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Chapter Text

Chapter 1:

– Heather –

My name is Heather Black, and I have not had an easy life. But this might in fact be the worst day of my life so far…

Tears blurred my vision, and my heart beat so hard against my ribs that it felt like it'd burst out. This couldn’t be happening…

Albus Dumbledore stared at me calmly, hands clasped neatly in front of his colorful robes, his voice steady and devoid of real emotion. "I'm sorry, Miss Potter, but Sirius Black has been slain by Bellatrix Lestrange. It's a true tragedy." His tone was so goddamn casual, as if he’d just told me tomorrow would be rainy. 

He spoke about my father—my father, for fuck’s sake—as if he were some distant acquaintance, not someone who'd just died violently at the hands of a psychopath.

I felt something snap inside me. Rage burned through my veins, pushing aside the grief and confusion, clawing up my throat in a scream that echoed off the stone walls. "My name is NOT Miss Potter!" I shouted, my voice cracking from the pain and fury. "My name is Heather Black! Not Heather fucking POTTER! And what the hell do you mean my father is dead?!"

Before Dumbledore even opened his mouth, James Potter stepped forward, pointing a finger straight at my chest. His face was twisted into a sneer I recognized too damn well. "Hey! Don’t you talk to Dumbledore like that, you stupid girl! You should be grateful a busy man like him took time out of his day to come here personally. And I don’t even know why you're crying. Sirius was MY best friend, not yours!" The arrogance in James's voice made me want to punch him in his arrogant, smug face. 

"I'm upset because he was my fucking adoptive father, you arrogant piece of shit!" I spat at him, stepping forward until our faces were inches apart. “Not that you'd know anything about that after you abandoned me!”

"Heather, please," Lily Potter spoke softly from behind James, stepping closer with that gentle voice I'd secretly resented for as long as I could remember. "Let's not fight like this right now. We’re all grieving—"

I cut my eyes toward her, hating how perfectly calm she appeared even now. Lily Potter, my birth mother. Who was annoyingly beautiful, with that flawless heart-shaped face, flowing red hair cascading down her shoulders, and a perfect figure despite pushing toward her late thirties. Damn wizarding genetics meant she still looked barely twenty-five. 

And me? Of course, I ended up with genetics like Aunt Petunia’s. Fucking random DNA lottery. I had inherited Petunia’s stupid pug-shaped face, instead of Lily's perfect features. Why couldn't I look like Lily?

"You don’t know a damn thing about grieving," I said harshly, trying—and failing—to blink away fresh tears. My voice shook, the anger melting into aching sorrow. "He was the only man in my life who ever gave a shit about me. Even with all the problems Azkaban left him with, at least he tried! More than I can say for either of you…"

Unlike my twin brother, James Potter Jr., I'd been born a squib. A fucking squib. I never got my letter to Hogwarts, never felt the thrill of holding a wand or casting a spell. 

Hell, I didn't even know magic existed for most of my life.

All because Lily and James Potter had dumped me like unwanted garbage when they realized their precious daughter wasn't magical enough for their perfect wizarding family. While my brother grew up famous, spoiled, and adored—the miraculous Boy Who Lived—I was left alone to rot away in some shitty, overcrowded orphanage, clueless about who or what I really was.

I was Heather Smith then, just another unwanted, unloved orphan. No identity, no parents, no future. I spent eighteen years with kids nobody wanted, in a building full of peeling paint, lumpy mattresses, and food that tasted worse than cardboard. Always overlooked, always passed up for adoption. 

Who the hell would want a girl like me? The universe had clearly dealt me a bad hand, and I didn't even know why. Then, a year ago, everything changed.

It happened on a gloomy afternoon when a ragged, haunted-looking man showed up at the orphanage door. I'd seen his face before, splashed all over the news as an escaped convict. 

Sirius Black, the infamous murderer. He stood there, hair wild and eyes haunted, looking straight at me as if he knew exactly who I was.

Of course I was fucking terrified at first. Who wouldn't be? Some guy the media had labeled a dangerous psychopath suddenly shows up claiming he knows you? But instead of killing me, he sat me down and told me an impossible, insane story about my past.

According to him, I wasn't Heather Smith. I was Heather Potter, twin sister of James Potter Jr.

He explained everything about the wizarding world and the Potter family's decision to abandon me. Although he never knew WHY they did that. It’s not like they ever tried to get him out of prison for 18 years either when they should have known it wasn’t him that betrayed them and almost got them killed when the Dark Lord went after my twin brother.

I was eighteen, aging out of foster care with absolutely no future waiting for me. No home, no money. I was probably gonna end up on the streets, because my grades weren’t very good either. I always had trouble in school, trouble focusing on things in general really. 

And yet, Sirius wanted me.

Sirius brought me into his run-down but cozy house and treated me like a real human being, like family. He even attempted to perform a blood adoption ritual, thinking it might somehow turn me from a squib to a real witch. It didn't work, obviously, because nothing good ever did for me.

Well, almost nothing. The spell did manage to change my appearance slightly. My gross messy, dull-brown hair that I’d inherited from the father that abandoned me turned smooth, shiny black, like Sirius’ hair. A tiny silver lining in a lifetime of shitty luck.

But the biggest miracle of all was Sirius himself. Yeah, he had his demons. Azkaban had fucked him up badly. He had nightmares, anger problems, and a lingering paranoia that made living with him unpredictable at times. Plus, he was still technically a wanted criminal—both in the Muggle world and the magical one—which meant our lives were hidden, secretive, constantly on edge. But he was genuinely kind to me. He never once cared about my lack of magic. 

In fact, he'd even named me his official heiress in the magical world! I was Heiress Black, despite being a squib!

For the first time in my fucked-up life, someone actually gave a shit about me. I finally had something like a father, someone who worried if I was hungry or scared or lonely. Someone who loved me.

And now, less than a year after I'd finally found family—real family—that man was gone. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat, breaking the bitter silence that hung thick in the air. "We will, of course, need to discuss what happens now," he said calmly, as though the entire exchange had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

I whirled around to glare at him, my hands shaking violently with anger and grief. "What happens now is you can all get the fuck out of my house and never talk to me again."

I jabbed my finger toward James and Lily, who both looked stunned and indignant. "You two abandoned me when I was just a baby. You're not my parents—you never were. I don't want you here. Get out."

Then I turned sharply to Dumbledore, eyes narrowed with suspicion and mistrust. "And you," I spat at the old wizard, "I hardly even know you. I've only met you a couple of times, and I've hated every fucking second of it. You’re not welcome here either. Just leave me alone."

Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes twinkled softly, which only pissed me off even more. How could he be so fucking calm at a time like this?

"I'm afraid that's not what I was referring to," he said mildly, a small, irritating smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Potter—"

"My name," I hissed through clenched teeth, "is Miss Black."

He carried on smoothly, as though I hadn't spoken at all. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Potter, squibs are no longer permitted to own magical properties within the wizarding world."

My mouth dropped open in shock, and a sharp pain twisted through my chest. "That's complete bullshit," I snapped, my voice shaking slightly. "That law doesn't exist. Sirius would have told me! He wouldn't have named me his heiress if that were true."

Dumbledore calmly adjusted his glasses, entirely unaffected by my anger. "It is a relatively recent law, I'm afraid. It passed merely a couple of weeks ago."

My mind raced frantically, memories surfacing sharply through my rage. Sirius had warned me about Dumbledore’s influence. He’d told me, over late-night conversations in hushed, paranoid whispers, how this kindly-looking old man was a high-ranking member of the wizarding government—Wizengamot or whatever it was called. He'd said Dumbledore’s reach went deep, that he controlled far more than anyone knew.

Suddenly, clarity hit me like a lightning bolt.

I pointed accusingly at him, my whole arm trembling. "You're the one who freaking passed that law, weren't you?" My voice cracked as realization and dread filled me. "Was this all some twisted fucking ploy? Did you have Sirius killed just so you could get your filthy hands on his properties? He always warned me about you! He said he never trusted you, that you never even tried to get him out of Azkaban even though you had the power!"

James Potter stormed forward before Dumbledore could respond, his face purple with rage. "How dare you make up such disgusting lies, you pathetic little squib! This is none of your business anyway. Squibs can't own wizard property, so this house and everything in it rightfully belongs to my son, James Jr.!"

A bitter, hateful laugh bubbled from my throat before I could stop it. "That's fucking bullshit! I've never even met the spoiled little prick!"

James Potter’s eyes flashed dangerously, and his voice rose to a furious roar, veins bulging on his forehead. "Don't you dare insult my son, you ungrateful monster!"

Suddenly, before I could even process it, James had his wand drawn, pointed straight at my chest, his expression twisted with pure hatred and disgust.

My heart pounded wildly, breath catching in my throat as I stared down the tip of his wand. I felt frozen in place, shock and fear colliding inside me.

I never could understand why my birth parents seemed to hate me so fucking much. They'd been livid months ago when they discovered Sirius had tracked me down at the shitty orphanage they'd dumped me in as a baby. You'd think after eighteen years they'd at least feel some guilt for leaving their own daughter abandoned, unwanted, and utterly alone, but no. 

They were just pissed off I'd come back into their perfect wizarding lives, tainting their pristine fucking reputation by existing as a squib.

James had even stormed into Sirius’s shabby little house not long after I’d moved in, screaming at him—actually fucking screaming—that I was nothing but a filthy stain on their family name. He’d demanded Sirius throw me back out onto the streets like garbage. Lily had been there too, silent behind James, eyes downcast. I'd seen a flicker of shame in her eyes then, something that almost made me believe she felt bad. But it wasn't enough—never enough for her to speak up and defend me from James’s hateful tirade. Sirius hadn’t even blinked at James’s threats. He'd calmly stood his ground, looking James dead in the eye and growling that I was his daughter now, and no one—not even my so-called biological parents—would ever take me away from him again.

Now Sirius was dead, murdered by some psycho bitch, and there was no one left to stand up for me.

James’s wand tip glowed dangerously red, pointed directly at my chest. My heart slammed violently against my ribs, fear burning like acid in my throat. I could feel the familiar weight of my pocket knife pressing against my thigh through the fabric of my jeans. Sirius had insisted I carry it everywhere for protection, a small comfort in the fucked-up magical world that hated people like me. But as my fingers twitched, preparing to reach for it, I knew I’d never be fast enough. James was a trained wizard, a war hero and Auror captain. 

I was just a helpless squib with nothing but a cheap knife and a lifetime of shitty luck.

My muscles tensed, but I forced myself to remain standing tall. I wouldn't give James Potter the satisfaction of seeing me cry or beg. I straightened my shoulders, glaring defiantly at him and Lily, hating every single goddamn thing they stood for. 

Lily at least looked uneasy, her eyes wide and troubled, placing a delicate hand cautiously on James’s arm. "James," she murmured softly, "please lower your wand. You don't need to do this."

He shook her off roughly, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with pure, unchecked hatred. "No," he growled back sharply, voice ice-cold and merciless. "She's nothing but a squib. A pathetic waste of space. She doesn't deserve this house. It belongs to our son!"

I summoned every ounce of strength left inside me, even though I felt shattered into a thousand pieces. "Get the fuck out of my house," I said slowly, clearly, my voice trembling with barely-contained fury. "Now."

James sneered at me, eyes darkening with disgust. "No, Heather," he snarled viciously. "You get the fuck out of MY son’s house!"

He flicked his wand aggressively, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Stupefy!"

A bright burst of fiery red light exploded from the tip of his wand, shooting toward me faster than I could even blink. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Lily’s horrified face, finally looking truly afraid, and James’s eyes—cold and unfeeling—as if he was merely swatting an irritating fly rather than cursing his own blood daughter into oblivion.

…

I woke up freezing cold and soaking wet, my head throbbing so hard I felt like I'd been slammed with a sledgehammer. The stench of rot and mildew hit me immediately, a disgusting blend of garbage, piss, and stagnant rainwater. My eyes fluttered open slowly, squinting against the flickering streetlight overhead.

What the hell?

I was lying sprawled across a pile of garbage bags, soggy cardboard boxes, and god knows what else, in the middle of some filthy, deserted alleyway. My clothes were drenched, sticking to my skin in a sickeningly clammy way. The cold seeped into my bones, making my whole body shiver violently.

Did they actually toss me out like fucking trash in some random London alley? Those bastards.

My pulse quickened, rage burning away the fog of confusion still lingering in my head. I forced myself upright, garbage sliding noisily off my back as I stumbled to my feet. Fury pounded through my veins as I clenched my fists tightly, fingernails biting painfully into my palms.

Oh, I'm gonna fucking kill them! I'm gonna march right back to Grimmauld Place and stab those house-stealing fuckers in their smug faces.

But when I took one furious step forward, my legs froze beneath me. My stomach twisted painfully, dread washing through my chest like icy water. My heart slammed frantically against my ribs as the realization hit me full-force.

I—I can't remember how to get home!

My breath caught sharply in my throat, panic swelling up inside me so quickly that my vision blurred for a moment. 

Grimmauld Place. 

I knew that name, knew it was the place Sirius and I had lived, but its location, directions, even the neighborhood name…everything had been ripped out of my head.

Did they mess with my fucking mind?

"They fucked with my head," I hissed aloud to no one, my voice shaking with raw desperation. "Those motherfuckers actually fucked with my memories!"

A surge of helpless fury exploded through me, and I spun around, violently kicking a nearby garbage can. It toppled over with a loud crash, trash scattering across the filthy alleyway. 

“Well now, isn't this all quite unfortunate?”

My breath caught sharply, and I jerked around wildly. The voice I'd just heard was unsettlingly smooth and androgynous, echoing through my skull like an alien whisper.

"What the fuck?" I muttered aloud, head spinning frantically as I scanned the alley. There was no one there. "Who the hell said that?"

The voice chuckled, a low, amused sound that sent a chill crawling down my spine.

“So, this is truly the worst day of your life, Heather? That's rough. Too bad you're not from a certain other universe—otherwise, you'd have just triggered some nice little superpowers right now.”

"Great, just fucking great," I growled bitterly, my whole body trembling. "I'm losing my goddamn mind now too? Is this more fucked-up wizard magic screwing with me?"

The voice didn't respond right away, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope that it was just stress-induced hallucinations. Then, it spoke again, clearer and more deliberate this time.

“Thankfully for you, I've got something far more interesting in store. Your game was rigged from the very start. How about we change that, hmm?”

"What game? What the fuck are you talking about?" My voice rose sharply in frustration and fear, echoing off the wet, grimy walls of the alleyway.

Before I could get another word out, blinding pain suddenly exploded inside my head. I doubled over, clutching my skull and gasping raggedly for air. My vision blurred and flashed wildly with neon colors as agony radiated outward, spreading through my limbs.

"W-What are you doing—stop!" I begged, my voice ragged and desperate, echoing off the empty alleyway.

Witch System uploading directly to host's mind, initiating soul binding as well.

Those strange, robotic words echoed ominously inside my skull, and then the world around me shattered completely, plunging me headfirst into darkness.

I floated aimlessly in an endless sea of pure darkness. I felt weightless, my body suspended like some discarded doll drifting in a pitch-black ocean. I tried to remember what the fuck just happened. Was I dreaming? Or maybe hallucinating?

One moment I'd been freezing cold, standing in a disgusting, piss-filled alleyway, and now I was...here.

Wherever 'here' was.

I blinked rapidly, twisting around awkwardly as I searched for anything recognizable. But there was nothing, just blackness stretching out endlessly in every direction, suffocating and absolute.

What the hell is this?

Suddenly, my eyes caught something glowing softly in front of my face. A glowing screen floated lazily in the void, hovering a few inches away. Startled, I jerked back instinctively, but the screen followed, fixed firmly in place no matter how I moved my head.

Would you like to roll for perks and drawbacks? 

I stared at the words glowing gently in front of my eyes, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. I had no clue what the fuck this was supposed to mean. A "system"? What the hell did that even mean? Was this more weird wizard shit, or was I really just losing my goddamn mind?

Still, it didn't seem like I had much of a choice here. I hesitated for just a moment before awkwardly answering aloud into the emptiness, "Um, yes?"

My voice echoed strangely around me, distorted and distant as though coming from somewhere far away. The floating text blinked brightly in acknowledgment.

First roll initiating…

A sudden burst of light exploded in front of my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I threw up my arms in shock, flinching backward, but nothing hit me. When the flash faded away, new words now hovered in front of me, pulsing softly in vibrant blue letters.

Congratulations! You have rolled: [Soul-Bound Wand]. When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!

Wait? 

Wand? I could use a wand? I HAD MAGIC NOW!? Was this REAL!?

Drawback has been rolled: [Simmering Fury]. Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.

I snorted quietly to myself. Hell, that wasn't even a drawback as far as I was concerned. Forgiving those fucking bastards who ruined my life wasn’t exactly high on my to-do list. James Potter, Lily, Dumbledore, the whole damn wizarding world that tossed me aside, they deserved every ounce of rage and hatred I had to give.

I refocused back onto the glowing screen, biting my lip uncertainly as I considered what to do next. This had to be the strangest dream or vision or whatever-the-hell-it-was I’d ever experienced, but at least it distracted me from my fucked-up situation. Maybe if I rolled again, something even better would come up? Or at least distract me a bit longer from the cold, harsh reality I’d soon wake up in.

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I spoke into the empty void again. "Um…roll again?"

…

Congratulations! You have rolled the perk: [Blessed by Fire]. Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.

"Holy shit," I muttered breathlessly, staring at the glowing words floating gently in the empty blackness around me. If this really wasn’t some messed-up dream or twisted hallucination, then it meant something truly incredible. For the first time in my shitty, miserable life, I might actually have magic. Real magic. 

I’d spent nearly two decades feeling utterly worthless and broken, but now? Now I might actually have a chance to fight back.

Before I could revel too deeply in my newfound power, another line of text flashed up on the screen, glowing ominously red:

Drawback has been rolled: [Cursed Knowledge]. You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.

"Wait, what the fuck does that mean?" I asked aloud, my voice echoing nervously into the empty void. 

Without warning, a blinding surge of pain exploded through my head, like thousands of knives stabbing directly into my brain all at once. My eyes widened in shock, my mouth falling open in a silent scream as images, feelings, entire memories flooded through my mind in a relentless torrent.

It felt like drowning, the sheer weight of these new memories crushing me from the inside out. 

Harry Potter? I was in the world of Harry Potter? Was I the female version of Harry Potter? 

My life was nothing more than fiction in another universe? I wasn't even real…? I was already dead. I died in that plane crash—

"No," I gasped out sharply, desperately shaking my head as panic rose like bile in my throat. "Fuck no. I'm real. My life is real, dammit! I’m living it right now!" Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, burning with frustration. How dare this fucked-up "system" try to strip away my reality?

I shoved it all aside, locking it away to deal with later. I could sort out all those memories later. Was that mentally healthy, probably not, but I wasn’t exactly the most stable individual anyways.

At least now I knew exactly what the hell this weird-ass "system" was. It was something straight out of a videogame or some shitty web novel, a bizarre cosmic force granting me powers and messing with my head for its own fucked-up amusement. Well, fine. If the universe wanted to screw me over yet again, I'd take whatever power I could squeeze from it.

I fixed my gaze defiantly on the glowing screen again, squaring my shoulders and setting my jaw in grim determination. "Roll again," I demanded.

Congratulations, you have rolled: [Daughter of a Succubus]. Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.

My eyes widened in disbelief, heart pounding with stunned excitement and uncertainty.

Wait, what the actual fuck?

Before I could even process what the hell was going on, my skin suddenly felt warm—almost burning—as something shifted and twisted underneath it. An electric tingling danced across my face, spreading quickly down my neck, across my chest, and racing through my body.

“Oh my god,” I whispered breathlessly. It wasn't painful exactly, but it was definitely intense. Like thousands of tiny sparks lighting beneath my skin.

Was I actually changing right now?

I'd spent my whole fucking life as the ugly duckling nobody wanted, wishing desperately I could look even remotely like Lily Potter, but now the universe had apparently decided to swing wildly in the opposite direction and make me supernaturally hot? 

Was this real?

My fingers reached up instinctively, desperately wishing I had a mirror. I couldn't exactly see my reflection floating here in this empty black void, but I could feel it. My fingertips traced along my jawline, feeling the previously awkward, slightly pudgy shape suddenly becoming defined, graceful, and delicate. My cheekbones rose higher, more prominent, my lips becoming softer, fuller, perfectly shaped.

“No fucking way,” I gasped, utterly astonished.

I glanced down frantically, struggling to catch a glimpse at myself through the thin, dirty fabric of my now ill-fitting shirt. My heart slammed erratically as I realized my breasts were actually growing, pushing outward gently yet noticeably, rounder and fuller than ever before. My stomach contracted subtly, flattening and tightening as my waist cinched inward dramatically, forming curves I never imagined my scrawny, pathetic body could ever achieve. A gentle warmth flushed through my thighs and hips, filling them out until they flared seductively, creating a perfect supernatural hourglass figure I'd only ever dreamed of.

I swallowed thickly, shaking my head in disbelief. Was this what it felt like to win the genetic lottery? Before I could revel too deeply in my newfound beauty and magical power, however, another flash of text suddenly appeared before me:

You have rolled the drawback: [Major Sin of Lust]. You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.

I blinked in disbelief, a blush flooding my newly flawless cheeks. "Oh, fuck," I muttered, grimacing in embarrassment and frustration.

Of course, the universe had to throw a wrench into my victory. My heartbeat quickened, blood pulsing hot beneath my skin as I realized exactly how much this drawback was going to seriously fuck with me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the new and unfamiliar heat pooling low in my belly. Even now, the slightest shift of my thighs rubbing together sent jolts of distracting pleasure up my spine, making me bite my lip involuntarily.

Goddammit, was this really going to happen all the fucking time? How the hell was I supposed to deal with being constantly horny on top of everything else that had just gone spectacularly wrong with my life?

"I'm done with rolling," I hissed loudly, embarrassment and anger warring fiercely inside me. My voice echoed strangely through the endless dark void, bouncing back mockingly. “Now what the hell is happening?!” I shouted into the empty abyss.

The voice from before suddenly appeared again, rippling through the endless darkness around me. “Those were some pretty fantastic rolls you got there, Heather,” it teased gently, voice echoing inside my head. “But are you really sure you want to stop now?”

I had a sinking suspicion that none of this was random. Those “rolls” had come a little too neatly packaged, too perfectly tailored to my fucked-up life.

“Yeah,” I growled bitterly, voice tight with tension. “I’m pretty damn sure. Somehow, I don’t think those perks and drawbacks were ever random in the first place, were they?”

The voice chuckled softly again, sounding genuinely entertained by my suspicion. “Very perceptive of you. And very correct.” It paused dramatically, as if savoring my confusion and frustration. “Tell me, Heather, how does your head feel right now?” it suddenly asked, voice deceptively casual.

I frowned uncertainly, lifting my fingers instinctively to touch my temples. Oddly enough, I felt pretty clearheaded at that moment, despite the earlier agony of the memories flooding my mind. My headache was gone, replaced with strange clarity.

“Fine, actually,” I said cautiously, still mistrustful. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

The voice chuckled darkly once more, repeating my words mockingly, voice dripping with dry humor. “‘Is there something wrong with it?’ Oh, Heather, the real question here isn’t what’s wrong with your head. The real question is—what wasn’t wrong with it?”

“The fuck do you mean by that?” I demanded nervously.

“You see, dear Heather, you've had multiple mental and magical blocks placed on you for nearly your entire life. Powerful enchantments designed specifically to make sure you'd fail at anything you ever attempted. It’s why you struggled so badly in school, why you couldn't focus properly or remember things clearly. And most importantly…” It paused again. “It’s why you were a squib.”

“Wait—wait, are you seriously saying I was never actually a fucking squib?” I hissed in shock, voice trembling uncontrollably. "I was always magical?"

