And the next morning, he woke to the soft rustle of movement. Usagi had returned from England, and the velvet carpet of the bedroom room was now piled high with brightly wrapped gifts.
Usagi's belly carried its own storage space, otherwise she'd never have managed to drag back so many gift-wrapped parcels. Opening presents only felt truly magical in the morning, not at night like it was described in customs.
He began his ritual, recording the names of those who hadn't sent him anything (a list he kept meticulously) before starting with the gifts from his more ordinary classmates. Nothing spectacular-basic trinkets and token offerings. (Harry's was a guidebook, '9Cutesy Ways: Break a Genius' Mind.')
Zabini, ever thoughtful, sent rare herbs-including revival grass and golden okra, both of which Lucifer had been hunting for.
Nott's gift was a set of copied family tomes on obscure historical secrets. Rosier kept things as brutish as always, but at least this year's bribe had jumped to five hundred Galleons.
Then came the professors' gifts.
Past two years, Lucifer hadn't received any, but since he had given each Head of House' Christmas presents, this year he was rewarded in kind.
Snape's offering? A lump of 'bezoar.'
"What the bloody hell, does he want me to develop gallstones?" Lucifer muttered, unimpressed.
Professor Flitwick's gift was far more whimsical: an entire crate of magical 'fireworks.' When lit, they burst into glittering displays that transformed into firework-spirits, dancing elegant routines in the air.
Sprout had listened well to his not-so-subtle hints and sent him a bag of biting cabbage seeds.
And McGonagall...
Her gift stopped Lucifer cold. A thick, leather-bound notebook, dense with meticulous annotations. Not notes from her student days, but her latest collected insights from the last two years, her full mastery of 'Advanced Transfiguration.'
He stared at it, stunned. An Exchange gift like this? Wasn't it too much? Only when he read the accompanying letter did he understand.
It wasn't merely a holiday present-it was also a reward. His 'Fantasy Nights' Potion' had passed peer review and would soon be published in "Transfiguration" today.
Hogwarts itself was preparing a batch to distribute among students when the term started. McGonagall's notebook was, in essence, her way of offering him royalties, her own life's work, given so that students like him might go further.
For a moment, he was silent. 'Say what you will about McGonagall--her devotion to her students is unquestionable.'
Finally, his gaze settled on the last parcel: Albus Dumbledore's.
"Well, well, old man," Lucifer murmured, "McGonagall's given so much to this school---if you, the Headmaster, try to fob me off with scraps, Hogwarts is in real trouble."
He tore it open. Another notebook.
But this one was thin-barely a dozen pages. He flipped it open and froze.
The title read: 'Fiendfyre's Pathbreaker.'
Lucifer's eyes blazed. Of course. Grindelwald was a master of flame, but so was Dumbledore. And this spell--this was one of Dumbledore's trump cards, burned into history itself. He remembered the moment vividly, images of him fighting with Gellert in the 'Daily Prophet'.
Dumbledore had unleashed this very spell, splitting a lake of 'Protego Diabolica fire' wide open to save a few Muggles. His blaze of glory. The magic was insane. Everything else forgotten, he bent over the notebook, absorbing every detail.
The first page gave the spell's structure, while the rest was a maze of layered incantations and ancient theory. Among all the magic Lucifer had studied, it's level was fourth in complexity. As he read, his expression twisted into something half-incredulous, 'half-wicked.'
Could it be? Was this spell really designed to be... super effective against Grindelwald himself? Otherwise why emphasize that it excelled against Fiendfyre, that it not only suppressed cursed flames but devoured them, feeding its caster with raw power?
....Lucifer smirked, and went to Nurmengard, banged on his prison cell which had a eery sense of dread.
"Time's up, The Devil's here."
"Hey, old Gellert, ever heard of a spell called Fiendfyre's Pathbreaker?"
xxxxxxx
Meanwhile, in London.
Spinner's End.
Severus Snape's dingy home lay cloaked in grey morning. Solstice meant nothing to him, he rose at eight, as always. The few gifts on his floor confirmed it.
A handful from colleagues, a token from the meddlesome old Headmaster... and, of course, the obligatory offering from Lucius.
But this year, something was different. There were more boxes than usual. Curious, he tugged open the largest one first, sent by the Greengrass family. His face fell.
A rubbish bin.
A 'bloody rubbish bin?!'
For a moment, rage bubbled. But then he noticed Daphne's letter, neatly explaining how these were designed for his classroom, to collect potion dregs and scraps. Practical, useful, even considerate.
It was just... odd. Receiving trash cans for Solstice Exchange, when it should be meant "good luck" for rest of the year. And then, worse came.
Snape's hand froze on another parcel. The tag read: 'From Lucifer Morningstar.' A cold sneer twisted across his lips.
At Christmas last year, that insolent brat had sent him a book titled 'How to Win the Girl of Your Dreams'. Snape had wanted to hex him into paste. If he'd received that book decades ago-perhaps. But now? Pointless. Cruel.
Then came this year, his 'Polyjuice stolen materials were returned.... that got missing when a Cauldron exploded, but he was careful, to make precautions after Quirrell incident.
Camera has snapped 'Granger know-it-all' in the act, Snape was brimming with excitement, as he roped the boy into messing with Lockhart in Dueling Club. What could the boy have sent this year that could possibly be worse?
Determined, Snape tore it open.
Another book. The title leapt out like a curse: "When Childhood Sweethearts Fall for Their Worst Enemy."
For a moment, there was silence.
And then---
"MORNINGSTAR'!!" Snape's roar shook the house. "I WILL KILL YOU! A THOUSAND TIMES WOULD NOT BE ENOUGH!"
What did the Devil in him knew?! Did he catch up to something?
xxxxxxx
"Achoo!"
Lucifer sneezed as he sat back, still poring over Fiendfyre's Pathbreaker. Grindelwald had already kicked him out of the cell for badgering him with questions, and now his nose tickled like someone had cursed his name.
He didn't even need a Seer's Sight, Merlin's sagging stockings, it was obvious. Snape must have been spitting venom about him again.
Utterly ungrateful. Did the man have any idea how much effort Lucifer had spent picking that Good luck present? Two and a half bloody hours in the "romance" aisle of 'Flourish and Blotts', sifting through sappy paperbacks, until he found just the right one to make the dour old bat's blood pressure spike. It was the man's fault himself to drop with regrets in Potion's 'first lecture,' and his unreasonable hate towards Harry Potter, and Hagrid's chatter mouth.
It gave Lucifer wild ideas. And yet Snape would never appreciate the artistry. Shakespeare had been the king of melodrama, 'Romeo and Juliet', dog-blooded to the last line, and still called a classic. So why shouldn't he carry on the noble tradition?
Of course... if Snape had already opened the accompanying letter, he suspected the man was really howling by now. That thought made him grin.
He half-expected to be greeted with a flash of green light the next time he set foot in Hogwarts. Not that it would matter, Snape couldn't do a thing to him even if he tried. Still, Lucifer decided he'd better toss the poor Potions Master a bone eventually, soothe his wounded pride and keep him brewing willingly.
....Granger had given him an Otter made up of a Muggle eraser's threads, when she was six and bored in the Classroom. Now, it was charmed to nip on his 'fingers.' How cheeky.
Pocketing Dumbledore's spell notes, he pulled out WhatsApp.
[Hearthrob: Did you get my gift?]
[Bat-Bogey Queen : Received it! I'm already wearing it. Fits perfectly. I'm worried it won't fit next year.]
In her bedroom at the Burrow, Ginny Weasley beamed at the mirror, twirling in her brand-new school robes. Deep crimson, embroidered in fine gold thread-the stitching alone screamed custom order. This wasn't cheap. And it wasn't from Madam Malkin's, either. Only 'Beyond the Ordinary', the high-end tailor's shop, carried such robes. Their family had even won a Lottery!
Ginny wasn't the sort to swoon over material things, but this? A handpicked, precisely tailored gift from Lucifer Morningstar himself, how could she not flutter?
[Hearthrob: If it's too small next year, I'll just buy another. The real problem would be if you stopped growing. How will that get Potter's four eyes?]
[Bat-Bogey Queen: Y-YOU?! What nonsense are you spouting?]
[Hearthrob: Speaking of which, when I get back, I'll need you to handle something for me. If not..]
[Bat-Bogey Queen: 'Fine... Anything you say, friend.]
Satisfied, Lucifer tucked WhatsApp away and strolled into the gardens. By the fountain, Newt Scamander was shadowboxing with surprising vigor.
His cheeks were flushed, steam rising from his skin, every movement sharp and precise. When he finished, he caught Lucifer's eye, breath coming heavy but content.
"That potion of yours is extraordinary," Newt admitted, voice still rough with exertion, "I feel lighter--like I've gone back to seventy again. Thank you, Lucifer. Truly, thank you."
The boy in demand tore a chunk from a baguette and sipped hot cocoa, "Don't mention it. I've already prepared a dose for Tina as well. Make sure she takes it. One bottle every three to five months is enough."
"I will," Newt promised with a smile.
It was no small gift. 'The StrengtheningDraught' tailored for old people was Lucifer's chosen present for Newt, perfect for a man nudging a century in age. Would it extend his lifespan? Hard to say. Creator, 'NexomertNagasho' had literally drunk himself to death, so not exactly a reliable case study. But even if it didn't, wizards lived long without illness.
