Hello, everyone! Here’s the test chapter. This is a long one.

  Chapter 14 (~16k Words):

  – Amara –

  I strutted confidently down Diagon Alley with my bck stilettos clicking sharply against the uneven cobblestones beneath me. The atmosphere felt drastically different from what I remembered during the daytime. Under the moonlit night, the quaint, magical shopping street I'd seen earlier was transformed into something far darker and significantly seedier.

  As I continued deeper into the alley, the presence of the dark and dangerous became more pronounced. Knockturn Alley, notorious for housing darker magical denizens during daylight, seemed to have spilled its occupants out into Diagon Alley proper. Wizards and witches dressed in dark cloaks whispered among themselves, their eyes glowing faintly beneath heavy hoods.

  Other less human inhabitants openly prowled around, no longer hiding their true natures.

  I passed a tall, lean wizard with messy hair and scruffy clothes leaning casually against a brick wall. As I walked by, he caught sight of me, nostrils fring slightly as he inhaled deeply, breathing in my scent. His lips curled slowly into a wolfish smirk, and his golden eyes fshed momentarily in the dim mplight, catching the glow like a predatory animal’s.

  A werewolf, I realized immediately. His eyes roamed slowly down my body, lingering appreciatively on the tight swell of my breasts, the smooth curves of my hips. His grin widened, making no attempt to hide his hungry stare.

  I arched an eyebrow pyfully, holding his gaze as I passed. “Careful,” I murmured teasingly, voice low and smooth. “I bite back.”

  He ughed deeply, the sound rumbling from his chest, his eyes practically glowing with delight. “That’s exactly what I'm hoping for, gorgeous.”

  I chuckled softly, shaking my head in amusement as I continued on, hips swaying confidently. I felt his heated gaze trailing hungrily after me, practically burning against the exposed skin of my thighs. I let him look, after all, I was a succubus.

  But I didn’t look back. I wasn't here for a shaggy dog, after all.

  On the opposite side of the street, my gaze locked briefly onto a small cluster of pale teenagers lounging artfully against a crumbling brick wall. Gothically beautiful with fwless porcein skin and stark, midnight-bck clothing, they stood together with eerie stillness.

  Their eyes, glowing faintly crimson, tracked my every movement with unmistakable curiosity.

  Vampires, I realized instantly, feeling a prickle of amused interest despite myself. And definitely not teenagers, no matter how youthful their appearances. For all I knew, they could easily be centuries old. Though I suspected their interest in me was more predatory than friendly, it still felt strangely satisfying to know the wizarding world at least had proper vampires—no sparkling in sunlight bullshit.

  I smiled knowingly, letting my own emerald eyes fre softly in response. Their leader—a tall, blonde female vampire with full lips painted a deep, seductive crimson—smiled slowly back at me, a hint of sharp white fangs peeking from beneath her lush lips. She inclined her head gracefully, a silent acknowledgement between predators, before returning her attention smoothly back to her companions.

  Wizarding Britain seemed to grow more interesting by the minute.

  As much as Sirius had taught me—or rather, as little as he had taught me—I realized with faint annoyance just how sheltered I'd truly been kept from this world. Either Sirius had feared corrupting my innocence, or he'd vastly underestimated my ability to handle myself.

  Whatever the reason, I'd been left fumbling in the dark, reliant mostly on my muggle Harry Potter canon knowledge—limited as it was.

  I finally reached the entrance to the club, my eyes widening slightly at the scene. A long line of impatient-looking witches and wizards waited anxiously outside, casting pleading and occasionally flirtatious gnces toward the imposing entrance. Neon magical signs flickered enticingly overhead, spelling out "Cauldron's Kiss" in swirling, glittering script.

  The bouncer, standing directly in front of the rge double doors, immediately drew my attention. He was massive, easily over ten feet tall, with thick muscles bulging impressively beneath his custom-fitted robes. His rge, heavy features and towering stature made it btantly obvious he was at least part giant.

  Interesting. I'd always assumed Hagrid was the only half-giant in Britain. Clearly, I still had a lot to learn about wizarding diversity.

  I took a breath, straightened my back confidently, and deliberately strode past the waiting line toward the entrance, my heels clicking sharply against the stone. Angry muttering erupted behind me, jealous and resentful whispers as everyone else noticed my btant disregard for etiquette.

  As I approached, the half-giant bouncer folded massive arms across his enormous chest, staring down at me with a stern, unamused expression.

  “Oi, miss,” he rumbled deeply, his voice thick and heavy. “You can’t just walk straight—”

  I tilted my chin upward, meeting his dark gaze directly. My lips curled slowly into a seductive, knowing smile. My succubus magic flowed out easily, instinctively radiating pure sensual allure and undeniable authority. “Do I look like someone who waits in lines?” I purred smoothly, arching an elegant eyebrow.

  He paused abruptly, eyes widening in surprise as he visibly swallowed. His cheeks flushed slightly beneath his thick beard, clearly affected by my subtle magic. His gaze briefly dropped downward, openly taking in the enticing curves of my tight bck dress.

  “Right,” he grumbled awkwardly, suddenly unable to look directly into my eyes. He hastily stepped aside, nearly tripping over himself. “Sorry, miss. Please, go right in. Welcome to Cauldron's Kiss.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured sweetly, gliding past him without a second gnce, feeling his stare lingering hungrily on my backside as I disappeared through the heavy doors.

  The Cauldron's Kiss was extravagant, a decadent celebration of youth, excess, and magical nightlife. Ptforms hovered magically above the crowd, supporting scantily cd witches and wizards dancing provocatively, bodies writhing sensually beneath shimmering beams of enchanted floating lighting.

  I moved slowly into the heart of the club, savoring the admiring stares that followed my every step. My hips swayed enticingly with the heavy beat of the music, the tight bck dress highlighting every curve and dip of my sinful figure.

  I scanned the crowd carefully, searching for the familiar figure of Dick Grayson. As entertaining as Bruce Wayne's reaction had been earlier, the idea of Dick being lost in this magical, debauched environment without supervision was far too amusing to ignore.

  It was certainly more appealing than spending another moment pretending to tolerate Lily, James, and James Junior Potter’s pathetic charade.

  A pyful smirk spread across my lips as I made my way to the crowded bar, casually leaning against its polished marble surface. I fgged down a young, attractive wizard bartender, his eyes widening appreciatively as they trailed over my figure.

  "What can I get you, beautiful?" he asked.

  "Something strong," I purred. "And tell me, handsome—have you seen a particurly lost-looking, dark-haired American wandering around tonight?"

  The bartender blinked, momentarily flustered, before nodding eagerly. "Yeah, actually," he answered, stammering slightly, obviously caught off guard by my seductive presence. "He's been asking a bunch of weird questions—about our spells, enchantments, and wards. Seems kinda clueless about magic in general, honestly." He leaned closer, smiling hopefully. "You want me to help you find him?"

  I reached out, fingertips brushing teasingly along his forearm, feeling him tremble beneath my touch. "No need," I whispered, leaning closer. "I'll handle him myself."

  I turned away smoothly, drink in hand, leaving the bartender staring longingly after me.

  My gaze slid zily across the crowded dance floor, my hips swaying lightly to the rhythm that pulsed through the club. Colors danced overhead, sparkling in arcs of enchantment, bathing the writhing, passionate crowd in hues of blue, violet, and gold. Bodies pressed and slid sensuously against one another, magical inhibitions clearly loosening with every passing second. The air was heady with perfume, sweat, and pure, raw desire.

  And then, through the lust-filled haze of magic and music, I spotted Dick.

  Even across the crowded club, he stood out sharply—broad shoulders perfectly framed by an expensive navy-blue suit, his dark hair slightly mussed in an effortlessly attractive manner. The suit clung lovingly to the lines of his well-muscled form, accentuating his athletic build in a way that made my pulse quicken slightly. Damn, he really did look criminally good tonight.

  My pleased expression soured instantly, however, when I noticed exactly who surrounded him.

  Three familiar witches clung desperately to his arms, each clearly vying for his attention with embarrassingly obvious eagerness. They batted thick eyeshes, their carefully manicured fingers tracing delicate circles against his chest and arms, their eyes filled with undisguised hunger.

  I recognized them immediately—the same insufferable little bitches from the pub this morning. The ones who’d giggled behind their hands, whispered the word “mudblood,” and mocked my appearance when I'd been disguised as Heather Potter. The ones who’d thought me nothing more than a pathetic, forgettable nobody.

  Oh, this was almost too perfect.

  A slow smirk curled my lips upward as I watched Dick's face carefully. Despite their obvious flirtation and boldness, Dick looked distinctly uncomfortable, visibly struggling to gently extricate himself from their cw-like grasps without causing offense.

  It was honestly adorable how awkward he seemed, eyes flickering nervously between each young witch, his polite smile strained and stiff.

  I wondered idly how their superior expressions would shatter if they discovered he was actually a muggle.

  The thought amused me immensely, but I quickly brushed it aside.

  Revealing Dick's non-magical status here would only put him in genuine danger, and I wasn’t about to do that to him.

  Instead, I squared my shoulders, tilted my chin confidently upward, and stalked smoothly across the room toward them, my high heels clicking sharply against the enchanted marble floor. My dress hugged my figure sinfully tight, the thin bck fabric caressing each generous curve of my body as I moved.

  As I drew closer, I deliberately slowed my pace, allowing each step to radiate pure sensuality, fully aware of the attention I commanded.

  Dick caught sight of me approaching, his gaze snapping instantly upward, eyes widening first in startled recognition, then genuine relief and delight. His handsome face practically lit up, a warm smile spreading openly across his lips.

  “Hello there,” I purred smoothly, stopping directly in front of him and pcing a possessive, slender hand firmly against his chest, making it btantly clear to everyone present exactly whom he belonged to. I stared directly into his eyes, btantly ignoring the three witches around him entirely. “I've been looking everywhere for you…”

  His lips curled into a grateful, boyishly charming smile. “Amara, there you are, my love,” he replied warmly, pcing strong, possessive hands gently on my waist and pulling me intimately closer. His voice was filled with genuine affection and unmistakable relief at my timely arrival. “I've been waiting patiently for you.”

  The girls, of course, refused to take the hint. One boldly pouted, fluttering her shes flirtatiously at him. “Oh, but we were just starting to get to know you better, handsome!” she cooed, fingers brushing brazenly against his sleeve.

  Another witch, with glossy bck hair cascading in waves down her shoulders, smiled sweetly up at him, voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I've never met an American wizard before,” she breathed seductively. “I’d love to hear all about you.”

  The third leaned in closely, her voice deliberately pitched low and sultry. “I'm sure we could make tonight very, very memorable for you,” she purred suggestively, eyes raking boldly down his chest.

  My annoyance surged sharply at their btant disregard for my presence, though the pure desperation emanating from them was almost amusing. Dick cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes darting pleadingly toward mine for rescue. I smirked inwardly, deciding it was time to teach these desperate little girls their pce.