“You got it,” the voice confirmed softly, almost sympathetically. “Somebody really has it in for you. Three guesses as to who that might be.”

A harsh, bitter laugh burst free from my throat. “I don’t fucking need three guesses,” I snarled coldly, fury boiling like molten lava through every fiber of my being.

“Oh, that’s right,” the voice said dryly, sounding amused again. “I did gift you with all those memories from your past life. And you've certainly read enough Harry Potter fanfiction to put the pieces together already, haven't you?”

“Motherfucking Dumbledore,” I spat hatefully into the darkness, teeth grinding painfully together. “Of course, it was fucking him. Fucking typical! Binding a goddamn baby to sabotage their potential is just so generic. And he fucking did it to me—my entire life was one massive, pathetic lie.” I could feel tears burning at the corners of my eyes, but my simmering fury kept them firmly at bay. I would not cry for this. I refused. “Wait—” A horrible thought suddenly struck me, voice catching as dread flooded my chest. My heart thumped painfully hard as I nervously asked out loud, “Was I even ugly then? Was my appearance a lie too?”

“Yep,” the voice casually answered, sounding almost bored by now, as if this revelation was nothing special at all. “That succubus blood trait you rolled is actually real here. It exists in this world. In fact, you would’ve awakened your beauty and power much, much sooner—years ago even—but Dumbledore’s twisted little spell caused it to backfire spectacularly, turning you into a pale shadow of what you were meant to be. In short, you became even uglier because he fucked around with your magic.”

The voice went silent, letting me process this fresh betrayal, letting me stew helplessly in my rage and grief. Finally, I took a deep, shaking breath, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I actually felt. “So...what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Now? Now, you use that shiny new system of yours to become the greatest witch who's ever walked this miserable earth—and perhaps far beyond.” It paused meaningfully for a moment. “Oh, and here’s one last hint for you. Don’t just settle for revenge, Heather. Take back everything they stole from you—and then take even more.”

Before I could respond, my entire body jolted violently, like I'd just been dropped from a great height. I snapped my eyes open with a startled gasp, frantically looking around, heart racing. I was back in the filthy, piss-stinking alleyway. Alone. Shivering cold. 

And absolutely fucking furious. And a bit horny to my annoyance…

Name: Heather Potter-Black

Age: 19

Race: Succubus-Witch

System Spells and Magic Powers:

[Basic Flames] You can summon a jet of basic flames at will. No incantation needed, only intent. Costs slightly more magic and is slightly less powerful if used without your [Soul-Bound Wand].

Perks:

[Daughter of a Succubus]. Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.

[Blessed by Fire]. Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.

[Soul-Bound Wand]. When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!

Drawbacks:

[Major Sin of Lust]. You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.

[Cursed Knowledge]. You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.

[Simmering Fury]. Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.

Inventory: empty

…

“Hey there, sexy lady, are you okay?” A low, slurred voice echoed from the other end of the dark alleyway, followed by a disgusting chuckle. “Hehe, if you're not, we know a way we can cheer you right up.”

I spun around, my eyes narrowing sharply at the source of that vile greeting. Two men stood at the mouth of the alley. Both were visibly drunk, swaying on their feet as they stumbled slowly toward me. The closer they got, the stronger the stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies wafted over.

Their clothes were dirty and ragged, mismatched in that hopelessly run-down way that screamed they'd fallen off life's edge long ago. One wore a torn denim jacket, stained with something dark and greasy, while the other sported a grimy flannel shirt buttoned only halfway up. The way they both stared was anything but kind.

Those eyes raked over me with nauseating slowness—traveling deliberately from my now longer legs, up my wider hips, lingering hungrily on my newly expanded breasts, and finally settling greedily onto my face. 

Even with my [Major Sin of Lust] I felt nothing but disgust. At least my Sin allowed me to have standards…

“Go the fuck away,” I hissed sharply, voice full of icy venom. “I'm not interested.”

Instead of backing off, the first one just grinned wider, showing me teeth stained yellow from booze and neglect. He stumbled closer, eyes glazed but fixed firmly upon my chest. “Hehe, no can do, girly,” he slurred, elbowing his companion suggestively. “You see, my friend John's here in a bit of a dry spell. And you're just so fucking pretty. Maybe you should help him out.”

My lips curled into a sneer. I was already balancing on a knife’s edge emotionally, and these bastards just had to push me further. 

Before I could react, the second guy—the one named John—took another step closer, pulling something metallic from his pocket with a swift, practiced motion. It was a switchblade.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” John growled softly, voice heavy with false reassurance and hunger as he flicked the blade open with an audible click. “We promise we’ll be gentle. And if you go with it, we won’t hurt you two badly!”

Something inside me snapped completely at that exact moment. 

Fury and disgust rose sharply, burning hot and fierce within my chest, fueled by every fucked-up injustice I'd suffered in the past few hours—and the entirety of my fucked-up life before that. James and Lily Potter, Dumbledore, the wizarding world itself, and now these two scumbags—All of it surged together into one molten ball of uncontrollable, searing rage.

Instinctively, without thinking, I lifted my right hand, and held my palm outward toward the approaching threat.“Burn,” I whispered fiercely, pouring every ounce of anger, hatred, and fear into that single word.

Instantly, scorching orange flames erupted from my outstretched palm—washing over both men. The two men collapsed to the dirty, wet pavement, thrashing wildly as fire licked hungrily over their clothing, igniting booze-soaked fabric and melting flesh with horrifying ease. They begged me to stop, to have mercy.

But I didn’t stop.

A dark thrill surged through me. I continued to pour flames onto their bodies, even as their panicked screams twisted into high-pitched, broken sobs of agony. Their limbs twitched, fingers desperately clawing at themselves in a futile attempt to smother the flames. Their eyes bulged in their sockets, mouths gaping open in wordless shrieks of pain.

And then… silence.

Only the quiet crackling of flames and my harsh, ragged breathing filled the alleyway as I lowered my trembling hand.

I stood frozen, staring numbly down at the smoldering remains of two men I'd just killed—burned alive—without hesitation or remorse. The acrid stench of cooked flesh filled my nostrils, but instead of gagging, I felt only a strange detachment. 

Empty. Hollow.

Slowly, the reality of what I'd done sank in, seeping coldly through my veins. I'd just taken two human lives, yet my heart remained calm. No grief, no horror, no guilt. 

Was this how it felt… to be a demoness?

I flexed my fingers slowly, staring down at the now-perfect skin of my palm that had unleashed that deadly torrent of flames. A strange certainty settled within me, chilling yet undeniable.

I wasn't truly human anymore was I? And this all wasn’t some crazy dream after all… 

Congratulations! You have made your first kill and have been rewarded 1 magical roll!

Congratulations! You have rolled a [Minor health potion!] A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.

Oh? I get more rolls for… killing people? Or is it just doing things in general? I suppose I’ll have to test my System a lot more. 

After I find a place to sleep tonight. And that will require money, unless I go to a shelter. I kind of regret completely incinerating those men now, because at least I should have tried to save their wallets or something…

– James Potter –

James Potter strode quickly through the stone corridors of Hogwarts, his jaw clenched tight and his hands balled into fists. Every footstep echoed loudly against the cold walls, ringing sharply through the empty hallway. 

Beside him, Lily hurried to keep pace, her emerald eyes wide with concern as she tried to reason with her husband. "James, please," Lily pleaded softly, reaching out to gently grasp his sleeve. "What you did to Heather…it was too much. It was cruel and unnecessary. There had to be a better way, a peaceful way—"

James stopped abruptly, whirling around to face her with eyes blazing angrily behind his glasses. "No!" he snapped harshly, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Don't you dare say that, Lily. You heard the prophecy yourself. Dumbledore was clear that night! Heather was always meant to become a monster. A scourge upon all wizardkind. We can NEVER help her!" 

Lily winced, visibly pained by the cold harshness of his words. "She's our daughter, James. Our flesh and blood. Maybe… maybe if we find her again, we can still help her. We could undo some of the damage, give her another chance—"

James shook his head violently, cutting her off once more. His expression twisted with disgust. "Stop it. Heather is not our daughter. If it were up to me, she'd already be dead."

He meant every word. He'd lived with this grim truth for years now, ever since Dumbledore had shared that horrific prophecy about the twins born to Lily Potter. James had stood there that dark evening years ago in Dumbledore's office, listening in numb disbelief as the old wizard calmly explained that James Jr. would become the savior of the wizarding world… while Heather, his daughter, would become its destroyer.

He'd been ready that very night to take matters into his own hands, to snuff out that dangerous, dark seed before it had the chance to bloom. 

But he couldn’t—because the ancient Potter family magic strictly forbade kinslaying. They would instantly turn upon James if he tried it, striking him down—and probably Lily as well—if he killed Heather or allowed someone else to do it. James Potter had been forced to stay his hand.

So, they'd done the next best thing.

They allowed Dumbledore to bind her mind and her powers under the strongest spells they could use. And then James and Lily had abandoned their daughter in a filthy, run-down Muggle orphanage. They had walked away, leaving her to live out her miserable life, powerless, broken, forgotten.

It should have ended there.

But then, nearly two decades later, Sirius Black—his once-trusted best friend who had recently escaped Azkaban—somehow found Heather. Not only had Sirius brought her back into the wizarding world, but he'd had the gall to officially blood-adopt her! 

James had nearly gone mad from fear when he heard about it, terrified the magical ritual would unravel all those delicate seals that Dumbledore had worked so painstakingly to place. But somehow—thank Merlin—it hadn't. The bindings had held firm, and Heather had remained powerless, a squib. 

James turned abruptly away from Lily and resumed his angry pace toward the infirmary. Lily said nothing more, but he could feel the silent disapproval radiating off her in waves. He didn't care—he couldn’t afford to care. His family’s safety and honor were more important than sentimentality.

That was part of the reason why they lied to Sirius after James’ friend escaped Azkaban. They were able to convince him that Peter had messed with their minds, making them think Sirius had been the Secret Keeper and betrayed them. 

The truth was, before Dumbledore told them that prophecy about his children, they had made Sirius Heather’s godparent through a ritual. Sirius had to stay in prison otherwise he would have always tried to seek Heather out and to free her. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, so James had been forced to betray his best friend for the “greater good” as Dumbledore would say.

At least he didn’t have to keep up that lie anymore after Sirius died in the ministry of magic, saving James’ son and friends after they stupidly rushed off to their to stop Voldemort from acquiring that bloody “other” prophecy!

James pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the infirmary, striding in quickly with Lily just behind him. He saw his son, James Jr., sitting upright on one of the beds. He was surrounded by his friends.

Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. All of them looked exhausted and battered, with minor cuts and bruises covering their faces and arms, but thankfully they were alive and safe.

James’s eyes softened slightly as he took in his son’s slumped shoulders and downcast gaze. It was clear the boy was upset. 

Lily, however, didn’t wait to voice her disapproval. She hurried to their son’s bedside and immediately scolded him. “James Potter Junior!” she snapped sharply, her emerald eyes blazing with a mixture of relief and frustration. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking, going off on such a reckless, stupid stunt? You could’ve gotten yourself and your friends killed!”

James Jr. cringed visibly under his mother’s fierce glare, lowering his eyes even further. “I know, Mum,” he murmured softly, his voice shaking slightly with remorse and sadness. “I didn't—I didn't mean for it to end like this. Voldemort tricked me. It’s all my fault. Sirius… Sirius is dead because of me.”

His voice cracked, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. James felt a faint stab of discomfort in his chest. He wasn’t a man who showed much vulnerability, and seeing his son like this unsettled him deeply.

Hermione, noticing the guilt-ridden look on James Jr.’s face, spoke up softly from the other side of the bed. Her brown eyes were earnest and sincere as she glanced from Lily to James. “We’re all terribly sorry,” she said, her voice shaking slightly with genuine remorse. “We never intended to cause trouble or make everyone worry…”

Lily softened almost instantly at Hermione’s apology, moving to embrace her son tightly, pulling him into her arms. James Jr. allowed himself to relax into his mother's hug, burying his face in her shoulder as quiet tears slipped free. Lily stroked her son's messy hair gently, murmuring comfortingly, “It will be okay, sweetheart. None of this was your fault. We’ll get through this together.”

Watching them, James cleared his throat, stepping forward a bit awkwardly. Showing emotion wasn’t exactly his forte, but he knew it was necessary now to restore his son's spirits. He placed a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder, gripping it firmly. James Jr. looked up slowly, meeting his father’s eyes.

“Sirius was a good man,” James said solemnly, hiding any hint of lies. “He gladly gave his life for you. I promise you, son, he wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. He had NO REGRETS.” He paused deliberately. “Besides, Sirius named you his heir. You’ve inherited everything from him—his house, his gold, all his possessions. It’s all yours now, James!”

That wasn’t true at all, of course. But with Dumbledore doing them a solid and changing the laws, it might as well be. Besides, James Jr didn’t know he had a twin sister and he never needed to know. 

James Jr.’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation, his sadness was quickly overtaken by astonishment. “Wait, seriously?” he exclaimed, a tentative grin spreading slowly across his face. “I got… his entire house and EVERYTHING?”

James nodded with proud satisfaction, glad to see his son's spirits lifting. “All yours, James. Grimmauld Place now belongs solely to you!”

“Wicked!” James Jr. breathed excitedly, suddenly sitting straighter. “A whole bloody house!”

Ron let out an awed whistle, eyes shining with admiration. “Bloody hell, mate. That’s brilliant!”

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly at Ron’s enthusiasm, but smiled nonetheless. “Congratulations, James. That's really wonderful!”

– Lucifer –

Lucifer Morningstar reclined comfortably on the expensive leather couch in his luxurious penthouse above Lux, his private nightclub nestled in the pulsing heart of Los Angeles. The club below had been thumping all night with music and the scent of sweat, alcohol, and sex. It was everything he enjoyed most. 

Now, as the morning sun streamed in through the enormous panoramic windows, Lucifer nursed a mild yet satisfyingly throbbing hangover. He lounged lazily, one leg casually crossed over the other, a crystal tumbler filled with expensive whiskey. He could have easily healed his body with a mere thought, washing away the dull ache behind his eyes. But why ruin such delightful, mortal suffering? Pain, after all, was a rarity for an immortal being like him. 

He savored every sharp stab in his skull as if it were the finest of wines.

Chuckling softly, Lucifer glanced across the room to where Mazikeen—his closest friend, confidante, and ruthless demoness—lay naked and unconscious amid a tangled mess of equally naked human bodies. The remnants of her wild night of pleasure, debauchery, and orgies were sprawled shamelessly around her on the plush Persian rug. Lucifer shook his head slightly.

He lifted his whiskey to his lips, savoring the amber liquid’s burn as it trickled down his throat.  And then suddenly, Lucifer felt something shift in the fabric of the mortal world—something powerful, dark, and utterly fascinating.

His eyes narrowed in surprise and curiosity, his glass hovering frozen inches from his mouth. Something new had just emerged into existence. Something exceptionally rare and enticing. He allowed his senses to stretch outward, scanning effortlessly across the globe until he pinpointed the exact source.

‘Well, well, well,’ he thought with a pleased smirk tugging at his lips. A brand-new demon—no, a demoness—had just been born into existence, freshly awakened on Earth. Now this was an unexpected surprise. Demonic births among humans were incredibly scarce events, happening perhaps only once every few centuries, or even millennia.

He tilted his head thoughtfully, reaching out invisibly with his power, eager to catch a glimpse of this intriguing new creature. Who was she, he wondered, and what chaotic delights might she bring?

But just as he prepared to look closer, something utterly bizarre happened!

Out of nowhere, a pale, slender, and unmistakably feminine hand appeared beside him—literally popping through reality itself—and delivered a sharp, resounding slap directly across Lucifer’s handsome face.

“No!” came a fierce, feminine voice from somewhere beyond. “She’s mine! Stay away from her!”

Stunned into temporary confusion, Lucifer blinked slowly. His cheek actually stung rather intensely—something that was nearly impossible. He rubbed his face in bewilderment, muttering quietly, “Ow. That…that actually hurt.”

It hurt a lot!

Did Lady Death—the infamous Didi herself—really just appear out of thin air, slap him in the face, and vanish just as swiftly…? 

Lucifer stared blankly at the empty space beside him, processing what had just transpired. 

A sudden burst of laughter bubbled up within him! “Well, wasn't that just the most wonderfully absurd thing?” He grinned wickedly, his hangover now entirely forgotten. It appeared today was definitely going to be one of those days. Chaos, drama, and heavenly (or rather, hellish) intrigue. With a carefree shrug, Lucifer poured himself another generous glass of whiskey. After all, what better way to enjoy this new twist than with a drink? “Oh yes,” he murmured to himself, leaning back comfortably once again. “This is going to be very, very interesting…”

XXX

So yeah, that’s the first chapter for now… I’m thinking she will probably change her name to something more demoness sounding. 

Thanks for reading!!! You can check out more of my stories on my profile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 (~13k words):

– Heather –

By the time I found the women's shelter, my skin felt clammy beneath the filthy, garbage-soaked clothes clinging to me. It was cold in London this early in the morning, and I was shivering violently from both exhaustion and anger that still boiled quietly beneath the surface.

The fact that I'd murdered two potential muggers and rapists barely crossed my mind however. 

The shelter was tucked discreetly at the end of a narrow street, a humble building with faded brick and peeling paint on the wooden door. I hesitated for a second outside, my heart hammering with uncertainty. But the gnawing ache in my stomach and the stench clinging to my body made the decision easy. Swallowing my pride, I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.

Immediately, warm air and the soft hum of voices washed over me. At the front desk, a woman sat scribbling on some paperwork. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her kind eyes widened with shock and concern the moment she looked up and saw me standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Oh my goodness," she said, rising quickly from her seat and hurrying over to me. "You poor dear! What happened to you?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, the right words lost somewhere behind the lump in my throat. I glanced down at myself and suddenly realized just how terrible I must look. My clothes were stained and torn, my skin streaked with grime, and my hair matted and filthy.

"I…" I tried again, my voice breaking. "It's been a really long night."

Her expression softened immediately, and she shook her head gently, waving away my attempt at explanation.

"No, no. You don’t have to tell me anything right now, sweetheart," she said softly, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Let's just get you cleaned up first and maybe put some warm food in you. After that, if you feel like talking, we can."

The relief washing over me nearly made my knees buckle. I nodded silently, my throat too tight to say anything else. The kindness in her voice and eyes tugged painfully at something deep inside me. After everything I'd just been through, after everyone had turned their backs on me, this small gesture of genuine compassion felt overwhelming.

The woman guided me down a narrow hallway toward the back of the shelter. Doors lined each side, and I could hear soft voices behind them, muffled conversations and quiet crying. My heart clenched. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who had ended up here after a terrible night.

We stopped in front of a doorway marked ‘Communal Showers’, and she gently pushed open the door. The sound of water running echoed softly from inside, along with the faint smell of soap.

"Here you go," she said gently, reaching over to grab a neatly folded towel from a stack by the door and handing it to me. "I'll get you a fresh set of clothes and leave them just outside the door for you. Take as long as you need, honey."

I took the towel gratefully, clutching it to my chest as though it could somehow protect me from the reality of my situation. The woman squeezed my shoulder once more, then turned and disappeared back down the hall.

Thankfully, the showers were empty when I walked in. It felt oddly quiet, with just the soft echo of water droplets hitting tiles. The steam in the air was warm against my cold, filthy skin, and I let out a slow sigh of relief.

I didn't waste time getting undressed. I peeled the disgusting clothes from my body, dropping them onto the floor with a wet slap. The stale scent of garbage and dirt clung to the fabric, making me wrinkle my nose in disgust.

I stepped under the shower and gasped as the warm water washed over me. It felt amazing, instantly soothing away the deep chill and tension that had built up in my muscles. For a moment, I closed my eyes, just standing still and enjoying the sensation as streams of warm water flowed over my bare skin.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw a mirror mounted against the far wall of the shower room, partially fogged by the steam. Curious, I reached out with my hand, wiping a clear space with my fingertips, and my breath caught in my throat at what stared back at me.

"Holy shit," I whispered out loud, stunned at what I saw.

Staring at me from the mirror was a face so perfect it seemed almost impossible it was mine. Gone was the awkward pug-nosed, round-faced plainness I'd spent my whole life hating. Instead, I now had a beautiful heart-shaped face with delicate, high cheekbones, and large, expressive eyes framed by long dark lashes. My eyes glittered with a brilliant emerald-green color—deep and captivating, almost glowing.

My hair, soaking wet, clung to my neck and shoulders, a shiny, raven-black cascade of silk. It hung straight and smooth down my back, slick and heavy with water, framing my new gorgeous face perfectly. My lips were now fuller and softer-looking, tinted naturally a deep, inviting shade of red, like ripe cherries begging to be kissed.

"Holy fucking shit," I muttered again, utterly awed.

My eyes traveled downward, taking in the rest of my transformed body. My skin was creamy and unblemished, completely smooth. Not a single imperfection marked my soft, pale flesh. I trailed my fingers slowly along my collarbone, feeling the silky texture beneath my fingertips, marveling at the sensitivity there.

My new breasts were bigger—much bigger—full, round, generous D-cups that sat high and proud on my chest. I cupped them gently in both hands, biting my lip slightly as my nipples immediately hardened beneath my touch, sending an electric spark of pleasure down between my legs.

"God, I'm sensitive," I breathed shakily, feeling heat bloom deep within me.

My gaze moved further down, drinking in my now perfect figure. My waist was tight and tiny, accentuating my dramatically flared hips and full, firm ass. My thighs were shapely, strong, and curvy, meeting snugly between my legs. I shifted slightly, pressing my thighs together, feeling the slick heat and wetness begin to build at the apex between them.

I let out a soft groan, realizing just how sensitive I truly was now. My pussy was already tingling insistently, throbbing slightly as arousal quickly pooled low in my belly. With mild curiosity, I let my hand wander downwards, feeling between my legs, and gasped softly as my fingertips brushed over my smooth, completely hairless pussy.

Wait—hairless?

I looked more carefully, eyebrows rising. There wasn't a single hair anywhere on my body except my head. My skin felt impossibly silky, smooth, and soft. Slowly, tentatively, I ran my fingers along my newly bare mound, a tremor shooting through me at the gentle touch.

"Oh fuck," I whispered softly, my voice trembling. Just the barest touch had my thighs shaking. I had become incredibly sensitive.

It suddenly hit me, hard and undeniable. I truly was a succubus now. A creature literally built for pleasure, who thrived off touch and desire. Just the smallest caress felt heightened, unbearably intense. I swallowed thickly, realizing just how much this was going to complicate my life.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I forced myself to continue showering, grabbing a bar of soap and working up a thick lather between my hands. Slowly, carefully, I began running my soapy hands over my body, feeling every inch of my new curves beneath my palms.

My nipples hardened even further as my fingers brushed across them, the slight friction sending shockwaves straight to my swollen clit. A small moan escaped my lips, echoing softly through the empty showers.

"Jesus," I muttered shakily, pressing a hand to the tile wall to steady myself. Every single touch, every slick stroke of my own fingers, felt dangerously good. I could already sense how easily I could lose control of myself, how quickly this new demonic hunger could take over.

With effort, I focused on getting myself clean, determined not to spiral into masturbating here in a women's shelter shower. My body clearly had other ideas, though, and by the time I finished rinsing the soap from my skin, my pussy was swollen and aching badly. I desperately ignored the throbbing, shutting off the water and stepping out from beneath the warm spray.

Dripping wet, skin flushed pink with heat, I grabbed my towel and began drying myself off, my breathing still uneven. My reflection in the mirror continued to stare back at me, impossibly beautiful, eyes hooded with obvious lust.

"This is going to be a fucking nightmare," I muttered darkly.

But beneath the frustration, and beneath the simmering arousal, there was something else—something darker and more powerful. As I dressed in the clean clothes left for me and prepared myself to face whatever came next, I felt it building again.