Dipett, Hogwarts' former Headmaster, was over three hundred and still kicking. An exception, yes, but one that proved it could be done.
So why were there so few truly ancient wizards left in Europe? Lucifer smirked inwardly. Easy answer. Grindelwald had torn across the continent, Voldemort across Britain. Two Dark Lords in a row, of course the elderly population had thinned out, Hogwarts was proof itself, less children, 'very rarely more than one.'
Newt frowned suddenly, "This potion's too rare, Lucifer. I can't just take it without giving something back."
"Come off it," He said lightly, "You hadn't charged me... for tending my 'Whomping Willows if needed', did you? Don't start weighing things now."
Newt's protest died in his throat. The boy's seriousness, his gratitude, it left him quietly moved. He said nothing more, only vowed silently that Lucifer's precious trees would thrive under his care, whenever consulted in any matters, and would write in detail how to be successful.
Later that day, he arrived at the Valentine household.
Alexandra was as lively as ever, bounding into his arms like a bird in flight. Darcy, however, looked tense, anxiety flickering in her eyes. Of course she was nervous--'this was Nicolas Flamel' they were about to meet, the greatest alchemist alive.
Even half the professors at Hogwarts would quake before such an introduction. Lucifer, seeing her pale cheeks, decided to help.
"AAAAAH!" Darcy shrieked as her feet left the ground. She had no time to react, he had scooped her up with Alexandra and launched them skyward, great black-and-white wings unfurling behind him.
"W-w-we're flying!?" Her voice broke in panic. Alexandra clutched Lucifer like a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut, "Don't drop me, brother! I'll splat into a pancake!"
"Shh," While the culprit soothed, tightening his grip, "I've bound us with magic. You won't fall."
Up, over the rooftops of Paris they soared. Darcy Valentine's screams tore through the wind, piercing enough to rattle passing pigeons.
Alex, after the first wave of terror, opened her eyes wide, drinking in the city from this impossible angle. Her little hands pointed here and there, her awe only ruined by her pout.
"Ugh. Sister's too noisy," she huffed, covering her ears.
At last, with the older girl trembling and younger buzzing with excitement, Lucifer touched down gracefully at the gates of "Nicolas Flamel's estate."
xxxxxxx
Before Lucifer could say a word, Darcy leaned in and sank her teeth into his shoulder.
"Hiss-!" He winced, sucking in a sharp breath. Good thing he'd been quick enough to shut off his 'Iron Skin' enchantment, or Valentine's perfect white teeth would have snapped like porcelain.
"Stop, stop! You're a Veela, not a puppy."
Out of the corner of his eye he caught Alexandra, eyes sparkling with mischief, clearly tempted to take a bite as well. Horrified at the thought of both sisters gnawing on him like dinner, Lucifer shoved Darcy back gently and clamped a hand on the younger one's head before she could pounce, but alas it was too late, and she had bitten him, however....
Alex's strength was too little to make him yelp.
"You didn't even warn me!" Darcy huffed, her cheeks burning crimson at the perverted display of her younger sibling.
"I was only trying to distract you," Lucifer replied smoothly.
"Then why not just cast a Memory Charm on me?"
"...Brilliant idea. I'll do that next time."
"You-!" She glared, but clamped her lips shut as a house-elf appeared with a deep bow.
"Master Lucifer," the elf piped, "the master, mistress, and Master Scamander are waiting for you in the parlor."
Lucifer nodded and led the sisters through the sprawling estate. Both girls were struck silent. The Flamel manor was nearly the size of Beauxbatons itself, dripping with artistry and alchemical marvels at every corner. Yet where Beauxbatons hosted over a thousand students, this mansion was home to only two people.
It took half an hour of winding corridors before they finally reached the parlor. Lucifer who usually Shadowed' straight in, was patient this time, after all, this was Darcy and Alexandra's first visit, and "proper introductions mattered."
The older Valentine girl's nerves flared again at the sight of the three smiling elders, but Lucifer caught her hand and squeezed gently, steadying her. Introductions done, she offered polite greetings. Alexandra, however, was quick to win hearts with her honeyed tongue:
"Grandpa Nicolas! Grandpa Newt! Grandma Perenelle!"
The three old faces softened instantly.
Perenelle nearly squealed with delight as she smothered Alex in sweets, piling up enough confections to drown the little Veela.
"Don't be nervous, child," Nicolas said kindly, noticing Darcy's stiff posture. "Any friend of Lucifer's is family here. Treat us as your elders. Just don't copy him, the other day he was already muttering about eating at my funeral and inheriting my estate."
Darcy's wide eyes shot to Lucifer, scandalized. The boy shook his head furiously, "He's slandering me! I'd never, he just doesn't like how much time I spend in his lab, that's all."
Perenelle gave her husband a pointed look. "You see? I told you it's you who's been corrupting him. All day locked away tinkering. What if the boy turns into a recluse?"
"That won't happen," Newt said warmly. "Lucifer's a remarkable lad."
"Yes, don't let this grumpy old man fool you," Perenelle agreed. "Child, make yourself at home. And one more thing-don't let Lucifer study more than six hours a day. If he tries, drag him away. The rest of the time, you're free to do whatever you like together."
"I understand, madam," Darcy replied with a sweet smile, relaxing at last. The conversation turned light, and she grew more comfortable. During the chatter, however, she mentioned something that made Newt's face burn scarlet:
"Papa says all the French Ministry officials have been working late these past weeks... apparently it's because of you, Mr. Scamander. The moment they learned you were in Paris, every department went into overdrive, scouring the country for dangerous magical creatures. Father's department was even reassigned to assist."
In other words, Newt's arrival had caused almost the same panic as Grindelwald's.
Nicolas roared with laughter. Lucifer smirked, watching Newt shrink lower in his chair, wishing for 'Invisibility Cloaks'. Sparing him further embarrassment, he smoothly changed the subject. "Sir Nicolas, when will your friends arrive?"
"After New Year's," Nicolas answered.
"Good thing you asked. Tomorrow we'll have a formal suit tailored for you. The gathering will be a proper affair, you must take it seriously."
"I understand," Lucifer said with a nod. After more talk, Perenelle grew weary, and he too excused himself with the sisters. Their guest rooms were ready, placed right across his.
"Show me around?" Miss Valentine asked, offering her hand, curiosity in her eyes.
"Me too." Alex chirped, raising her little palm.
Lucifer chuckled, taking one in each hand, and led them off. From the grandest halls to corridors brimming with alchemical wonders, they wandered like explorers. Truth be told, even he hadn't seen more than a fifth of the estate, this was as much discovery for him as for them.
Half a day later, Alexandra was dragging her feet, exhausted, and Darcy herself looked ready to collapse.
"That's enough," She admitted breathlessly. "Tomorrow we'll continue. For now, I just want a long, hot bath..."
The next morning, Lucifer had the two sisters up early. Together, they went to be fitted for their new formal attire.
Nicolas had said the gathering would be formal, but bringing a partner along was perfectly acceptable. Still, he had no intention of dragging Alexandra into it. That didn't mean he could allow Darcy to have a new gown while her sister went without.
And so, Lucifer the "perfect balance master" struck again: two sisters, two gowns. Easy solution. Besides, for him, it was hardly an expense worth mentioning. In certain elite circles, repeating a gown before the same crowd was considered a grave faux pas, a silent insult both to the host and the guests.
The Wizarding world was no different, formal robes were effectively 'one-use items.' That didn't mean one could skimp on fabric. On the contrary, the rarer it was, the more extravagant the display.
At Paris' hidden wizarding district, their version of Diagon Alley, Lucifer arrived at the most exclusive tailoring house, speaking Nicolas' reservation aloud. At once, attendants ushered them into separate fitting rooms for measurements.
Wizarding couture was efficient: once the measurements and fabrics were decided, the robes could be completed within days. In the Muggle world, haute couture could take six months or more.
"What color do you think is best?" Darcy asked after her measurements, holding up swatches. She had already fallen in love with a rare fabric spun by 'frost-dwelling pixies'. It shimmered like liquid silver under light, cool and smooth to the touch.
Lucifer studied her hair, a cascade of moonlight down her shoulders, "Blue-or green. Both would match you well."
"And me?" Alexandra had bounded over. Amused, he ruffled her silvery head.
"You've the same silver hair as your sister. Blue or green suits you too. But... purple wouldn't be bad either. Do you like 'purple, Alex?"
The little one tilted her head, then suddenly chose emerald green. Darcy, meanwhile, settled on a soft water-blue. With their selections done and a pickup date set for three days later, Lucifer led the sisters to the Champs-Élysées!'
It was 'La Fête de la Saint-Jean'
For a magical holiday specific to the folklore and origins of a French Veela. The entire city seemed to be out shopping, and the streets pulsed with the festive crush. Darcy and Alexandra thrived in energy-women always did. Crowds meant curiosity, and queues meant must see.
Lucifer? He quietly muttered 'ConfundusCharms' at waiting lines, cutting their time short without anyone noticing. In every store, he gave the older Valentine a dutiful circle, then promptly parked himself in a lounge chair with Alex, the two of them content to "fish" while eldest happily browsed.