  With exaggerated slowness, I finally shifted my gaze toward them, allowing them to truly see me for the first time. Instantly, their smug, flirtatious expressions shattered, repced with poorly concealed jealousy and obvious insecurity. Their eyes roamed quickly over my fwless figure—the lush curve of my breasts, the elegant sweep of my waist, the enticing roundness of my hips, my stunning face framed by raven-dark hair—and they visibly flinched.

  The middle witch, her carefully composed mask slipping into open hostility, sneered jealously. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” she demanded sharply, voice dripping venom.

  I tilted my head slightly, cool emerald eyes meeting her defiant gaze with casual disdain. My voice was soft, smooth as silk, yet dripping with aristocratic contempt. “I'm Lady Amara Bck, current head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bck,” I stated calmly, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in quiet challenge. “Oh, and Duchess, if we're being precise.” I paused deliberately, eyes narrowing slightly. “Who exactly are you supposed to be?”

  The trio of witches immediately gaped at me in shocked disbelief, eyes widening dramatically. The boldness drained instantly from their faces, repced by a mixture of stunned awe and genuine fear. They exchanged quick, nervous gnces, whispering urgently amongst themselves.

  “The new Lady Bck?” one whispered breathlessly. “I heard she existed, but no one's ever actually seen her before!”

  “She’s so young,” another hissed enviously, voice trembling slightly. “And—and look at her. It's not fair! She’s bloody perfect.”

  The girl who'd initially challenged me quickly stepped forward, face flushing with embarrassment, voice stumbling awkwardly. “I'm—I’m terribly sorry, my dy,” she stammered quickly, eyes darting anxiously toward her friends for support. “I didn't realize—it’s an honor to meet the esteemed leader of House Bck. My name’s Pansy Parkinson, from the Parkinson family. Maybe… maybe we got off on the wrong foot?”

  I studied her silently for a long moment, allowing the uncomfortable silence to stretch heavily between us. When I finally spoke, my tone was deceptively gentle, almost sweet. “It’s lovely to meet you, Pansy,” I replied smoothly, offering her a fleeting, gracious smile.

  Pansy’s tense expression visibly melted into relieved delight at my acknowledgment, a broad, hopeful smile lighting up her pretty features.

  And then I crushed her hopes thoroughly.

  “Now, kindly stop clinging so desperately to my man,” I continued casually, voice dropping instantly into cold, disdainful dismissal. “And fuck off, will you?”

  Her face instantly shattered again, the hopeful smile colpsing into an expression of utter despair and deep humiliation. Her cheeks fmed red, eyes filling with tears of shameful embarrassment as her friends quickly pulled her away.

  “Grrr! Bitch!” she hissed bitterly under her breath, turning sharply away and storming furiously off with her equally humiliated companions in tow.

  Dick chuckled softly beside me, visibly rexing as they disappeared into the crowd. His warm hands tightened appreciatively around my waist, pulling me even closer against his firm, muscur chest.

  “Well,” he teased pyfully, eyes twinkling warmly down at me, “that was ruthless. Remind me never to piss you off, Duchess.”

  I smirked lightly up at him, letting my own arms slide possessively around his neck, enjoying the feel of his broad shoulders beneath my palms. “Oh, trust me,” I purred, voice dripping with seductive promise, “I'm much nicer to those who actually deserve it.”

  He just let out a wistful sigh. “And why don’t I believe that, exactly?”

  “Because you know I’m a dangerous and sexy viliness in training…?” I responded pyfully.

  “Yep, that would be the reason,” he said and pced his arms on my waist before pushing me off of him slowly, although I could see it was a mental struggle for him to do so.

  “So, how exactly is your investigation into the wizarding world going?” I asked. “More specifically, why the hell did you think a nightclub filled wall-to-wall with drunken, hormonal, sex-starved witches and wizards was a smart pce to gather intel about the secret government controlling magical Britain?”

  Dick blinked, then immediately flushed slightly, giving me a sheepish half-smile as he rubbed the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. “It’s… admittedly not the most ideal environment for serious espionage,” he conceded with a soft chuckle. “But Batman and I discussed it, and we figured it might give us a chance to get insights into the younger generation. The Ministry might be too well-guarded, dangerous, or just pin inaccessible right now—especially since we still don’t even know exactly how to get there.” He paused briefly, giving me a self-deprecating grin. “So, we’re improvising a bit.”

  I tilted my head, considering that with quiet amusement. “Improvising by chatting up a trio of desperate witches and hoping they’ll drunkenly spill important magical government secrets between attempts at shoving their hands down your trousers?”

  Dick ughed outright at that, shaking his head slightly, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners. “Hey, I didn’t exactly encourage their hands, you know. But… yeah. It sounds pretty ridiculous when you say it out loud like that.”

  I smirked softly, my voice shifting into something more thoughtful. “Honestly, I don't have a clue where the ministry is either, if that makes you feel any better. Still, when in doubt, throwing money at the problem generally tends to work.” I shrugged, sighing faintly. “Despite literally having magic at their fingertips, capable of bending reality itself, a shocking amount of wizards and witches are actually embarrassingly poor. Just bribe someone if you want to learn things.”

  Dick’s expression turned more serious, thoughtful. “I noticed,” he admitted quietly. “It’s strange. When you think of magic, you imagine unlimited power and freedom. But it’s just as limited by politics and money as anything else.”

  I nodded slowly, feeling an uncomfortable weight settle briefly in my chest. The vivid, unwanted image of the vishly opulent Potter mansion fshed sharply through my mind—its polished marble floors, extravagant carpets, tables overflowing with food, and Lily’s smug little smiles.

  A sudden wave of nausea surged bitterly through my stomach, my lip curling into an involuntary grimace. My fingers clenched unconsciously at my sides, fingernails biting sharply into my palms as memories of tonight’s fake family dinner resurfaced.

  Lily’s false sweetness, James Senior’s poorly concealed contempt, James Junior’s endless whining about his non-existent sex life…

  I'd come dangerously close to snapping several times. The fact I'd restrained myself at all was frankly a minor miracle.

  “Hey—Amara?” Dick’s gentle voice suddenly cut through my spiraling thoughts, his concerned gaze closely studying my face. “Are you alright? You’re frowning pretty intensely there.”

  I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to shove those toxic memories forcefully away. Tonight was supposed to be an escape, dammit—not a reason to dwell on the Potter family's bullshit.

  “It’s nothing,” I said softly, offering him a small, reassuring smile I knew didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Just… some unpleasant thoughts I’d rather not think about tonight.”

  His dark eyes lingered gently on my face, clearly sensing there was far more going on beneath the surface. Yet he thankfully didn’t push further, respecting the boundary I'd subtly pced. Instead, he simply smiled warmly, understandingly, his touch sliding softly down my arm in a comforting gesture that sent pleasant warmth dancing along my skin.

  Feeling a sudden urge to lighten the mood again, I turned my attention deliberately toward the crowded dance floor behind us, eyes glittering mischievously. “You know,” I said, tone growing deliberately pyful, “this feels strangely familiar. Crowded club, loud music, fshing lights, horny people everywhere. Remind you of anything, Dick?”

  His eyes immediately lit up with recognition and amusement, a knowing smirk sliding comfortably back onto his lips. “I seem to recall a simir night back in Gotham—one involving you, me, a very flirtatious Kryptonian blonde, and a brooding empath with purple highlights.”

  I chuckled softly, gncing pyfully upward through thick shes. “Exactly. Except this time, you don’t have to share me with Kara or Rachel.” I paused, lips curving upward seductively. “Though, honestly, I wouldn't mind in the slightest if they were here too.”

  Dick ughed lightly. “You're quite a greedy girl, aren’t you, Duchess?”

  A slow, zy smile curved my lips upward. I couldn’t argue with him on that one. I had no delusions about being a one-partner kind of woman. Not now, not ever. And I wasn’t about to apologize for it.

  “You already know the answer to that,” I whispered, my voice dipping lower. “Why limit myself to just one person when I could enjoy far, far more?”

  “Yeah, see, that’s exactly the problem,” he said, leaning back into me until I could feel the warmth of him even through the press of bodies and shifting lights around us. “Because as much as I would love to pick up where we left off this morning… I’m not going to be able to hold myself back if we start again. I barely managed not to rip your clothes off in that hotel room.”

  Just hearing him say it made my skin prickle. My body remembered that morning very clearly—the feel of his hands, his weight, the absolute certainty that if I’d let it go a few seconds longer, there would’ve been no stopping it.

  I tilted my head, let my fingers toy lightly with his pel, and gave him my best slow, wicked smile.

  “And what if,” I murmured, voice low enough that it got lost beneath the thumping bass, “I don’t want you holding yourself back?”

  His hand on my waist tightened instinctively. For a heartbeat he looked tempted—really tempted—his gaze dropping to my lips, jaw flexing like he was weighing the pros and cons and losing the argument.

  Then something shifted in his expression. The heat didn’t vanish, but it receded just enough that his eyes cleared, focused properly on my face instead of my mouth. “Amara,” he said quietly, concern threading under the roughness in his voice. “Are you just here trying to distract yourself after meeting your family?”

  The word family nded in my stomach like a stone. I grimaced before I could stop myself, the club’s lights suddenly feeling too bright, the air too thick.

  “I take it that didn’t go well,” he added softly.

  I blew out a sharp breath through my nose, trying to unclench my shoulders. “I met them,” I said, keeping my tone as ft as I could manage. “All of them. They’re… pretending to be nice. Nice-ish, anyway.” My mouth twisted. “But I’m getting some very bad vibes. And honestly? You, Kara, and Rachel already agreed my mother’s letter was probably bullshit, so I can’t even pretend I’m surprised.”

  The sad thing was, some part of me had still hoped. Some pathetic leftover fragment of the orphan who would have killed for a family.

  Dick’s brows drew together. He lifted one hand from my waist and squeezed my shoulder gently, thumb dragging once in a slow, grounding line.

  “It wasn’t wrong or naive to hope,” he said. “Wanting them to be different doesn’t make you stupid, Amara. It just makes you human.”

  I opened my mouth to say something—human felt like a complicated word for me now—but we never got that far.

  “Hi there!”

  A bright, female voice cut cleanly through the pulse of the music. Dick and I both turned.

  Two young witches stood beside us, framed by the strobing lights and drifting glitter charms. They were clearly a pair—walking in that synchronized way close friends did without thinking.

  The one in front was a fiery redhead with a mane of vivid hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the colored light like a living fme. Freckles sprinkled across her cute, heart-shaped face, and she was poured into a short, tight red dress that showed off long, toned legs and just enough cleavage to say I know exactly what I’m doing. Her eyes were warm brown and much sharper than I would have expected from someone in a pce like this.

  Beside her stood a brunette, a little taller, with a mane of frizzy hair that no amount of Sleekeazy’s had fully tamed. Her dress was more modest—brown with a simple neckline, hem brushing just above her knees—but it hugged surprising curves all the same. There was something inherently earnest in her posture, in the way she held her drink with both hands, like she wasn’t entirely sure she belonged in a pce like this.

  “We saw you put that uppity bitch Pansy in her pce,” the redhead said, grinning broadly at both of us. “And it was priceless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her shut up that fast!” She thrust out a hand with cheerful confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around Diagon Alley or at Hogwarts. It’s nice to meet you—I’m Ginny Weasley, and this is my friend Hermione Granger.”

