguignon, crisp confit de canard, steaming bouillabaisse, and scallops Saint-Jacques, each dish glowing in the candlelight.

Darcy, normally tasked with keeping Alexandra in check, was freed for once. With Lucifer here, her little sister clung to him instead. The star of the night, though, was the bouillabaisse. He soaked golden garlic bread, slathered with aioli, into the saffron-scented broth, savoring the layers of flavor.

They were halfway through when Monsieur Valentine finally arrived, weary but smiling. He clapped Lucifer in a warm handshake before taking his place beside his wife.

And with everyone gathered, he finally spoke of Nicolas Flamel's invitation.

"'Nicolas Flamel?"

Monsieur and Madame Valentine exclaimed in unison.

"You mean... Monsieur Flamel is your teacher?"

"But wasn't he already dead?"

Their questions overlapped in shock. Lucifer blinked at Fleur, who stuck out her tongue playfully.

"Didn't you say not to tell anyone about Monsieur Flamel unless it was 'absolutely necessary?" she countered innocently.

He gave the Valentine couple an apologetic smile, "That's on me, Uncle, Aunt. I should've explained things properly from the start..."

Merlin, how he adored Darcy's character. In front of most, she was proud, radiant-like a phoenix. She bantered with him often, refused to back down. But when it came to matters of trust and secrecy, she obeyed his words without question.

He had told her not to share his connection with Flamel and she hadn't breathed a word. Not even to her parents. So now, the Valentine were utterly clueless about his ties to the legendary alchemist.

"It's like this," Lucifer began calmly. "Last summer, like I told you Flamel agreed to take me as his apprentice in alchemy. But the news of his 'death' was... a ruse. A cover. In truth, my teacher's health is surprisingly good. He'll live for centuries yet."

The couple stared, speechless.

"The false death in October-and even the donations to Beauxbatons, were all a strategy," Lucifer continued, "He wanted peace.... To stop every dark wizard in Europe from constantly circling him like vultures."

Back in October, Flamel's funeral had been headline news. The greatest alchemist of the age, dead at last. Almost every newspaper in Europe covered it. Great figures from every nation had attended the funeral of the man who'd given the world the 'Philosopher's Stone.'

But the truth...

Lucifer's lips twitched at the memory. He rummaged in his dragonhide pouch, pulled out a photograph, and handed it across the table, "Perhaps this will explain better."

Madame Valentine leaned in with her husband. Both froze at the sight, their expressions twisting as though they desperately wanted to laugh but were holding it back.

"What is it?" Darcy asked, hurrying over. The moment she saw, her face shifted to match her parents, "You cannot be serious... This is 'Monsieur Flamel?"

"Indeed," Lucifer sighed. "He insisted on giving me a 'souvenir."

The photo showed Nicolas and Perenelle lying serenely in a massive coffin, eyes closed in death. But in the same frame, another Nicolas and Perenelle stood beside the coffin, grinning broadly, flashing peace signs as though they were teenagers.

A solemn memorial turned into something out of a macabre comedy. When Lucifer had first received it, he'd nearly dropped it.

"Memories of your own funeral'," Darcy murmured, still stunned. "And posing with your corpse... it's certainly... 'memorable."

The doubles lying in the coffin were so realistic no one could tell they weren't real. Flamel had even layered them with curses -perfect bait for any grave-robber foolish enough to try their luck.

"I hadn't expected Monsieur Flamel to be... quite so humorous," Monsieur Valentine managed at last, forcing dignity back into his voice. After all, Flamel was a French treasure; he couldn't just laugh, "Still, it is an honor. Darcy, if you get to continue visit him... that is extraordinary. You must remember, you'll be representing our family. Behave properly. Show the Flamels that the Valentine's know courtesy."

"Yes, Papa." Darcy straightened immediately, serious now.

"I want to go too!" Alexandra, her mouth sticky with cream, piped up suddenly. She didn't know who Nicolas Flamel was, but she understood one thing: her sister and Lucifer were going somewhere exciting, and they meant to leave her behind.

Madame Valentine was about to scold her when he chuckled and patted the cute girl's hair.

"Of course you'll come along. Nicolas and Perenelle will love meeting someone as adorable as you."

"Mmhm! Annabelle's cuter than Darcy!" she declared proudly.

The older Valentine's face darkened.

Lucifer politely declined their invitation to stay the night, promising instead to pick up the sisters the next afternoon. He had no desire to be pinned down here, not when Alex would inevitably latch onto him like a barnacle. He had to spend Starry Eve back at Flamel's.

For all that the Flamels had lived through centuries of Summer Exchange's and found the holiday meaningless now, Newt Scamander had crossed the ocean for this visit.

Lucifer wasn't about to skip out on him. And later that night... there was 'EvelynGreengrass, who deserved his company too. In the art of time management, he was a master.

When he returned to Flamel Manor, he found the three elders lounging comfortably in a glass pavilion, sipping wine while little raindrops fell outside.

"Well, don't you look cozy," Lucifer quipped as he stepped in.

Perenelle leaned forward, eyes narrowing when she saw he was alone. "Didn't I say? Don't bother coming back unless you bring her with you!"

"Now, now, madam," Lucifer said cheerfully, slipping into the empty chair beside her, "It's Solstice Eve Surely you wouldn't have me abduct her from her family 'mid-feast?Tomorrow," he promised, smiling, "During afternoon, I'll bring them both."

The old woman relented, mollified.

Lucifer spent the evening sharing a bottle of Bordeaux with the elders before retreating to his room. Inside the Matriarch's bedroom, it was glittered with 'festive decorations' to showcase Moon's light. Evelyn had insisted, of course, at her age when she had found her first love, every holiday felt magical.

.....Cyrus Vane was easy to be handled, less willed of a man, passive, and never meddling in family's affairs, which couldn't threaten Greengrass unlike Lucius Malfoy who had dreams.

Evelyn and Lucifer "celebrated" until late into the night.

xxxxxx

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