Their combined beauty drew eyes wherever they went. Passersby whispered about "other people's daughters"---so adorable, so dazzling, so utterly unfair.
By afternoon, their arms were full of bags. The next few days, Lucifer mostly remained in the alchemy lab, tinkering with the latest iteration of 'WhatsApp.' But Darcy had taken Perenelle's words to heart. Like clockwork, every day she pulled the boy out of the lab, dragging him into daylight.
He also checked daily on his Whomping Willows. Hogwarts' specimen required five or six students to encircle its trunk, but African batch were scrawny things, two people could have hugged one easily.
Fortunately, Newt had already brewed a nutrient solution tailored to their strange physiology. Though a master of beasts, he was nearly Sprout's equal with plants.
Within days, the willows' leaves gleamed richer, greener.
In the Muggle world, willows only budded in spring. But in the Wizarding world, rules bent freely.
Lucifer even snapped a few strong willow branches and crafted a swing for Alexandra. She turned it into a carnival ride, spinning in mad '360-degree circles' until she was dizzy with glee. And so the days passed.
On the evening of July 16th, the great gathering began. Few knew Nicolas still lived. Fewer still were invited to his table. And this night would not be at his manor, but at another estate he kept for entertaining.
Lucifer adjusted the collar of his new robes, taking Darcy's hand. At the hearth, Annabelle pouted in her princess gown.
"Stay home and be good, all right?" He said gently.
"Alex knows." the little one said gloomy, mollified only because she too had new clothes to wear.
Perenelle chuckled. "Go on, both of you. I'll see to her."
Lucifer nodded and stepped into the Floo with Darcy. Green fire flared, and in the next blink, they stood in another grand estate, smaller than Nicolas' manor but luxurious enough for hosting kings.
As host's disciple, he stood beside Nicolas at the gates to receive guests. At six o'clock sharp, the first arrival descended from the sky: a handsome middle-aged wizard. His eyes lit when he saw Nicolas.
"Monsieur Flamel! To see you unchanged, as vigorous as ever, puts me at ease."
"You should have come to my funeral last time, Dickett," Nicolas teased, and the man flushed, caught out.
He turned to Lucifer. "This is Dickett Worthington, current head of the 'FrenchAlchemy Commission'. His family has a long history in the art, I even mentored one of his ancestors. And this is Lucifer Morningstar, my student."
Dickett bowed his head and offered his hand in greeting, "Mr. Morningstar, what an honor."
Though the boy was young, his title as 'Flamel's student' eclipsed most credentials. A Commission Director showing respect was only natural.
Lucifer shook politely, traded a few pleasantries, and watched an elf guide Dickett inside. Guests soon arrived in a steady stream.
Each Nicolas introduced by name and station: wealthy suppliers of rare materials, scholars who'd toiled centuries over their research, patriarchs of pureblood dynasties. Every one was wealthy, prestigious, and importantly possessed some standing in scholarship or alchemy.
This was not just a dinner. This was a conclave of the wizarding elite.
This was only natural, alchemy was never a pursuit for the poor.
Even with the 'Philosopher's Stone' at his disposal, Nicolas Flamel had once been forced to assume countless identities, mingling with kings, dukes, and lords to secure resources. Wealth, influence were as necessary to an alchemist as parchment and quills.
A carriage rolled up to the estate gates. Darcy, who had been standing silently at Lucifer's side like a decorative vase, suddenly froze. Her eyes widened at the crest emblazoned on the coach.
An elderly wizard stepped down first... followed by a woman whose towering height made the word giantess feel like an understatement. Darcy gasped aloud:
"Professor Léonard? Madame Maxime?"
The tall woman's head turned instantly. Recognition flashed in her sharp eyes as she spotted Valentine.
"Darcy? What are you doing here?" she asked, striding forward with surprising speed for her size. She had admired this student with Fleur greatly at Beauxbatons yet here she was, tied somehow to 'Nicolas Flamel himself?'
"I came with Lucifer," She admitted shyly, her cheeks coloring.
Nicolas chuckled, "Allow me to introduce properly. Olympe Maxime, headmistress of Beauxbatons, your young lady's school. And Léonard, currently teaching alchemy there."
Darcy's blush deepened, but she didn't correct Nicolas. Girlfriend? Not yet... but perhaps someday.
"Good evening," Lucifer said politely, extending a hand to Maxime. The height difference forced him to reach up almost comically, nearly a right angle.
Maxime studied him curiously, "A Hogwarts student, and yet connected to Darcy? How exactly did you meet?"
"By chance," Lucifer replied smoothly, "I saved her life once. After that... we grew close."
"Ah, destiny then," Maxime said, a teasing note in her voice. "One at Hogwarts, one at Beauxbatons... Why not transfer, hmm? That way you could be together every day."
She didn't yet know Lucifer's full story, but anyone favored by Nicolas Flamel was hardly ordinary. Poaching such a student was worth a try.
Darcy's heart leapt-she'd wanted to ask that herself, but had been too shy. Her eyes shone with quiet hope.
But Nicolas stepped in smoothly, rescuing the boy, "Olympe, do you want Dumbledore pounding at your gates? If Lucifer were to transfer, the man would never forgive you. You'd have Albus camped at Beauxbatons, and I'd laugh myself sick."
Maxime stiffened. She hadn't realized Dumbledore valued the boy so highly. (In truth, it was less about value and more about containment, better to keep Lucifer Morningstar in Hogwarts than loose him upon the wider world.) At the image of Dumbledore storming her school, she shuddered faintly and gave Darcy an apologetic smile before allowing herself to be escorted inside.
At last, the final guest arrived, and Lucifer returned to the grand hall. The tables glittered with exquisite dishes, and conversation filled the room. As the meal progressed, Nicolas formally introduced him once more.
When the guests learned that this boy was none other than 'Family Ward' of the author of 'The Chronicles of the Wizarding World', many were visibly tempted to ask....
Nicolas' own manner toward Lucifer only deepened their respect. Clearly, this was no ordinary apprentice.
In truth, the night felt less like Flamel's gathering and more like his public endorsement of his disciple. The message was plain: 'This boy is mine. Give him face, and lend him your support.'
Of course, support would come, every wizard present owed Nicolas some debt of wisdom or favor. But curiosity lingered: what, truly, was Lucifer Morningstar capable of? Gaining Flamel's and Greengrass's eyes.
And so, as wine flowed and plates emptied, conversation drifted naturally, inevitably-toward 'alchemy.'
Nicolas chuckled and gave Lucifer a meaningful glance. He would not intervene. This trial was his student's alone. But was it truly he who was being tested... or the guests? Against raw genius, even centuries of study could crumble.
The result was swift and humiliating.
The first few questions Lucifer dispatched with calm precision. Then came deeper, more layered topics, each unravelled by the boy with effortless clarity. The scholars, who had nodded confidently at first, soon began to falter. Their theories fell apart when pressed, their arguments stumbling.
They realized, with a creeping chill, that boy was not merely correct. He was unchallenged. Nicolas sat in silence, never once moving to correct him-clear proof that the boy's words held weight.
One by one, the proud alchemists grew pale and silent. Questions grew weaker, desperate diversions into other fields-only to be steamrolled again.
At last, an elderly witch dabbed sweat from her brow and turned to Nicolas with a strained smile.
"Enough games, Nicolas. Your invitation promised that young Morningstar has made a remarkable invention. At such a point in the evening, surely it's time to show us?"
Nicolas barked a laugh. "What's the matter? Can't keep up?"
The old wizard looked like a mischievous child in that moment, relishing their embarrassment.
"This boy's talent is enough to make anyone envious. In alchemy, in magic, his gifts shine alike. And tonight..."
Nicolas paused, letting anticipation tighten the air, "Tonight, he will show you a creation that, without exaggeration outshines even the Philosopher's Stone."
The hall erupted in gasps.
"You can't be serious," Maxime said sharply. "However skilled young boy may be, the Stone is your life's masterpiece."
"I speak not of difficulty," Nicolas explained, smiling, "But of meaning. The Stone was my personal tool, a treasure for myself. Lucifer's invention, however, will reshape the Wizarding world. It can fulfill the dream I never could, alchemy for all, not just the few."
The guests murmured, awe and hunger mixing in their eyes. What could it be, this creation worthy of such words? With a wave of Nicolas' hand, the feast vanished, plates, scraps, and wine swept clean in an instant. The long table gleamed.
Two house-elves entered, arms laden with neat stacks of notebooks, placing one before each guest.
Lucifer rose from his seat. The stage was his. The guests each cradled the notebook in their hands, scrutinizing it with the reverence one might give a priceless artifact.
The basics were clear enough: runes of self-repair, wards against damp and flame, and enchantments strengthening the cover so it might outlast centuries of use, fail safe if anyone except the Owner tried to write, the book would require manually to be 're-instated' by the Creator or buy a new one.
But the real magic-ah, that was hidden deep within. Opening the book, they found a familiar template, a simple registration form Darcy knew all too well. Beyond that: blank pages, waiting to be filled.
It was Lionel, Beauxbatons' alchemy professor, who first caught the detail others had missed. Comparing his notebook with Olympe Maxime's, he noticed a string of strange runic script etched faintly into the lower 'right-hand' corner of the cover.