  Hermione gave a quick nod and a small, polite smile, eyes already darting between me, Dick, and the floating drink trays overhead like she was cataloguing everything simultaneously.

  “I’m Amara,” I said, taking Ginny’s hand briefly, then nodding toward Dick. “And this is—”

  “Richard,” he cut in smoothly, fshing them his public, harmless grin. “Just visiting from the States.”

  Hermione’s eyes brightened at that single word.

  “Are you two from America?” she asked, her voice instantly shifting from nightclub casual to rapid-fire academic curiosity. “I’ve always wondered what the magic schools are like over there. Especially since I heard MACUSA was destroyed in World War II? So what’s it like living with no governmental oversight? Is it wless? Do you all set up local councils or is it more of a cn system? Do you have proper education, or is it all apprenticeships? Are there written standards, or does it vary by region? What about international cooperation—”

  “Let them breathe, Hermione,” Ginny chuckled, bumping her friend lightly with her hip. “You’re going to scare them off!”

  Hermione flushed, lips pressing together tightly like she was physically stopping herself from asking five more questions.

  Meanwhile, my brain was racing for an entirely different reason.

  Ginny Weasley. Hermione Granger.

  Well, fuck.

  I knew those names. Ginny was supposedly dear little James Junior’s girlfriend—the same “ungrateful bitch” he’d been howling about over dinner, the one who’d “betrayed” him by not staying with him after he failed to perform because of Morgana’s curse. He’d gone into excruciating detail about how she’d been ready to “finally give him her virginity,” only to cry and dump him afterward.

  Hermione Granger was also supposed to be his friend. Maybe dating Ron Weasley in this world too, if my muggle memories were worth anything. I vaguely remembered James bitterly grumbling about that under his breath—the outrage that his sidekick Ron was dating a girl that Junior also wanted in his non-existent harem.

  Ugh, all I had was specution and unreliable canon knowledge…

  Maybe I shouldn’t have tuned him out so much at dinner. Then again, he’d been so mind-numbingly annoying I’d honestly done myself a favor!

  I realized I’d gone quiet just a beat too long. Hermione was still looking at us expectantly, eyes bright behind her shes. Ginny’s gaze flicked between me and Dick, curiosity and that innate Weasley mischief sparking under the surface.

  I pasted on a zy smile and took a sip of my drink, buying myself a second.

  “As fun as ‘wless’ sounds,” I said, deadpan, “it’s not quite that dramatic.”

  Both of them perked up at my answer. Dick shot me a sideways look that was half amused, half please don’t mention I’m a muggle in the middle of a magical club.

  “MACUSA was destroyed in World War II,” I went on. “And the attempts to bring it back since then have… let’s say not gone very well. So we don’t have one big central authority watching everything. But that doesn’t mean no one’s in charge. Local councils, family blocs, old compacts—there are systems…”

  None of this was true, I was making everything up and noticed Dick nodded along—like what I said was gospel…

  It amused me.

  Hermione’s eyes went huge, practically glowing. “So you’re saying communities self-regute? That’s fascinating,” she breathed. “Do you have written w codes? Shared agreements? What about enforcement—”

  Ginny elbowed her again, harder this time. “Hermione,” she said, ughing. “It’s a club, not a Wizengamot hearing.”

  Hermione blinked, realized where she was, and visibly recalibrated. “Right. Sorry,” she said, then offered me an apologetic half-smile. “I tend to get carried away.”

  I leaned in close to Dick, letting my lips almost brush his ear. “These two actually seem smart,” I murmured, keeping my voice low enough that it was swallowed by the music. “They’re going to be way better sources of information than those three bitches from earlier.”

  I felt, more than saw, the little huff of ughter he let out. “Yeah,” he said under his breath. “Hermione almost interrogated us into next week.”

  Exactly the kind of girl I needed.

  I straightened and turned back toward them, letting a warm smile spread across my face. “Really, it’s fine,” I said, meeting Hermione’s gaze first. “Your enthusiasm is… honestly refreshing.”

  Her shoulders loosened a fraction, and she gave a quick, embarrassed ugh. “I get told that a lot,” she admitted. “Usually right before someone tells me to stop talking.”

  “Not me.” I shifted my weight, letting my hips roll zily in time with the bass. “You both seem very interesting. Richard and I would love to get to know you better.”

  As I said it, I reached out and took both their hands—Ginny’s in my right, Hermione’s in my left.

  Their skin was warm against my palms. And under that touch, I quietly pushed.

  [Sex Magic: Lewd Touch] was never fshy. It didn’t fre or spark. It just… slipped. A subtle thread of my magic flowed from my fingertips into their skin, sinking beneath the surface before either of them could register anything more than a faint prickle.

  I felt the effect almost instantly.

  Hermione’s breath hitched, the smallest stumble in an otherwise steady inhale. Her pupils dited, and the flush that crept up her neck was too quick, too sudden to bme on the club’s heat alone. Ginny shivered outright, a tiny tremor that started at our joined hands and skated up her arm. Her lips parted just a fraction, like she’d forgotten whatever quip she’d been about to make.

  They were both getting aroused.

  I smiled a little wider, pretending I hadn’t noticed any of it.

  “So,” I said lightly, still holding their hands, thumbs idly stroking over their knuckles as if this were the most natural thing in the world, “what brings two clearly dangerous witches to a pce like this? Research?” I tilted my head toward Hermione with a teasing glint. “Or stress relief…?”

  …Dick and I guided the two flushed and somewhat dazed young witches toward a secluded, dimly lit booth tucked far from the pulsing heart of the dance floor. The velvet cushions felt plush beneath me as I slid into the booth, making sure to press my thigh against Hermione’s as I sat down. Dick took the seat directly across, Ginny nestling eagerly at his side.

  A sensual smirk tugged at my lips when I saw Hermione squirm almost imperceptibly at the gentle brush of my bare thigh against hers. Her chocote eyes were wide, her breathing uneven, and I could practically hear her pulse quickening beneath her modest, form-fitting dress.

  Dick, predictably oblivious to the delicious torment I was inflicting, immediately jumped straight into his carefully prepared list of questions. He had all the charm and disarming ease I’d come to expect, steering Ginny into an animated conversation about magical politics.

  Meanwhile, Hermione was still trembling slightly beside me, visibly distracted by my nearness. I leaned in closer, letting the bare skin of my arm brush softly against hers. She jolted slightly, face flushing deeper, but she didn’t move away...

  “So, Hermione,” I purred softly into her ear, my voice barely audible beneath the thumping music, “Ginny’s told us plenty about the school itself, but I’m curious about you personally.” I paused, allowing my breath to ghost warmly over her neck, drawing another tiny shiver from her slender frame. “What’s your favorite part about Hogwarts? It’s hard to imagine you stuck in dusty cssrooms all day without letting loose occasionally.”

  Her breath hitched again, and I watched her throat bob slightly as she swallowed. Her voice trembled faintly when she finally replied. “I—I suppose the library has always been my favorite pce,” she admitted shyly, eyeshes fluttering downward. “There’s just so much knowledge waiting to be discovered, so many secrets hidden within its shelves…”

  Her voice trailed off uncertainly as my fingertips trailed lightly up the back of her hand, stroking gently. “Secrets,” I murmured, tasting the word deliberately. “Yes, I’m quite fond of those myself. And speaking of secrets, tell me—” I smiled slowly, eyes glittering pyfully, “what exactly does Hermione Granger do when no one’s watching?”

  She flushed deeply again, her breathing shallow as my magic flowed through the tiny circles I drew on her wrist. I leaned in just slightly closer, my mouth tantalizingly close to the curve of her neck. I inhaled slowly, savoring the delicate scent of vanil shampoo and the distinct musk of arousal that radiated from her.

  “I—I suppose everyone has their guilty pleasures,” Hermione stammered softly, voice barely audible. “I just… enjoy being able to let go sometimes.”

  I chuckled softly, a warm, sensual sound that made her shiver openly again. “Oh, Hermione,” I whispered gently, “I’d very much like to see that.”

  Across the table, Dick continued grilling Ginny, but his eyes flicked briefly toward me, eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly.

  I smiled innocently back, giving him a pyful wink before turning my attention smoothly back to Hermione.

  As the night wore on, I kept my magic subtly flowing into both girls at intervals, never allowing either witch to fully settle or cool down. Ginny’s voice became breathier, her words occasionally faltering as Dick’s questions continued, her body leaning toward him with unmistakable eagerness. Hermione, meanwhile, seemed caught in a perpetual state of dizzying distraction, her eyes continually flicking toward my lips and cleavage before jerking hastily back upward.

  The scent of their desire filled the air around our booth, thick and intoxicating.

  Eventually, the clock neared three in the morning, and the club’s feverish energy began winding down. Lights dimmed, music softened to a mellower beat, and the dance floor gradually emptied.

  Ginny and Hermione exchanged a quick, anxious gnce, clearly reluctant to part ways.

  Ginny leaned forward slightly, cheeks flushed, and eyes hopeful. “Tonight was… well, honestly wonderful,” she said breathlessly. “Would you two like to meet up again tomorrow evening? I’d love to spend more time with both of you.”

  Dick opened his mouth, clearly preparing to politely decline since he’d gotten the intel he wanted. Before he could utter a word, I subtly jabbed him in the side with my elbow. He blinked, eyes darting toward me in confusion.

  “We’d absolutely love to,” I answered smoothly, offering Ginny and Hermione my most inviting smile. “Let’s say… same time, same pce tomorrow?”

  Their smiles brightened visibly at my words, relief and excitement mixing in their expressions. “Perfect,” Ginny breathed eagerly. “We’ll definitely be here.”

  Hermione nodded quickly, eyes sparkling despite lingering embarrassment. “We’re looking forward to it,” she whispered shyly.

  Both witches rose from the booth, saying their goodbyes and casting lingering, longing gnces over their shoulders as they vanished into the dispersing crowd.

  Dick waited until we’d exited the club together into the cool, moonlit air before turning sharply toward me, an eyebrow raised. “Okay, Amara,” he said, his voice low and ced with curiosity. “I get the feeling this isn’t just about making new friends. Why exactly are we meeting them again? And why all the personal questions?”

  I met his suspicious gaze evenly, my smile losing its pyful warmth. “Those two girls,” I said softly, my voice carefully neutral, “are closely tied to my dear twin brother James. And trust me when I say, I have my reasons…”

  Dick gave me a worried look, the kind that said he was both curious and slightly armed by my mysterious interest in Ginny and Hermione. I could almost see the questions lining up in his head, ready to spill out. What reasons? What was I pnning?

  I just smiled slyly, meeting his gaze with a zy confidence that said he could try to dig, but I wasn’t giving up my secrets tonight. Instead, I brushed a stray lock of bck hair over my shoulder “...You should probably go check on Bruce. He’s probably in the middle of a crisis after what I dropped on him back at the Leaky Cauldron.”

  “Crisis?” he echoed, brow furrowing in concern. “What did you do?”