My rage. My hatred. My burning determination to make everyone who'd fucked me over regret it.

I took one final glance at myself, freshly clean and irresistibly beautiful, and let a dangerous smirk slide across my lips.

Maybe being a succubus wouldn't be all bad. Perhaps it was exactly what I needed to finally claim everything I'd ever wanted and get sweet revenge.

How was I going to do that? I was still working things out, but I would get there…

The kind woman had left out a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a clean white t-shirt for me. They weren't fancy, but at least they smelled fresh and didn't stink of garbage and piss like my old clothes. I tugged the soft cotton shirt over my head.

As I fastened the button, I noticed the jeans hugged my hips and ass tightly, accentuating every generous curve I'd just gained. I sighed softly, brushing a hand through my damp, silky hair, and forced myself to calm down. Now wasn't the time to get worked up again.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. To my surprise, the woman from earlier was still standing there, leaning against the wall as if she'd been patiently waiting the entire time. Her eyes lit up warmly when she saw me.

"There you are, dear," she said gently. "Feeling a little better?"

"Yeah, much better," I admitted softly. "Thank you for the clothes."

She smiled warmly and nodded, her eyes kind and sincere. "You're welcome, sweetheart. My name's Kaitlyn, by the way. I'm one of the volunteers here. And believe it or not, I've been right where you are now."

I felt my lips twist into a cynical smirk, unable to hide my skepticism. Somehow, I doubted she'd ever been fucked over quite as spectacularly as me. Betrayed and discarded by birth parents who hated me, thrown onto the streets after my only caring guardian was murdered? 

Yeah, sure—totally relatable.

But Kaitlyn was kind. Her soft voice and gentle eyes held nothing but genuine empathy, and I didn't want to lash out at someone who didn't deserve it.

Instead, I forced myself to nod politely. "Thank you, Kaitlyn. Really, I mean it."

She smiled again, eyes twinkling warmly as she placed a comforting hand lightly on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay, love. Come on, let’s get some hot food in you."

The gentle pressure of her touch sent another warm shiver straight down my spine. Fucking hell—every single touch now felt like foreplay, no matter how innocent. 

This was quickly becoming annoying. And I had a feeling I knew the only way to get a temporary reprieve from these sensations. 

By getting laid…?

And fuck, I was a virgin in both lives. How did I even go about doing that? I never exactly been very outgoing either…

Kaitlyn guided me gently down another corridor and into a larger open room filled with round tables and chairs. The smell of hot food immediately hit me, causing my stomach to loudly protest. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Kaitlyn just laughed softly.

"Someone sounds hungry," she teased gently. "Don't worry, sweetheart, there’s plenty here."

The other women seated around the room glanced up, smiling at me kindly as we passed. There were women of all ages here, each quietly talking or eating, offering gentle nods of welcome as we walked by.

Everyone here seemed genuinely nice—far nicer than I'd ever been used to. I felt an unfamiliar warmth rising in my chest, mingling with the lingering anger and bitterness. Kindness felt strange and alien, like something fragile that could disappear at any second. I wasn't used to people caring about me. 

Other than Sirius. 

Kaitlyn handed me a tray, piling it generously with hot scrambled eggs, sausages, crispy bacon, and slices of buttered toast.

"Eat as much as you want, honey," she urged gently, motioning to an empty table by a small TV mounted on the wall. "I'll be around if you need anything, okay?"

"Thank you," I said softly, sincerity slipping easily into my voice. For once, I genuinely meant it.

I carried the tray over to the empty table, settling down carefully into a hard plastic chair. 

My stomach growled loudly again, demanding attention. Giving in, I picked up the fork and immediately dug into the hot food. The taste exploded in my mouth, and I let out a soft moan of relief. Fuck, I'd been starving.

…I leaned back in my chair and set my fork down, savoring the last delicious bite of food I'd scraped from my plate. The warmth of a full belly brought a welcome sense of relief, and I sighed softly, stretching my aching muscles beneath the too-tight jeans. 

I glanced around the quiet dining area. Several of the women were chatting softly at other tables, their voices soothing. 

Exhaustion tugged at me, making my eyelids heavy. I was about to stand up and find Kaitlyn, intending to ask where I could rest, when a sudden shift of the TV caught my attention.

The quiet murmur of voices faded as everyone in the room turned to watch the television above. The nightly news was playing, showing footage of some big city that wasn't London. 

"…and in breaking news, citizens of Metropolis can breathe a sigh of relief," the news anchor announced with excitement. "A giant meteor, which experts said would have devastated the heart of Metropolis and caused countless deaths, has been safely diverted by Superman!"

The fork I'd been gripping slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the tray. Several nearby women turned to glance at me curiously, but I barely registered their stares. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else as shock paralyzed me.

"—the Man of Steel has once again performed a miracle!" the anchor continued cheerily, oblivious to my growing panic. "People across the city are now wondering if it's finally time to officially give Superman his own holiday."

"Fuck me," I whispered softly to myself, gripping the edge of the table tightly, my knuckles turning white. "Metropolis…Superman…?"

[Cursed Knowledge] kicked in again…

Suddenly, like a battering ram smashing into my mind. I gasped softly, clutching my forehead, my vision swimming for a moment as the images overwhelmed me. Comics. Movies. Animated shows. All about superheroes and villains. All about Metropolis, Gotham, and other places I'd once assumed were fictional.

Oh God. Oh, holy fucking shit. I wasn't just a genderbent Harry Potter trapped in a fucked-up AU magical world. No—this was much bigger.

I was in the DC Universe.

"Are you alright, dear?" a nearby woman asked kindly, glancing over at me with mild concern. "You look pale."

I swallowed thickly, trying to calm my pounding heart. "I'm…I'm fine," I managed weakly, forcing a shaky smile onto my lips. "Just a little overwhelmed."

She nodded sympathetically, turning back to her food, but my mind continued to race frantically.

How the fuck had I not realized this sooner? Granted, I'd only had access to these past-life memories for a few insane hours now, and I'd mostly been drowning in anger and grief over my own fucked-up situation. 

But seriously—Superman!? How had this slipped my mind until right fucking now?

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly, logically. My trembling hand reached up, brushing my silky dark hair back behind my ear as I tried to regain control.

This news changed everything…

I was no longer just dealing with a bunch of asshole wizards. Now, I'd have to navigate a dangerous world filled with literal gods, supervillains, and cosmic-level threats. People who could obliterate entire cities or planets just by sneezing wrong. 

The stakes had just gotten infinitely fucking higher.

But beneath the fear and uncertainty, a darker feeling bloomed slowly inside my chest. Excitement, maybe. Anticipation. Or perhaps it was just sheer determination. Either way, I felt stronger and more motivated than ever. If I was going to survive in this universe, I'd need to adapt—fast.

But this was also amazing news! I could learn more than just Harry Potter magic! I could be so much more powerful as a DC witch. 

Granted, I sorta figured I would be able to do that since I had a System, but now I had options.

…The next morning, Kaitlyn walked me to the shelter's front door, her expression warm and reassuring. Kaitlyn stood beside me, her gentle eyes scanning me carefully as though checking that I'd be okay. "You sure you're going to be alright, love?" she asked softly, placing a caring hand on my shoulder. 

Her touch sent a faint shiver through me, but I ignored it. "Yeah," I nodded firmly, giving her a faint smile. "You've already done way more than enough. Thank you so much, Kaitlyn."

She smiled kindly, squeezing my shoulder one last time. Without another word, she slipped her hand into her pocket and took out a small fold of notes, pressing them into my palm gently.

"This should be enough to get you wherever you're going," she whispered, her eyes sincere. "Just be safe, okay? And if you ever need help again, you know where we are."

My throat tightened slightly. I wasn't used to such kindness. It felt strange and foreign, but also comforting. I nodded silently, tucking the money into the pocket of my jeans. Then, before I could turn away, Kaitlyn stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a brief, gentle hug.

I hesitated for a second, feeling awkward, but then relaxed slightly into her comforting embrace. She didn't ask me questions I didn't want to answer, never prying into my messy life. For that, I was extremely grateful. We stood there for a moment. Then I pulled away carefully, giving her one last genuine smile before turning and walking away toward the nearest bus stop.

I already knew exactly where I needed to go.

The Leaky Cauldron. 

I'd been there several times before with Sirius when he'd first shown me glimpses of the wizarding world. Back when I'd been nothing more than a miserable squib, I’d always felt ashamed and awkward. But now, I was returning after his death on my own terms, fully awakened as both a witch and a succubus.

Of course, that second little detail wasn't something I'd be sharing. Wizards were notoriously racist and xenophobic bastards when it came to non-human creatures. If any of them ever figured out exactly what I had become, things would probably get messy. 

Meaning, I would probably have to kill them. Still, I wish there was someone I could share my secret with. Someone trustworthy… 

When the public bus finally arrived, I climbed aboard quickly, sliding into an empty seat near the window. After several stops, the bus finally arrived near Charing Cross Road. I climbed off and made my way down the familiar street. 

I approached the inconspicuous little pub nestled discreetly between a bookstore and a record shop. Muggles walked right past without giving it a second glance. Taking a slow breath to calm my nerves, I pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside.

Instantly, the atmosphere of the place washed over me—the scent of old wood, musty parchment, smoke from pipes, and something delicious simmering in the kitchens. Witches and wizards sat around worn wooden tables, nursing drinks and talking quietly. The soft murmur of voices filled the cozy space.

However, the moment I stepped fully inside, the room fell noticeably silent. I could feel eyes—dozens of eyes—snap towards me immediately. I paused briefly, startled at the sudden scrutiny.

Every wizard and witch in the pub stared openly, their eyes widening, mouths slightly agape. The men practically gawked, their gazes dragging hungrily across my curvy body and beautiful face. To my surprise, quite a few of the witches were doing the exact same thing, staring at me with clear, undeniable interest.

Warmth flooded my cheeks, but I couldn’t help the smug little smirk that formed on my lips. Fuck, this felt amazing. This was exactly how I'd always been meant to look, how I'd always deserved to be admired—if only Dumbledore hadn't fucked me over and magically ruined my life from day one.

Ignoring the stares, I strode confidently across the room, my hips swaying gently beneath the snug jeans. I made my way straight to the bar, where old Tom stood polishing a glass. The elderly bartender’s eyes widened dramatically as he watched me approach, his hands trembling as he almost dropped the glass.

"G-good morning, my lady," he stammered nervously, his wrinkled cheeks flushing red. "W-what can I do for you today?"

I flashed him a charming, fake smile, enjoying the effect I had on him. "Good morning. I’m new to this country, and someone recommended I check out Diagon Alley. Would you mind terribly showing me the way?" My voice sounded musical, lilting, seductive. It was another perk of my transformation, I realized with delight. No one would ever connect this sensual, confident voice to the awkward, dull girl I'd once been.

Tom practically stumbled over himself in his haste to help me, his gnarled fingers fumbling nervously as he rushed out from behind the bar. "Of course, miss, of course! Right this way—allow me!" he blurted quickly, leading me toward the rear courtyard of the pub. He threw a smug, almost proud look towards the rest of the pub, clearly feeling honored to be the one helping the new, mysterious beauty who had captured everyone’s attention.

I followed him closely, giving a subtle, self-satisfied toss of my silky black hair over one shoulder. As I passed, the heated gazes of every wizard and witch lingered on me, trailing hungrily along every new curve I'd gained.

Walking through Diagon Alley was a strange, surreal experience. Every step I took, heads turned towards me, eyes widening, mouths dropping open. Men openly stared at my curvy body, trailing their hungry gazes up and down my snug jeans and tight shirt. Women also watched me—some with envy, some with intrigue, and some clearly just as interested as the men.

My cheeks warmed from embarrassment at all the attention, yet strangely, it also sent a subtle thrill coursing through me. My thighs tightened involuntarily, heat pooling embarrassingly between my legs from the lustful looks aimed my way. Fucking succubus nature—I was getting turned on just from people staring at me.

I did my best to keep my composure, forcing my chin up and striding confidently forward, even though my heartbeat quickened with nervous energy. I felt eyes following me from every shop window and street corner. A young wizard leaned out from the doorway of Flourish & Blotts, giving a low wolf-whistle as I passed by.

“Hey there, beautiful! Need any help today?” he called hopefully, his eyes lingering suggestively on my chest.

I ignored him, not even slowing my pace. Another older wizard tried calling out from a shop selling cauldrons, his voice leering and raspy. “Merlin’s beard, you’re lovely! Care to have tea later, miss?”

I sped up slightly, ignoring them both completely, determined to reach my destination without causing a scene.

Gringotts loomed ahead, tall and imposing, gleaming white marble glinting in the sunlight. My heart fluttered nervously as I climbed the steps toward the entrance. Two heavily armored goblin sentries stood guard, sharp spears held at attention.

I felt a small stab of unease. Could they sense what I really was? Would they care if they knew I was a succubus now? 

But the goblins barely glanced at me, their expressions bored and indifferent. 

I breathed a small sigh of relief as I walked past them and entered the grand lobby of Gringotts.

Inside was busy, witches and wizards lined up impatiently in front of the main counters, many wearing shabby robes and fidgeting nervously. My eyes moved past the crowded common area, settling on the elegant desk marked clearly as the special booth for nobility.

Confidence surging again, I strode past the commoner line without hesitation. Several people turned to glare at me, clearly annoyed by my blatant disregard for waiting. But none of them spoke up. Apparently, my new beautiful appearance was enough to silence complaints.

Behind the elegant polished wooden desk sat a goblin wearing neat robes embroidered with gold thread. He lifted his head as I approached, black eyes gleaming sharply.

“Name?” he asked crisply, his voice smooth and far more respectful than what he'd use with those common witches and wizards.

“My name is…” I began, then hesitated suddenly, an unexpected lump forming in my throat. 

Did I really still want to be Heather? 

Heather Potter, the unwanted daughter abandoned by James and Lily? Heather, the pathetic squib who’d spent years discarded and alone?

Fuck no, I decided firmly. I refused to be their worthless cast-off anymore. From now on, I would choose my own identity.

“My name is Amara,” I said clearly, feeling strength in that simple declaration. “Lady Amara Black. Current head of the Ancient and Noble Black family.”

The goblin arched one thin brow slightly, clearly surprised by my surname or the title I gave myself. But goblins were nothing if not professional, and after a second he simply nodded, scribbling something quickly on a ledger.

“And your business here today, Lady… Black?”

I squared my shoulders, meeting his steady gaze calmly. “I'd like access to the Black family vaults. I need to collect some gold and settle a few personal matters.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, writing something else in his ledger. But suddenly, another thought struck me—sharp and urgent.

“Actually,” I spoke up again quickly, causing the goblin to lift his gaze back to me. “There is something else. My family manor—Grimmauld Place—I think certain wizards may have tampered with my memory. I don’t recall its exact location anymore.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Your family property should certainly be recorded within our files. Memory alteration is an unfortunate practice some wizards indulge in. Do you require our assistance in updating the wards or protections on the estate, Lady Black?”

My heart leapt excitedly. “Yes,” I said eagerly, hope flaring brightly. “Yes, that’s exactly what I need. If Gringotts can help me secure my family home against… unwanted visitors, I'd be very grateful.”

The goblin nodded briskly, standing smoothly from behind his desk. “Then follow me, Miss Black. I’ll take you directly to your private account manager. He will handle everything from here.”

I felt a burst of relief wash over me as I followed him past the common counters toward a discreet hallway at the back of the bank. As we walked, several goblins glanced briefly up from their tasks, but quickly returned to work, entirely uninterested in the beautiful young witch walking by. Unlike wizards, the goblins seemed unaffected by my enhanced appearance and aura.

That suited me perfectly. I hoped I was as unattractive to them as they were to me.

– Amara Black –

I couldn't help the smug, satisfied smile that lingered on my lips as the goblin account manager and I wrapped up our discussion. After all the shit I'd gone through lately, finally getting some real vindication felt fucking incredible.

Proving my identity as a Black turned out to be surprisingly easy. The goblins had ancient, powerful blood magics in place specifically to verify heritage, and apparently my newly awakened succubus blood hadn't changed the core Black family bloodline running through my veins. The goblins barely blinked an eye at the test results. To them, blood was blood, and gold was gold.

After verifying my identity, I told my goblin account manager, a gruff older goblin named Ruknuk, a carefully edited version of my recent experiences. I explained in passionate detail how I'd been attacked by thieves trying to invade my ancestral home and steal all the priceless treasures within. Technically, that was entirely true—I just casually neglected to mention the thieves were actually my bastard birth parents, James and Lily, along with their manipulative old puppet-master Dumbledore.

Ruknuk's sharp eyes had practically glowed with outrage as I described the attempted theft. Goblins might not give a shit about wizard drama or family feuds, but thievery was another story entirely. Goblins absolutely fucking hated thieves.

"For an appropriate fee, we can offer you our strongest possible protections," Ruknuk said, his lips pulling into a nasty goblin sneer as he wrote the sum onto a crisp parchment and slid it towards me. "It will not be cheap, Lady Black, but I promise you—no unauthorized thief will ever set foot in your home again. Well, they won’t live to tell anyone about it—at the very least…" his sneer turned into a chuckle.

I liked the way these goblins did security. I was a firm believer that if someone broke into your home, you had the right to kill them. That was even before I became a demoness.

My heart skipped a beat at the number—100,000 galleons. Roughly a million pounds in Muggle money. My fingers shook slightly as I picked up the parchment, quickly scanning the large amount. It was a staggering sum, but hopefully the Black family vaults could handle it. 

Sirius had once mentioned that the family was quite wealthy. Even if it wasn’t at its peak it had been decades ago under his grandfather.

I forced my voice to remain calm and casual. "Fine. Take the gold from the family vault. Do whatever it takes to secure Grimmauld Place."

Ruknuk’s dark eyes glittered sharply with professional satisfaction. "As you wish, Lady Black. I assure you—your home will become impregnable," he boasted. 

I don't know if that was exactly true, but my Potter knowledge told me that goblins were pretty good with wards, weren't they? 

…Or was that Fanon? 

And that was how I found myself, a short time later, strapped securely into a Gringotts cart, speeding wildly through dimly lit underground tunnels. The cool, earthy wind whipped through my silky black hair as the cart raced along the rails, dropping steeply downward in sharp, stomach-flipping plunges. I'd never been to an amusement park or ridden a roller coaster before, but I couldn’t imagine anything could be more exhilarating than this.

"Oh, fuck!" I cried out, laughing wildly as the cart took a particularly sharp corner, slamming my curvy body roughly against the side. I gripped the handrail tighter, my heart pounding excitedly in my chest, nipples embarrassingly hard beneath my thin t-shirt from the adrenaline and cool air whipping past me.

The goblin steering the cart gave me a sideways glance, his expression clearly amused by my excitement. Goblins probably didn't get many witches who openly enjoyed the wild cart rides deep into the vaults. But I couldn't help it—this was fucking fantastic.

My stomach fluttered again as the cart suddenly accelerated, plunging deeper and faster into the earth. Lanterns flashed past in a blur, lighting up ancient stone walls and thick iron doors lining the tunnels. Just when I thought we couldn't possibly go any faster, the cart jerked roughly to an abrupt halt.

"Shit, that was pretty fun!" I gasped, panting slightly, eyes wide and exhilarated. My chest rose and fell quickly as I took a moment to catch my breath. My heart still hammered from the adrenaline rush.

The goblin beside me gave a shrug. "Black family vault number four hundred and twelve," he announced, climbing gracefully out of the cart and moving towards the massive iron door set into the rock wall. "This is one of your family's more secure vaults, Miss Black. Only those with direct bloodline or explicit permission from the account holder may enter."

I followed him carefully out of the cart, steadying myself slightly on shaky legs as I stepped onto the stone platform. The goblin took a sharp silver knife from his belt and gestured toward my hand.

"I will require a small drop of your blood for verification before opening the vault," he said simply.

I nodded without hesitation, extending my palm. The goblin quickly sliced the sharp blade across my fingertip, causing a brief sting. A bright drop of crimson blood fell onto the vault door, and instantly the iron began to glow softly, humming with magic as it confirmed my identity.

"Access granted," the goblin stated, stepping back politely. The heavy door slowly swung open with a deep rumbling sound, revealing a cavernous room filled to the brim with glittering piles of golden galleons, sparkling gems, silver artifacts, and countless priceless treasures.

"Holy shit," I breathed softly, stepping inside and staring in awe at the staggering wealth spread out before me. My heart quickened, excitement and relief surging powerfully through me. I'd never imagined the Black family vault would be quite this rich.

A wicked smirk slowly spread across my lips.

This was mine. All of it. And from now on, no one would ever fucking take it away from me again.

Except for the goblins I’d just agreed to pay of course…

But that was going to be money well spent. I hope?

The goblin began methodically counting out the hundred thousand galleons for Ruknuk. He scooped the glittering gold coins efficiently into a heavy, enchanted bag, his long fingers moving quickly and professionally. Time was money for these guys after all.

Taking advantage of the moment, I grabbed one of the special bottomless pouches the goblin had provided earlier. He'd explained that these bags were magically enchanted, secure, and basically impossible to steal from. Exactly what I needed. I knelt carefully beside a large heap of gold and began scooping handful after handful into the pouch.

After I'd stuffed about ten thousand galleons into the bag, I paused, looking around at the vault. A noticeable dent had been made in the massive pile of gold, though it was still huge. Quickly estimating, I figured there was around twenty million galleons here, which was roughly two hundred million pounds in Muggle money. My heartbeat quickened slightly. Even though I'd always known the Blacks were wealthy, seeing it all with my own eyes was overwhelming.

It wasn't just gold, either. Priceless jewelry, silver heirlooms, gems, and ornate antique artifacts filled the vault. Some items looked hundreds of years old and were probably worth fortunes of their own.

As my eyes drifted slowly over everything, something caught my attention at the very back of the vault.

In a shadowy corner, atop a carved, ancient-looking stone pedestal, lay a single scroll of parchment. The scroll seemed fragile, yellowed with age, and its edges curled delicately. Despite its humble appearance, I felt a strange tug in my chest the longer I stared at it. It was as if it radiated a subtle yet powerful magic, beckoning me.

My curiosity quickly turned to suspicion. Why the hell was this scroll placed so prominently on an ancient stand, alone and separate from the rest of the treasure?

"Hey," I called out to the goblin as he finished gathering Ruknuk’s gold. He glanced up sharply. I nodded my chin towards the scroll. "What's that parchment over there?"

He followed my gesture with his gaze, narrowing his dark eyes at the scroll briefly before giving a casual shrug.

"Gringotts does not inquire about the specific items wizards choose to store," he said in his gruff, indifferent voice. "We merely secure and protect. Whatever that scroll is, it has sat untouched in this vault for generations."

I chewed nervously on my lower lip. It was probably stupid, and the rational part of me was practically screaming at me to leave it alone—it could easily be cursed or trapped. Yet, something deep and instinctive within me whispered urgently that I needed to see it. It was as if the scroll itself was calling out to me, pulling at the edges of my consciousness.

Before I fully realized what I was doing, my feet were already carrying me forward. My pulse quickened, and my stomach twisted in nervous excitement as I approached the pedestal. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out, touching the parchment gently.

Instantly, a warm tingle spread through my fingertips. The scroll trembled softly beneath my touch, then slowly began to unroll of its own accord.

"Oh, shit…" I murmured quietly, half-afraid but unable to tear my gaze away.

Dark inked symbols and words sprawled across the parchment in a language I'd never seen before. The strange letters swirled and twisted, possibly Gaelic or some ancient wizard dialect. As I stared, heart pounding, the letters suddenly began glowing, burning pitch black as if alive with magic.

I inhaled sharply, stepping back. "What the hell?"

Behind me, the goblin stiffened, looking up sharply. "Lady Black? Is there a problem?"