Not Runes, not Arithmancy symbols, something else entirely. And curiously, his code was not the same as hers. Nor, as he glanced furtively at others', did anyone share the same one.
"Morningstar," Lionel said, excitement creeping into his voice, "this symbol, this is a unique identifier, isn't it? A code? I've never seen this language before, but the magic in it is undeniable. Some new form of runic structure?"
Lucifer smiled faintly. "Sharp eyes, Professor. Yes, what you see is a script of my own design. Think of them as letters in an alphabet, or perhaps digits in a number system. Their purpose... 'you'll soon understand."
He lifted his wand. At once, mist swirled and dozens of those glowing symbols appeared, floating in the air like constellations, enormous and luminous. Every eye in the room widened.
"Now then," Lucifer continued, "on the first page, I'd like you to enter your information. It may be real, or false, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you participate."
With murmurs of curiosity, the guests obeyed. None were foolish enough to pen their true names; in the Wizarding world, such honesty could be dangerous. With the right rituals, even a name could become a weapon.
One by one, they finished.
"Good. Now, take your wand, and write down the code from the notebook opposite yours."
Skeptical glances exchanged. Still, they did as told. A soft ping echoed as the blank page before them shimmered. A prompt appeared: a friend request, with a neat little checkmark and cross. Amusement rippled through the hall. No one, of course, was idiotic enough to refuse.
"Now," Lucifer said, his smile widening, "try it. Write something to your new friend. Anything you like. Just a quill and ink will do."
The hall came alive. Lionel nearly vibrated with energy, scribbling nonsense across his page. Maxime's notebook flashed with the response, his message appearing instantly in her book. Her eyes widened as though she had glimpsed the future itself.
Others tested eagerly, some even dashing toward the door to Apparate away, only to be stopped by Lucifer's raised hand and amused shake of the head.
"No need to waste your strength, Mr. Cromwell. WhatsApp has no meaningful distance limit. From here, you could write to a friend across the Atlantic, and they would see it instantly."
"'WhatsApp?" Maxime repeated, voice trembling with wonder. She clutched the notebook to her chest as though it were sacred, 'A perfect name. No wonder Master Flamel called this invention a treasure beyond even the Philosopher's Stone. Child---you have just altered history itself. The age of owls is over. This will transform how wizards live, forever."
"I already see it," another guest whispered, half in awe. "Thousands of owls, retired in peace..."
Lucifer lifted a hand, modest as ever, "I only stand on the shoulders of giants. My design borrows entirely from Muggle networks and communications. I merely... applied magic to realize it."
"Nonsense'," Lionel snapped, shaking his head wildly. "Others may have thought of it, but none succeeded. And most never even tried. You alone had both the vision and the will to bring it to life. That is no small feat."
"Were you French," added Dickett, his voice full of conviction, "the Grand Order of the Fleur-de-Lis would already be yours."
A murmur passed through the hall. That honor was France's answer to the 'Order of Merlin except, some whispered, rarer still.
Lucifer's lips curved. "I don't care for medals or orders." (Though inwardly he added, unless it's 'First-Class Order of Merlin.)
His tone grew firmer. "Professor Flamel invited you here not simply to admire a toy. He hopes that together, with your influence, your networks, your wealth, we will push this forward. Change is not easy. The Wizarding world clings to old habits with a stubbornness bordering on madness.... Even something as revolutionary as WhatsApp will meet resistance. People will scoff. They will sneer. They will refuse."
He let the silence hang, then continued softly, almost intimately.
"But when future generations look back... they will see your names written in history. They will 'thank you'. Because you were the ones who dragged... Wizardkind out of the age of owls and into a brighter age of connection."
The room swelled with heat. Faces flushed. Breaths quickened. The hunger to matter, to leave a mark---burned in every chest.
At Lucifer's side, Darcy's heart thundered. Her eyes glittered like stars, and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself at him, to hold him tight and never let go.
Only Nicolas Flamel did not bask in the fever. His smile faltered as he stepped back, the echoes of memory tugging at him. In Paris... years ago... another man had spoken just so. His voice had swayed crowds. He had stirred not admiration but fervor, zealotry. Even the Aurors sent to arrest him had faltered, caught in the net of his words.
That man had been Gellert Grindelwald.
And now here stood Lucifer Morningstar. His words carried the same dangerous charisma. His presence bent emotions like a storm bends trees.
'This is wrong', Nicolas thought, a shadow crawling down his spine. 'Is he walking the same path?'
Then Lucifer turned, catching Nicolas' eye, and with a boyish grin, he winked. The old alchemist exhaled, shaking himself free of the memory. 'No, not Grindelwald. Not Voldemort. Lucifer was different-ambitious, yes. Brilliant, without question. But this boy was no monster.....'
If Grindelwald had been present, though, he would've roared with laughter.
"Old man, you've gone soft. Can't you see? That brat's the real deal!"
"Morningstar, it's an honor," Dickett declared, his voice loud enough to draw every ear in the hall, "To be part of something this meaningful--if there's anything you need, you need only ask. My family and I will support you without reservation."
The dam broke.
"I have connections across several ministries, authentication and bureaucracy will be no problem."
"I'll handle the raw materials. At cost--no, lower than cost!"
"Sales, leave to me. Look at these keys shops all across Europe, every Wizarding district worth naming. Your notebooks will be everywhere."
It was everything Lucifer could have hoped for: from supply to sales, from private networks to official channels, Nicolas Flamel's circle could smooth every obstacle. The only real bottleneck lay with Lucifer himself, his ability to scale production and reduce costs.
When they learned of the current limitations, some faces fell. Still, disappointment soon gave way to resolve. Wizards were used to waiting. One or two years, to prepare, to maneuver? That was nothing.
Then he unveiled the upgraded version of WhatsApp.
It looked identical, but when Perenelle's face flickered to life on the page like a living portrait, the room gasped. Video calls. Group functions. The potential was infinite.
The negotiations wound down, replaced by wine and small talk. In Nicolas' home, Lucifer might sip red wine without concern, but here, under the eyes of Europe's elite, he held nothing stronger than orange juice.
And yet, the boy was the star. Clusters of alchemists, merchants, aristocrats pressed close, eager for a word. Even those stranded at the edges stole glances his way, wishing they could break into his orbit.
Lucifer danced through it effortlessly. No groveling, no arrogance. He shared scraps of knowledge freely, batting away the deeper questions with a "smile and smooth evasions."
At the edge of the hall, Olympe Maxime was interrogating Darcy.
"Tell me about him," she pressed, lowering her head to bring her sharp gaze level with the girl's.
Miss Valentine, caught, offered what she dared, his charm, his brilliance, the little she could share. But the dangerous truths-the poachers, the Minotaurs--'those she locked away.'
"Darcy, listen carefully." Maxime's tone was heavy, like prophecy, "Morningstar's future is boundless. His invention stands alongside 'Floo Powder, Portkeys--tools that reshaped society for centuries. Beauxbatons needs a man like him. Why do you think Hogwarts, despite all its chaos, remains untouchable? One reason. Dumbledore. The weight of a single top-tier wizard. Morningstar could be that for us."
Darcy's mind drifted back to her first year, to the image of Lucifer felling poachers, and monsters like kindling. She shivered. This wasn't potential, this was inevitability.
"Madame, what do you mean?" She whispered, though she already suspected the answer.
Maxime leaned down further, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "Bring him to 'Beauxbatons'. If he comes by his own will, I'll face Dumbledore myself. He is strong, yes, but he is bound by rules. That is his weakness."
The older Valentine blushed, torn between excitement and nerves. "I... I'll try."
"Good girl." Maxime gave her shoulder a pat, then swept back into the crowd, her mind already turning toward negotiations.
And negotiations there were.
"Morningstar, my dear boy," Dickett said again, nearly glowing, "France is yours. I'll give you five storefronts in the Hidden Alley, and use my ministry contacts to ensure your work spreads like wildfire... Within two years, 'WhatsApp' will be in every wizarding household."
"Nonsense." Maxime's towering frame sliced into the circle, her presence impossible to ignore, "Leave France to 'Beauxbatons. Every student will carry WhatsApp--the school itself will fund the expense. When children use it, parents follow. It will spread far faster than through your dusty shops..."
"That is coercion," Dickett snapped. "Even the finest gift becomes a shackle when forced. Schools should be sanctuaries, not markets."
"It's not coercion," Maxime countered smoothly, her voice carrying like a general on the battlefield. "It's welfare. A service. Tell me, Monsieur, are you opposed to providing children with better tools?"
The two glared at one another, France itself caught between them.
"Er-ladies and gentlemen." Lucifer cleared his throat, smiling awkwardly as all eyes swung back to him, "This is... embarrassing. The French rights are already gone."
The hall froze.
"Who?" Maxime and Dickett barked in unison. Instinctively, their gazes darted toward Nicolas, lounging in his chair with a goblet of wine, as if death itself were a trivial inconvenience.
Did the old fox take a piece? He wasn't even supposed to be alive.
But Lucifer shook his head, still smiling that deceptively mild smile, "Not him. The Rosier family. They offered my confidant their secrets and their support for 'The History of the Wizarding World'. In return, I granted them France's exclusive rights."
The silence that followed was heavy. Then the whispers began.