  I grinned, not even trying to hide the wicked glint in my eyes. “Oh, just mentioned something about your sister patrolling Gotham tely.” I gave him a pyful nudge. “I figure it’s only polite to let the man process the news that his darling Bat-progeny pool is deeper than he thought.”

  Dick’s jaw actually dropped. “Sister?” he repeated, voice strangled. “What—Amara, what the hell are you talking about!?”

  I just gave him one st wicked smirk and, before he could react, Apparated straight out of his reach with a loud crack!

  The world spun for a half-second, colors and sounds blurring, and then I was standing in the middle of my penthouse suite.

  I pulled my wand from my inventory. A quick flick, and I murmured a series of privacy charms—a cascade of Latin sylbles. The final spell shimmered around the windows and doors, snapping into pce with a faint, satisfying thrum.

  I’d learned from Morgana that paranoia was just self-preservation for witches who survived.

  With the magic humming softly in the air, I turned my attention to myself. My skin felt feverish—flushed with arousal that had only grown worse the longer I’d teased Ginny, Hermione, and Dick.

  Even now, just remembering the hungry looks they’d given me made my nipples stiffen and a fresh pulse of wetness slide between my thighs.

  But I knew better than to give in to temptation. My curse—the Sin of Lust—meant that if I tried to take the edge off with my own fingers, I’d only make it worse. Masturbation would send me spiraling into even deeper need, until I was writhing helplessly in my own sheets, desperate for a release I couldn’t ever achieve alone.

  I stripped off the dress in a single, fluid movement, I padded naked to the huge king-sized bed, feeling the brush of cool air over my slick thighs.

  As I slid under the silk covers, the absence hit me hard. The bed was huge and soft, but it felt wrong—too empty, too cold. I missed the press of warm bodies against mine…

  I rolled onto my side, pressing a pillow between my legs, grinding down against it for a fleeting, desperate second. The friction made my clit throb, my breath catch, but I stopped myself before the familiar spiral could begin.

  With a frustrated growl, I forced myself to lie still.

  I wondered what Morgana was doing, if she was missing me, if she felt the same gnawing, unquenchable need I was feeling.

  Eventually, exhaustion won out over longing and I finally closed my eyes.

  ….

  The next morning I dragged myself out of “my bedroom” in Potter Manor feeling more exhausted than yesterday. I know I’d have felt worse, though, had I not gone out st night.

  I’d apparated back before dawn, dropped the Heather face back into pce. I’d chosen another awful outfit for the morning. A pair of washed-out jeans that sagged a little at the knees and a gray oversized t-shirt with two faint grease stains near the hem. My hair was back to dull brown and lifeless, hanging in a ft curtain around my pug-nosed face. I’d rounded my shoulders and scuffed my walk, just enough to sell the image of someone who expected the world to ignore her.

  I padded barefoot down the hallway, letting the silence of the manor close in around me. The pce really was disgustingly nice. All the wealth and comfort that should’ve been mine from the beginning. Instead I’d gotten peeling paint, second-hand clothes, and watery soup.

  Focus.

  I wandered without much aim at first, pausing now and then to gnce into open doors. Sitting room. Library. Some kind of study. I was half hoping to “accidentally” overhear Lily and James conspiring to each other like some kind of tv drama, but I doubted I’d get that lucky...

  Boom!

  The sound rattled faintly through the corridor, a muffled thud of contained force. Magical, for sure. A second ter another crack echoed, sharper this time, followed by a high whine like a spell dissipating.

  I followed the noise. The closer I got, the clearer it became—spells being thrown, one after another, in the controlled rhythm of someone practising magic over and over. I stopped outside a heavy wooden door with carved molding and no bel. The sound came from behind it, a muttered incantation, a fre of power, then another bang!

  I pushed the door open. The room beyond was big and rectangur, its stone walls scarred with faded scorch marks. A collection of animated practice dummies stood at intervals along one side—human-shaped constructs of padded burp and wood, some frozen in mid-pose, others slowly resetting after recent abuse. Several floating targets hovered zily overhead, rotating in slow circles.

  In the center of the room, wand raised, was James Potter Junior.

  The moment the door creaked, he spun around on the spot. His wand snapped up so fast it blurred, the tip fring with a dangerous red glow.

  For half a heartbeat I wasn’t looking at my “twin brother” at all. I was looking at James Potter, wand pointed straight at my chest in Sirius’ house, face twisted with disgust as he shouted “Stupefy!” and flung me into oblivion.

  The images overpped perfectly. Same messy bck hair, same jaw, same eyes, same arrogant posture.

  Except I wasn’t that helpless girl anymore.

  Rage boiled up inside of my chest! My fingers twitched, I could almost feel the phantom weight of my wand begging to be summoned from my inventory. It would take less than a second—snap my wand into my hand, speak two words, and his heart would stop. I could picture it so clearly it almost felt real!

  A fre of sickly green, his stupid face going sck, his body hitting the dueling room floor.

  I had to physically lock my knees to stop myself from moving.

  No, I needed to calm down and get back into my proper role. Heather wouldn’t even be able to look him in the eye. I forced my shoulders to hunch, dropped my gaze to the floor, and let my arms hang limp at my sides. When I spoke, I pulled my voice up from the back of my throat, thinner, soft, with a tiny wobble.

  “S-sorry,” I stammered, making sure my eyes were wide when I peeked up at him. “I… I was just walking and I heard loud bangs. I didn’t kn-know what was going on in here.”

  The glow at the tip of his wand dimmed. James Jr. lowered his arm with a put-upon sigh, his whole face settling into this comically exaggerated look of disappointment. “Oh,” he said. “It’s just you.” He gave me a once-over, and this time it was clearly Heather he was seeing—ugly, unremarkable, not worth the effort. His mouth curled into a small sneer. “What are you doing snooping around?” he demanded, snapping the wand tip up again—not pointed directly at me this time, but hovering between us like a threat. “This isn’t a sightseeing tour, squib.”

  I swallowed, letting my eyes dart around the room as if unsure where to look. “T-this is supposed to be my h-home now too,” I said, deliberately injecting a bit of pleading into my tone. “I was just… exploring. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  He snorted. “Right. Exploring.” He turned his back on me in a way that made my hands itch. He gestured around the room with his wand, showing off without saying he was showing off. “This is the dueling room,” he announced, as if I were too stupid to figure that out from the flying targets and the practice dummies. “Where I practice my spells. Where I prepare to face actual danger.”

  There it was again, that arrogant little emphasis on I. As if the universe had prophesied that only he mattered.

  He flicked his wand toward a dummy without looking. “Bombarda!” The spell hit the target square in the chest. The impact rocked the dummy backward, stuffing exploding out in a puff before it quickly re-knitted itself with a faint shimmer.

  He nodded to himself like he’d just done something impressive. Then he gnced back at me over his shoulder.

  “It’s completely useless for a squib like you, though,” he added with a dismissive wave. “So you can just run along and go… I don’t know. Read a book or knit or whatever it is non-magicals do to pass the time.”

  I let my shoulders slump even more, staring down at my bare toes. I twisted my fingers together, making a show of nervousness. “Can I stay?” I murmured. “I’ve never had a room like this before. I’ve never even seen anyone… do such impressive magic before…”

  He hesitated, just for a second. The ego fre was almost visible! Of course he liked that. Heather was impressed. Heather was small and awed and admiring. The great James Potter Junior, the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world—in his own mind, anyway—training himself into exhaustion while his poor squib sister watched from the sidelines.

  “Yeah, well,” he said, turning fully back toward me, shoulders squaring. He didn’t send me away immediately. Instead, he raised his wand again, pointing it at another dummy. “You’d just get in the way. These spells are dangerous.”

  “I know,” I said quickly, taking a small step backward for effect, letting my eyes widen again. “I’d never try to use a wand. I just thought maybe I could… watch? If that’s okay? Just for a bit?”

  Internally, I was already filing his posture, his stance, the way he moved his wrist. I wanted to see what he could actually do. I wanted to see how much of the “Boy Who Lived” hype was his and how much was forged by Dumbledore’s PR machine and his parents’ money.

  He hesitated again, obviously torn between the urge to shove me out and the urge to have an audience that would praise him. Eventually, the second one won.

  He gave a half-assed shrug and jerked his chin toward the wall. “Fine. Stand over there. And don’t talk. I need to focus!”

  “Okay,” I breathed, softly, gratefully, and skittered obediently to the side, pressing my back against the cool stone.

  He turned away, clearly trying to pretend I no longer existed, and raised his wand toward the far dummy.

  “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, flicking his wrist sharply.

  The spell snapped through the air in a streak of red and hit dead-center. The dummy’s wand flew from its wooden hand, cttering across the floor.

  “Hmph,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Easy.”

  He summoned the wand back without an incantation—zy little flick, the wand sailing back into the dummy’s grip. “Stupefy!” he followed up, firing again. Red smmed into the dummy’s chest and knocked it backward, its torso exploding into stuffing and then reforming.

  He went on like that for a few minutes—standard textbook dueling spells, mostly. Stunning, disarming, shield charms when the dummies fired back at him occasionally.

  His form wasn’t terrible. He’d clearly had good instructors, and years of practice. But there was a hesitancy there. A rigidity. He moved like someone who’d been told his whole life he was destined for greatness and was terrified of fucking it up. Sweat started dampening the back of his neck, darkening his hair near the roots. His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and his wand movements got a fraction sloppier.

  He must not have a rge pool of mana at his disposal to draw from. Daphne and Astoria could both cast a lot more magic before they would tire themselves out…

  I stood quietly by the wall, carefully maintaining the slouched, awkward posture of Heather Potter. Every few spells, I mumbled quiet words of encouragement—just loud enough for James Junior to hear, but quiet enough not to distract him.

  "You're amazing," I whispered softly, widening my eyes with feigned awe as he cast yet another standard dueling charm. "I've never seen magic like yours before. It must be so wonderful to be this powerful!"

  Each small compliment I fed him visibly infted his already considerable ego. His shoulders straightened a little more after every praise, his wand gestures grew more exaggerated and dramatic.

  Yet despite his steadily swelling pride, I could see the cracks forming beneath his carefully rehearsed bravado. His breaths grew increasingly ragged, and a tremor had begun to creep steadily into his grip on his wand. His movements were no longer crisp and confident—instead, they bordered on sloppy, each spell carrying less precision and force than the st.

  Perfect. He was tired, off-bance, and vulnerable—exactly where I wanted him.

  I took a tentative step forward, wringing my hands together nervously, eyes cast timidly toward the polished floor. "James… can I ask you something?" My voice was hesitant, deliberately uncertain, as if I feared he might snap at me.

  He exhaled sharply, turning toward me with clear annoyance etched across his features. "What now, squib? I've already let you watch me practice, what more do you want?"

  I flinched slightly, pretending to gather courage before meeting his gaze directly. "I-I just…" I stumbled artfully over my words. "No one has ever told me how Sirius died. No one ever expined it to me. He was… he was the only person who was ever kind to me..." I let my voice waver convincingly, my eyes shimmering slightly with unshed tears that added an authentic yer of vulnerability to Heather’s fa?ade. "Could you—could you please tell me what happened?"