"I—I don't know yet," I whispered, swallowing hard. The symbols on the scroll shifted slightly, arranging themselves into neat rows. And then I let out a yelp as it burst into flames, the fires started to expand in the shape of a circle in the middle of the air. It almost looked like some kind of portal was forming.

– Morgana –

Morgana le Fey sat on the thin, uncomfortable mattress, glaring hatefully at the glass wall of her prison cell. Her emerald-green eyes burned with fury, grief, and deep, hopeless despair. Everything had gone catastrophically wrong, and now she was trapped.

A sharp, taunting voice broke her from her angry musings.

“Morgana, welcome to Belle Reve," said Amanda Waller, standing smugly on the opposite side of the reinforced glass. She was flanked by heavily armored guards, their weapons aimed firmly at Morgana. The woman smirked cruelly. "Your new home. Forever. I’m your warden—Amanda Waller.”

Morgana slowly stood, her long, silky black hair falling gracefully around her pale shoulders. She stepped forward until her fingertips touched the cool surface of the enchanted barrier. Her gaze was filled with venom as she glared straight into Waller’s cold eyes.

“You arrogant mortal bitch,” Morgana spat, her voice dripping with disdain and venom. "Do you truly think your pathetic little prison can hold me forever? I will make you regret every moment of this humiliation.”

Waller only laughed coldly, unfazed by Morgana's threat. "Save your breath, witch. This cell was specially enchanted by Doctor Fate himself. You can't so much as spark a match in here."

Morgana clenched her fists tightly, her jaw trembling slightly in rage and frustration. Unfortunately, she knew the woman spoke the truth. Powerful runes etched deep into the prison walls blocked every scrap of her formidable magic. No matter how fiercely she tried to summon even a flicker of power, her magic refused to obey.

Her thoughts turned dark again, and despair crashed down upon her. Morgana had lost everything—her pride, her freedom, but worst of all, her son. Mordred, her precious child who'd stood faithfully at her side for a thousand long years, was dead. Murdered. Killed by those damnable arrogant bastards of the Justice League.

All she'd done was try to reclaim Morgana’s own magical artifacts, stolen from her centuries earlier by mortal fools and put on display in a fucking museum—as if they were cheap trinkets. That was her birthright! Those relics belonged to her by right of power, blood, and birth.

And what had happened? Those so-called heroes killed her child in cold blood and tossed her in this enchanted prison like common filth.

Morgana slumped slowly to the floor in crushing despair, leaning back against the cold, smooth wall. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall—not here, not in front of these pathetic mortals.

Waller leaned close to the glass, her voice dropping low in cruel mockery. “Get comfortable, Morgana. Your sentence is one hundred years—minimum. I’d suggest you get used to shitty prison food and lots of solitary confinement. Heh heh heh.” Laughing darkly, Waller turned on her heels and strode away down the corridor, guards falling in behind her.

The echo of Waller’s taunts faded quickly, leaving Morgana alone again, consumed by grief and rage. She stared blankly into the empty air in front of her, lost and broken. No one from the magical community would come to save her. She was far too hated and feared by her own kind. No allies would risk freeing her and risking ire from the likes of Doctor Fate.

“Is there even a point anymore?” she whispered bitterly into the silence, despair heavy in her heart. “Mordred is gone. I have nothing left to live for.”

And at that exact moment, a violent burst of flame exploded in the air before her. Morgana flinched back, gasping sharply. The flames rapidly swirled and twisted, burning brightly into a blazing circular portal in the very center of her cell.

Instantly, piercing alarms began blaring loudly through the prison complex. Red emergency lights flashed rapidly from the hallway. Guards raced toward her cell, weapons raised, screaming orders through the glass.

“Step away from the portal! Morgana, stay the fuck back!”

Morgana stared in shock at the swirling flames, utterly mesmerized. Beyond the burning portal was darkness, yet something—someone—on the other side seemed to be calling out directly to her heart and soul. The mysterious energy beckoned her urgently, insistently. It felt strangely familiar, as though some ancient and powerful presence had reached out specifically for her.

The guards’ screams faded into meaningless noise. Morgana slowly rose to her feet, eyes locked firmly on the fiery portal before her.

“I guess I will be escaping this prison after all,” she whispered softly, stepping forward. Morgana le Fey walked directly into the swirling flames and vanished into the unknown.

…Morgana le Fey stepped forward carefully, feeling the warmth of the flaming portal fade behind her. She paused, eyes narrowing as she took in her surroundings. She was inside a large, richly appointed vault overflowing with enormous piles of gold coins, glittering gemstones, and various priceless artifacts. Magical treasures hummed with power, scattered across ornate shelves and ancient stone pedestals.

More importantly, however, Morgana's gaze settled on the young woman standing directly in front of her, clearly shocked by Morgana's sudden appearance. 

The girl's emerald-green eyes were wide with confusion and surprise. Morgana stared, stunned herself, realizing the young woman looked almost exactly like her. They shared the same elegantly beautiful face, full red lips, flawless ivory skin, and shimmering, raven-black hair cascading down their backs. If not for subtle differences in clothing and posture, they could almost be twins.

Before Morgana could speak, a harsh, nasally voice rang out from behind her.

"OH FUCK, WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE!? She’s not supposed to be here!"

Morgana turned sharply, annoyed. Her emerald eyes darkened with disgust when she saw the small, ugly creature standing nearby.

"Ugh," Morgana said disdainfully. "A goblin."

The goblin flinched visibly beneath her contemptuous stare. Morgana's lip curled into a sneer. She remembered goblins quite well. One of the lesser species of fae who had foolishly allowed themselves to be tricked by that manipulative bastard wizard Merlin. They had betrayed her, swearing allegiance to King Arthur and becoming his loyal subjects instead of siding with Morgana herself—the true, rightful queen of Camelot.

"And how did that turn out for you miserable creatures?" she scoffed at the goblin bitterly, shaking her head with amusement and disgust.

Clearly not well at all. Morgana could sense immediately that this goblin possessed only a pitiful trace of magic compared to his ancestors. And from the look of the vault around her, she wasn't even in the Fae Lands, merely deep underground beneath mortal Earth.

Morgana's brows furrowed thoughtfully. Wait a minute. She turned back slowly toward the girl who shared her face, narrowing her eyes curiously. "Where exactly am I, girl?" Morgana demanded firmly.

The beautiful young woman swallowed, blinking nervously as she glanced around the vault. "Um... you're in Gringotts. Whoever you are?"

Morgana's frown deepened. "And where, precisely, is Gringotts?"

The girl hesitated slightly, clearly uncertain how to answer. "It's a bank. A magical bank in London."

Morgana's heart lurched painfully in her chest. London? The capital city of Britain itself? How could that possibly be?

A thousand years ago, she'd been banished from her ancestral homelands by Merlin himself. The bastard wizard had invoked powerful, ancient magics that forced Morgana and her beloved son Mordred into permanent exile. Neither of them had been permitted to step foot on British soil since that cursed day.

But now—impossibly—here she stood, deep beneath London itself. How in the name of the gods had she returned after all these centuries? And why now?

"You there, girl," Morgana commanded sharply, taking a step toward the beautiful young witch. "How exactly did I arrive here? Tell me immediately."

The girl straightened, annoyance flashing in her emerald eyes, eyes that mirrored Morgana’s own so perfectly. She placed one hand defiantly on her hip, meeting Morgana's intense stare head-on. "You're the one who stepped out of that crazy fire portal after I touched that scroll," the girl retorted boldly. "Why the hell are you asking me? And besides, you still haven't even told me who you are."

The goblin, standing nervously off to the side, visibly trembled as he whispered hoarsely, "She is Morgana la Fey." The goblin seemed as if he might bolt at any moment, panic written plainly across his ugly features. "She's not even supposed to be allowed in these lands after everything she did."

Instead of looking alarmed or terrified like the goblin, however, the beautiful young witch merely tilted her head thoughtfully, staring at Morgana with intense curiosity and interest. Morgana's lips curled slightly into an approving smirk, appreciating the girl's composure and bravery.

"Morgana la Fey?" the young witch echoed quietly, clearly intrigued rather than afraid. "Interesting…"

Morgana’s eyes drifted slowly toward the now-empty scroll resting on an ancient stone pedestal behind the girl. 

Vague memories returned to Morgana's mind, hazy and distant but gradually becoming clearer. She'd signed dozens of magical contracts and agreements with various powerful wizarding families. Was this girl's family among them? Whatever was written on that scroll, Morgana realized, must have been a magically binding contract she'd agreed to over a thousand years ago. 

Clearly, whatever obligations or magic woven into the parchment were powerful enough to shatter even Merlin’s ancient curse and finally bring Morgana back onto British soil.

Morgana’s heart raced excitedly. Merlin’s hated spell had finally been broken. She was free again—free to reclaim her birthright and all she'd lost. Of course, grief for Mordred still weighed heavily upon her heart, but revenge against those who'd wronged her was suddenly within her grasp once more.

Her gaze settled again upon the beautiful girl before her, who still stared boldly back. Morgana took a step closer, lips curving slowly into a graceful, dangerous smile.

"I think, my dear," Morgana purred softly, eyes glittering, "that you and I have much to discuss…"

– Amara Black –

“I—I have to go report this!” the goblin suddenly shouted behind me, his rough voice shrill and panicked. He immediately turned and sprinted toward the vault entrance on his short, stubby legs.

Morgana's face twisted into a cruel, almost amused smirk as she leaned close to me. Her emerald eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t think so,” she whispered coldly.

Without hesitation, she raised her hand, pointing a finger directly at the fleeing goblin’s back. I barely had time to blink before a violent bolt of black lightning surged forth, crackling through the air and striking the goblin dead-on.

He screamed—a horrifying, high-pitched wail filled with agony. I watched in fascination and horror as his body convulsed violently, then literally began to disintegrate, skin and flesh crumbling to ash. Within seconds, nothing remained but a small pile of grey dust scattered across the stone floor of my vault.

“Holy fucking shit,” I breathed out shakily, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. Instinctively, I took a step backward from her. Fuck, that was powerful. Way, way more powerful than my little fireballs. I could burn people, but she turned him to ASH. 

And that was with one finger…

This wasn't just some random powerful witch. This was Morgana la Fey, the legendary enchantress straight out of the goddamn King Arthur myths. 

And she'd just casually murdered a goblin right in front of me like it was nothing.

I gulped hard as Morgana calmly turned back toward me, looking completely unfazed. Her piercing emerald gaze met mine, and a small, dangerously seductive smile curved her full red lips. “My dear, you don't have to fear me,” she murmured soothingly, stepping gracefully forward until she was mere inches from me. Her voice was soft, like silk brushing against my skin. “Even though I'm quite certain it was an accident, you are still the one who saved me from imprisonment, after all.”

My breath hitched sharply as she lifted her delicate hand, gently placing her fingertips under my chin. My skin burned where she touched me, heat blooming beneath her gentle but firm grip. She tilted my head upward slightly, forcing my gaze to meet hers.

God, her eyes were just like mine, a vibrant emerald green that seemed to look straight into my very soul. It was unnerving yet strangely captivating. My cheeks flushed hotly under her gaze, embarrassment and arousal mingling uncomfortably deep inside my core.

Fuck. Was I seriously getting turned on by a woman who looked almost exactly like me?

A small, teasing chuckle escaped Morgana’s perfect lips. She clearly noticed my blush, and I felt my face heat even more. Her thumb moved slowly, caressing the curve of my lower lip. The touch sent sparks of electricity straight down my spine and between my thighs.

I shivered involuntarily, squeezing my thighs together tightly. My fucking succubus sensitivity was definitely making itself known.

“Like I said, my sweet benefactor,” Morgana whispered playfully, her breath warm against my face. “There is no need for fear.”

I swallowed roughly, fighting hard to regain some measure of composure. Her nearness was intoxicating, and I struggled to clear my thoughts. I finally forced out the question I'd been meaning to ask. “Th-that scroll,” I stammered slightly, my voice embarrassingly shaky. “What exactly was written on it? And—and how did you even appear in my family’s vault?”

Morgana tilted her head thoughtfully, her thumb never stopping its gentle caress of my lip.

“To be perfectly honest, darling, I can't quite remember,” she admitted with a sigh. “After so many centuries, the details blur together. But whatever it said, it must have been a magically binding contract. Strong enough to shatter even Merlin’s powerful spell that had banished me from these lands. Fascinating, isn't it?”

I nodded slowly, my mind spinning from her closeness and the implications of her words.

“I'm sure we'll figure it all out eventually,” she added, her fingers now lightly tracing the outline of my jaw, my cheekbone. I bit my lip hard to suppress a tiny moan as pleasure flared beneath her touch.

She smirked knowingly, obviously enjoying how easily my new succubus body responded to her slightest touch. Her eyes gleamed with mischievous delight as she took another slow step closer, pressing her ample breasts firmly against mine. Fuck, her body felt just as perfect as my own. Her soft curves molded perfectly into me, making my nipples painfully erect beneath my thin shirt.

“For now, though,” Morgana purred seductively, lips mere centimeters from mine, “I'd much rather learn about you, my dear. Who exactly are you, and what brought you here?”

I shivered again, my breath coming faster now. I turned my face slightly to avoid her gaze, embarrassment and discomfort washing over me at her intense scrutiny.

“My—my story isn't exactly happy,” I admitted hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Morgana's emerald eyes softened slightly, her teasing smile fading into something almost gentle, sympathetic. She reached up again, fingers cupping my cheek tenderly, guiding my gaze back toward hers.

“My dear, neither is mine,” she murmured softly. For just a moment, beneath her seductive bravado and cruel strength, I saw something raw and genuine in her eyes. A fleeting glimpse of pain, loneliness, despair, and grief.

I swallowed thickly, knowing instinctively she wasn't lying. For a brief moment, I felt an odd kinship forming between us, both of us fucked-over by the cruel twists of fate and magic.

“You can trust me,” Morgana whispered gently, her thumb stroking my cheekbone tenderly. “Tell me, beautiful girl—tell me who you are.”

My heart hammered fiercely in my chest, but despite my nerves, I met her gaze steadily. “My name is Amara. Amara Black...”

– Morgana –

Morgana listened patiently to Amara Black’s entire tale, genuinely intrigued by the twists and turns of the young witch's troubled life. As Amara spoke, Morgana's emerald gaze moved carefully over the girl's beautiful face, lingering on her full lips, flushed cheeks, and eyes shimmering with emotion. 

The parallels between them were startlingly clear—almost unsettling.

Cast aside and abandoned by a worthless father. Rejected and left to rot while others thrived. Morgana knew that feeling intimately—deeply. Uther Pendragon, her own bastard father, had treated her the very same way centuries ago. The bitter sting of rejection and betrayal still felt raw to Morgana even now.

But it wasn't just a worthless father tormenting Amara. There was also the meddling old wizard—Albus Dumbledore—constantly sabotaging and ruining her life from behind the scenes. That struck a particularly nasty chord with Morgana. It reminded her far too much of Merlin, the hateful bastard wizard who'd constantly undermined her for over a thousand miserable years.

Yes, Morgana could definitely sympathize with her pretty young doppelgänger.

She wasn't exactly certain yet what magic had summoned her from imprisonment. Alright—that wasn't entirely true. Morgana had some strong suspicions about that mysterious scroll and the ancient contract it represented. But it had been centuries, after all. Until she conducted some careful, proper tests, she couldn't be entirely sure.

But testing and theories could wait a while. For now, Morgana found herself captivated by the lovely young woman standing before her, a witch whose story resonated so powerfully with her own life.

As Amara spoke, Morgana continued gently caressing the young woman's flawless skin, letting her fingertips slowly trace the delicate lines of Amara's jaw, her cheek, the sensitive curve of her throat. Morgana's practiced touch easily teased out subtle reactions, noting every sharp intake of breath, every soft tremble, every gentle shudder running through Amara's curvaceous body.

Morgana wasn't oblivious. She immediately noticed how extraordinarily sensitive the younger witch seemed to be, how Amara squirmed slightly under her fingers, biting her lip, desperately squeezing her thighs together. 

The poor girl was clearly very turned on and trying hopelessly to hide it.

That delicious little mystery resolved itself quickly when Amara, with flushed embarrassment, quietly admitted the truth—she'd recently awakened the bloodline of a succubus.

Morgana's eyebrows rose in surprise and genuine amusement.

Well, wasn't that just perfect?

A sly smile spread slowly across Morgana's full lips. Merlin had his insufferable pet demon, Etrigan, who had plagued Morgana for so many centuries—an annoying creature of fire and brimstone that she'd fought endlessly. 

Perhaps now, it was time to even the odds a bit?

Morgana's gaze sharpened, assessing Amara anew. This lovely young creature, so clearly aroused and vulnerable beneath Morgana's touch, wouldn't just be some simple demonic pet, of course. 

No, this girl was special. 

Beautiful, very strong willed—and with incredible magical potential. Morgana could feel powerful energies thrumming beneath Amara's soft, smooth skin, just waiting to be properly harnessed and guided!

Hmm... when was the last time she had taken on an apprentice? A true apprentice, not just some temporary pawn or expendable tool?

Far, far too long ago. Time to change that!

"You poor thing," Morgana purred softly. Morgana leaned in until her lips brushed teasingly against Amara's ear, whispering low and seductive, "You must be so lonely, darling Amara—so weary from fighting alone against those who wronged you. Well, you don’t have to be alone anymore…" 

The younger witch sucked in a sharp, trembling breath, her cheeks burning a delicious crimson, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden closeness. 

Morgana’s fingers drifted lower, tracing gently along the slender column of Amara's neck and collarbone, grazing the sensitive skin just above her generous cleavage. The younger witch whimpered softly, squirming helplessly beneath Morgana’s relentless teasing. Amara’s hips twitched instinctively, grinding ever so slightly forward, betraying just how incredibly aroused she was. Morgana delighted in the reaction, feeling heat pulse insistently between her own thighs.

She trailed her fingertips slowly downwards, caressing just above the curve of Amara’s round breasts, noting the rapid rise and fall of the younger witch’s chest. Amara’s nipples were stiff and swollen beneath her shirt, clearly visible through the thin fabric, begging to be touched more. Morgana’s smile widened, wicked and pleased. She deliberately brushed the pad of her thumb directly across one erect nipple, causing Amara to gasp sharply, shuddering at the intense sensation.

"M-Morgana," Amara whimpered softly, eyes hooded and hazy with lustful need. Her thighs clenched tightly together, hips trembling. "Please..."

Morgana chuckled low in her throat, pleased with how quickly and thoroughly Amara surrendered to her touch. "My sweet Amara, there’s no need to beg just yet. This is only the beginning of our partnership. I'm going to teach you so much—so many things you've never even dreamed possible."

Amara's breathing hitched sharply, her pulse pounding visibly beneath Morgana's fingertips. Morgana smiled softly, almost gently, feeling genuine affection mixing with her desire and ambition.

"Become my apprentice, Amara," Morgana whispered seductively, locking gazes deeply with her lovely doppelgänger. "Let me guide you. Train you. Teach you how to master your incredible powers. Together, you and I will punish those who've wronged us. And when we're finished, no one—not Dumbledore, not Merlin, not even the gods themselves—will dare to stand against us."

Amara stared up at Morgana, emerald eyes wide and shimmering. Morgana saw a deep longing there, a desperate yearning for love, acceptance, power, and revenge. 

All things that she was more than happy to offer!

A wicked, victorious smile slowly curved Morgana’s full lips. Oh, yes. This beautiful young witch was going to be utterly perfect.

– Amara –

God, was I stupid for letting her seduce me so damn easily? I pretty much melted into a needy puddle after just a few teasing touches and sweet whispers. Morgana knew exactly what she was doing, playing my incredibly sensitive body like a finely tuned instrument. With a few strokes of her fingertips and some whispered promises, I was embarrassingly ready to surrender to her completely.

“Yes,” I breathed softly, desperately, nodding quickly without even trying to hide my need. “I'll be your apprentice. Please teach me.”

Morgana’s lips curved into a wickedly pleased smirk, and she slowly pulled back, leaving me standing there flushed, dizzy, and embarrassingly aroused. Her eyes glinted with amusement as she chuckled softly.

“Very good, Amara. From now on, you are officially my apprentice,” Morgana declared with smug satisfaction.

At that exact moment, the familiar robotic voice of my system practically screamed inside my head.

Congratulations on acquiring a legendary dark witch as a teacher! 

You have awakened the talent [Disciple of Dark Magic]! You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!

I barely managed to keep my expression neutral and avoid reacting visibly. My heart fluttered nervously at the implications of that announcement. So, did this mean I was destined to become an evil witch too? Not that I’d ever really planned on being "good," exactly, but still…

Taking a shaky breath, I forced myself to think practically. Morgana had just casually murdered a goblin, and I was pretty sure Gringotts wouldn’t just let that slide. My pulse quickened as reality crashed back in.

“Um, Morgana?” I asked hesitantly, fidgeting nervously with the hem of my t-shirt. “What should we do now? You just killed that goblin, and I have a feeling the others won’t exactly be thrilled about it. Also, I kind of hired them to ward and protect my house, and I'm pretty sure that's not happening anymore…”

Morgana rolled her eyes dismissively, looking utterly unconcerned. She waved one slender hand in a gesture of disdain, scoffing lightly.

“Please, my dear. Don’t worry yourself over those miserable, sniveling goblins. I can handle protective wards far better than those weak little fae traitors. Never forget—they are Merlin's subjects and cannot be trusted. In fact," Morgana's eyes narrowed seriously, "you should completely empty your vault here immediately.”

I blinked in surprise. “Wait—Merlin’s subjects? Merlin is actually still alive?”

Morgana’s perfect lips twisted into a sneer. “Unfortunately, yes. Merlin is half-incubus, my dear, just as you have become part-succubus. It’s exactly how that bastard tricked his fellow demon Etrigan into becoming his eternal attack dog and servant.”

I felt my eyes widen in shock. “Merlin is half-demon?”

“Indeed,” Morgana spat, bitterly. “He's been a thorn in my side for far too long. And then there’s his pet—Etrigan. Ugh, he’s almost as bad…”

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb that. I vaguely remembered Etrigan from my previous life's [Cursed Knowledge], but I’d never been a hardcore comic book nerd. I only knew Etrigan was some rhyming DC demon—definitely not enough detail. Clearly, I had a fuck-ton of catching up to do about this universe if I wanted to survive.

Before I could dwell further on that, Morgana suddenly turned, raising her hands elegantly. She began chanting softly under her breath in a language that sounded ancient, dark, and powerful. I watched in stunned awe as every single gold coin, sparkling jewel, and priceless artifact around us lifted gracefully into the air, floating weightlessly toward Morgana.

A swirling void of inky-black darkness appeared beside her, a kind of magical inventory space or pocket dimension. All my treasure streamed effortlessly into it, neatly vanishing from the vault until nothing remained but empty shelves and pedestals.

Morgana turned back to me with a calm, reassuring smile, clearly noting my astonishment. “Relax, darling apprentice," she purred soothingly, her eyes glittering mischievously. "All of this treasure belongs to you, after all. Once you've learned the proper spell, I will happily transfer everything directly into your care.”

I actually had my own inventory from my system, and I wondered how much I could actually store in there? But I chose to keep that a secret for now—I hadn't told her about the existence of my system, just the fact that I had awakened a succubus bloodline. 

I shook my head focusing back on her. 

Morgana tilted her head playfully, taking a slow step toward me. Her eyes roamed appreciatively down my curvy figure, lingering deliberately on my overly sensitive breasts, hips, and thighs. “I can sense how much you crave pleasure, Amara,” Morgana murmured seductively, licking her lower lip slowly. “A succubus’ hunger is insatiable, isn’t it?”

My cheeks burned hotly at her blunt observation. I bit my lip hard, nodding shyly in silent confirmation.