The Rosiers. Of course. A family steeped in shadow, with roots deep and twisted in both politics and blood. And now through a boy's invention, they had just been handed the keys to France. Many of the guests widened their eyes in shock, none of them had expected the "Rosier family" to move so quickly.
No wonder, then, that after Evelyn Greengrass's explosive article, the Rosiers had not reacted with rage. Quite the opposite, they had published their own "thank-you" piece, praising her rational and objective analysis. By doing so, they had indirectly confirmed the accuracy of every sordid detail.
Even the ancient Muggle-born ancestors they'd tried to bury? The Rosiers had quietly admitted them, too. Now everyone understood. It hadn't been grace or magnanimity. It was a trade, struck in shadow.
Compared with the profits WhatsApp could bring, acknowledging a few "undesirable" ancestors was nothing at all. A sharp-voiced wizard suddenly spoke up with enthusiasm.
"Mr. Morningstar, my family line may not be as glorious as the Rosiers, but we have survived for over eight centuries. Perhaps we fall short of your 'Wizarding Lady's' criteria for a full entry in her 'History of the Wizarding World', but we do have many records of other noble families. If you're interested, I'll gladly deliver them to you."
Lucifer's eyes lit up. "Mr. Novak, I would be deeply grateful."
Novak hailed from a lesser-known 'family' in Poland, claiming eight hundred years of history, though Lucifer suspected it was closer to four or five. Still, useful information was useful information, and he wasn't picky.
That was why Evelyn had baited the Rosier connection so openly, to stir envy, to make others step forward with their 'own family archives.' It turned out when she was thinking of these ideas, Makima had approached her with some of his own plans, which she knew well, and linked with each other better.
It was the "perfect complement" to his book's expansion and a way to speed the project's completion. Novak's gesture broke the dam. Others followed, dropping hints, making promises, pledging records and testimonies that would bolster 'Lady Greengrass's work.'
By the time the evening wound down, Lucifer had won more than he'd ever expected: new distributors, secured material supply chains, and a growing pile of historical sources.
Before dismissing the guests, Nicolas gathered everyone together for a commemorative photograph. Naturally, he himself stayed out of frame. The world thought him dead, after all. But Lucifer was placed squarely in the center-C position, surrounded by Europe's finest like stars around the moon.
That photograph would be splashed across front pages within the week, heralding "WhatsApp's" arrival without ever saying its name.
"Exhausted?"
As the last guest departed, Lucifer brushed his fingers through Darcy's silvery hair, which now had some black curls growing in mix. Her face betrayed fatigue, this level of high society was beyond her experience, and she'd spent the entire night on edge, terrified of disgracing him.
"I'm fine," She murmured, shaking her head, "It's you who should be tired, always maneuvering between them."
Lucifer chuckled, "Then we've both worked hard. Let's go home."
She hummed in agreement, and together they stepped into the Floo, green fire delivering them back to the Flamel estate. At the door to their rooms, he meant to bid her goodnight.
But Miss Valentine caught his hand and pulled him through the threshold, "I'm too wound up to sleep," she whispered, cheeks flushed, "Stay with me, just for a while..."
And so he did. They spoke until dawn, lying side by side. Nothing happened, nor could it, not yet. The time wasn't right. A few days later, photograph blazed across the front pages of magical newspapers in half a dozen countries.
The headline, near-universal:
"They Will Change the World."
The faces were a roll call of power:
Maxime, known to every Beauxbatons graduate of the past twenty years; learned scholars whose names carried weight in every Ministry; wealthy merchants; high officials; scions of ancient bloodlines.
And yet, at heart of them all-sitting proudly at the center, was a boy.
"Mr. Morningstar, the magical world's newest rising star, widely known as 'Greengrassfamily's ward' as his background, backed by their Lady Matriarch, Evelyn Greengrass, widely in recent talks for her groundbreaking work in 'Magical history' and for redefining the standards of 'pure-blood lineage'.
What few know, however, is that she had also seen the genius in this boy, before than anyone else's. His Mastery of Alchemy--- is astonishing. This was nothing less than a 'world-class summit' of alchemy..."
The article heaped praise upon Greengrass and their ward, yet carefully avoided mentioning WhatsApp by name. Instead, it hinted at "a great project" that would soon reshape society. Curiosity burned hotter with every passing day.
Speculation raged.
Even The Daily Prophet ran the photo on its cover. And, of course, Rita Skeeter could not resist adding fuel to the fire. Her headline screamed:
"The Black Hand Revealed At Last!"
Her article was dripping with paranoia, spinning a tale of shadowy conspiracies. According to her, Lucifer had not sat at the center because of his own power, but because he was merely a mouthpiece for a mysterious organization pulling the strings of the magical world, that roped Greengrass's Widow under 'Imperius Curse.'
The true leader remained unseen, but his presence was everywhere. In the Hogwarts hospital wing, Albus Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and frowned. 'This mysterious figure... she means me, doesn't she?'
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Him? The puppet master of a global cabal? If that were true, if such a hand truly existed and he commanded it, then the "Order of the Phoenix" would never have struggled against the Death Eaters. Voldemort's forces would have been scattered like leaves before the wind.
Still... "changing the world," Rita had written. Could it be true?
His eyes fell on the little notebook on the desk---Lucifer's belated gift for 'Christmas, New year's and Exchange event', WhatsApp.
Yes. Rita Skeeter, in her own mad way, had stumbled on a truth. This invention could change the world. He saw, now, why Nicolas Flamel would invest such faith in Lucifer.
Dumbledore understood what drove his old friend. Nicolas, who had lived long enough to have everything, wanted nothing more than to leave alchemy as a gift to the many, not the few. And Lucifer was his chance.
Albus sighed, leaning back. The boy was relentless. He had influenced Miss Greengrass to shake the magical world with her redefinition of 'pure-blood lineage,' and already he was launching something greater. And in between, as if casually, he had unearthed a Horcrux.
'The prophecy', he thought, was beginning to seem more and more likely. Quirrell, two years ago. The diary, last year. Harry Potter was walking the path that fate had set, while it had born a "Menace" to make sure, everything went as said.
.......
Voldemort was driven mad. Every grueling hour, Dumbledore spoke with the diary that night, it maintained its usual chilly silence, until Lucifer's name came up. Then the page exploded in elegant strings of F-words, curses woven with furious eloquence.
Then a few minutes past 3:33 am' later, he realised The Diary was already gone! He was fooled.
His ghost like body hiding in Albania forest, cursed the name again, when he was read aloud the 'Wizarding papers!'
At that very moment, Albus Dumbledore flipped open his own enchanted notebook.
[Dumbledore: Mr. Morningstar, you've caused me quite a headache.]
[Lucifer: ???]
He frowned. He hadn't dressed the Headmaster in golden robes or anything, was this some kind of cryptic complaint?
[Lucifer: Headmaster, I don't understand.]
[Dumbledore: You haven't seen today's 'Daily Prophet?]
Lucifer blinked. No, he hadn't. Last night had been lost to a pillow fight with the quarter-Veela sisters. He'd slept late, then spent the morning buried in a hot tub. Who had time for newspapers?
"Fizzy. Bring me today's Prophet."
A house-elf appeared with a bow and a stack of fresh papers, setting them down before vanishing again. Lucifer only needed one glance at the front page to see what Dumbledore meant. He chuckled out loud.
[Lucifer: Headmaster, you can't blame me for this. Blame the British wizarding imagination. All the foreign papers were perfectly normal.]
[Dumbledore: Be that as it may, I've just deflected a curse on your behalf, Mr. Morningstar.]
[Lucifer: That sounds like there's a catch. Let's be clear: don't drag me into more messes... I've already got enough problems without adding yours.]
Dumbledore, selling misery? That set off alarms in Lucifer's mind.
[Dumbledore: I do have something to ask of you... But not yet. We'll discuss it once term resumes.]
[Lucifer: Fine. In that case, I'll keep enjoying my holidays.]
[Dumbledore: Do enjoy yourself. Oh, and give my regards to Nicolas and Newt---and add me as their contact, would you?]
[Lucifer: Of course, Headmaster.]
Closing the notebook, he stretched on the bed for a while before Darcy and Alexandra came knocking to drag him down for brunch. By chance, Newt was just returning from tending to the 'Whomping Willows.' in his suitcase whose magic' amount was increased one of his demons.
Lucifer caught him in the hall, "Newt, Dumbledore asked me to pass you his ID--he wants to add you as a friend."
The old man accepted the slip of parchment with a nod. "I'll do it as soon as I'm home. Are you going out today?"
Lucifer grinned, "I am. The buttercream bicorne cake I ordered in the 'Hidden Alley' should be ready. Never tasted bicorne cream before, today's the day. No need to tag along. Nothing's happened in days, right?"
For nearly a week, Newt had been shadowing him like a personal bodyguard, Tina's orders (who didn't have to be told by a Greengrass follower). In truth, the real protection was the Aurors assigned to keep eyes on him. With so many professionals watching from the shadows, even if some 'pure-blood fanatics' tried to strike, they'd be caught instantly.
Newt thought the same. "All right. But stay vigilant."
"I will," Lucifer promised, though inwardly he thought it unnecessary. But the moment he and the Valentine sisters stepped into the bustling 'Hidden Alley', he felt the sting of unseen eyes.