  James Junior's arrogant expression faltered briefly, a flicker of genuine conflict fshing behind his eyes. But it only sted an instant before he scoffed dismissively, averting his gaze in a sudden show of irritation. "My parents said I'm not allowed to talk about that with anyone," he snapped tersely. "Especially not with you!"

  My throat tightened momentarily with real anger, but I swallowed it down quickly, forcing my voice soft again. "But… he meant a lot to me, James. Can't you at least tell me something? Anything at all?"

  He gred at me in frustration, jaw clenched, clearly annoyed by my persistence. Finally, he snapped, "It doesn't matter anyway. Sirius turned out to be nothing but a fucking traitor!"

  The words hit me like a sp across the face. Anger burned bright and hot beneath my skin, my fingers curling involuntarily into tight fists at my sides. "W-what do you mean?" I forced myself to ask quietly, even as rage cwed violently at my chest.

  James Junior turned fully toward me now, sneering openly with bitter contempt. "Everyone knows now! He hid the fact that Voldemort and Beltrix Lestrange had a daughter. Hid her existence from everyone, even from Dumbledore! Even from his best friends!" He practically spat the words out, eyes narrowing in disgusted accusation. "And then that twisted bastard made her his heiress, instead of our family! Mom and dad said I would get access to Bck Manor and all the money in their vaults, but it all got taken away before I could get it! Not even the useless goblins could get any of it back!"

  I almost ughed at the sheer stupidity and irony of his words. There was no secret daughter of Voldemort and Beltrix—there never had been. It was just an absurd conspiracy concocted by that fool Dumbledore who obviously was far too paranoid for anyone’s good…

  Oh right, we sent moody’s head back to Dumbledore underneath that fake persona so maybe they actually had some actual basis for believing the conspiracy…

  But James Junior wasn’t done, his anger spewing venomously outward. "He probably pnned to sacrifice you to that dark bitch in some horrible ritual—after all, you're just a squib, completely useless. Honestly, you should be gd he's dead."

  My heart lurched painfully in my chest, genuine hurt mixing violently with the already boiling rage. How fucking dare he speak about Sirius that way!? Sirius had loved me, had cherished me like no one else ever had—certainly not the pathetic excuses for parents standing at James Potter Junior’s side!

  Still, I forced my face to remain carefully neutral, to mask the cold fury bubbling dangerously beneath my skin. "Oh," I whispered softly, voice deliberately meek and wounded. "I—I didn't know…"

  "Well, now you do," James Junior snapped impatiently, wand jerking irritably toward the door as he turned sharply away. "I can't believe they lost the Bck Manor before I got a chance to raid it. Imagine all the valuable magical artifacts and family treasures we missed out on. What a fucking waste..."

  Every single muscle in my body tensed violently at his callous, greedy words. I wanted to see him screaming, choking, writhing on the floor, his pretty, arrogant face twisted with agony. But I couldn’t let that happen—not yet.

  "Come on," James Junior snapped irritably, already heading toward the heavy door. "Breakfast should be ready soon, anyway…”

  He pushed roughly past me, not bothering to gnce backward as he strode briskly toward the corridor. I forced myself to slowly unclench my fists, breathing deeply through the roiling anger that burned within my chest.

  Maintaining Heather Potter's pathetic disguise required immense self-control, more than I'd ever anticipated…

  ….

  Breakfast was significantly more subdued than the drama-filled dinner had been st night. James Senior barely looked up from his pte the entire meal, distractedly shoveling food into his mouth like it offended him. Eventually, he stood up abruptly, tossing his napkin onto his chair with a dismissive flick.

  "I need to prepare," he announced gruffly, exchanging a tense gnce with Lily that immediately piqued my curiosity. They shared some unspoken secret, some knowledge hidden behind careful looks. "Our guest arrives ter today," he added cryptically.

  James Junior pushed his chair back with an exaggerated sigh. "I'll be in my room," he said with a bored drawl, standing slowly as if even the act of moving was a tiresome burden. "Training this morning was exhausting." He strode away without a backward gnce.

  Now it was just me and Lily, left sitting alone at the enormous table as multiple house elves scurried around us, clearing away ptes, bowls, and empty cups with remarkable speed and quiet efficiency.

  The Potters obviously had a substantial number of elves—I'd counted at least ten so far—which hopefully expined why none of them had noticed yet that Flipsy had permanently vanished.

  I pushed the half-eaten remains of my breakfast around my pte, the silence growing increasingly uncomfortable as Lily watched me with that carefully neutral expression she so often wore. "You know," Lily finally said softly, breaking the heavy silence. Her voice was gentle and sugary, almost sickeningly so. "You didn't get a proper chance to see everything yesterday, sweetheart."

  I forced my face to remain passive, meek, lowering my eyes submissively toward my pte. "I… suppose not."

  She smiled warmly, pushing back her chair. "Why don't I show you around properly? I wouldn't want you accidentally wandering somewhere dangerous." Her voice dropped slightly at the end, an unmistakable condescension seeping through. "We wouldn't want you getting hurt, now would we?"

  My jaw tightened briefly, hidden beneath my carefully maintained mask. A small part of me wanted to snap at her, to let her see just how capable—and dangerous—I truly was. Instead, I bit back the angry retort, choosing instead to force a timid smile and a soft, obedient voice.

  "Okay… m-mom," I murmured, intentionally adding a small, shy stutter at the end.

  The reaction was instantaneous. She practically beamed at me, unable to disguise just how much hearing that single word had satisfied her ego.

  God, she was so easy to manipute. It would’ve been amusing if it wasn’t so infuriatingly pathetic.

  Maintaining the Heather persona was proving more challenging by the minute. It felt like wearing a heavy, suffocating costume, one designed specifically to constrict my true self. Yet at the same time, I was grudgingly discovering that I was an exceptional actress.

  Lily led me outside into the fresh morning air, stepping gracefully onto the sprawling grounds of Potter Manor. I followed quietly behind, shuffling slightly and keeping my posture deliberately hunched.

  First, she showed me the flower gardens. A vibrant expanse of meticulously maintained blossoms spread out before us. Roses, lilies, tulips, and other exotic magical pnts bloomed abundantly.

  Lily gestured proudly around the lush dispy, pausing occasionally to name certain flowers, clearly eager to impress me with her knowledge and taste.

  But all I could see were empty dispys of wealth, expensive blooms cultivated purely for status rather than genuine appreciation.

  Next, we approached a rge greenhouse constructed of polished gss. Lily stopped abruptly before its entrance, turning sharply toward me with a warning expression.

  "You must never enter here alone, Heather," she instructed firmly, voice tinged with condescending concern. "Some of these magical pnts are extremely dangerous, and without any magic…" She trailed off, looking pointedly at me with pitying eyes…

  I forced myself to nod meekly, ducking my head submissively. "I understand. I'll stay away," I promised softly, though privately I made a mental note to thoroughly investigate the greenhouse at the earliest opportunity. Maybe I should raid the pce before I leave?

  Morgana would appreciate magical ingredients.

  Satisfied, Lily smiled brightly again, resuming her elegant stroll across the immacute wns toward a rge, rge barn set a short distance from the main house. The heavy wooden doors creaked gently as Lily pushed them open, revealing an interior that instantly captured my genuine awe, despite myself.

  Natural sunlight streamed gently through wide-open windows, casting warm rays onto the barn's inhabitants.

  "Holy shit!" I breathed softly, momentarily forgetting Heather's reserved facade as genuine wonder filled my eyes. Standing proudly before us were several massive, regal creatures—hippogriffs. Each creature stood impressively tall, their powerful bodies blending seamlessly from majestic eagle heads and wings into the muscur frames and strong hindquarters of horses.

  The hippogriffs immediately eyed us warily, sharp golden gazes narrowing skeptically as they assessed our approach. Several spread their wings slightly, feathers ruffling warningly.

  Lily stepped confidently forward, bowing low toward the nearest hippogriff—a magnificent, pure-white creature with gleaming silver talons and piercing amber eyes. It watched her closely for a long moment before finally inclining its proud head respectfully in return.

  Smiling triumphantly, Lily straightened and reached out boldly to gently stroke the creature's feathered neck. She gnced smugly toward me, clearly relishing the opportunity to showcase her magical superiority.

  "These," she announced proudly, voice dripping with arrogant satisfaction, "are the Potter hippogriffs. Our family's pride and joy!"

  I forced my expression back into Heather's timid awe, eyes wide with feigned admiration as I stepped hesitantly closer. "They—they're amazing," I whispered softly, pying up my shy reverence.

  Lily nodded approvingly, seemingly pleased by my submissive praise. "Yes. Our family has raised hippogriffs for generations, passing the tradition carefully down from father to son." She paused, lips curling slightly. "Well, until now, at least."

  Her pointed words weren't lost on me. Heather—weak, squib, unwanted daughter—would never inherit this precious tradition.

  But I, Amara, found myself genuinely fascinated by the majestic beasts despite my dislike of Lily herself.

  Tentatively, I approached the same pure-white hippogriff, keeping my posture hunched and submissive. Carefully mimicking Lily's earlier movement, I bowed respectfully, lowering my eyes deferentially. Several long, tense moments passed before the creature slowly returned my gesture, inclining its regal head gracefully.

  When I straightened again, it stepped forward unexpectedly, beak gently nuzzling against my shoulder. A surprised ugh escaped my lips before I could stop myself, the sound genuine rather than feigned.

  Lily’s eyebrows raised slightly, clearly startled. "Hmm. She seems to like you. That's surprising," she said, her voice subtly colder, clearly disappointed by my success.

  I smiled shyly, gently stroking the hippogriff’s soft feathers. It leaned happily into my touch, visibly rexing under my fingertips. Perhaps it could sense the powerful magic concealed beneath Heather's carefully constructed facade, recognizing me as a fellow magical being worthy of respect. The idea filled me with smug amusement.

  "They seem very intelligent," I murmured softly, keeping Heather’s voice quiet and respectful. "How long have you cared for them?"

  Lily quickly brightened again, clearly delighted by the chance to brag further. "Oh, they've been in the Potter family for centuries. They're incredibly valuable creatures, especially pureblood lines like ours. This one here—Silverwing—is our finest. She’s won several international awards."

  "That's incredible," I whispered shyly, letting admiration fill my voice. Lily clearly thrived on praise, her ego swelling visibly with every word of my carefully chosen fttery.

  "Oh, it certainly is," Lily continued enthusiastically, unching into a self-indulgent monologue about the prestige and wealth associated with Potter hippogriffs, utterly oblivious to the disgusted contempt hidden carefully behind Heather's wide-eyed awe.

  Lily eventually led us back to the manor after we had spent more time with hippogriffs. I actually enjoyed it, to be honest.

  Although, the whole experience had felt distinctly like she was buttering me up for something. Every instinct within me was whispering a warning—that other shoe was about to drop, and soon.

  A grim part of me almost welcomed it. The sooner their fa?ade shattered, the better.

  At least for my mental health.

  Although, if any psychiatrist wanted to diagnose me at this point, they’d probably demand I be immediately committed to a padded cell. The thought almost made me chuckle. Not that they’d ever be able to hold me, of course, but the image of some pompous psychologist scribbling down a diagnosis of "violent, hedonistic sex demon with homicidal tendencies and deep-seated mommy issues" was perversely amusing.