Morgana’s smile widened wickedly, stepping so close our bodies brushed gently again. I trembled, feeling dizzy with lust. “Don’t be embarrassed, my dear," she whispered silkily. "In fact, your powerful sexual energy will help you master dark magic far faster and easier. Trust me—I speak from extensive personal experience.”

“I–If you say so…” I almost squeaked out.

Morgana glanced around the now-empty vault with a look of mild disdain, brushing a loose strand of her long dark hair elegantly over her shoulder. "It is long past time we leave this dreary goblin hole, my dear apprentice."

I blinked and nodded, still flustered from the intensity of everything that had just happened. My heart was pounding wildly. Morgana’s nearness alone had left me embarrassingly wet and breathless. I cleared my throat awkwardly, forcing my mind back to the present.

"Alright. But—where exactly are we going?" I asked hesitantly. "Do you want to go back to my manor at Grimmauld Place? Can you help me take back Sirius’ home from those bastards!?"

Morgana paused, frowning thoughtfully. Then she shook her head slowly, her emerald eyes serious as they met mine. "No, Amara. I don't think that would be wise right now," she explained firmly. Her lips pressed together into a grim line. "I have no doubt Merlin has already sensed my return to Britain. That meddlesome half-demon bastard will be hunting me sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, neither myself nor you, my lovely apprentice, are ready to face him yet."

I swallowed nervously, understanding the implication of her words. Fuck—if even Morgana, a legendary witch with millennia of experience, didn't feel ready to take on Merlin, then I certainly wasn't either. Just how powerful was he supposed to be?

Morgana reached out gently, cupping my cheek with surprising tenderness, forcing me to look into her eyes. My breath hitched softly at her gentle touch.

"You still have so much training ahead of you, Amara," she murmured softly, almost gently. "Training that you'll inevitably need if you're ever going to exact true vengeance upon those who've wronged you." Her eyes hardened slightly. "And training you'll absolutely require if you truly wish to uncover the truth behind why your beloved adopted father, Sirius Black, was murdered."

My chest tightened painfully at the mention of Sirius’s name. I took a shaky breath, clenching my fists tightly. Morgana was right, I wasn't anywhere close to strong enough yet. I knew perfectly well I wouldn't stand a chance right now against powerful wizards like Dumbledore, let alone someone as legendary and dangerous as Merlin.

"You're right," I finally admitted softly, glancing away. "I'm nowhere near ready."

Morgana's eyes softened with sympathy and understanding. She gently lifted my chin again, forcing me to meet her gaze once more. "Do not despair, my sweet apprentice," Morgana purred seductively. "Under my guidance, you'll become more powerful than you ever dreamed possible. I promise."

Goddammit, this woman really knew exactly how to affect me. "Then... where should we go?" I asked breathlessly, fighting to keep my voice steady.

Morgana’s full lips curled slowly into a mischievous, wicked smirk. Her emerald eyes glittered dangerously as she slowly stepped back, finally giving me space to breathe again. "My dear Amara," she said smoothly, amusement coloring her melodic voice. "We shall journey directly to the mortal world's very heart of darkness and chaos itself!"

I stared at her in confusion, waiting for her to clarify. She gave me a slow, deliberate smile, eyes gleaming with anticipation and dark amusement.

"We're traveling to Gotham City," Morgana declared dramatically, pausing for just a moment to let her words sink in. Then her piercing green eyes met mine thoughtfully. "However, I understand if you're hesitant to leave your home right now—especially with your enemies feeling so victorious over you. Perhaps I should give you a small taste of the powerful magics I intend to teach you?"

"Yes," I said. "Please."

Morgana suddenly reached out and took my hand firmly in hers. I gasped softly as she slowly lifted my hand to her lips, pressing a tender kiss gently to my fingertips.

Just as I was trying to calm my pounding heart, Morgana’s teeth suddenly bit down hard on my index finger!

"Ahh!" I yelped sharply, jerking my hand slightly in surprise. Pain flared through my finger, sharp and stinging. Morgana’s lips wrapped around my fingertip, gently sucking at the small wound she'd created, licking up the tiny drops of blood.

"What the fuck?" I gasped, staring at her in shock.

Morgana calmly continued to lap up my blood, her eyes locked onto mine. When she finally released my finger, she gave a slow, wicked smile.

"Tell me honestly, Amara," she purred softly, her voice smooth as velvet. "Do you hate the Potter blood flowing in your veins? Do you wish it gone forever?"

Her emerald gaze held mine intently, waiting patiently for my answer. My finger throbbed softly from her bite, but my heart ached far worse as her words struck home. Did I hate my Potter bloodline? The family who'd cast me aside as worthless garbage, the parents who'd never wanted me?

The answer was obvious and easy.

"Yes," I whispered fiercely, clenching my jaw tightly. "I hate it. I want nothing to do with them ever again. But—where exactly are you going with this?"

Morgana's smile widened slowly, her eyes glittering dangerously as she gently licked another stray drop of blood from my finger. "IN EXCHANGE FOR PERMANENTLY GIVING UP YOUR MAGICAL RIGHTS AND CLAIM TO THE POTTER BLOODLINE—AND ALL THE PRIVILEGES AND ENTITLEMENTS IT CONTAINS—I HEREBY CURSE EVERY SINGLE POTTER ALIVE WITH TOTAL IMPOTENCE!"

The moment she finished speaking, an intense wave of dizziness slammed into me. I stumbled, gasping sharply as black spots danced wildly across my vision. My chest tightened painfully, and my body swayed dangerously as I struggled to remain upright.

It felt as if something bright and light inside me was suddenly being violently ripped away—my connection to the Potter bloodline, perhaps. At the same moment, the darker, demonic magic within my succubus blood seemed to awaken fully. It surged and roared through me with fierce triumph, practically singing with ecstatic joy!

Impotence? I thought hazily, Morgana’s strange curse echoing dimly in my dizzy mind. 

Did she seriously just curse the entire Potter family line with infertility, or was she talking about something even more… embarrassing? A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips, despite the dizziness overwhelming me. Maybe both, I thought with dark amusement.

My knees buckled suddenly beneath me, and I began collapsing forward helplessly. But Morgana quickly stepped forward, catching me smoothly and gently in her soft, slender arms. Her breasts pressed comfortingly against my cheek, her silky dark hair brushing lightly over my flushed face.

"Sleep now, my sweet apprentice," Morgana whispered gently into my ear, cradling me protectively against her chest. "All shall be well. I promise you…"

– James Potter Sr –

James Potter closed the bedroom door behind them. He felt satisfied with how things had turned out today at Hogwarts. James Jr. was safe, and already over the unfortunate death of Sirius Black. It wasn't as if they'd been that close, anyway. James himself had moved on within minutes. Sirius had been useful enough in the past, but now the man was gone, and James was focused on the future.

His wife Lily, however, still appeared upset. She'd barely spoken to him since leaving the school, her expression a mixture of sorrow and frustration.

James moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they stood near their bed. "Hey, cheer up, love," he murmured, kissing the side of her neck gently. "Everything turned out fine."

Lily pulled away slightly, turning to look at him with sadness in her emerald-green eyes. "James, I still don't feel right about how you handled things with Heather. She’s still our daughter, and we—"

James silenced her by placing a finger gently on her lips, giving a patient smile. "No, Lily. That thing is not our daughter—not anymore. Not after what Dumbledore warned us about. Let’s not dwell on her."

He moved closer, his hands sliding down to Lily’s hips. Her body, even after two decades of marriage, was still utterly perfect. Witches aged far slower than normal humans, and Lily Potter still looked barely twenty-five. Smooth, flawless skin, perfect curves, and full, pert breasts that fit perfectly in his hands.

James's eyes grew darker with desire as he leaned forward, brushing his lips softly against Lily's, coaxing her slowly into a deep, passionate kiss.

When he pulled away slightly, breathing a bit heavier, he smiled at her warmly. "Our son is growing up fast. He’ll be finished with Hogwarts in just a couple more years, and then we’ll have an empty home. We’re both still young, Lily. What would you say to having another child?"

Lily hesitated, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. "James, I’m not sure. Would that even be fair? To just… replace Heather like she never existed? After everything—"

He cut her off again, capturing her lips with his own, this time more forcefully. He knew exactly how to silence her doubts. After twenty years of marriage, James knew Lily’s body better than she knew herself. She melted into the kiss, her body relaxing into his arms as desire overtook her hesitation.

Slowly, he slid his hands up to her shoulders, gently sliding the robes down until they fell softly to the bedroom floor, leaving Lily completely naked before him.

James stepped back, appreciating the incredible view. Lily was fucking gorgeous. Her perfect breasts rose and fell gently with each breath, pink nipples already stiffening under his gaze. Her slim waist and curvy hips led down to a neat patch of fiery-red curls between her smooth thighs. James moved forward again, kissing hungrily along her exposed neck and collarbone, while one hand slid up to squeeze her firm breast roughly, fingers pinching and teasing her sensitive nipple.

His other hand moved down over the softness of her stomach, sliding lower until he gently traced his fingertips through the neatly trimmed red hairs and over her pussy lips. She was already hot and moistening beneath his touch. 

Lily shivered, letting out a breathless moan.

James grinned against her neck, smug satisfaction filling him. "Come on, Lily," he whispered huskily, still gently teasing her moist slit, drawing more gasps from her pretty lips. "Having another child would be great for our family."

Lily's breathing quickened beneath his teasing fingers, her thighs trembling. "O-okay, James," she finally sighed softly, giving in to his touch and gentle persuasion. "You’ve convinced me."

James's grin widened triumphantly as Lily slowly stepped backward, sitting gracefully on the edge of their large bed. She leaned back slightly and slowly spread her creamy thighs, giving James a perfect, explicit view of her wet, pink pussy, glistening invitingly. Lily gazed up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy with desire. "Well? Aren’t you going to join me?"

James quickly stripped off his own robes, eagerly stepping forward until he stood fully naked before his wife. Lily was the sexiest witch he'd ever known—certainly the hottest girl from their Hogwarts days. He still felt proud that he’d managed to make her his. 

True, he sometimes strayed to sample other witches who offered themselves to him, but Lily didn't need to know about those occasional indiscretions. 

What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Come here, James," Lily urged softly, smiling up at him. But then her eyes narrowed slightly, confusion filling her lovely face as she glanced down at his body. "James—is something wrong?"

James frowned, not understanding her sudden confusion. "What do you mean? Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect," he said.

But then he followed her gaze downward and stared in confusion at his own body. A strange chill suddenly raced down his spine. His cock, usually hard and aching whenever he saw Lily naked, remained completely limp. Not even the slightest stir of arousal stirred in his groin, despite his wife's stunning nude form spread out before him.

His brow furrowed deeply in confusion. "Huh," he muttered aloud, baffled. "What the fuck—why am I not getting hard right now?"

XXX

And that wraps up chapter 2 of my newest story! Morgana is a cool villain and I think she'll be a good teacher for Amara. Amara will have to quickly learn how to keep her cool, at the very least, and not get so easily seduced by a pretty face due to her new succubus nature. 

Thanks for reading!!! You can check out more of my stories on my profile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 (~13k words):

– Dumbledore –

It was so close to the end of the school year and yet the problems at Hogwarts never ceased. 

Dumbledore stood in the infirmary beside Madam Pomfrey, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his expression composed even as his mind worked furiously. Beyond the neat rows of beds, he could see James Potter Sr. and his son sitting together, both looking devastated. Lily Potter crouched beside them, her arms wrapped around her husband’s shoulders in a vain attempt at comfort. 

Nearby, James Jr.’s friends — Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger — spoke softly to the boy, their hushed tones unable to mask their concern.

Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut through the heavy silence. “It’s not an injury, Headmaster. It’s… something else entirely.” She paused, visibly shaken. “I’ve run every diagnostic I know. This is some incredibly ancient and powerful dark magic — a bloodline curse.” She glanced nervously at the Potters before lowering her voice further. “It’s on par with the Greengrass family curse. As far as I can tell, it renders every man of the bloodline impotent and sterile.”

Dumbledore’s mouth set into a thin, grim line. His blue eyes, normally twinkling with a grandfatherly glow, darkened with irritation.

 This was not news he wanted to hear. 

The Potters had been his staunchest supporters for generations, a family whose loyalty to him and his causes had been reliable — and profitable. He had always enjoyed the certainty of new generations of Potters coming under his guidance at Hogwarts, malleable and bright and eager to serve the greater good he envisioned.

Now, with a single act of malice, that entire bloodline was at risk of collapsing. Unless the curse could be broken on James Jr. — the Boy Who Lived, the cornerstone of his carefully cultivated legend — the Potters would wither away. No heirs. No future. No new Potter children for him to shape for the next generation.

His mind raced, weighing possibilities. Was it the Death Eaters, striking from the shadows for revenge after Voldemort’s fall? Could it be the work of an old rival, someone he’d underestimated? The Potters had many enemies over the years, but few with the skill to execute a curse like this.

No, this wasn’t random. This was personal. He felt like he was missing something important here. 

And then his eyes went wide underneath his glasses. 

The girl!? Was she the one to do this? Was the prophecy already coming to pass?

No! That should be impossible. Her magic was bound and she was cast out to live the pathetic and filthy life of a muggle until the magic seals eventually drain her life and kill her. That prophecy was never going to pass under his watch! 

Dumbledore straightened his robes and composed himself, carefully arranging his face into one of grandfatherly concern and warmth. Inside, he felt only cold irritation and a simmering anger that someone had dared to harm what he saw as his loyal followers. He did not appreciate having his property damaged, especially when it was such useful, obedient property like the Potter family.

"My dear friends," he said, walking toward the little group and opening his arms in an affected gesture of sympathy. "I can scarcely express how deeply sorry I am."

James Potter Sr. looked up at him with defeated eyes, humiliation etched deep into his face. Lily leaned into her husband's side, tears glistening on her pale cheeks. Beside them, James Jr. sat hunched over, staring numbly at the floor. His friends Ron and Hermione stood by nervously, clearly worried but unsure what to say or do.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione spoke up, her voice shaking slightly. "What's happened? How could something like this even occur?"

Dumbledore looked at her kindly, gently placing a reassuring hand on the young witch's shoulder. "Miss Granger, Madam Pomfrey has informed me that this is no ordinary curse. This is dark magic of the most ancient and sinister variety." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "A bloodline curse has been cast upon the Potters—powerful enough to render the men of this family completely impotent and sterile."

Lily gasped softly, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, while James Sr.'s fists clenched in anger and shame.

"But—but who would do such a thing?" Lily whispered desperately. Her emerald eyes pleaded with Dumbledore for answers. "Why would someone target my husband and son?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, feigning regret and frustration as convincingly as he could manage. "I'm afraid I do not yet know who is responsible, Lily. But rest assured, I shall spare no effort in uncovering the culprit. Whoever did this will answer for their crimes."

He let his words hang in the air dramatically, silently pleased as Lily gazed at him with grateful relief. James Sr.'s shoulders relaxed slightly, the anger fading into trust and admiration toward his old Headmaster. Even young James Jr. seemed comforted by his promise. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, clearly reassured as well.

Dumbledore continued carefully, keeping his voice warm and steady. "I promise you this: I will get to the bottom of this and find a way to reverse this terrible curse. You have my word, dear friends. Healing James and young James Jr. is my absolute highest priority. After all, it is the very least I can do after all your family has sacrificed."

He watched with quiet satisfaction as their faces shifted from devastation to hope. Lily smiled softly at him, tears still shining in her eyes but now glistening with gratitude rather than despair. James Sr. gave a small nod, his expression filled once more with loyalty and worshipful trust. It was exactly the reaction Dumbledore had wanted.

As they all murmured their thanks and voiced their faith in him, Dumbledore nodded humbly, placing his hand over his heart as though deeply moved.

Professor McGonagall swept into the infirmary. The sharp click of her boots on the stone floor cut through the low murmurs of the room. Her eyes moved quickly to the beds where the Potters sat before flicking to Dumbledore, her expression tight with concern. “How are they?” she asked quietly.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his lined face arranged in a mask of grave sympathy. “Not good, Minerva,” he said softly, pitching his voice with just the right tone of paternal regret. “But rest assured, I will get to the bottom of this tragedy.”

He tilted his head, the kindly façade never slipping. “Did you need me for something?”

McGonagall nodded, her voice clipped. “Yes. An urgent missive just arrived from Gringotts. They request your immediate presence.”

Twenty minutes later, Dumbledore sat in one of Gringotts’ private offices, his long fingers steepled before him as his piercing blue eyes bored into the trembling goblin across the desk. The room was lavish by goblin standards — dark wood paneling, heavy iron-bound bookshelves, and runic carvings in the walls to keep magic secure. 

The goblin known as Ruknuk shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sweat beading on his brow.

Dumbledore’s mind flicked briefly over the past. Ever since Sirius Black had been tossed into Azkaban, and that old fool Arcturus Black had “died” of dragonpox — in truth, a carefully crafted assassination disguised as illness by Dumbledore himself — this particular goblin had been very useful. Ruknuk had been on his payroll for years, quietly siphoning off the Black family fortune into both of their accounts. Dumbledore had been patient, methodical. 

The Blacks were rich, and their gold had served his plans well.

But now, his patience was gone. His eyes were cold as ice, his voice soft and dangerous. “Explain,” he ordered.

Ruknuk swallowed hard, claws nervously picking at the edge of the desk. “A young woman came to the bank an hour ago,” he said quickly. “She claimed to be the current Lady Black and Head of the Black Family. She passed all the bloodline tests.”

Dumbledore’s jaw tightened. “And?”

“I— I gained her trust,” the goblin stammered. “Told her I could arrange protective wards on her family home. I thought I had convinced her completely. My plan was to report everything to you as soon as she left…”

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes burning like cold fire. “And then what happened?”

The goblin’s ears flattened against his head. “She wanted to make a standard withdrawal. She went down to the Black vaults with one of our goblins escorting her—Neither of them returned.” He gulped and then continued. “It was only hours later,” Ruknuk continued desperately, “that we sent someone else to investigate. The vaults— they’re empty, Headmaster. Completely empty.”

Dumbledore’s fingers curled slowly on the desk, the only sign of his fury. His voice remained quiet, almost gentle, but it made the goblin flinch. “All of it?”

“Yes,” Ruknuk squeaked. “Gold, jewels, artifacts. Everything.”

Inside, Dumbledore’s anger burned white-hot. Someone had walked into his bank, charmed his informant, and stripped the Black family vaults bare. Someone had outplayed him. 

That was intolerable!

Something suddenly crossed Dumbledore’s mind. He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward sharply in his chair. “Describe this young woman to me in detail, Ruknuk,” he demanded.

The goblin swallowed nervously, his eyes shifting uncomfortably. He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, as though trying to keep himself from saying too much.

“She wore strange Muggle clothes,” Ruknuk began hesitantly, his voice low and strained, “but even so, she was an incredibly attractive witch. Very... very beautiful.” The goblin’s voice trailed off awkwardly, his expression caught between embarrassment and lustful hunger. “She had a perfect face, full lips, and striking features. Her hair was long and black, flowing down her back. And her eyes—Headmaster, they were the brightest green I've ever seen, almost glowing. Her body was extremely appealing—large, ample breasts and a perfectly shaped rear end. Wide hips too, very—very breedable.”

Ruknuk fell silent, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, his breathing heavier than before.

Dumbledore rolled his eyes in clear disgust at the goblin’s vivid description. 

He knew something most of the magical world did not—the ministry kept it that way of course—He knew there were no female goblins at all. 

Their species only produced males. 

As a result, goblins found themselves needing human women for their species to continue. In fact, they often secretly kidnapped and bred with Muggle women, hiding their dark acts far beneath Gringotts' secure vaults. If that repulsive secret were ever revealed to wizarding society, the outrage would almost certainly lead to open warfare between wizardkind and the goblin race once again.

The goblins had always gone to great lengths to hide their shameful appetites. Those working in Gringotts were typically forced to wear enchanted libido-suppressor rings to prevent their attraction to human witches and Muggle women from interfering with business. But judging by Ruknuk’s flushed face and trembling hands, the description of this particular young woman had managed to partially overcome the powerful enchantments on his ring.

Dumbledore sat back slowly, his blue eyes sharp and calculating behind his half-moon spectacles. This girl Ruknuk had described—a witch with long black hair and vivid green eyes—sounded unsettlingly familiar.

His jaw tightened. "Could it truly be her...?" he murmured quietly to himself, his fingers tightening into a fist upon the desk. "Heather Potter?"

He quickly dismissed that thought as ridiculous. Heather Potter was a pathetic squib—useless, powerless, and she was also VERY unattractive. 

No, despite the fact that Dumbledore rarely believed in coincidence, there was no way Heather Potter could be this woman. Especially considering the fact that she should barely be able to move today after what James did to her once Lily wasn’t looking. James had used the cruciatus curse quite liberally on his unconscious daughter to punish her before they dumped her in that alley. As a squib, she should barely be able to move without excruciating agony for months…

No, whoever Amara Black was, she had to be someone else. 

Dumbledore’s eyes suddenly went wide! Could it be? Dumbledore always had a theory that Bellatrix and Tom were much closer than they appeared. Was this Amara Black the secret love child of the Dark Lord!?

Damn! That made too much sense to ignore!

His instincts told him that he only had a couple of months to prepare to face Voldemort’s daughter, the upcoming school year might be the most important yet. 

– Amara –

I woke up, blinking groggily at an unfamiliar ceiling. The first thing I noticed was the scratchy fabric rubbing uncomfortably against the bare skin of my back. I shifted, wincing slightly, and slowly sat up, my vision clearing enough to reveal stained walls that peeled in places, exposing old layers of mildew and rot.

“Ugh…where the fuck am I now?” I muttered under my breath, brushing back my long black hair from my face. Though, honestly, I shouldn’t have been so picky. I'd spent most of my life in that shitty orphanage, and even Grimmauld Place—despite the Blacks’ supposed wealth—had always felt run-down and gloomy as hell. But still, after everything that happened, waking up in yet another dilapidated room didn't exactly fill me with optimism.

I sighed heavily, glancing downward at myself—and then froze, my eyes widening in shock.

Holy fuck—I was completely naked.

My own pale, flawless breasts rose and fell gently with my suddenly rapid breathing, their large, round shape accentuated by pink nipples that hardened slightly from the cool air. I stared at my nude body in confusion and embarrassment, heat rushing up my neck into my cheeks.

"What the actual fuck?" I whispered softly, trying to recall how I ended up like this. Just as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet barely touching the cold floor, the door to the room suddenly swung open.

I gasped, eyes flying to the doorway.

Morgana stood there casually, her emerald gaze sliding slowly over my naked form without even the slightest attempt to hide her appreciation. Her smirk widened wickedly, clearly savoring every inch of me—from my ample tits, down my slim waist and wide hips, lingering deliberately on the sensitive spot between my thighs. My face flushed an even deeper crimson under her heated scrutiny, and my pulse sped up embarrassingly.

"Good, you're awake," Morgana finally said, giving a casual nod of approval. "You seem quite healthy this morning. While you were sleeping, I performed a magical evaluation of your body—to ensure there weren't any lingering magical bindings or hidden illnesses I wasn't already aware of. You're in absolutely perfect health…well, as far as I can tell. I'm not a succubus myself, after all." She flashed me another wicked grin, eyes twinkling playfully.

I rolled my eyes in embarrassment, desperately trying to ignore how turned-on her stare was making me. I crossed my legs tightly, hoping she wouldn't notice how damp I already felt between my thighs.

"Did I really have to be completely naked for this…check-up of yours?" I asked irritably, trying—and failing—to keep my voice steady.

Morgana just chuckled lowly, tilting her head as her hungry eyes moved across my breasts again. "No, my dear Amara, you didn't have to be naked—but it certainly made the examination far more enjoyable for me."