Several pairs of them. Watching.
He kept his expression perfectly casual. Could be the Ministry's Aurors. Could be someone else. Either way, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing he'd noticed.
"Come on," he said cheerfully to the girls, leading them deeper into the shops. "Let's take a walk."
And all the while, the predators in the shadows followed.
Because of that photo splashed across the newspapers, Lucifer had, in the span of a single morning, become one of the most recognizable names in the 'French wizardingworld'. In the Hidden Alley, heads turned wherever he passed.
Most witches and wizards simply kept their distance, whispering as their eyes followed him with open curiosity. But some were bolder, stepping right up to him with the eagerness of 'fans' chasing a celebrity.
France was different from Britain. Alchemy here wasn't some obscure elective, it was ingrained in wizarding culture. By third year at Beauxbatons, students could already begin specialized study. Achieve something notable in the field, and you were treated with respect.
One flaxen-haired young wizard came barreling forward, newspaper in hand, eyes alight, "Morningstar? You're the same boy as in the article, aren't you?"
Lucifer inclined his head with practiced calm, "Yes. Did you need something?" He did not let down his guard. The stranger had approached too quickly, and even without wand in hand, his instincts pricked at him.
The blond man jabbed his finger at a particular figure printed in the paper. "This is Bussweill, isn't it? He's one of my idols! His automatic cauldron stirrer is genius--'absolutely changed' potion-brewing forever."
Lucifer's gaze flicked briefly at the face in the article. "Yes. So? If you're looking for an autograph, I'm afraid I can't help. Mr. Bussweill returned to Austria already."
The young wizard flushed crimson, flailing his hands. "No, no! Nothing like that. I just... I wanted to ask... With so many masters and scholars gathered all together, what are you researching? It must be something extraordinary."
He smiled politely, lips curving but eyes revealing nothing. "I'm afraid I can't disclose anything. But... when it succeeds, you'll see it yourself."
Disappointment flashed across the man's face, but he'd clearly expected no less. With a rueful shrug, he slipped back into the crowd.
And still more came-one eager boy pushing a notebook toward Lucifer for a signature. This one was a half-blood, a self-proclaimed devotee of Greengrass essays on pure-blood lineage. Alchemy meant little to him. He only wanted to know when the next volume of 'The Chronicles of the Magical World' would be published.
Lucifer assured him there would be a continuation, and only then did the fan leave, glowing with satisfaction.
When they were finally alone again, Darcy teased lightly, eyes dancing, "Look at you. A few days in France and already a famous name. Even signing autographs!"
He sighed dramatically, hand pressed to his chest, "If only it had been a beautiful witch asking... Then perhaps I'd have gained a confidante."
Her silver brows arched high, "Dream on." Her hands were full, one holding Alexandra's little fingers, the other balancing an ice cream cone. Not convenient to box his ears, or she might have tried.
"How else am I supposed to bond with my fans if not by... deeper exchanges?" Lucifer murmured, just to watch her flush. But as he leaned close to smooth a strand of loose hair from her temple, his eyes flicked sideways.
Into the alleys. Into the shadows.
Yes. There. Those eyes on him were not Aurors. He could tell by the crude, obvious way they trailed him. The Ministry's trackers would never be so sloppy. These men hadn't even tried to mask themselves properly. They weren't observers. They were predators.
Lucifer's smile never faltered, but inside he was already calculating. When to move. How to strike. And who will get to torture?
"Come," he said lightly. "Let's try that cake we ordered."
The pastry shopkeeper recognized him at once, bowing with enthusiasm as he ushered the party to a polished table. Moments later, the famed bicorne-cream cake arrived.
At 'fifty' Galleons apiece, these cakes cost more than most wizards earned in a month. Only the wealthy or powerful could afford such indulgence.
Lucifer sampled one forkful. The cream melted luxuriously across his tongue-softer, smoother, richer than ordinary dairy could ever hope to be.
Alexandra's face was soon ringed in white, happily munching until she looked like a cherubic milk-beard, forcing him to juggle spoon and napkin, cleaning her even as he ate his share.
Midway through, he glanced up at Darcy, "It's been weeks since we last visited your parents. Why don't we go tonight?"
Her eyes widened. Then she ducked her head, suddenly sheepish. Of course, 'Solstice Eve' had passed, the Veela's heritage too, and she and Alex had remained at the Flamel estate the entire time.
"You're right," she murmured. "We should go."
After finishing, Lucifer bought every last bicorne-cream in the shop, had them boxed, then swept through a tailor's next door for new robes. Only at dinner-time, did they finally return to the Valentine home.
Two daughters returned at once. For Monsieur, it was like receiving two warm coats after a winter of bare shoulders. His eyes grew misty with gratitude.
Lucifer, of course, was the perfect gentleman. He left the sisters in their parents' care, dining with them only briefly before excusing himself.
"I still have lessons waiting with Professor Flamel," he explained smoothly.
......
The night streets of France were emptying fast, lanternlight glowing pale along the cobbles. The farther Lucifer walked, the fewer souls crossed his path. Until, at last, no one remained.
'CRACK!'
Six black-robed figures Apparated into the lane, forming a half-circle around him. Three before, three behind. Every wand raised.
"Morningstar," one rasped. "You're coming with us."
The accent gave them away. Not French. Not English either. Something rougher, harsher. Eastern, perhaps.
Lucifer tilted his head, amused, "Your voice betrays you. Not locals, then."
"We are what we are," the leader sneered, "Mercenaries. We don't care who you are--only that we're paid well to deliver you."
But as he spoke, unease rippled through him. Morningstar stood there too calmly. As if he'd been expecting this. Lucifer's smile widened, boyish and almost kind. "With you? Certainly. But first, why not be my guests for a moment?"
"Attack!" the leader barked.
Too late.
Before the syllables of their curses even left their tongues, Mera's body exploded. Not in blood-but in a storm of black, swirling motes. A thousand smoky fragments of her swirled upward with a banshee's howl, wind howling through the alley.
No banter. No patience. She would tear answers straight from them. And if she wished... their entire family trees along with it.
The attackers froze, horror flooding their eyes.
"What-what the hell is that thing?!"
"Protego!"
"AAAAHHH!"
The black tide swallowed them like a living storm. Their shields shattered instantly beneath the onslaught-curse after curse pummeled them, but every spell sank uselessly into the writhing darkness. And every drifting shred of blackness cut like a razor, biting deeper than steel, moving faster than their eyes could follow.
Within seconds, their protective charms crumbled. The swarm of shadows pierced through robes and 'flesh alike.' Their screams ripped through the alley as if they were being sliced apart by a thousand invisible blades.
A violent gust surged, lifting all six into the air, their bodies thrashing in agony. And then, silence.
The storm dissipated!
They lay sprawled across the stones, twitching and moaning. Their fine robes hung in bloody tatters. Dozens---no, hundreds of cuts oozed crimson, pooling into a wide slick of blood that soaked through splintered wand shards, mangled limbs.
The shadows twisted, re-forming, and Lucifer stepped out from the mass-untouched, expression cold. He gazed down at them as though at insects writhing beneath a magnifying glass.
"Trying to catch... a few ants 'alive' is much harder for torturers' twisted nature than simply crushing them," he murmured.
In Hell, they would respawn, and she would re-start again, maybe he ought to practice if he was strong enough to use that ability himself.
The men whimpered.
"Monster! A monster!"
"You're not human-you're something else!"
Their eyes held only terror now. Not even hatred, only the recognition that they had crossed a force they could never comprehend. Lucifer raised his hand. The ground split with a thunderous crack. Stone shards spun and 'fused' into a massive sarcophagus of rock, swallowing the six groaning men whole.
With one step, he and his prisoners vanished from the residential district. In a forest clearing outside the city, Within minutes, 'Neuronist Painkiller' and 'Mera, the Chimera' appeared into the clearing, dropping into deep bows.
"Lord Lucifer."
Lucifer snapped his fingers. The stone coffin split open. The six mercenaries tumbled out in a heap, unconscious from blood loss, their bodies smeared with gore, "They attacked me," he said flatly. "Mercenaries. Find out who hired them, where they took the job. Trace it back..."
That was why one had subordinates, to deal with tedious chores unworthy of his time. Mera's face had already darkened.
Neuronist's eyes blazed with killing intent as she glared down at the broken men, her very long fingers with sharp inch-long nails with polish gave an ominous feeling, She was wearing a black leather outfit akin to a 'Dominatrix!'
"Be assured, my lord," Mera said tightly.
"We will dig this to the roots. Every single one of them, and whoever stands behind them, will pay."
But Lucifer merely lifted a hand, voice calm, almost detached, "No. Don't rush. Be 'elegant."
The two exchanged startled glances. He, The Morningstar--'the target,' was calmer than they were. While their own cells were boiling to stir open bodies before them for attacking their Lord. Not a trace of anger in his tone. That's even more chilling, both knew by experience.
"Killing them won't solve anything," Lucifer continued softly, eyes glinting, "Death is... too clean. What matters is making them regret ever being born. Make them realize their error. That is justice. 'Understand?"
A chill ran through both their spines. They bowed quickly, chastened.
Neuronist forced a laugh, oily and sycophantic, "Lord Lucifer... how wise. Killing solves nothing--'ah, truly profound brains!"