  I shook my head slightly, dispelling the distracting thoughts as Lily guided me down a long, vishly decorated corridor to a private changing room. The room was surprisingly cozy—warmly lit, walls lined with intricately carved wooden panels, expensive tapestries draped elegantly across open surfaces.

  Lily ushered me inside, gesturing eagerly toward an ornate dressing table beside a rge, full-length mirror.

  On the table was something I hadn’t expected—a genuinely beautiful dress, crafted from rich, vibrant red silk. It shimmered softly under the gentle candlelight, each thread meticulously embroidered with delicate golden patterns along the hem and neckline. I could immediately see it was perfectly fitted to my current body shape, down to the inch.

  Clearly a custom-made piece.

  “Heather, darling, isn’t it lovely? We had this dress custom-made just for you, straight from Madam Malkin’s finest! It's a very special present—your very first real Potter gown!” She paused, letting the words sink in, then waved a dismissive hand toward my deliberately ugly clothing. “You don’t need to wear those awful clothes anymore, sweetheart. You’re a Potter now.”

  Interesting. I noticed she carefully didn’t say “You’re Lady Potter.”

  A subtle but crucial distinction.

  Yet, I didn’t mention it aloud. Instead, I nodded shyly, feigning a cautious excitement. “T-thank you, Lily—I mean, mother,” I murmured softly, letting just enough nervous gratitude slip into my voice to satisfy her ego.

  “Now,” she said briskly, stepping behind me, gently pcing her hands on my shoulders. “Go ahead and put it on, dear. I’m here to help you, if you need it.”

  Without waiting for further prompting, I slowly began stripping out of the intentionally hideous clothes I’d chosen this morning. I acted embarrassed, keeping my eyes shyly lowered, as if ashamed of the emaciated, awkward body I presented to her. Lily watched carefully, her green eyes sharp, observant, openly taking in the unpleasant sight of Heather’s pale, too-thin frame, her brow briefly creasing in mild distaste.

  “Oh, darling,” Lily said quietly, voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy as she gently brushed her fingers along my exposed colrbone. “Those horrid muggles clearly never fed you properly. But don’t you worry—now that you’re home, we'll make sure you eat properly and put on some healthy weight. We have plenty of house elves to prepare all your meals.”

  I nodded timidly, forcing a faint blush of embarrassment onto my pale cheeks. “Th-thank you, Mother.”

  Lily handed me the dress with a proud flourish. “Now, let’s see how lovely you look in Potter colors.”

  I stepped carefully into the gown, letting the luxurious red silk cascade softly over my hips and torso. The fabric felt like a caress against my skin. Lily stepped forward eagerly, gently helping adjust the gown's fit, her fingers brushing lightly along my waist and shoulders as she straightened seams and smoothed out wrinkles.

  It was all extremely maternal, intimate, and utterly nauseating. I swallowed the sudden wave of disgust and forced a shy smile to linger uncertainly upon my lips.

  Stepping back to admire her handiwork, Lily studied me critically. Then, nodding decisively, she retrieved her wand from a pocket of her elegant robes, aiming it deftly toward my ft, dull brown hair.

  “Hold still now,” she murmured, tone warmly encouraging. “I’ll fix that awful hair in just a moment, sweetheart.”

  She flourished her wand with practiced precision, murmuring incantations under her breath. Magic immediately flowed forth, weaving through my tangled strands of hair like an invisible comb, tugging gently as it transformed messy locks into sleek, lustrous waves. Within seconds, Heather’s dull hair had become shining and beautiful, cascading gracefully around my face and shoulders.

  “There we go,” Lily said softly, admiration shining in her green eyes. “Much better, isn’t it?”

  I turned slowly toward the full-length mirror, my breath momentarily hitching at the unexpected transformation staring back at me. Heather Potter actually looked… lovely. The red gown accentuated my delicate curves beautifully, the gold embroidery glinting softly beneath the candlelight. My hair framed my face gently, softening my sharp features and giving me a fragile, youthful innocence I hadn’t thought possible with this disguise.

  For a fleeting second, a wave of bitterness rose sharply in my throat. This was exactly the kind of care and affection Heather should have received her entire life.

  Instead, I’d grown up starved, neglected, beaten down.

  Lily stepped closer, smiling brightly as she gently id a slender hand against my cheek, her touch warm and deceptively tender. “You look absolutely lovely, Heather. Like a proper Potter daughter should.”

  I lowered my gaze submissively, pying my role. “Th-thank you, Mother. But… Why are we doing this right now?”

  Lily’s smile softened as she tilted my chin upward gently, forcing my eyes to meet hers. “Can’t a mother simply wish for her daughter to look as beautiful as possible?”

  “Yes, of course,” I mumbled, blushing shyly under her intense scrutiny. “It’s just… it feels sudden.”

  Lily sighed softly, her thumb lightly brushing along my cheekbone in a carefully soothing gesture. “Darling, you’re finally home. After so many wasted years apart, I just want to make up for lost time. And ter, we’re having a very important guest over to meet you.”

  Ah. There it was—the other shoe dropping with an audible thud.

  I forced myself to look innocently curious. “A guest? Who is it?”

  Lily’s smile became slightly strained, though she tried to mask it quickly. “Just someone who I’m sure will be very happy to meet you, sweetheart…”

  …We left the changing room and wound through several vish hallways. Lily steered me gently yet firmly onward, her thin hand gripping my elbow in a way that felt deceptively maternal, but beneath it lingered a quiet tension, almost desperate in her eagerness.

  She paused at a set of double doors. Her grip tightened subtly, and I felt her nails press lightly through the thin silk sleeve of my new gown as she pushed open the doors. My heart sped up with wary anticipation as she tugged me forward.

  Inside the vish room was James Potter Senior, seated rigidly on an armchair.

  Beside him was a stranger, an elderly wizard. Most wizards aged gracefully—skin smooth and supple well beyond a century—but this decrepit old creature clearly had not. His gnarled hands trembled, blue veins bulging beneath skin that resembled tattered parchment. His head was mostly bald, save for a few sparse wisps of grey hair scattered unevenly across a liver-spotted scalp. Sunken eyes glittered beadily from beneath thick, wrinkled eyelids, and his thin lips stretched into a grimace-like smile upon seeing me enter.

  Lily’s hand tightened around my arm, forcing me a step forward into the open, her voice bright and falsely cheerful as she introduced us. “Heather, sweetheart,” she purred, “allow me to introduce you to Lester McFinnegan! Lester is a dear friend of the Potter family—he and your great-grandfather were close confidants back in the day.”

  Her words dripped honey, but the slight hitch of desperation beneath told me something unpleasant was coming. My stomach twisted uneasily, dread pooling slowly within me as Lester McFinnegan’s gaze slid openly up and down my slender frame, pausing lecherously at my small breasts and hips beneath the thin fabric of my gown. His tongue darted briefly out, licking dry lips in a way that made bile rise sharply in my throat.

  “Eh,” the old wizard rasped disdainfully, voice hoarse and gravelly with age, “she ain’t the prettiest Potter bitch I’ve ever id eyes upon, that’s for damned sure.” He chuckled roughly. “But I s’pose the ssie’ll suffice for wife number fourteen. At least she's young. Better hope she breeds better than she looks, James.”

  Wife number fourteen? Breeding? What twisted nightmare had these fucking people pnned for me!?

  James Senior shifted in his seat and nodded up and down. “Of course, Lester,” he replied stiffly. “We fully understand your expectations. Rest assured, Heather has been kept pure and untouched. Her virtue is guaranteed! We know how important such assurances are to you.”

  McFinnegan snorted rudely, skepticism flickering behind his faded eyes. He leaned forward, bones creaking audibly beneath his robes as he jabbed a crooked finger in my direction, not even bothering to disguise his sacious stare. “Ye’d better be sure, Potter,” he snarled suspiciously. “I won’t have no trickery, ye understand? This marriage is purely business. I’ll be paying handsomely for this little broodmare—but I expect me money’s worth.”

  Lily forced a polite ugh, the sound strained yet carefully refined. She moved fluidly to my side, slender fingers squeezing my shoulder reassuringly—but it felt more like a subtle threat, warning me against protesting any of this. “Oh, Lester,” she said warmly, her smile brittle at the edges, “I assure you, Heather has remained untouched. She was raised by the muggles—isoted and away from anyone who would touch her.”

  My thoughts raced in chaotic disbelief, a tempest of emotions swirling violently beneath my carefully maintained facade.

  All this time, this sickening charade of family affection—the Potters’ desperation to recim me after years of abandonment—was nothing more than a prelude to selling me off as breeding stock to this decrepit, disgusting old man.

  I actually felt dizzy and beyond disgusted.

  Ignoring my stunned reaction completely, James Senior nodded again, gesturing toward a polished desk where rolls of parchment y scattered. “Shall we discuss the terms of the contract, then? The bride price, provisions, and conditions?”

  McFinnegan grunted, hauling himself slowly to his feet. He shuffled toward the desk, yellowed fingers shaking slightly as he reached out, greedily stroking a bulging coin pouch at his waist. “Aye, let’s get this settled, Potter,” he rasped. “I’ve waited long enough. Tomorrow, we’ll make the girl mine officially!”

  I sank numbly onto a nearby velvet couch. I watched with quiet horror as my “parents” and McFinnegan eagerly discussed my worth as though I were cattle—bartering bride price, fertility provisions, inheritance cims, and safeguards for “failure to produce suitable heirs.” The old bastard chuckled greedily, eyes continually flicking toward me, as if already imagining the grotesque wedding night he pnned.

  My hands shook lightly as I sat frozen, struggling to comprehend the sheer depth of their cruelty and greed.

  Weren’t the Potters wealthy already? Had the loss of the Bck inheritance truly hurt them this badly, that they would sell their own daughter into a revolting marriage with this decrepit fuck?

  The fact that they thought so little of Heather—that they saw me as nothing but a pathetic, useless squib worth only the bride-price I could fetch—burned bitterly inside me, kindling fresh rage.

  Lily turned suddenly toward me, smiling brightly as if this were a joyous occasion. “Sweetheart,” she cooed, voice dripping fake warmth, “isn’t this exciting? Lester is going to provide you with a life of comfort, security, and purpose! He’ll give you everything you could ever want!”

  McFinnegan leered openly from beside her, one hand rubbing the sagging skin at his throat while the other still cupped his coin purse obscenely. “Aye, little girl,” he croaked gleefully, eyes roving hungrily down my trembling body again. “I’ll take good care of ye. Keep ye fed, clothed, and bred often. Make no mistake, yer little cunt will earn its keep in me bed.”

  My jaw tightened violently, fingernails digging sharply into my palms. The btant depravity of his words snapped me abruptly back from my shocked stupor, cold fury repcing numb disbelief.

  Yet, for now, I swallowed back my rage, lifting eyes deliberately wide and fearful toward Lily, voice meek and trembling slightly with perfect submissiveness. “Yes, mother,” I whispered. “I… understand...”