I huffed quietly, blushing furiously at her shameless teasing, but also secretly feeling warmth pool deliciously between my legs at her casual dominance. God, this succubus blood of mine was really going to be an issue if I couldn't even handle simple teasing without nearly dripping all over the floor.

Morgana finally relented, gesturing toward the foot of the bed. "I've left a dress there for you. Get dressed and join me in the next room." Her voice dripped with suggestiveness as she turned, hips swaying confidently, and walked out without bothering to close the door behind her.

I sighed deeply, glancing toward the bed's edge. A single black dress was laid out for me, but my Muggle clothes from yesterday were nowhere to be seen. And as I picked up the dress, I realized to my embarrassment that there weren't any panties or bra provided either.

"Seriously, Morgana?" I muttered in exasperation. Still, it wasn't like I had another choice. Reluctantly, I stood up and slid the silky fabric over my naked skin, gasping softly at the feel of the material gently brushing against my overly sensitive nipples and ass. 

I quickly pulled the dress down until it hugged my curves tightly, emphasizing my newly lush, generous breasts and wide hips. The dress was scandalously short—barely reaching the top of my thighs, stopping just short of exposing my firm ass cheeks. 

I'd never worn anything nearly this provocative before, in either of my lives.

I shifted nervously, tugging uselessly at the hem in an attempt to hide more of myself, but there wasn't exactly enough fabric for modesty. I squirmed, feeling more heat bloom shamefully between my legs, my thighs rubbing slightly together as I moved. With a sigh of resignation, I gave up trying to adjust the revealing dress and turned toward the doorway. It was pointless delaying the inevitable. 

I needed to face whatever Morgana. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and walked out into the next room.

The living room honestly wasn't much better than the shitty bedroom I'd just woken up in. As I walked through the doorway, I glanced around, noting the cracks running through the grimy windows and the peeling wallpaper barely clinging to crumbling plaster. Weak sunlight filtered through filthy glass, lighting the dusty, stained furniture that filled the room.

I moved toward one of the cracked windows and peered cautiously out onto the street below. The daylight illuminated a sprawling cityscape filled with towering, oppressive buildings constructed in sharp angles and dark stone, draped in shadow. Gothic spires pierced the bleak sky, gargoyles perched ominously along rooftops. This sure as hell wasn’t London—I'd never seen architecture quite this gloomy and intimidating back home. Wherever we were, it looked depressing as hell, yet it somehow felt like the right backdrop for everything that had happened so far.

Behind me, Morgana sat casually perched atop a run-down wooden table, swinging one shapely leg idly as she studied me with amusement.

"Where exactly are we?" I finally asked, keeping my voice steady despite my nervousness.

Morgana smirked slightly, looking thoroughly unimpressed as she gave a careless wave of her hand. "Welcome to Gotham City, my dear apprentice," she said dryly, without much enthusiasm.

Right, Gotham. Vague memories returned to me, mixed with dizziness from the weird blood ritual Morgana had done before I’d passed out. I distinctly recalled her mentioning Gotham City back then, though at the time, the concept had seemed distant and unreal.

Although, the fact that I was actually in the DC Universe still seemed unreal to me. 

I turned away from the window to face her fully. "Okay. Gotham. But why exactly did we come here of all places?"

At my question, Morgana finally stood up from the table and began pacing slowly around the room. With her confident stride, seductive hips swaying with each deliberate step, she actually seemed like a proper teacher preparing to lecture me.

I couldn't help but watch appreciatively.

"You see, Amara," she began, her voice unusually serious and steady, "as my new apprentice—and someone who barely knows the first thing about magic—your safety is paramount to me."

I raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise. She actually sounded… sincere? Morgana caught my surprised expression and gave me a smirk, clearly amused by my reaction, before continuing her explanation.

"Furthermore, as you've recently awakened your succubus bloodline, you are, for all intents and purposes, a newly-born demoness. Do you understand what that means?" She paused for emphasis, her emerald eyes fixed sharply upon me.

I shook my head slowly. "No—not exactly."

She let out a patient sigh, stepping closer until she was standing directly in front of me, her piercing gaze capturing my full attention. "It means, my dear, that countless powerful beings across this world undoubtedly sensed your demonic birth—or rebirth, if you prefer—as soon as your succubus nature awoke." 

My breath caught nervously, my heart thumping a bit faster at her ominous words. “That would have been not good…” 

“Very not good.” Morgana gave me a sympathetic, knowing look. "Honestly, it's a miracle you managed to last even half a day alone without some angel or demon hunter attempting to track you down and exterminate you."

I swallowed hard, feeling a shiver of dread run down my spine at that thought. 

Morgana let the silence hang in the air, allowing the weight of her words to sink in, before stepping away again and resuming her leisurely pacing. She continued her explanation calmly, almost casually now, as though she'd just given me a weather update rather than an existential threat. "And that, Amara, is precisely why Gotham City is so perfect for your situation. This entire city is practically soaked in dark magic, evil intent, and chaotic energies at all times." She turned to face me again, her lips curling slowly into a satisfied, wicked smile. "Here in Gotham, even someone like you—a demoness radiating powerful, freshly awakened dark magic—can blend seamlessly into the background. No one will be able to detect your presence or distinguish your aura from the dark currents constantly flowing throughout these streets."

I exhaled shakily, relief flooding through me as her reasoning became clear. Gotham was essentially a massive magical smoke-screen, hiding me in plain sight from powerful entities who might otherwise hunt me down immediately.

As if reading my thoughts, Morgana stepped close once more, placing a gentle hand on my bare shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. Her touch felt electric on my skin, and I barely resisted the urge to lean further into her. She gave me an encouraging look, her voice softening slightly with genuine reassurance. "Trust me, Amara. Here in Gotham, I can protect you and more importantly, teach you to protect yourself. In this dark place, no one will question our presence. And soon enough," her eyes sparkled darkly, "no one will dare threaten you ever again…"

"I'm ready to learn," I told Morgana enthusiastically. "What's first?" My eyes drifted around the crappy apartment again, and I couldn't quite hide my look of distaste. Everything around us screamed poverty and decay, from the cracked walls to the worn furniture.

Morgana chuckled softly, clearly amused by my obvious disgust. "Oh, I quite agree, my apprentice. It's hardly luxurious. Unfortunately, thanks to those insufferable bastards in the Justice League, I've had all my assets—both mundane and magical—seized from me. We're essentially starting from absolute zero."

“What about the hundreds of millions of pounds in gold you're holding onto for me?” I asked her.

She just gave me a look and shook her head. “My Apprentice, the two of us are both essentially illegal immigrants, and I myself and a wanted criminal on top of that. Where exactly do you think we will be able to exchange hundreds of millions of dollars worth of gold for cash? At the most, we could go to a couple pawn shops and get a few thousand dollars. But also, remember this is Gotham and the odds are those pawn shops will do their very best to rip us off.”

I sighed quietly, nodding in understanding. “I guess it wasn’t going to be that easy…”

Who knew having TOO MUCH MONEY and no way to liquidate it would be such a hassle…? In the Wizarding world, no one really ever asked where your money came from, gold was gold. 

Her expression softened slightly and then there was a wicked glint entering her emerald eyes. "But before we concern ourselves with worldly wealth, we need to start with something more fundamental. You need to fully familiarize yourself with your new body. Are you even aware of all its… unique features yet, my dear?"

I gave her a puzzled look, shaking my head slowly. "I'm… not entirely sure what you mean," I admitted uncertainly, feeling uneasy at her knowing smirk.

Morgana laughed again, clearly enjoying my confusion. "My dear, there’s a reason I dressed you in such a slutty little dress. And not merely because I greatly enjoy the way your beautiful body fills it out so deliciously." She slowly circled around behind me.

I shivered slightly as her gaze roamed across my nearly-exposed back and down toward the scandalously short hemline of the dress. Heat flooded my cheeks when I remembered she'd deliberately left me without panties, my bare pussy embarrassingly exposed beneath the thin fabric. 

Morgana’s breath ghosted teasingly against my sensitive neck as she whispered from behind me, "The back of your dress is bare for a very particular reason, as is your lack of underwear."

My pulse quickened nervously. "W-what reason?" I asked.

She didn’t reply at first. Instead, she stepped away, positioning herself back in front of me, an unreadable smile curving her luscious lips. Raising two fingers, she suddenly pointed straight at me, eyes flashing with sudden intensity. "I command you to reveal your true form, demoness!"

Before I could react, a jet of swirling darkness shot from Morgana’s outstretched fingers, striking my body dead-center. My breath caught in surprise as tingling magic surged through every nerve-ending, spreading from my chest to my limbs. It wasn't painful—but it was overwhelming, like electricity crackling softly beneath my skin.

Then, an odd, wet sound filled my ears, coming from my back. My eyes widened as I twisted around frantically to see. Shock and disbelief struck me as two small, leathery black wings extended from my shoulder blades. They stretched slowly, unfurling gently as though stiff from disuse. They looked exactly like bat wings—no, more accurately, exactly like the wings of a succubus straight out of a harem anime or something.

"Holy shit," I whispered breathlessly. But before I could process my wings fully, I suddenly felt another alien sensation lower down, near the bottom of my spine. Something thin and flexible brushed against the sensitive skin of my ass and upper thighs beneath the skimpy hemline of the dress.

I gasped sharply, reaching behind myself quickly. My fingers closed around a thin, smooth length of flesh—a tail! 

I had a fucking succubus tail now. 

I gently pulled it into view, marveling at the slender appendage. It was black, velvety, and sensitive to touch. 

I blushed furiously, both horrified and secretly thrilled at my new features.

I dropped my tail nervously with another thought suddenly occurring to me. My hands flew immediately upward to touch the top of my head, dread filling me at the possibility of having horns as well! 

I let out a shaky sigh of relief upon finding only my silky hair—no sharp, demonic horns sprouted there, at least. 

Morgana laughed openly, watching my reactions with obvious amusement. "Relax, my lovely apprentice. You don't have horns—at least not yet. But yes, your new body includes certain… additions."

Slowly, I extended my wings again experimentally, feeling them stretch and flutter delicately behind me. My tail swished instinctively from side to side beneath my dress, caressing the backs of my bare thighs and sending electric tingles straight to my already embarrassingly wet pussy. 

My succubus instincts seemed more than happy to welcome these demonic additions. I lifted my eyes toward Morgana, my voice breathless and quiet as I finally spoke, "Alright. I… suppose I can get used to this. What's next?"

Morgana chuckled softly at my hesitant words. "Very well, apprentice," she purred silkily. "Let's see exactly how quickly you can get accustomed to these intriguing new additions to your body."

I tilted my head nervously, wondering exactly what she meant, when her gaze lowered to my delicate, freshly-sprouted tail. Before I could move or protest, her slender hand reached out and brushed lightly against the smooth skin of my tail.

A sharp hiss of surprise left my lips, pleasure jolting instantly up the sensitive nerves of my new appendage and directly to my spine. Fuck, my tail was incredibly sensitive. Just that slight touch made my thighs quiver and caused a fresh pulse of wetness to soak my inner thighs.

"Interesting reaction," Morgana observed with satisfaction, a wicked smile curving her lush lips. She wrapped her delicate fingers more fully around my slender tail, gripping it gently yet firmly, and then slowly started stroking her fingers along its entire length.

"Oh fuck," I gasped loudly, arching my back instinctively. My knees buckled slightly at the overwhelming sensation that shot through every nerve ending in my hyper-sensitive body. Her touch was exquisite torture—pleasure igniting like fire in my core and spreading rapidly outward, filling my breasts, nipples, and pussy with needy, aching heat.

Morgana laughed again, obviously pleased by my helpless reaction. "My, my," she purred teasingly, eyes glittering. "It appears your new body is even more lewd and sensitive than I'd expected. You're certainly not doing a very good job proving you're in control, Amara."

"M-Morgana," I whimpered desperately, my voice shaky with overwhelming desire. My breasts felt heavy, nipples painfully stiff beneath the thin fabric of the scandalous dress she'd provided me. Each stroke along my tail made my soaked pussy throb harder, desperate for relief. I squirmed helplessly, struggling to stay upright as Morgana increased the tempo of her merciless teasing, sliding her hand rhythmically up and down the length of my tail.

"Please—" I gasped breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure crashed over me relentlessly. My hips rocked forward helplessly, pussy aching for friction that wasn't there. "Fuck—ahh—I can't—"

"You can't what, Amara?" Morgana mocked gently, clearly enjoying my torment. Her thumb pressed teasingly against the sensitive tip of my tail, rubbing tight little circles, driving me to madness. "Control yourself? Stop yourself from succumbing to pure carnal pleasure?"

I moaned loudly, my entire body trembling violently. Every nerve felt frayed, overloaded with sensation and desire. Her fingers tightened around my tail, stroking faster and more deliberately now, pushing me rapidly toward a powerful, uncontrollable climax.

"Cum for me, my beautiful apprentice," Morgana whispered seductively. "Show me just how sensitive your sweet little demon body is."

I completely lost it at her words, a wave of blinding pleasure crashing violently through me. My entire body spasmed as my pussy clenched tightly in orgasm, juices gushing hotly down my thighs as I cried out shamelessly in pleasure. My breasts and nipples tingled deliciously, every nerve alive with ecstasy, my tail thrashing desperately in Morgana's skilled hands.

"Fuck—yes—I'm cumming!" I screamed, surrendering fully to the intense release.

Morgana watched smugly, clearly pleased with herself, continuing to gently stroke my trembling tail as my orgasm slowly faded. Finally, she released it, allowing me to collapse onto trembling knees in front of her, panting heavily and utterly spent.

She gazed down at me, amusement shining openly in her eyes. "It seems you have much to learn about controlling your new succubus instincts, Amara," she teased playfully. "But fear not—I'm an excellent teacher."

I glanced up at her weakly, still flushed and breathless. 

Holy fuck. I'd never cum that hard before—not once, in either of my lives. And all she'd done was stroke my damn tail! If that was how good just one touch felt now, I couldn't even imagine what actual sex might do to me. My body still trembled slightly, thighs slick and sticky from how hard I’d climaxed. Fuck, it was going to take forever to get used to being this sensitive.

Congratulations on experiencing your first-ever orgasm as a succubus! You have been granted—[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch]! By making direct skin-to-skin contact with another being, you can channel dark mana into their body, gradually increasing their sexual arousal. Prolonged, continuous contact can even drive them to orgasm.

I stared at the floating text, blinking rapidly. Seriously? I got magic just from cumming? Well, that certainly seemed fitting for a succubus, I supposed. Still, it wasn't exactly going to help me in a fight—

Or… maybe it actually could? Distracting enemies mid-battle didn't sound like the worst idea I'd ever heard. I'd have to think more about that later.

Taking a shaky breath, I slowly forced myself back onto my feet. My knees felt like jelly, my thighs slick and sensitive, nipples still hard beneath my embarrassingly skimpy dress. Morgana stood a few feet away, arms crossed under her own perfect breasts as she watched my pathetic attempts to stand upright with open amusement.

I pouted slightly at her, heat still burning fiercely across my cheeks. She was my teacher now, technically, but she'd also just mercilessly teased me into one of the most intense orgasms of my existence. And honestly, there'd been a lot of blatant flirting between us already. I wasn’t even sure exactly what our relationship was now. Apprentice and mentor? Something much more personal…?

Whatever we were, maybe it was better left unsaid right now. I wasn’t sure I was emotionally equipped to tackle that particular issue just yet.

Seemingly reading my embarrassed confusion, Morgana chuckled softly. "Don't look so shy, Amara. You'll soon become accustomed to sensations that intense. In fact," she added smugly, eyes glittering mischievously, "we'll be repeating this little exercise multiple times each day from now on."

My eyes widened, mouth falling open slightly. "Wait, seriously?"

She nodded firmly, stepping closer to cup my cheek gently. "Of course. You're a succubus, my dear—but more importantly, you're my apprentice. It would be utterly humiliating for you to lose a battle simply because someone grabbed hold of your sensitive little tail." Her voice lowered into a serious tone, emerald eyes locking sharply onto mine. "And believe me, Amara, anyone aware of your true nature will absolutely use every single advantage they can. There are no rules, no mercy, no fairness in supernatural combat."

I swallowed nervously, recognizing the truth in her words. "You're right," I finally said quietly. "If my tail is such a glaring weakness, I need to build resistance. I'll practice however much you deem necessary, Morgana."

Her expression softened slightly, pride flickering across her beautiful face. "Good girl," she praised softly, stroking her thumb gently along my flushed cheek. "You will grow strong enough that your succubus instincts become a weapon, rather than a vulnerability."

My pulse quickened slightly beneath her approving gaze. She was right—my succubus blood might leave me dangerously sensitive right now, but eventually I could learn to use it to my advantage instead. And until then, I'd endure every intense training session Morgana devised, determined never again to lose myself so completely from just a single touch.

I gave Morgana a firm, determined nod. "Thank you, Morgana. I'll do whatever it takes."

She smiled approvingly, a dark gleam returning to her emerald eyes. "Oh, I know you will, apprentice. I look forward to testing your limits thoroughly."

My cheeks burned hotly once again, even as an eager shiver ran down my spine. Somehow, I got the feeling Morgana was going to enjoy training me far more than was strictly necessary.

And honestly? I was starting to think I might not mind so much either.

– Batman –

Batman leaned heavily over the Batcomputer, his expression grim beneath his dark cowl. A grim sense of foreboding settled deep in his chest as he replayed the security footage from Belle Reve prison yet again. 

In the footage, Morgana—the powerful, ancient witch imprisoned by the League—stood quietly in the center of her high-security cell, her posture slumped in apparent defeat and despair. And then, without warning, the air around her burst into swirling flames, opening into a fiery portal. Morgana hesitated just briefly before stepping through and vanishing, leaving only a scorched circle behind.

Batman scowled darkly. That should have been impossible. Doctor Fate himself had personally engraved powerful runes into Morgana’s cell, runes specifically designed to nullify and suppress her magical powers completely. Those enchantments had been tested rigorously and proven unbreakable—at least until today.

Yet somehow Morgana had broken through. Escaped. Batman’s jaw tightened at the thought of what her freedom meant for the Justice League, Gotham, and possibly the entire world. She was one of the most dangerously powerful beings the League had ever faced, with a grudge now made infinitely worse by the tragic outcome of their last clash.

He still vividly remembered their previous battle with Morgana and her son, Mordred. Despite being over a thousand years old and an absolute monster responsible for countless deaths and atrocities, Mordred’s mind had still been that of a child. 

Batman hadn't liked how that confrontation had ended—not at all.

They had tried reasoning, pleading, and subduing Mordred, but the powerful magical child refused all attempts to stand down. Instead, he’d tried to activate a devastating magical artifact that would have obliterated a large section of Metropolis, killing millions. Wonder Woman had reacted instinctively, her powerful sword—a divine weapon forged personally by the god Hephaestus—plunging deep into Mordred’s chest to stop the horrific destruction.

Mordred had looked genuinely shocked as he died, clearly never believing he could truly be killed after so many centuries gifted with immortal youth by Morgana herself. Batman grimaced silently at the memory, still haunted by the child's shocked, frightened eyes as life drained from them.

Morgana had been utterly inconsolable afterward, shrieking curses and threats of vengeance so intense and hate-filled it had shaken even Batman’s iron resolve. She'd sworn to make each of them suffer for what they'd done to her son. It had taken Doctor Fate’s strongest magic, aided by Superman’s brute strength, to finally capture and imprison her securely.

But now, inexplicably free from Belle Reve, Morgana would undoubtedly begin making good on her threats. Batman was under no illusions about the seriousness of the situation. The witch would strike at the League sooner or later, but not before regaining her vast collection of powerful magical artifacts scattered throughout the world.

Batman quickly typed commands into his Batcomputer, opening a new file and starting a predictive analysis program to anticipate Morgana’s next moves. He had to stay ahead of her if they had any chance of mitigating the coming disaster. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, inputting information about her past behaviors, known contacts, and artifact locations.

Batman nodded grimly to himself, making an immediate plan. He would arrange for some of Morgana’s artifacts to be secretly relocated, scattering them throughout Gotham and across the country. The harder he made it for her to gather them, the more time he'd have to prepare the League and Gotham for whatever came next.

He tapped his comms, his deep voice steady and controlled as he spoke. "Nightwing. Robin. Be on high alert. Morgana has escaped from Belle Reve. Assume you're both targets until further notice."

Nightwing’s voice crackled back instantly, tense but calm. "Got it, Bruce. I'll keep the Titans on standby as well."

Batman felt a grim surge of relief at Dick’s competent reply. After losing her own child, Morgana was highly likely to target younger members of the League—sidekicks, protégés, and members of teams like the Teen Titans—in a twisted attempt at revenge. 

Batman would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening.

Morgana might be powerful, angry, and utterly ruthless, but so was he. And Gotham—his city, his responsibility—would never fall prey to her twisted vengeance, not while he was still breathing.

– Amara –

Three days later, I'd fully realized that Gotham City was every bit the dangerous shithole it was always portrayed as in movies and comics from my past life. 

You'd think I'd have known that coming in, but nothing quite prepares you for experiencing it firsthand.

It wasn’t as though Morgana kept me locked up inside the apartment, thankfully. In fact, she was surprisingly chill about me venturing outside. During those outings, I'd discovered something useful. I could make my succubus wings and tail vanish completely at will. It wasn’t complicated, really—just a small mental push, and they disappeared instantly.

The downside was, hiding my demonic features like that seemed to dampen my magical strength just a bit. I’d also lose the insanely fun ability to fly. And yes, holy shit, flying was amazing. Feeling the wind rush over my body as I soared effortlessly across rooftops was a rush unlike anything I'd ever felt. So far, though, I'd only risked flying between a few rooftops, staying low and cautious. I wasn't eager to draw attention from any hero or surveillance system.

Especially since, as Morgana loved smugly pointing out, my face was literally identical to that of a notorious, very wanted villainess—hers. Our features, our emerald eyes, even our voices and accents were frighteningly similar. 

Yeah, that wasn't going to bite me in the ass later at all. 

Foreshadowing, much?

To mitigate that issue, whenever I ventured into the city, I stuck to wearing a dark hoodie to hide my distinctive features. Morgana had finally relented and returned my donated clothes, so at least I wasn't walking around Gotham in the scandalously short, skintight dress she'd initially given me—though admittedly, part of me had liked wearing something so openly provocative. 

The hoodie helped, but I still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that Batman probably had every camera in the city hacked and was constantly watching Gotham’s residents like some creepy, caped Big Brother. 

So, I was always careful, keeping my face mostly obscured and avoiding the busier streets.

But even sticking to back alleys and quieter parts of the city had its own set of dangers. 

In the mere three days since we'd arrived, I'd already been targeted by attempted muggings no fewer than five times. Five! What kind of fucked-up city was Gotham anyway? 

I mean, sure, our apartment was in an absolute shit neighborhood, but still—that was excessive.

Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for those dumb enough to attack me, my magic had made short work of each encounter. The idiots who tried mugging me quickly discovered that they’d fucked with the wrong girl. Watching their charred remains smolder at my feet, I’d felt surprisingly no  remorse—if anything, it had given me a dark sense of vindication and satisfaction. 

Yes, I knew burning people alive was horrible, but at the same time—I just didn't care…? They were muggers and probably also rapists and murderers as well.

Fuck them…

I strode cautiously through Gotham’s grimy, trash-filled streets at night. Morgana had finally entrusted me with my first real task—my first job as the apprentice of a witch and a villain, as she put it.

She was scouting out new locations for our future base of operations in Gotham. Somewhere bigger where she could freely teach me more dangerous magic. I was in charge of procuring more cash for us so we could afford basic necessities like food and clothes and stuff…

That meant I was going to do a crime!