Mera arched a brow. 'When did this blunt octopus learn to flatter so well?'
Lucifer waved off the groveling, "Enough. Business. How goes the meteorite collection I requested?"
The Chimera' took over smoothly, "We've gathered about thirty tons so far. The rest is still trickling in, mostly small scattered sources."
"Thirty tons?" Lucifer's eyes lit faintly, "That'll do--good job girls."
"Kukku..."
"Fufufu...."
Mera exhaled slowly, the praise overwhelming her, "I'll go tonight with Diablo.... You handle the interrogations."
"Don't worry," Neuronist said with a smile that was all knives, "I'll take... very 'goodcare' of them."
xxxxx
At Nicolas Flamel's estate.
Lucifer returned as if nothing had happened. He washed, changed, and lay down to rest. Recently, all his focus had been on mastering 'Fiendfyre's Bane'---the legendary spell Dumbledore had crafted.
Yes, magic was born of will. In theory, thought was enough. But that was the ideal. Reality was less forgiving.
For basic charms, Lucifer already had it-'wandless transfiguration', silent casting, magic that bent to his thought as easily as breathing. But this? This was no mere charm. This was a compound spell, a symphony of Transfiguration and elemental enchantments. Complex. Demanding. A spell not of instinct, but of discipline.
So he studied. He deconstructed its theory. He walked before he ran. And this time, he was alone. Grindelwald had no mastery of it. But he could still serve as sparring partner for a few moments.
"Fiendfyre!" Glacial-blue firestorm roared from Grindelwald's wand, snarling like a beast as it clawed across the battlefield.
Lucifer lifted his own wand, sweeping it in wide arcs, gathering heat, gathering pressure until the air itself trembled. Then he slashed down.
"Fiendfyre's Bane!"
Scarlet fire erupted like a tidal wave. It rose into walls of living flame, crashing against Grindelwald's icy inferno. Red and blue lashed together, coiling, writhing like serpents of fire.
The ground hissed beneath the heat. Sparks leapt higher, higher-until the red began to devour the blue. The Bane fed. It drank the Fiendfyre like wine, swelling larger, brighter, hungrier.
"...'Disperse."
xxxxxxxx
The next morning, Lucifer slipped out after a brief word with Newt. He didn't mention the ambush. Why bother? Newt would only blame himself, and what good would that do?
Problems didn't need guilt. They needed solutions. And Diablo would handle the roots. That 'Primordial Black' would cleanse the rot.
Lucifer Morningstar's hands stayed clean.
xxxxxxx
The moment the air shifted with that metallic tang, a pocket bulged. With a triumphant shriek, Usagi burst free, scales flashing, and dived headlong into the pile of meteors. She tore into them greedily, shards crunching like candy.
Mera blinked, startled. So this was the purpose? She had thought the meteors fed some new alchemical process, perhaps even tied to the mysterious invention WhatsApp. But no--the mighty resource was feed for a dragon-like beast!'
Lucifer chuckled, watching her devour, "It's been a while for her. You have given enough to push her along. Next time she throws a tantrum, even Fawkes won't match her."
He rubbed his stomach. "And now she's making me hungry."
"I'll see to it," Mera said swiftly. She summoned 'Narberal Gamma', who bowed and then vanished into the dark shadow.
Leaving Usagi to her feast, Lucifer followed Mera back aboveground. In a side chamber, steaming plates were already being set down. He started with tomato soup, savoring the warmth before asking casually.
"So. Yesterday's little visitors-have they sung?"
Mera's smile was like ice.
"Oh, yes. Every note. And they've... gone where they needed to go. Let's just say next year's 'Blue spyder Lily's' will bloom prettier than ever."
After feeding Usagi, who soon fell into a deep sleep, Lucifer left and made his way to the Valentine residence.
It was Saturday, so Monsieur was home, and could only watch in despair as Lucifer, once again, spirited away his two precious daughters. The only comfort was that boy would return to Britain in a few days, bringing his daughters back safely then.
For the rest of the week, he barely set foot in the lab. Instead, he spent every day exploring Paris's amusement parks with Alexandra and Darcy, visiting mountain villages, and even calling on Polana, her grandmother, in the Vosges Mountains. She was thrilled to see them, until she learned they'd be heading back to Paris that very night. Then she grew furious, nearly transforming on the spot!'
Lucifer couldn't help but laugh. Most Veela he'd met were like overgrown children. Still, given that Polana was a hundred and twenty years old, roughly equivalent to thirty in human years, she wasn't exactly ancient.
They returned from the Vosges with baskets full of fresh fruits and beautiful flowers. On the day they were to go home, he checked on the growth of nine 'Whomping Willows' into the Tempest.
"You're certain Dumbledore will agree to you turning his school into your private garden?" Nicolas Flamel asked skeptically, "Even one more tree. They are dangerous, Lucifer. I remember when... he first planted the one at Hogwarts, the parents' complaint letters piled up like snow!"
Lucifer chuckled as he sealed the crate of his private world now actually a doorway to Hell itself, "Hogwarts is full of things far more dangerous than a few trees. Last year we had Quirrell, then Voldemort's diary.... Compared to those, the Whomping Willow's 'practically harmless."
He added, smiling mischievously, "Besides, the Headmaster once asked for my help. If he can ask favors, I can, too. That's only fair, isn't it?"
"Just be careful," Nicolas said gravely. Even though he liked Lucifer, he couldn't help but warn him, "Dumbledore's a good man, but... well, he's complicated. Always remember, protect yourself first. If the sky falls, let the tall ones hold it up. And if you're unsure about something, ask me, not Newt..."
Nicolas cast a side-eye at Newt Scamander, who smiled awkwardly, "That boy's hopelessly naïve. If not for Tina, he'd have lost an arm or leg by now, and that's the optimistic version."
"I understand," Lucifer said with a warm smile, "I'll go see Grandma Perenelle before I leave."
"Go on, then."
xxxxxxx
Meanwhile, in dark heart of the black market, a middle-aged wizard wearing a tall bowler hat, in a Butler's suit arrived.
Black hair with streaks of red and gold, as well as golden eyes with red pupils and black sclera, Noir was 'finely' dressed in garments like that of a prince. He looked harmless enough, his face pleasant, his smile gentle, with dimples flickering at the corners.
"This should be the place..." Diablo murmured, glancing up at the faded shop sign. After confirming he hadn't come to the wrong address, he drew a circle with his finger.
A shimmering veil of light descended around the building like a curtain of water, sealing it entirely.
'Nothing escaped that barrier, not blood, not screams.'
"You dare attack my Lord!"
xxxxxx
The ingredients in his fridge were regularly restocked by Vampires sent by his wife Luminous herself, so 'freshness' was never an issue. Lucifer prepared roast chicken and braised beef, while Evelyn made two dishes of her own.
During dinner, she looked around, amazed, "You've got so many spices, even yellow wine for removing the smell from meat... And half of these, I've never even seen."
Lucifer chuckled. "Those are from Hannah. Her cooking's way better than mine. You'll have to try it someday."
xxxxxx
Casting glances at the older woman, having more time than before to ogle her body. 'This woman is going to be my wife...'
Lucifer reminded himself as he looked her over. She was tall for a woman, with the busty figure of a mature woman that would typically classify as a trophy wife.
He nearly stumbled a step when he saw her naked breasts jiggle as they turned a corner, before ascending a staircase which caused her arse to bounce with each step.
His eyes stayed locked on the mountain of jiggly flesh, round and fat, sticking straight out and stretching her skirt around its spherical shape.
It was only once she suddenly stopped at the top of the staircase visiting his Library, that Lucifer managed to temporarily drag his gaze away.
He suddenly looked up, and realized Evelyn was watching him with a smirk. She giggled suddenly, "It's alright if you look, Darling. I'm going to be your wife after all."
His face became more hot, while giddily noticing redness on Greengrass's face extending all the way to tips of her ears, as she went topless.
xxxxxx
Over the next few days, Lucifer's schedule was perfectly balanced. In the mornings, he'd go to Greengrass Manor, helping Daphne and Astoria catch up on their Summer assignments, since girl's mother was living with him.
In the afternoons, he'd decorate the penthouse with Evelyn.
In the evenings, sometimes they'd have dinner together, and if Lady Greengrass went home, he would head to Hermione's to mooch a meal.
Hermione Granger, of course, was already so deep into her studies for covering what she skipped, and even launching into next term, she'd reportedly finished half the syllabus, before she could leave for France.
Later at night, Lucifer spent time watching the newest episodes of 'Tom and Jerry' with Evelyn after she was done with daughter's dinner.
His mastery of time management was simply extraordinary.
This noble pure-blood Lady, lately, had taken to challenging Lucifer every few days. She no longer wanted to be submissive in bed at all, in fact, she shouted daily about wanting to "Suppress the devil's endurance, and potency in him."
Unfortunately, each battle ended in her defeat.
Despite Evelyn's incredible talent for dark magic, Lucifer was still, well Lucifer, in pure magic alone, passing him was impossible. Just to put up more than three minutes, she'd have to embrace the darker side of magic 'forbidden magic', to last longer.