  The facade that Lily and James Potter had put on had finally, irrevocably shattered.

  The filthy old bastard’s sunken eyes slid over my form one st disgusting time before, thankfully, he apparated away with a sickening crack.

  My breath came in short, sharp pants as James Potter Senior turned slowly toward me. "You worthless, disgusting girl," James Senior snarled venomously, advancing slowly toward me until I could feel the heat of his furious breath on my face. "It took a lot of fucking effort to put this arrangement together, and you are not going to ruin our payday, you stupid, worthless bitch!" His face twisted with disdain, his voice dropping to a low, hateful whisper as he leaned even closer, each word slicing cruelly into me. "You will marry that ancient bastard and pump out his disgusting spawn until the day he finally croaks, because that’s all your useless cunt is good for. You’re nothing but breeding stock, Heather. Be grateful anyone even wants you at all."

  I stared numbly into the cold, merciless eyes of my birth father—barely comprehending the vile words he spat so easily at his own “daughter.”

  He turned sharply on his heel, storming from the room without another gnce back, smming the door loudly behind him.

  “Bitsy!” Lily’s artificially sweet voice called immediately, breaking through my stunned paralysis. “Come here and take Heather back to her room right this instant!”

  With a soft pop, the small house elf appeared nervously at my elbow. Her huge eyes gazed anxiously up at me as her small hands twisted anxiously together.

  Without a word, I allowed her trembling hands to guide me gently from the vile meeting room, feeling numb and distant, as though I were watching my own actions from far away. She guided me silently through endless vish hallways, up flights of ornate stairs, and back into the vish prison masquerading as my bedroom.

  Bitsy quietly shut and locked the door, lingering nervously near it, clearly ordered to stand guard.

  Sitting heavily onto the edge of the plush bed, I stared bnkly at the hideous red and gold décor, my chest heaving painfully with barely restrained emotions. Had I ever felt such intense fury, betrayal, and disappointment simultaneously before?

  It was difficult to say, but the boiling rage within me was nearly overwhelming, consuming my thoughts.

  Eventually, my gaze slowly shifted toward the nervous house elf still guarding the door, rge eyes watching me fearfully, clearly terrified I might snap and attack her at any moment. Taking a deep, calming breath, I spoke softly, voice carefully neutral.

  "Bitsy," I said gently, forcing a weak imitation of Heather’s meek, hesitant voice. "Tell me, please—where exactly does Mr. McFinnegan live?"

  Bitsy blinked nervously, obviously startled by the unexpected question. She hesitated briefly, shifting from foot to foot, her tiny voice trembling as she reluctantly answered. "Master McFinnegan lives far up north, Miss Heather, deep in the Scottish Highnds," she squeaked anxiously. "He be havin’ a huge manor house—more a castle, really—on a big ranch, near Loch Eilt. Very hidden, very secret. Bitsy knows exactly where it is…" She trailed off uncertainly, gncing anxiously toward me for approval.

  My lips curled slowly into a cruel, satisfied smirk as I calmly rose to my feet, turning deliberately to fully face the frightened creature. "Thank you, Bitsy," I purred softly, allowing the mask of Heather Potter to melt away instantly.

  The face of Heather rapidly shifted. My true, stunning succubus body emerged. The gown that wasn’t meant to contain my curves and bust immediately tore in multiple pces.

  Bitsy stumbled backward in terror, tripping over her own tiny feet and falling heavily onto the carpet, her trembling hand pointing accusingly toward me. "Who—who is you!? You is not Missy Heather! What did you do to Miss Heather Potter!?"

  I didn't answer. Instead, I calmly raised one hand, fingers snapping sharply once. The sound echoed softly through the room.

  Instantly, Bitsy’s small body erupted violently into crimson fmes, an agonized shriek tearing painfully from her throat as she filed wildly in panicked desperation. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air as the fmes consumed her tiny form mercilessly, reducing her rapidly to ash upon the vish bedroom carpet!

  I didn’t feel even a flicker of remorse.

  Two rge, leathery bck wings unfurled majestically behind my lower back, stretching luxuriously outward, while my sinuous tail flicked nguidly behind me as well. Two white horns emerged smoothly from my raven-bck hair, curving elegantly upward atop my head.

  I summoned my wand to my hand and pointed at the nearest wall. Unlike yesterday, today I could sense the wards around the house were all up, they didn’t want me escaping.

  "Bombarda," I whispered softly and watched the wall explode. I spread my wings and flew out the hole, ignoring the panicked shouting I heard coming from behind me.

  I would be back, but I had a few things to take care of first…

  – Amelia Bones –

  The air stank of death and destruction, clinging to Amelia’s robes like an oily shroud as she strode across the bckened earth.

  What had once been an expansive manor and flourishing livestock ranch was now reduced to ruin—a field of smoldering rubble, still crackling with lingering traces of dark magic.

  Amelia’s lips pursed in grim determination as she surveyed the horrifying carnage. The earth itself seemed scarred. Scattered among the debris y twisted, burnt husks of once-living beings—humans and house elves alike.

  Whoever had done this had not spared a single soul.

  "Fucking Merlin," Amelia hissed under her breath, gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles whitened. "What monster did this?"

  Aurors bustled about, anxious under her steely gre.

  "Dawlish," she snapped, gesturing him forward with an impatient flick of her wand hand. "Get over here now and report."

  The Auror approached hurriedly. "Madam Bones," he began quickly, stumbling slightly over his words under her harsh scrutiny, "We arrived about forty-five minutes ago. By then, the compound was already abze. We've been working frantically to contain the fmes, but…" Dawlish gestured helplessly to the devastation around them. "There was nothing we could do to save it. The pce was an inferno long before we arrived."

  Amelia’s eyes narrowed, lips thinning into a dangerous line. "Any idea what caused this?"

  Dawlish swallowed visibly, hesitating a fraction before replying. "Witnesses—well, there weren't many, mostly vilgers far away—they reported fshes of bck fire. Based on the residual magic lingering around here, it’s almost certainly Fiendfyre, Madam. Whoever unleashed it had terrifying control and immense power!"

  "Fiendfyre," Amelia growled, disgusted. She'd seen its effects before—vicious, uncontrolble magic, infamous for consuming anything in its path, flesh, bone, stone, metal. Only the darkest, cruelest witches and wizards dared wield such a curse, and even fewer had the skill to direct it. "This was a deliberate massacre."

  Auror Savage hurried over, face covered with ash and sweat. "Madam Bones," he reported breathlessly, bowing quickly. "We’ve done a full perimeter sweep. Every house elf, every servant, all livestock… there are no survivors. We’ve lost them all."

  Amelia’s stomach twisted violently at the confirmation, bile rising sharply in her throat. "Every single one?" she pressed, voice taut with restrained fury.

  "Yes, Madam," Savage answered somberly, wiping sweat from his soot-streaked forehead. "Including Lord McFinnegan himself. We found his remains near the manor's main firepce, completely burned away to ash."

  "Damn it," Amelia cursed bitterly. Lester McFinnegan had been a repulsive man, certainly—greedy, lecherous, arrogant. But he'd also been one of Wizarding Britain’s most influential meat suppliers, a crucial piece in the delicate web of magical commerce. His death, coupled with the total loss of his operation, would cause painful ripple effects across Britain’s entire economy.

  It would take years—decades, perhaps—to fully recover. Not to mention the political fallout.

  "Has anyone cimed responsibility?" she asked sharply, scanning the charred horizon with angry, narrowed eyes. "Any Dark Marks, letters, statements? Anything to indicate motive?"

  Savage shook his head firmly. "No, nothing like that yet. But…" he hesitated, gncing uncertainly toward Dawlish, whose expression grew markedly anxious.

  Amelia stiffened, sensing something significant in their exchanged looks. "But what? Spit it out, Savage."

  He swallowed again, visibly nervous. "The magic, Madam. It’s incredibly strong—so saturated, so dark and intense that our trackers are already picking up residual magical signatures. Whoever cast this spell was powerful, but also careless. They threw around enough Dark Magic to leave a clear, trackable signature!"

  Amelia’s eyes fshed sharply. Finally, something useful! "And where exactly is it pointing?"

  Dawlish straightened hastily, clearly eager to prove himself useful once again. "Our initial tracking charms pinpointed a trail heading directly toward London, Madam Bones. The residual magic traces are exceptionally potent, and with a little more time, we’ll soon be able to determine precisely where this dark fiend originated from!"

  "London," Amelia repeated grimly, weighing the implications carefully. "So close to home. Too bloody close."

  She turned abruptly toward the smoldering ruins, her lips curling into a thin, deadly smile. Whoever had dared unleash this monstrous devastation had made a catastrophic mistake. Amelia Bones would find them, drag them into the light, and deliver the harshest justice Wizarding Britain could administer!

  "You keep tracking, Dawlish," she commanded, voice dripping icy authority. "I want coordinates on my desk within the hour. This bastard is not slipping through our fingers."

  "Of course, Madam Bones," Dawlish replied fervently, bowing once more. "We'll not rest until they're caught."

  "Good," Amelia snarled, turning sharply away from them both, gaze sweeping one final, disgusted gnce across the charred ndscape.

  – Beltrix –

  Beltrix Bck was confused.

  She hated being confused. Thinking hurt. It got in the way of the things she preferred—screaming, burning, watching people twitch under Cruciatus. But after what Snape had just told her, her brain refused to stop chewing on it.

  Apparently, she had a daughter. With the Dark Lord?

  And that supposed daughter had murdered Astor Moody and mailed his severed head to Albus-fucking-Dumbledore!

  Snape’s exact words echoed in her mind as she stalked the length of the drawing room at Malfoy Manor.

  “Dumbledore has gone to ground, Beltrix. Someone sent him Moody’s head in a box. According to certain… discussions in the Order, the culprit calls herself Amara Bck. The old man is rattled enough to believe she’s the child of the Dark Lord and… you.”

  The way he’d said you with that faint, curled lip had almost earned him a Cruciatus on the spot.

  She remembered how the conversation had started.

  Snape slipping in through the side entrance of Malfoy Manor, damp from the rain, reeking of Muggle London and cheap pub smoke. He’d found her in one of the lesser parlors, zily tormenting an unfortunate house-elf with small, experimental hexes while she waited to be summoned to the Dark Lord’s side.

  “Snivellus,” she’d greeted him with a wide, toothy grin, twirling her wand between ink-bck fingers. “Come for a friendly visit or did Saint Dumbledore finally set you free from your leash?”

  “Don’t call me that,” he’d hissed automatically, then his eyes had flicked toward the closed doors, ensuring they were alone. “I came to speak with you. Alone.”

  Her grin had widened. “Ooh. Secrets. How naughty.” She’d paused, eyes narrowing. “This isn’t another lecture about ‘reckless behavior,’ is it? Because if you say one word about ‘jeopardizing our position,’ I’m going to feed you your own tongue.”

  “This concerns you directly,” he’d answered tightly. “And him.” The way he’d said him—the tiniest dip of his head, that mix of devotion and bitter resentment—told her exactly which him he meant.

  That had been enough to make her listen—for a bit.

  “Get to the point,” she’d snapped, flicking a final jinx at the elf and watching it convulse once more before going limp. “I’m bored.”