I passed by a brightly-lit jewelry store as I walked into a slightly nicer section of Gotham, barely giving it a second glance. Seriously, only idiots robbed jewelry stores. What the hell would you even do with all those stolen diamonds? The only places willing to buy stolen diamonds in bulk were other jewelry stores, who obviously knew exactly what stolen merchandise looked like. They'd either turn your ass in immediately or rip you off for pennies on the dollar.

No. Morgana had explained to me quite clearly that it was always better to go with something classic, reliable—like a bank.

The bank I'd targeted wasn't Gotham National or anything ridiculously grand. It was just a regular corporate-chain bank, small and unassuming, with minimal security and exactly one lazy guard on the night shift. In other words, it was the absolute perfect place for my very first robbery. Easy money, minimal risk, and no need to hurt anyone.

Because honestly, while I might not exactly be a good person anymore—in fact, I was pretty sure that ship had long since sailed. 

My piece of shit parents and that bastard old man Dumbledore had seen to that! 

But I wasn’t about to start killing innocent people who hadn't actually wronged me. I'd defend myself from muggers and assholes without hesitation, but some random security guard doing his shitty nine-to-five? 

He hadn't done anything to deserve getting burned alive.

Morgana had thoughtfully provided me with some useful talismans before I'd left. The first was basically the magical equivalent of an Alohomora charm—a small paper tag capable of unlocking any mundane door not warded or enchanted. I approached the bank’s glass entrance doors and held the paper charm up to the lock, smiling slightly in satisfaction as it clicked open instantly.

I quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside, my footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. The lone security guard sitting near the entrance, clearly bored out of his mind and barely awake, immediately perked up at the sound, eyes going wide in surprise.

"Excuse me, miss—uh, the bank's closed right now!" he called, standing quickly. "How the hell did you even get inside?"

I feigned an expression of innocent confusion, widening my eyes in mock-surprise. "Oh no, really? The door was unlocked, so I thought it was fine." I slowly pulled my hood down, revealing my flawless face completely.

Almost instantly, the tension drained from his posture. Beautiful people really did have it disgustingly easy in life, didn't they?

Stepping a bit closer, I tilted my head sweetly. "Could I at least use the ATM for a quick withdrawal? Pretty please?"

His eyes immediately wandered down my body appreciatively, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a flirty grin. He didn't even bother reaching for the gun strapped to his hip. "Ah, sorry ma'am," he said smoothly. "That's against policy. I'd lose my job if I allowed it." He took another step closer to me, clearly enjoying the moment. "But maybe we could meet later for coffee or something?" He chuckled softly, clearly shooting his shot.

I pretended to blush shyly, raising a hand to delicately cover my mouth. "Hmm, maybe..." I giggled quietly, fluttering my lashes.

His expression lit up eagerly, and he closed the distance between us, completely off guard and entirely focused on me. 

Dumbass.

With a fluid motion, I slipped another talisman from my sleeve and held it directly in front of his surprised face. "Sleep," I commanded firmly, releasing the stored magical energy into him.

His eyes flew open wide with shock, realization flooding his face just before his eyelids fluttered shut. "Shit…" he mumbled faintly as his body went completely limp. He collapsed heavily to the polished floor with a dull thud, completely unconscious.

The talisman burned away into ash in my hand—single-use, as Morgana had warned—but it had served its purpose well enough.

Just to be safe, I knelt beside the unconscious guard and removed his handcuffs from his belt, locking his wrists together securely behind his back. I also reluctantly took his gun, slipping it carefully into my magical inventory. Honestly, I had zero idea how to properly use the damn thing—and maybe it was just my inner Brit speaking—but I didn't really like guns. Still it was better to have it and not need it than the other way around right?

"Alright," I whispered to myself. "Time to hit the vault."

I walked swiftly toward the back of the bank. Ahead of me stood the vault—an impressive slab of reinforced steel and titanium alloys. Sure, I knew banks routinely emptied vaults, so it wasn’t exactly going to be stuffed to the brim with millions in cash. 

Still, it should easily hold tens of thousands—maybe even a hundred thousand if luck was on my side tonight.

I held up Morgana’s unlocking charm in front of the massive vault door, murmuring softly. Immediately, I felt the magic inside the charm struggle to overcome the powerful, industrial-grade locking mechanism. The paper trembled faintly in my fingertips as if straining under the weight of the lock’s resistance. 

Then, after a tense moment, the magic finally punched through with a satisfying metallic click.

As the charm fizzled and disintegrated into nothingness between my fingers, I felt a brief pang of annoyance. I really needed my own wand. It was stupid that I'd left Diagon Alley without one, although Morgana had specifically warned me away from buying from Ollivander's, claiming their famed wands were actually second-rate garbage. Apparently, Ollivander’s family had made their fortune selling essentially inferior magical products for over a thousand years. 

According to her, if I wanted to become a genuinely powerful dark witch—and I definitely did—I’d be far better off crafting my own wand.

Morgana had explained that the secret to crafting a truly powerful wand was using forbidden blood magic to bind it permanently to me, exponentially increasing its power and responsiveness. Of course, that type of magic was heavily outlawed by the British Ministry, meaning Ollivander was effectively peddling mass-produced garbage.

It made me giggle slightly that the entire British wizarding world, smug and arrogant as they could be, had basically been running around waving the magical equivalent of Walmart bargain-bin wands for centuries. 

Freaking idiots.

The vault door swung open slowly while I was lost in those smug thoughts, the thick metal hinges groaning heavily. Shaking myself from my amused thoughts, I stepped eagerly inside—and my eyes widened at the sight that greeted me. On a silver table sitting neatly in the middle of the vault were stacks of crisp, green cash. Thick bundles of twenties, fifties, and hundreds stood invitingly atop the polished surface.

I grinned excitedly, stepping quickly forward. Sure, there were likely dye packs and hidden tracking devices nestled discreetly between some of those neat stacks of money, but none of that would matter once I had it safely stored away in my inventory. Morgana had assured me that any hidden trackers or security measures could be easily neutralized back at our apartment.

Quickly and carefully, I began touching each bundle, watching as they instantly vanished into my invisible magical storage. It took only seconds, and soon the table was completely bare again. Doing some fast mental math, I couldn't stop the huge grin spreading across my face when I realized how much I'd just made in mere minutes of simple, relatively safe work. I'd easily snagged around fifty thousand dollars tonight alone.

Holy shit, why would any self-respecting witch or wizard ever waste their life slaving away at some boring, thankless nine-to-five day job, when making money was this stupidly easy? 

Feeling smugly victorious, I turned around, almost whistling cheerfully as I began walking out of the vault. Of course, that was exactly the moment my luck for the evening finally decided to run out.

My heart skipped a wild beat as I froze, staring into the bank lobby in stunned disbelief. There, standing with arms crossed and a fierce scowl on his handsome face, was an honest-to-god superhero.

Nightwing. It was fucking Nightwing!

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a giddy, fangirlish excitement surged through me. Nightwing's costume hugged his impressive muscles in all the right places, accentuating the lean yet powerful body beneath. My eyes roamed shamelessly down his broad chest, lingering appreciatively on his strong shoulders and those incredibly well-toned abs that clearly showed through his tight-fitting uniform. Goddamn, he had muscles for days. 

And now I realized I needed my own costume in this world, or some kind of signature outfit. It seemed like everyone had them. 

The thrill faded slightly, though, when I saw the deep frown etched onto Nightwing’s face. I could practically see the gears turning behind his domino mask as he studied me intensely.

"Morgana," Nightwing said darkly, his stance wary. "Isn't robbing a small, ordinary bank a little…beneath you?"

Ugh, seriously? Being mistaken for Morgana was apparently going to be my new normal.

Tilting my head at him with a playful little smile, I spoke carefully. "I’m not Morgana. Sorry, handsome. I think you're mistaking me for someone else."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously behind his mask. Arms still crossed, he scoffed slightly. "Do you honestly think I'm dumb enough to fall for that?"

I sighed in annoyance, folding my own arms beneath my chest—probably doing enticing things to my cleavage that Nightwing was too professional to openly enjoy. "Look, whether you believe me or not isn't really my problem. I’m telling you—I’m not Morgana." I tilted my head, giving him a curious look. "And what are you doing here anyway?"

His lips twisted slightly into a stern line. "Stopping an evil witch from robbing a bank, obviously."

Oh. Right. Although, evil witch felt a bit harsh. I preferred morally ambiguous dark witch, personally. Calling me straight-up evil was just plain rude.

Suddenly, Nightwing tensed visibly, slipping fluidly into a fighting stance. "Are you going to attack me? Don't you want revenge for what happened to Mordred?"

I blinked, utterly confused now. Slowly, I raised my hands in a placating gesture, trying to show I meant no harm. "Dude, again—I am not Morgana! I'm not just gonna randomly attack you unless you try attacking me first." A strange unease crept into my voice as realization dawned. Mordred…that name sounded familiar. "And hold on—what do you mean, ‘what happened to Mordred?"

I'd completely forgotten until just now—Morgana definitely had a son named Mordred in the DC Universe. Come to think of it, she'd never mentioned him to me at all…why?

Nightwing’s expression shifted subtly, his suspicion giving way to mild confusion. Slowly, he lowered his stance slightly. "Wait…are you really not Morgana?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's literally what I've been trying to tell you this entire time!"

Nightwing stared at me dumbfounded. "Wow, you look exactly like her."

"Yeah, trust me—it's a thing," I said dryly. "Neither of us knows why."

Something else occurred to him suddenly, and his body grew tense again, cautious. "Wait. Does this mean you're working with Morgana?"

I hesitated briefly, but my pride and excitement got the better of me. Lifting my chin defiantly, I met his cautious gaze. "Yes. You could say I'm Morgana’s apprentice now," I admitted with a faint smirk. Before he could react, I quickly added, more softly, "But seriously—what exactly happened to Mordred?"

Nightwing's stern expression faltered for just a moment, something like regret flashing briefly across his features. "Mordred got hold of a powerful ancient dark artifact," he explained carefully. "If he'd succeeded in using it, it would’ve cost millions of innocent lives in Metropolis. To stop him, Wonder Woman had no choice but to…put him down. Morgana swore vengeance against the entire Justice League afterward, right before we locked her away in prison."

My stomach clenched. Mordred was dead? Morgana's son had actually died…and at the League’s hands? No wonder she'd been so secretive. No wonder she'd been imprisoned. My heart suddenly ached for my mentor, my thoughts churning in confusion.

Nightwing was watching my face carefully, his voice becoming gentler, coaxing. "If you genuinely didn't know about Mordred, then you obviously haven't been her apprentice for very long." His voice softened more earnestly, eyes gentle now. "There's still time, you know. You don't have to follow her down this dark path. Look," he gestured meaningfully toward the unconscious guard cuffed safely on the floor. "You didn't hurt him, which means you're not some ruthless, violent criminal." He took a careful step toward me, arms opening slightly. "Just put the stolen money back, and come quietly. I promise to vouch for you personally—you'll hardly serve any real jail time at all. And afterward, maybe I can help you become someone better. A hero."

His hopeful sincerity caught me off guard, making my chest tighten oddly. 

Becoming a hero? 

That honestly wasn't something I'd ever thought possible—hell, I'd already burned multiple people to death in self-defense in the past few days alone. Nightwing had no clue about my darker actions.

Still, I appreciated his genuine offer, even if I knew deep down it was probably impossible for someone like me to walk the path of a hero at this point.

And truth wise, I didn't want to let go of my hatred at this point, I didn't want to let go of the thought of getting pay back against those who had wronged me. Even without [Simmering Fury], I didn't want to be a victim anymore! 

Nightwing must have noticed my expression shift, because his muscles visibly tensed as he smoothly slipped back into a ready fighting stance. His eyes narrowed cautiously beneath his dark mask, yet his voice was soft—almost regretful—as he spoke to me again.

"I guess it's coming to this after all," he said quietly, disappointment clear in his tone. His expression softened into something genuinely sorrowful as he met my eyes. "Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

Those heroically sincere eyes were practically begging me to change my mind. Damn it, those sad puppy-dog eyes were just unfair. They almost made me feel guilty for what I was about to do. Almost.

I shook my head slowly, offering him a regretful smile. "Sorry, Nightwing," I said gently but firmly. "My path has already been chosen. Please, just get out of my way. My teacher is waiting for me."

He let out a heavy sigh and straightened, his posture radiating firm determination now. "You know I can't just let you walk out of here, right? Not after you assaulted a security guard and robbed a bank."

Fuck. Anxiety stirred in my chest, nerves fluttering uneasily in my stomach. Still, I forced myself to maintain a calm facade, attempting to bullshit my way through this encounter.

"Are you really sure about that?" I asked playfully, flashing him a teasing smile even as my heart raced. "Can't you see I'm completely unarmed? Assaulting an innocent woman is definitely a crime, you know." I raised one eyebrow challengingly, forcing false bravado into my voice. "You're not even an official member of law enforcement. Touch me, and I'll absolutely press charges."

Nightwing tilted his head slightly, clearly unimpressed by my threat, but a faint glimmer of doubt did flicker briefly across his face. Or at least that's what I chose to believe.

Inwardly, though, I was practically panicking. My magical arsenal was painfully limited, and I was seriously hesitant about using my flames against someone like Nightwing—someone genuinely good, who'd done nothing to deserve harm. And even though my succubus nature gave me a certain level of strength beyond a normal human woman of my size, there was no fucking way I could hope to match him physically.

I mean, seriously, just looking at those powerful muscles beneath his tight costume told me he'd trained his body relentlessly—probably to peak human capability. In this crazy universe, humans trained until they could literally dodge lasers and survive explosions. Batman himself was proof enough of that particular bullshit. If this confrontation turned physical, I was fucked.

Yet somehow, despite everything, it seemed my strange demonic luck hadn't entirely abandoned me. Just as Nightwing was about to make his move, he abruptly paused, raising one finger quickly to his ear. His head tilted slightly as if he was listening intently to a voice speaking through some hidden earpiece communicator.

– Nightwing –

Nightwing paused abruptly, pressing two fingers to the hidden communicator in his ear as Oracle's urgent voice cut sharply through.

"Nightwing, Robin needs backup right now!" Oracle's usually steady tone held a clear note of alarm. "He's on the east side of Gotham and just ran into Mr. Freeze. It's serious."

Nightwing cursed inwardly, his jaw tightening beneath the dark fabric of his mask. Damn it—of all the shitty timing. He stole another wary glance at the beautiful dark-haired witch standing calmly in front of him. He hated the idea of letting her walk out of this bank after what she'd done, but the choice wasn't even close.

Robin's life came first, always.

"Got it, Oracle. I'm on my way," he muttered tersely, voice low enough to be inaudible to the woman before him. He gave one last assessing look at the mysterious apprentice Morgana had apparently found for herself. And damn, wasn't that a terrifying fucking thought—two witches at Morgana's power level would be disastrous, not only for Gotham but for the entire Justice League. He had to stop this before it escalated—but not tonight. Tonight, Robin took priority.

"You got lucky this time," Nightwing growled softly to the beautiful witch, meeting her brilliant emerald eyes one last time. "Next time, you won't."

Without another word, he spun swiftly on his heel, sprinting toward the bank entrance and rushing out into the shadowy Gotham streets.

– Amara –

Grinning to myself, I quickly took advantage of my unexpected stroke of luck and hurriedly booked it out of the bank. My heart was still pounding furiously in my chest from the close call with Nightwing as I sprinted down the sidewalk. I was so distracted that I only made it a few steps away from the entrance before I ran directly into someone—hard.

I collided face-first into a pair of incredibly soft, full breasts, my face squishing embarrassingly into the generous cleavage of a woman much taller than myself. I stumbled slightly, catching myself against her body as warmth rushed into my cheeks. Blinking rapidly, I quickly glanced up and was momentarily stunned into silence.

The woman I'd just barrelled into was absolutely stunning—tall, dark-skinned, and gorgeous, with flawless features and a lush, full mouth that curled into a playful smirk as she stared down at me. She had long, silky brown hair cascading down her shoulders, framing her striking face perfectly. Her body was slim yet deliciously curvy, hips flaring dramatically beneath tight-fitting black leather jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She wore a snug, provocative black tank top with bold white letters across the chest proclaiming her as "Lucifer's Bitch."

"Well, aren't you a naughty little girl," she drawled seductively, raising one perfect eyebrow at me. Her voice was smooth, rich, practically dripping sexuality. Her strong arms slid confidently around my back, pulling me even closer against her voluptuous body, crushing my chest against hers as my blush deepened even more.

My heart raced faster, and my breathing hitched as I stared up into her eyes—dark, smoldering, dangerous eyes that seemed to see right through me. Her breasts pressed firmly into mine, warm and pillowy soft through the thin fabric of her shirt. Despite myself, my body instinctively reacted to her touch, my nipples tightening noticeably beneath my hoodie.

Flustered by her teasing tone, I tried to regain my composure, scoffing softly. "I'm not a little girl," I retorted, narrowing my eyes up at her challengingly. "I'm a beautiful young woman."

Her smirk widened into an even more suggestive smile, dark eyes glittering hungrily as they shamelessly raked over my curves, lingering on my full chest and hips. "Oh, I definitely noticed," she purred huskily, her tongue flicking out briefly to tease along her full lower lip. Her gaze smoldered as it met mine again, practically dripping sex appeal.

My succubus instincts flared wildly within me—partly in arousal, and partly screaming at me in warning. There was something undeniably powerful and incredibly dangerous radiating off this mysterious beauty, something that made my pulse spike in a mixture of excitement and alarm.

I tensed slightly, pushing carefully back against her grip and slipping quickly out of her deceptively gentle embrace. It felt suspiciously easy, as though she'd deliberately allowed me to slip free.

The woman watched me curiously, clearly amused by my wary reaction. "Relax, gorgeous," she chuckled softly. "I'm just being friendly."

I stared at her uncertainly, my instincts still screaming danger. "Who the hell are you?" I asked cautiously.

She smiled broadly, confidence radiating from every inch of her luscious body. "My name's Maze, beautiful," she said casually. "And who might you be?"

That name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't focus on why right now…

"Amara," I answered warily, still eyeing her with suspicion. Then, cautiously, I added, "You're not another hero, are you?"

Maze threw back her head and laughed richly, the sound husky and sinful, causing my body to involuntarily shiver again with desire. Her dark eyes flashed playfully as she leaned in just a bit closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Oh, honey—I'm the furthest thing from a hero."

– Mazikeen –

When Lucifer told Mazikeen that a new demoness had awoken onto this world and asked her to track down the poor little thing, Maze had been intrigued. Lucifer rarely showed genuine curiosity in anything, and when he did, it usually meant trouble—delightful, decadent trouble. 

On top of that was the fact that Lucifer apparently wasn’t allowed to track down the new demoness himself, and he couldn’t even tell her the reason why. 

She started her search in Gotham City. After all, half the world's shitstorms seemed to originate in that gloomy, cursed city. Finding trouble there was rarely difficult. Also, if she was a young demon trying to hide herself, this is the city she would pick.

That would make finding the demoness harder for anyone else, but then again Maze was blessed with the devil’s own luck. Quite literally since she was the closest thing he had to an actual friend….

Sure enough, luck led Maze right to the new demoness. 

Or it was more like the beautiful young woman stumbled right into her own arms.

…

"Oh, honey—I'm the furthest thing from a hero," Maze said with a grin.

Mazikeen took a deep, savoring breath, inhaling Amara’s scent. Her grin stretched wider. Oh, fuck yes. The fragrance rolling off Amara’s beautiful body was unmistakable—she was a succubus.

Incredible. Exhilarating, even. Succubi were beyond rare—nearly extinct, if the rumors were true. Maze had believed the last of their kind had been brutally wiped out centuries ago. Yet standing right in front of her was not just any succubus. This one was utterly pristine, untouched by anyone else. 

A virgin succubus.

Hell, Maze hadn't even believed such a thing could exist.

Amara was a treasure—a once-in-an-eternity find. Amara's emerald eyes watched her warily, cautious yet defiant. Maze's demonic senses easily picked up on Amara's instincts—young, inexperienced, nervous, and clearly on edge.

Slow down, Maze, she thought, frustrated with herself. You're scaring the poor girl.

She deliberately softened her approach, forcing her posture to relax. Maze allowed her smile to become friendly, rather than predatory, casually shifting her hips to adopt a less intimidating stance.

"Hey, Amara," Maze said, her voice gentler and warmer now. "I know we just met, but how about you spend some time with me tonight? Nothing serious—just a little fun. We could get drinks, dance a bit... get to know each other?"

Maze considered the invitation harmless enough. But the instant the words left her lips, Amara’s wary gaze sharpened noticeably, her expression tightening with visible unease.

Amara shook her head slightly, stepping back again. "Sorry, Maze," she said, her voice guarded. "But I have to decline."

Well, fuck. Disappointment flickered sharply through Maze. She rarely got turned down—and certainly never by someone as deliciously tempting as Amara. Maze mentally cursed her own power. As a powerful demon, her presence alone could easily unsettle someone with such raw, unhoned instincts. Hell, she’d probably overwhelmed the poor girl just by standing there.

"I... I really have to get back to my teacher now," Amara said quietly, her voice strained. "Can I go?"

Her cautious eyes watched Maze carefully, waiting for permission. Amara’s body was tense, clearly worried Maze might refuse. Something inside Maze softened. The last thing she wanted was to frighten off such an enticing creature, even though she desperately wanted to pull Amara into her arms and show her all the pleasures her succubus nature could offer.

“Of course you can, beautiful,” Maze replied smoothly, masking her disappointment as best she could. She forced a reassuring smile. “I’m not going to keep you if you don’t want to stay.”

Amara visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly in relief. Maze inwardly sighed. Passing up a treat as sweet as this girl was genuinely painful. Her mind quickly shifted gears. Amara had mentioned a teacher—whoever they were, Maze hoped they understood exactly how lucky they were to have such a rare beauty in their grasp.

In fact, who exactly was teaching this gorgeous young succubus? Were they worthy? Did they even realize how special Amara truly was? Maze suddenly burned with the urge to find out.

Technically, her assignment from Lucifer was complete. She’d found the new demoness he’d been so curious about. But really, how could he blame her if she decided to stick around Gotham City a little while longer? It wouldn’t hurt to learn a bit more about Amara, would it?

Before Amara turned to leave, Maze took one final chance. “Wait—Amara, do you mind giving me your number?” she asked gently. “You know, just in case you change your mind and wanna hang out.”

Amara hesitated, her cheeks flushing softly. Embarrassment and something like frustration flickered across her pretty face. She shuffled awkwardly on her feet before finally admitting, “…I don’t have a phone...”

– Amara –

I made it back to our crumbling shit apartment, the place we'd been squatting in for the past few days. As I stepped inside, Morgana was waiting there for me, lounging casually against the cracked kitchen counter, looking remarkably pleased with herself. Her emerald eyes lit up when she saw me enter.

"Amara, perfect timing!" she declared proudly. "I've found us the ideal new place to live. Much better than this filthy dump."

"Seriously?" I asked, relieved as I tossed my hoodie onto the nearby sofa. "Thank fuck, because honestly, this place is depressing."

Morgana smirked confidently, folding her arms beneath her ample chest and giving a small, triumphant nod. "It's a lovely, abandoned manor hidden deep within the outskirts of Gotham—perfectly secluded, fully wardable, and—" she paused, her eyes twinkling mischievously "—I've even come to an arrangement with one of the local villains. A little mutual agreement for protection and discretion."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "A local villain? Who exactly?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, just a local crime lord named Penguin. Quite the unsavory fellow, but useful. He ensures we remain hidden and unbothered by the city's heroes, and in return, we promise not to destroy him and his entire organization with horrible curses." She smiled sweetly.

That wasn't exactly the fairest of trade deals now was it…?

I laughed softly, shaking my head. Honestly, it was very Morgana—efficient, ruthless, and strangely charming in a terrifying sort of way. "Sounds perfect. Finally, we can settle down somewhere decent, and you can actually teach me some real dark magic."