But Greengrass refused to touch that path... and thus continued to be defeated in bed playing a pet, and 'fetch' biscuits for him.
xxxxxx
Mr. Granger was driving them to Leaky Caldron. On the way, he joked about squeezing into the cramped car, until Lucifer casually expanded the back seat with a charm.
Wendell fell silent for a long moment, then finally sighed, "If ordinary people had that kind of ability, housing prices would never have gone up so absurdly...."
Hermione chuckled, "Grandpa, the 'Extension Charm' is a difficult spell. Even among wizards, very few can do it properly.... Don't compare everyone to him, " she gestured at Lucifer, "the resident prodigy."
Lucifer feigned indignation. "Prodigy is fine, but freak? That's uncalled for."
The bushy haired girl pouted, she was growing in height lately, "Prodigies aren't supposed to break the laws of magic every other week."
The boy pinched her cheek lightly, "Then I guess your 'freak' will have to marry you one day, and the children will be freaks too."
Blushing, Hermione swatted his hand away. Snow covered the roads, so Mr. Granger drove slowly for safety.
"Okay, enjoy yourself, after that I will take you to see 'Return of the Jedi," Mr. Granger said, waving as they entered the pub where Muggles were watching a football match.
He stood there long after they disappeared, staring at the courtyard which he actually couldn't see, before sighing deeply and turning toward the car park.
"The magical world..." Wendell murmured, "What a marvelous, unreachable place."
xxxxxxx
At night,
"Rowena, if you don't get down here, I will just buy another owl! One that will be less stroppy."
Rowena clicked her beak angrily.
"It's literally your job! You get treats and stuff for it and you do literally nothing else all year!"
She turned her back on him.
"Damm Hedwig, she has gotten you lazy. It's like one a day if that! Look, take this one and I promise you won't have to do any work tomorrow."
It took her a few moments, but Rowena begrudgingly turned back around to face Lucifer and fluttered down onto his King-sized bed.
Lucifer stroked her head and then tied his letter to the owl's leg.
"Ginny asked for a response as soon as possible... or I'd leave it and you know that. Ron had written in the diary and it broke, I do feel bad."
Lucifer tried to explain himself. Rowena clicked her beak at him, but he could see that she had lost her conviction.
She nibbled his finger and then spread her wings and flew out of his balcony, since the glass windows were left open. He sighed and sank back into the chair in front of his desk.
It had been a very long Summer. The elation of 'finally' closing the Chamber for good, slaying the Basilisk, finding Willows, entire trip to France, and Evelyn had caused the holidays to pass by in a blaze.
He had gotten rid of most of the Summer homework in a week after leaving Flamel' estate, and was free of Veela's clutches, he was completely done with it, after a long marathon.
Lucifer didn't dare to tell Hermione that, or she would have his head when they did meet. Originally, he'd thought it would be good to finally be able to perform on the stage at night, but SPD had yet to deliver his "Request notice."
He didn't want to use a disguise. Laws were just too much to get around here. Even after being the Owner, it would most likely take another week to get the damn permit, until then Lucifer had to order Makima to do the legal jobs, since he wasn't an 'adult?
Besides, Hermione Granger that he'd be missing out on playing with, she'd gone away on holiday with her parents to France. The two still made calls back and forth regularly using the Mirror that Lucifer had specifically paid a huge amount for a Christmas present in their 'first year.'
Both were also enchanted with a Protean charm and allowed the users to leave messages, if the other side wasn't available to pick up the call.
He flicked open his mirror and read the last passage received from her, because of how much Lucifer got busy completing his work today, he'd forgotten to pick up several past calls this morning.
Damn...
He opened the WhatsApp next.
"You are still not picking up, so I would assume that you're probably out!"
"But well, I was foolish last time I was here, now it seems like a completely different country! I've never noticed the subtle signs of magic before, always just thought I was seeing things or tricks of the light, but we've seen so many small shops and information areas that you told me to visit, it's all new History of Magic, a different world out here.... It's weird to see so many things that we aren't even taught!"
"I've rewritten my entire essay for Professor Binns. I hope he won't be upset but it's already two rolls of parchment more than he asked for.
He normally seems quite happy when I write extra though, I don't think anyone else bar us do.
I really do miss you a lot. This place is lovely, but I might see if I can convince Mum and Grandpa to bring you along next time.'
There's so many things here I loved, and grateful you'd devised me a Travel Itenary! I visited the France's version of Diagon Alley!
I'll try calling you again at 10'o clock!'
Lucifer finished reading it, beaming. He missed her dearly, but he was very happy to learn that she was having such a wonderful time. And, it was endearing to see her talking about trying to take him along next time.
He knew Hermione wouldn't be back until the last day before the term was due to start, but even an extra day was enough. Time 9:00 pm.
Lucifer now turned his attention onto the 'fail-safe broken' Diary, letters that had just been delivered surprisingly from Ginny and, Ron? He had made that 'specifically' because if by chance, Whatspp's Owner getting captured, and he had made usage of either his blood, wand, facial recognition, the inner details of that individual's privacy could be exploited.
To get rid of his invention getting roped into "Criminal News," he had made the WhatsApp 'fail-safe' broken entirely if any other person tried to write inside, even the text messages would get blurry if unknown entities tried to read without Owner's 'Imperius' free condition.
Besides, to repair 'Fail-safe' which only required a few minutes of his experience, there was cost involved which Customers, had to pay, 7 galleon gold, nothing less, nothing more, you broke it, you pay for it.
Profit....
Even Dumbledore had sent a message to him, while Lucifer was busy 'burning souls' in the depths of Hell, he mentioned, once after waiting for quite a while, still received no reply.
This thing was convenient, yes, but Dumbledore felt it needed more features. For example: 'an emergency-contact mode', that would force the recipient to notice the message immediately, or a confirmation system that would tell him whether other person had actually read it.
"Just sitting there and waiting in silence was pure torment for the weary old Headmaster..."
Lucifer thanked his professor.
......
Rowena had been very unhappy when he suddenly asked her to visit Egypt, to give a response back. She clearly thought, her owner didn't have any friends to write to, but now was giving her a task.
The bird had not taken kindly to this and in fact, she directly refused carrying the heavy looking Diary itself seeing Errol's condition.
And, worse, Lucifer's response had to be a letter to each of them written on both sides of a singular piece of parchment, then a portal to reduce more than half the distance, as to make her actually "even consider taking it." He flicked open Ron's letter first from days ago and read it through once again.
'Lucifer,
Dad actually won it! We couldn't believe it, but dad actually won the Galleon Draw. Mum and dad are talking about using it to go to Egypt for the rest of the summer.
Make sure you keep Harry company for us? I think he might go insane with no one to talk to, I tried to talk using Ginny's Diary, bloody hell, when did her temper got worse than Mum's?! She nearly made me go bald if not for Percy stopping her.
Looking forward to seeing Bill. Haven't had a chance to properly see him since he went curse- breaking.
See him for Christmas and stuff sometimes, but actua----'
That's it, Lucifer discarded the letter into the dustbin beside his study desk. Even though he was glad to hear the Weasleys had managed to get themselves into a better position.
He still didn't take kindly to what his father, Arthur Weasely had done, not even a single apology letter himself, but told his wife to share a 'family's wand technique', Lucifer had always wanted such things 'face to face,' and Ron's own had more of a boasting feeling. At least their daughter had the manners to express her apology a fourth time on the Hogwarts train.
Lucifer was half prepared to buy Ginny all new stuff just because he knew how much it bothered her to be in second-hand clothing, that's why he had gifted her those robes. He reached over and flicked open her letter, reading it one last time before tucking it away.
'Dear Lucifer,
I now terribly miss, 'not waiting for getting a response back,' and was looking forward to tell Luna all about it directly from there.
That thick-headed, meddling, OVERSIZED turnip! He's an absolute, brainless extension of a troll! Who told him to touch my stuff, Seriously?! Can you see please help with the repair, I don't know what to do, and how to pay for it, maybe when I get older but----
I'm sure Ron's already told you, but dad won the Galleon Draw! I tried taking some of it to send with Errol, however you know how well...
We're going to Egypt! I'm so excited, Bill's told us all about these ancient pyramids and things that he's gone through, hopefully we'll be able to go in and have a look at them with him. It's going to be so exciting.
Sadly, that does mean that my letters back to you may be spaced so I do hope that's okay? I know it'll be a long flight for Rowena and I don't want to put too much strain on her. Worst case, we're back on the lastweek before term so we can keep in touch then and hopefully even see you in Diagon Alley?
Also, Congrats?! You are all over the papers?! When I went to Diagon Alley last time, I thought my face was going to turn green, saying hello to those strangers asking for You?! Anyway, Don't know if you've been to Egypt but you seem to know a lot about... well, everything. I wish you all the best for the rest of your summer and please try to write back as quickly as possible! I'd like to hear back from you.
Gin,
"Like brother, like sister." Lucifer'd gone from having no one to write to in Wizarding World, to suddenly having so many 'friends', which he could easily through WhatsApp, his owl was getting nervous, if she would be abandoned, worse forgotten, but her owner had given a task today.
Rowena was undergoing complex moods.
At least, he could make calls with Hermione, and had invented that product, if not for those, Lucifer was sure Rowena would have quit being his owl.
"Or she just liked to put on a show...."
xxxxxx
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