  So he had. Moody. Murdered. Head delivered to Dumbledore.

  Dumbledore’s conclusion: “She must be his. Tom’s. And Beltrix’s. No one else could raise such a creature.”

  Beltrix had burst out ughing at that, sharp and delighted, the sound echoing off the high ceiling.

  “Oh, that is rich,” she’d cackled, grabbing the front of his robes and dragging him closer, her manic eyes glittering into his. “So the old fool thinks our Lord went and knocked me up behind his back? And that we made a little monster so dreadful she sent Moody’s head by post?” She’d shaken Snape once, hard, just for the pleasure of it. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I had a daughter, Severus? I would’ve sent her a birthday card.”

  “You really don’t remember,” he’d said quietly, studying her face. He hadn’t even flinched at her grip. Annoying, that.

  “Remember what?” she’d snapped, letting go of him with a shove.

  “That there was a period,” he’d said slowly, “shortly before the first war ended… when you disappeared. Around 20 years ago, you were gone for months…”

  She’d frowned. Confused. Irritated. “Yes, I was on assignment,” she’d said sharply. “Secret work for the Dark Lord. None of your business.”

  “You were gone for almost a year, Beltrix,” he’d pressed, voice low. “When you came back, you were… altered. And he ordered you to obliviate yourself immediately after reporting in.” His eyes had narrowed slightly. “He ordered me to oversee it.”

  She’d never questioned it. If the Dark Lord ordered her to cut out pieces of herself, she did it. Happily. Her mind belonged to him. But now… now there was this.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she’d demanded, eyes narrowing. “Why not tell the Dark Lord first? Hm? Trying to curry favor?”

  Snape had gone very still. “Because,” he’d said finally, very quietly, “I want to know what you’ll do with this before he does.”

  Then he’d left, robes snapping behind him as he stalked away, leaving her alone.

  Beltrix had spent the hours since oscilting between delight and irritation.

  On one hand, the thought of a daughter vicious enough to decapitate Moody and mail his head to Dumbledore made her chest fizz with pride. That was art. That was style. That sounded exactly like something she would do!

  On the other, if she had a daughter, where the fuck was she? Why hadn’t she been told? Why hadn’t she been allowed to train her properly? To watch the first time she cast Cruciatus, to see that beautiful mad light in her eyes!?

  She hated not knowing. Hated that there were pieces of her own life she couldn’t reach, because the Dark Lord had deemed them unnecessary. He always had his reasons. She trusted him. She worshipped him. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be annoyed.

  She prowled across the length of Malfoy Manor’s grand corridor now like a caged predator, dark hair swinging in wild curls, her bck robes swirling around her ankles. Family portraits watched her warily from the walls, Malfoy ancestors frowning down at her with tight-lipped disapproval.

  “Beltrix?”

  She spun at the sound of footsteps pounding across the marble. Lord Parkinson—plump, sweating, moustache twitching in panic—was barreling down the corridor toward the Dark Lord’s closed chamber doors. He nearly crashed into her as she stepped directly into his path.

  He halted with a squeal of shoe leather, face going pale beneath his thinning hair. “M-Madam Lestrange,” he stammered, bobbing a quick, clumsy bow. “Forgive me, I—I have urgent news for the Dark Lord—”

  Beltrix cocked her head and smiled. “Oh? Do you?” she cooed. “And what sort of news is so important you think you can go banging on his door while he’s… occupied?”

  She let the st word drip with insinuation. Parkinson gnced nervously at the carved doors and swallowed. “It’s—my daughter, my dy,” he blurted. “Pansy. She—she was in Diagon Alley st night and—and she says she met—”

  He faltered under Beltrix’s gaze. She took one slow step closer, wand twirling idly between her fingers. “She met who, Lord Parkinson?” Beltrix purred. “Use your words. I promise I won’t bite.” She bared her teeth again.

  He flinched. “L-Lady Amara Bck, my dy,” he blurted. “Pansy was at some—some nightclub, the Cauldron’s Kiss, and she swears she met the new Head of House Bck. Young woman. Very… intimidating. And Pansy said she introduced herself as Lady Amara Bck.”

  Amara. The name hit Beltrix’s chest like a thrown dagger—sharp and satisfying. Her daughter’s name is Amara Bck?

  “That’s a good name,” Beltrix murmured, almost to herself. Her fingers tightened briefly around her wand.

  Parkinson blinked. “I—er—yes, my dy. And—and given your noble House, I thought the Dark Lord would want to know at once that the young Lady Bck is in Britain, socializing with our children—”

  “Oh, quite,” Beltrix said sweetly. “What a loyal little rat you are, scurrying straight to him with your news.”

  His chest puffed slightly at the faint praise. “Of course, my dy. I live only to serve—”

  “And such service deserves to be… handled properly, don’t you think?” she went on, cutting him off. She took another measured step, now close enough that he had to crane his neck down to keep looking at her. “You wouldn’t want to barge in on our Lord when he’s… busy, would you?”

  Parkinson’s eyes widened. He shook his head so fast his jowls wobbled. “N-no, of course not, I—I hadn’t thought—”

  “Obviously,” Beltrix said dryly. She reached up and patted his cheek with mock affection. “So here is what you’re going to do, Lord Parkinson. You are going to toddle home, tell your precious Pansy she did very well, and then sit by your firepce and drink something expensive until you forget you ever had the impulse to bother him with this.”

  “But—my information—” he protested weakly. “I thought—”

  “I will tell the Dark Lord myself,” she lied smoothly, letting her eyes go wide and earnest. “Personally. I’m sure he will be… very interested. And he’ll know who to reward for it.” She smiled. “Won’t that be lovely?”

  Greed flickered in his eyes, chasing away hesitation. “Y-yes, my dy. Of course. If you… if you think that best.”

  “Oh, I do,” she purred. “Run along now. Before I change my mind.”

  He bowed again—lower this time—and scuttled away, his polished boots clicking a little too quickly as he vanished down a side corridor.

  Beltrix watched him go, the smile sliding off her face the instant his back was turned. The air in the hallway suddenly felt sharper, colder.

  Amara Bck. Her daughter. And the girl was in Diagon Alley st night?

  She turned slowly toward the closed doors leading to the Dark Lord’s chamber, feeling the familiar pull. She could go in now. She could kneel on the cold stone and tell him everything.

  Moody’s head, Dumbledore shaken, Amara Bck. In her mind, she could see his eyes light up with that rare, cruel amusement when something genuinely surprised him!

  He’d be pleased. Or furious. Or both. Either way, it would be glorious.

  And then what? If this girl was their child—if Snape and Dumbledore were right—what would he do with that information? Use her? Mold her into another weapon? Maybe he’d be threatened by her power, and want to snuff her out?

  Beltrix—she would not allow that!

  She found herself shocked by that very thought! The thought of betraying her lord and master… and yet, wasn’t blood supposedly always thicker? That’s what her family always taught her anyways. It was the reason she spared Sirius Bck’s miserable life after defeating him in the ministry of magic. And then she was shocked when his supposed best friend James Potter cast the killing curse at Sirius’ back, and then bmed HER for it…

  Beltrix shook her head, focusing on the more important thoughts. Her daughter showed up in Diagon Alley st night, which meant she might be there tonight as well! Beltrix spared one st gnce at the Dark Lord’s office before she turned on her heel and left…

  – Amara –

  Congratutions! You have exterminated an entire magical bloodline with fire! Your talent [Adept Fmes] has been deemed insufficient for your accomplishment!

  Your talent has been upgraded!

  [Daughter of the Eternal Fire!] You are now completely immune to damage from all fire in existence. Holy fire, or even the hottest fmes of the Nine Hells are open to you! All fire magics sing to your call!

  …Last night, I’d thought I needed a big distraction from my thoughts. Tonight, I needed a fucking erotic distracting miracle.

  The rage was still there, simmering under my skin like banked coals, but the sharpest edge had dulled after I’d turned McFinnegan’s estate into a smoking crater and erased him and his disgusting bloodline from the map.

  Had I gone off the rails a bit? Yes. Did I regret it? Not really.

  If anything, I regretted not making it hurt more.

  I knew Dick would be disappointed if he ever found out what I’d just done—which was exactly why I had zero intention of mentioning it. Some things heroes didn’t need to know. Let him keep believing I was on the border of redeemable, it made him easier to work with. And to kiss.

  I cut through the cool night air and stepped back out onto the familiar cobbles of Diagon Alley.

  Tonight’s outfit was very different from st night. The dress was white, short, and so indecent it barely qualified as clothing by some people’s standards. Slits climbed high up both sides, baring long stretches of thigh with every step. The front crossed low over my chest, two slim panels of fabric curving around my breasts and leaving generous arcs of sideboob and toned stomach on dispy before meeting in a knot at my waist. The back was almost nonexistent—thin straps, bare spine, the dress clinging to my hips and ass like it was painted on.

  I could feel eyes on me long before I reached Cauldron’s Kiss. Hungry, curious, covetous. Men, women, things that were neither, all turning their heads as I passed.

  I needed that. I needed to drown tonight in heat and noise and touch before my thoughts dragged me back to the image of Lily’s delighted little smile as she sold me like livestock.

  The club loomed ahead. The line snaked down the street—young witches and wizards dressed in their best, clustered in ughing clumps, trying not to look pathetic as they pretended not to care how long they’d been waiting.

  The same half-giant bouncer guarded the door, leaning against the stone archway like a granite statue. When his gaze nded on me, his posture changed instantly—eyes widening, shoulders squaring, arms dropping away from his chest. The flush that hit his cheeks was almost adorable.

  “Evening,” I purred as I approached, giving him a slow once-over. “We doing the line thing tonight, or are we pretending I’m above such petty mortal concerns?”

  It was barely a joke. He swallowed hard enough I could hear it.

  “R-right this way, Lady B-Bck,” he stammered, stepping aside so quickly he nearly tripped on his own feet. His gaze dropped, then jerked back up, clearly fighting the urge to stare too openly. “Welcome back to Cauldron’s Kiss.”

  Huh? He knew my name? That was interesting but hardly concerning at the moment. I fshed him a zy smile and slid past him, feeling his eyes burn into the back of my thighs before the door closed behind me.

  The music hit like a physical force. Bass thrummed through the floorboards and up my legs, lights strobed overhead in dizzying cascades of color—violet, emerald, gold. Wards shimmered subtly along the walls, keeping spells from going too wild.

  Tonight the pce felt even hotter, even more crowded. Bodies moved everywhere—pressed together on the dance floor, crushed in clusters around the bar, tangled in the darker corners where the light didn’t reach and no one was really pretending to just be talking.

  Once again, it was perfect. I think I really liked nightclub life like this. No wonder that bastard Lucifer decided to open his own…

  I scanned the club as I moved deeper inside, letting my hips fall naturally into the rhythm of the music. I didn’t need to look long. Dick’s dark head was easy to spot near one of the side walls, where the worst of the crush eased a little. Ginny and Hermione were with him, exactly where they should be. My mood lifted a notch just seeing them.

  Yes. I was absolutely getting my distraction tonight.

  XXX

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