She grinned wickedly, eyes glittering with excitement. "Indeed. No more distractions."

Her eyes dropped briefly to my body as she tilted her head in curiosity. "So, speaking of distractions—did you manage to secure us some money?"

I nodded slowly, shifting a bit uneasily on my feet. "Yeah. Went off without a hitch… mostly."

Morgana instantly caught the hesitation in my tone, her brow creasing slightly in concern. "Mostly?"

I sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear nervously. "Things got a bit risky. I ended up running right into Nightwing."

At my words, Morgana's entire body immediately tensed. A deep frown pulled at her beautiful face, her eyes flashing with cold, barely restrained fury. "Damn those heroes," she hissed bitterly, fists clenching at her sides. Her voice held a hateful, sharp edge. "Can't they ever just mind their own fucking business? Are they trying to take from me again!?"

Before today, the sheer venom in Morgana’s voice would have baffled me. But now that I knew what had happened to her son Mordred—that he had been killed by the Justice League—I could fully understand her anger. My heart twisted in sympathy as I watched Morgana visibly tremble with suppressed grief and rage. Without even fully thinking about it, I stepped closer, quickly closing the distance between us. Morgana’s eyes widened in surprise, and she let out an unexpectedly adorable squeak as I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. "It's okay," I murmured softly against her shoulder, gently squeezing her slim waist. "Nightwing didn't hurt me. I'm safe."

Morgana's stiffened posture relaxed instantly. I felt her arms slowly wrap around my body, pulling me closer as she exhaled quietly against my ear. "This is unexpected, Amara," she purred softly, her voice shifting quickly from bitter rage to sultry delight. "Though I must say, I absolutely do not mind."

I felt warmth rush to my cheeks, her flirtatious tone making my heart flutter embarrassingly in my chest. Morgana let out a quiet, lewd-sounding giggle, one hand playfully stroking down my back, sliding dangerously close to my ass.

"So tell me, apprentice—did anything else exciting happen during your little outing?" she teased. 

My entire body immediately tensed in her embrace. 

Morgana instantly sensed the shift in my mood, pulling back just enough to look down into my face with concern. "What is it, Amara?" she asked gently, emerald eyes searching mine. "Did something else happen?"

I bit my lip nervously, letting out a heavy sigh. "Actually, yes," I admitted reluctantly. "After leaving the bank, I sort of—well—I got asked out? I think?"

Morgana's eyebrows shot up in surprise and mild jealousy. "Asked out? By whom?"

I laughed weakly. "Honestly, I think it was a demon." Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the slightly crumpled piece of paper, unfolding it slowly to reveal a piece of paper that had Maze’s contact information on it since I didn’t have a phone.

Morgana glanced at it curiously, her eyes narrowing as she read the name aloud. "Maze… MAZIKEEN?!" Her eyes widened with shock and disbelief. "YOU MET LUCIFER’S MOST NOTORIOUS AND DANGEROUS DEMONESS IN GOTHAM CITY, AND SHE ASKED YOU OUT? WHY WAS SHE EVEN IN GOTHAM!? FUCK! WE CAME TO THIS CITY TO HIDE FROM BEINGS LIKE HER..."

I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. I had no clue who she was at the time. Should I…be worried?"

Morgana just stared back at me in stunned silence…

"So... I'm guessing I shouldn't call her?" I asked playfully, dangling Mazikeen's number in front of Morgana's face. To be fair, I wasn't seriously considering it. I just couldn't resist teasing her a little.

Morgana's eyes went wide, her emerald irises flaring brightly with shock and incredulity. Her flawless, porcelain cheeks flushed immediately, first with surprise and then with rapidly growing outrage. "Absolutely NOT!" she shrieked, snatching the piece of paper from my fingertips and glaring at it as if it were coated in poison. "You are not going to call her!"

I giggled, covering my mouth with one hand at her exaggerated reaction. Morgana turned to me, still fuming, her lips twisted into an indignant scowl even as a deeper flush tinted her cheeks. Honestly, seeing my poised and usually confident mentor reduced to sputtering outrage was incredibly amusing.

Still gripping the paper tightly in her hand, Morgana let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. "Who knew," she muttered irritably, half to herself, "that taking on an apprentice would lead to so many startling surprises, one after another?" Despite her obvious frustration, Morgana couldn't maintain her anger for long. She glanced up at me again, irritation fading into something warmer, her expression softening slightly. A small, affectionate smile tugged at her lips. She took a slow breath, regaining her composure, and shook her head gently at me. "Well, at least we won't have to deal with this kind of nonsense much longer. I'm quite happy we're finally moving into somewhere decent."

"Me too," I admitted with relief, glancing around the dilapidated, filthy apartment that had served as our temporary hideaway. The peeling wallpaper, mold-streaked ceiling, and sagging furniture weren't exactly the ideal surroundings for a powerful dark witch and her apprentice. We deserved better than this depressing shit-hole.

Morgana straightened, squaring her shoulders with renewed purpose. She gave me a quick, authoritative nod and gestured toward the bedroom. "Now come on, Amara. Go pack up your things."

I blinked in confusion, glancing over at the bedroom. I had literally nothing to pack besides the few clothes I owned. 

Morgana seemed to catch her mistake immediately. Her stern expression faltered, replaced by mild embarrassment as she sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose in mild frustration. "It's a figure of speech, apprentice," she explained dryly, clearly annoyed with herself for the slip-up. "What I meant to say is—let's get going. We've lingered in this miserable place far too long already."

A playful smirk danced across my lips as I watched her try to recover her dignity. Morgana shot me a quick glare, silently daring me to tease her further. I wisely chose to bite my tongue this time.

As we stepped outside, I couldn't help but steal one final glance at the crumpled paper with Mazikeen's number still tightly gripped in Morgana's hand. Morgana caught me looking, narrowing her eyes warningly, as if to say, don't even think about it!

XXX

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Chapter Text

Chapter 4 (~8000 words):

– Amara –

I stood completely naked in front of the three trembling men, my bare body fully on display beneath the dim candlelight. The shadows played gently across my creamy skin, emphasizing the generous curves of my large, perky breasts and the rounded swell of my hips and ass as I slowly sauntered forward. My breasts bounced softly with each smooth step, my hips swaying seductively as I walked, fully embracing my new succubus nature. Behind me, my slender tail flicked eagerly, and I let my small, bat-like wings unfurl slightly from my back, stretching in anticipation.

Despite my utterly naked form and the raw sexuality radiating from me, none of these three men seemed pleased at their current situation. 

Oh, they looked at me, yes. They couldn't help but stare between my thighs at my smooth, completely bare pussy, their gazes occasionally drifting upward to admire the fullness of my chest. But lust was mixed with unmistakable fear in their wide, panicked eyes. 

They shivered in terror, whimpering and struggling weakly against the thick ropes binding them to the stone sacrificial altar.

Good. Let them tremble. It served them right.

Earlier, I had walked through Gotham, pretending to be innocent and naive, trying to get men to attack me. 

Each of these men had, thinking I was an easy target—just another beautiful, helpless girl wandering lost through the dark streets of Gotham. Morgana hiding nearby had captured them. I had put my foot down saying I wouldn't ever use innocent people for a ritual like this. And these guys certainly had no innocent intentions so it was fine.

Now they were mine, and they would serve as fuel for this ritual.

Morgana stood off to the side, silently observing my approach toward the three captives. She inclined her head slowly, giving the signal to begin. 

I nodded subtly in return, gripping the ornate ritual knife tightly in my hand. At my feet, the pentagram drawn on the stone floor shimmered darkly with crimson runes, painted carefully from my own blood in preparation for tonight's ceremony. 

"Please!" one of them cried, his voice breaking pathetically, his eyes wide and pleading. "Please don't do this! I'm sorry—I swear, I'll never hurt anyone again!"

I tilted my head slightly, studying him with cold detachment. "I know you won't," I said softly, almost gently. "Not after tonight."

He whimpered desperately, shaking violently as I approached. His two companions screamed and begged loudly, their voices blending together in more pathetic pleading. 

Irritated by their desperate cries, I stepped decisively forward, my patience thin. The candlelight danced over my flawless skin as I raised the knife high above the first man's chest, directly over his heart.

Behind me, Morgana began chanting in Latin, her voice smooth, melodious, and powerful. Dark magic began to stir in the air around us, crackling like distant thunder.

As her voice echoed sharply off the stone walls, I plunged the knife downward without hesitation, piercing deeply into the screaming man's chest. He arched violently, a ragged, broken scream ripping from his throat. Hot blood gushed from the fresh wound, splattering down to splash thickly onto the runes at my feet. 

Immediately, the pentagram flared to life, greedily absorbing every drop of crimson liquid. Dark red magic pulsed beneath my bare feet, surging with sinister energy.

Ignoring the agony etched on the dying man's face, I twisted the knife sharply before pulling it free, splattering droplets of blood across my bare breasts. Warm blood trickled slowly down my chest and belly, painting my pale skin in delicate crimson streaks. Without pausing, I swiftly stepped to the next man, plunging the blade forcefully into his heart, silencing his pleading cries mid-word. Then the third, even quicker, efficiently dispatching him with a practiced motion.

Their combined blood pooled steadily beneath my bare toes, spreading across the ritual circle as Morgana's chanting rose louder, more fervent. A deep, hungry glow surged upward from the pentagram, surrounding my naked body with crimson radiance.

Morgana completed the final lines of her chant, her voice ringing sharply through the chamber. 

I gasped loudly as raw, primal power exploded upward from the blood-soaked pentagram, pouring into me in overwhelming torrents of pure magical force. It flooded every fiber of my being, penetrating deep into my muscles, my bones, and my very soul. I threw my head back, eyes wide, body trembling violently beneath the ecstatic sensation. My large, heavy breasts heaved rapidly with my ragged breaths.

I felt myself changing subtly—my already considerable strength growing even greater, muscles tightening and becoming more defined beneath my flawless skin. My body tingled sharply as I felt my natural magic greatly amplified, swirling eagerly within me, wild and hungry. My senses heightened dramatically, and I instinctively realized I'd just gained a powerful supernatural healing ability, the knowledge seeping directly into my mind through the ritual.

My wings shuddered and stretched outward and my tail lashed excitedly behind me at the intoxicating flood of demonic magic filling me. When the flow finally slowed, then ceased altogether, I stumbled slightly and fell to my knees.

Morgana slowly approached, her emerald eyes gleaming with pride and dark satisfaction. "Beautifully done, my dear apprentice," she praised softly, cupping my flushed cheek gently. "You didn't hesitate. Not even once."

I smiled weakly, still catching my breath. “Thank you, Morgana,” I whispered softly, voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Thanks for creating this ritual for me.”

She hadn’t been happy that only luck had allowed me to escape nightwing. This ritual—sacrificing three corrupted souls—gave me three new boons. Enhanced strength, enhanced senses, and a healing factor. 

Good things come in threes after all…

I slowly pushed myself back onto unsteady legs, my knees still weak and trembling slightly from the powerful magic that had surged through my body moments ago. My tail flicked lazily behind me, swaying gently as the last waves of sensation receded.

Before I could regain my full composure, Morgana stepped closer and reached out swiftly. Her slender, warm fingers wrapped snugly around my sensitive tail, just above the tip, instantly sending a sharp, delicious bolt of pleasure racing up my spine.

"Ah!" The soft, involuntary moan slipped from my parted lips before I could stop it, my eyelids fluttering shut for a brief second at the sudden stimulation. Her touch was practiced, her fingers gently squeezing and sliding along the velvety length of my tail in a sensuous caress that nearly left me breathless. Heat rushed to my core, pooling low in my belly as my nipples hardened instantly into tight, aching peaks.

But instead of melting completely into the overwhelming bliss—as I usually did—I forced myself to remain present, to stay cognizant. My muscles tightened, determination flooding my mind, and with effort I managed to twist and tug my tail gently but firmly out of Morgana’s grip. It slipped smoothly from her warm hand, leaving behind a tingling ghost sensation on my sensitive skin.

She let out an amused, playful pout, her eyes dancing with satisfaction even as she feigned disappointment. "My, my, Amara," she murmured softly, running the tip of her tongue slowly across her lower lip as she admired my bare, flushed form. "I’m impressed. You didn't completely lose yourself to pleasure this time either. You are improving everywhere!"

"Thank you, Mistress Morgana," I breathed shakily, cheeks slightly flushed as I tried—and failed—to hide my embarrassment. I pouted back at her teasingly, thinking with an inward sigh of how many times she'd practically brought me to my knees these past few days with nothing more than her skillful hands exploring every sensitive inch of my tail. She'd known exactly how to touch, stroke, squeeze, and caress to send me spiraling into helpless ecstasy again and again, teasing me to the brink until I could hardly form a coherent thought.

Not that I hadn't thoroughly enjoyed every exquisite moment of it…

Morgana's gaze trailed lazily down my naked body, lingering appreciatively on my ample breasts and shapely hips before drifting slowly lower, taking in every soft curve and sensitive detail. I saw hunger flicker briefly behind her emerald eyes before she regained control, gracefully stepping back.

"Now, my dear apprentice," she purred softly, a smirk tugging at her full lips as she gestured toward the doorway leading deeper into our quarters. "Go clean yourself up in the shower. You've earned your rest tonight."

With a nod and a lingering glance of my own at her seductive form, I turned slowly and made my way toward the bathing chambers, acutely aware of Morgana's heated gaze on the gentle sway of my hips and ass with every step I took away from her.

…As I stepped beneath the gentle, cascading warmth of the shower, I closed my eyes and sighed softly in relief. The steaming water flowed over me slowly washing away the crimson blood stains from tonight's ritual. 

With gentle care, I began running my hands through my long, silky black hair, rinsing out the remnants of blood. My fingertips softly massaged my scalp.

As my muscles gradually relaxed beneath the hot stream, my mind drifted back over these past few days. 

You'd think becoming the apprentice of a famously evil witch would be scary, but honestly, my experience was anything but. Morgana treated me with surprising kindness, a tenderness I'd never expected from someone so powerful, feared, and ruthless. When I made mistakes during my training sessions, she never struck me, never chastised me harshly. 

I reached for my shampoo to start washing my long hair.

Tomorrow, Morgana said I would finally be allowed to wander Gotham again. With the new fire spells I'd mastered and my now even more enhanced succubus body—stronger, faster, with keenly sharpened senses and regenerative healing—I should be a lot safer in this town. 

I should be a lot more dangerous.

Perhaps I'd even encounter Nightwing again. The thought of him brought a wicked smile to my lips…

Even more exciting was the promise Morgana had made me earlier. We would soon begin forging my very own wand. And thanks to the mysterious [Soul Bound Wand] perk, it would become permanently bonded to me—an unbreakable, inseparable extension of my very being. 

Name: Amara Black / Formerly Heather Potter-Black

Age: 19

Race: Succubus-Witch

System Spells, Talents and Magic Powers:

[Ritual Magic: Peak Performance!] You have performed an incredibly dark blood ritual—sacrificing the lives of three mortals to grant yourself the three boons of enhanced strength, enhanced senses, and enhanced recovery.

[Adept Flames] You can use adept fire magic at will. No incantation needed, only intent. Costs slightly more magic and is slightly less powerful if used without your [Soul-Bound Wand].

[Disciple of Dark Magic!] You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!

[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch!] By making direct skin-to-skin contact with another being, you can channel dark mana into their body, gradually increasing their sexual arousal. Prolonged, continuous contact can even drive them to orgasm.

Perks:

[Daughter of a Succubus]. Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.

[Blessed by Fire]. Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.

[Soul-Bound Wand]. When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!

Drawbacks:

[Major Sin of Lust]. You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.

[Cursed Knowledge]. You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.

[Simmering Fury]. Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.

Inventory: 

[Minor health potion!] A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.

[Basic Handgun] - 10 shots

…

The next day…

From the outside, our new home was the perfect disguise—a crumbling, grimy old warehouse nestled deep within the heart of Penguin's territory. Rust covered the metal walls, and the windows were either boarded up or shattered, lending an air of neglect and abandonment that kept curious eyes away. 

Nobody would suspect such a decrepit building concealed our secure hideaway.

Inside the rusted exterior was a beautifully appointed safe house with polished wooden floors, plush velvet furniture, and modern appliances and amenities. 

I strongly suspected this had been Penguin’s main secret hideaway before Morgana strode in and simply bullied him out of it…

He apparently still had a fancy nightclub though, so it's not like we made him homeless. 

I opened a small door at the side of the building to greet the two men who were waiting nervously outside. Both were large and imposing in stature, dressed in dark clothes, yet they shuffled anxiously on their feet. 

Their eyes widened slightly when they saw me, surprise flickering across their faces.

"Hello there," I greeted them warmly, flashing a gentle smile as I leaned casually against the doorway. “I'm not actually Morgana, I’m her apprentice, Amara. I know we look a lot alike.”

The two men visibly relaxed, relief washing over their rugged faces. I supposed being mistaken for Morgana was more terrifying than flattering around here.

“Thank fuck!” the taller one blurted out in sheer relief, instantly blushing and averting his eyes as he realized his slip-up. “Uh, no offense. It’s just…that woman is fucking scary as hell.”

His friend vigorously nodded in agreement. “Seriously. We’ve never seen Boss Penguin so rattled before. Usually, nothing fazes him, but Morgana…?” He trailed off with a nervous shudder.

I laughed softly, nodding understandingly. Morgana truly had that intimidating effect on people—commanding obedience and fear simply by walking into a room.

“I completely understand,” I reassured them kindly, letting amusement color my voice. 

The two men exchanged glances, subtly but obviously sizing me up. I could feel their eyes drifting appreciatively over my current outfit—a tight pair of jeans hugging my hips and ass, and a snug black tank top that showed off my flat stomach and generously curved breasts. Lately, I'd been experimenting with clothing styles, trying out different looks to discover what suited me best. Today I felt especially attractive and confident, and judging by their lingering gazes, these men clearly agreed.

"So, uh…are you Morgana's daughter or something?” the shorter man finally asked, an attempt at subtle flirtation evident in his awkward smile. “You two look crazy similar."

Before I could respond, the taller one elbowed him sharply and chuckled. “Nah, no way man. This chick’s way hotter—and definitely looks way nicer.”

I laughed softly at their clumsy attempts at flattery, amused but also slightly touched. Honestly, Morgana and I looked nearly identical—equally seductive, with eerily similar features, raven hair, and emerald eyes. Claiming one of us was objectively more beautiful than the other was absurd. But perhaps I was a bit softer in demeanor, kinder around the eyes and lips, giving an impression of innocence Morgana certainly didn't share.

Which, considering I was literally a succubus, was deeply ironic.

“Thanks, you’re both very sweet,” I said with a playful smirk. I decided to get straight to the task at hand. “...The bodies are downstairs in the basement,” I informed them casually. “Sorry about the mess down there.”

The shorter one swallowed visibly. “Uh, yeah, Penguin said something about cleaning up some kind of ritual?”

I nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah, Morgana helped me with a little project last night. I might’ve gotten just a little…carried away,” I admitted sheepishly.

I guided them through the hallways of the safehouse until we reached the sturdy wooden door leading down to the basement. 

They hesitated slightly, glancing uncertainly at me before descending the stairs first.

As soon as they reached the bottom step, both men froze instantly in shock. I followed behind and saw their jaws drop, their eyes wide as they took in the blood-stained floor, the crimson pentagram still vividly painted across the stone tiles, and the three lifeless bodies sprawled grotesquely atop the altar. Dark blood had pooled and splattered messily in every direction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” the taller one muttered weakly, looking pale as he stared down at the grisly remains.

The shorter man just shook his head, clearly disturbed.

I stepped beside them with an innocent shrug, a soft smile on my lips as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. “Like I said—sorry about all the blood,” I murmured casually, almost playfully. “I got a little excited cutting into these guys. Probably made more of a mess than I needed to.”

Both men stared at me now, jaws slack and speechless, clearly reevaluating their initial impressions of my kindness. I chuckled lightly and gently patted the shorter one reassuringly on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you guys to the cleanup. Thanks a lot for your help!”

As I turned to gracefully ascend the stairs, I overheard their whispered exchange of disbelief and resignation behind me.

“Why the fuck,” the taller man groaned miserably, “are the sexiest bitches always secretly batshit crazy? Now there's fucking two of them…”

“Penguin warned us,” his friend hissed back bitterly. “Said Morgana was nuts! Guess it runs in the fucking family. I bet this chick is her secret daughter or twin sister or some shit…”

The truth was, we could have cleaned up this scene ourselves with magic—but we chose not to. By having the Penguins men come and clean up for us, they would both report this grizzly scene back to him. It was another way of showing that “we’re absolutely crazy, don’t fuck with us!”

Morgana told me supervillains had to put on grisly displays like this once in a while or they’d lose the respect of their peers. And despite the fact that she’d prefer to just be a dark witch, she was classified in this country—and the world—as a supervillain. Although, from what I read about her on the internet, most people actually didn't believe that Morgana was over a thousand years old. They didn't believe that she was the original Morgana La Fay, the witch that destroyed camelot. They thought she was just a Meta-human villain with powers that resembled magic, trying to imitate a make-believe famous witch. 

Surprisingly, most people still didn’t think magic was real despite the Justice League having members that used magic…?

I wondered if that was because my world was a Harry Potter crossover and the Statute of Secrecy—despite hanging by the thinnest of fucking threads—was still in effect. Barely.

I shrugged to myself. Seeing as those two would be busy down there for hours and Morgana was busy herself today, I decided to go outside into Gotham instead of sitting around uselessly on the couch all day.

– Daphne Greengrass –

Daphne Greengrass shifted slightly in her seat, the supple leather of the limousine’s plush interior creaking softly beneath her. The tinted windows shielded them from Gotham's notoriously dreary sky. Glancing briefly at her reflection in the window, Daphne meticulously tucked a loose strand of platinum-blonde hair behind her ear. Her features, often called aristocratic by her peers at Hogwarts, were composed, graceful, and coldly beautiful. She exuded a calm confidence, an aloofness that often intimidated those who didn’t know her well.

Beside her, however, was an entirely different story.

Astoria Greengrass, her younger sister, could barely contain herself. Newly turned eighteen, Astoria was bubbling with youthful energy, her excitement palpable. Her eyes sparkled eagerly, her cheeks flushed with barely restrained enthusiasm, and she fidgeted in her seat—constantly adjusting the neatly tailored black business suit that hugged her slender form and emphasized her blossoming womanly curves. Her matching blonde hair, slightly brighter and more golden in hue compared to Daphne's cool platinum locks, cascaded down her shoulders in soft, luminous waves.

Resting on each of their laps were a pair of delicate owl masks—the masks they'd soon don to conceal their identities when they arrived at their destination.

Unable to contain her boundless excitement any longer, Astoria twisted in her seat to face her sister. “Oh, Merlin, Daphne, I just can't believe it! I’m so excited! You and Dad never talk openly about our family's secret club, and now I’m finally getting to officially join!”

Daphne immediately shot her younger sister a stern look, ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly as she placed a warning hand upon Astoria's gently bouncing knee. “It's not a ‘secret club,’ Astoria,” she corrected sharply, her voice soft yet firm. "I’ve told you repeatedly—this is a gathering of the most powerful men and women in the entire business world. Both magical and mundane. They meet only a handful of times each year, always here in Gotham. These people aren’t some rich brats like Malfoy. These are dangerous, powerful individuals. You don’t want to fuck with them.” 

The dark side of the business world runs thick with blood…

Truthfully, she had mixed feelings about bringing Astoria to the Court of Owls meeting. She adored her younger sister more than anything in this cruel world—yet she wished desperately to protect her from this shadowy side of their family’s dealings. But the Greengrass family’s cursed bloodline left them with little choice.

Astoria bore the terrible curse that ran within their family—one that invariably killed its bearers shortly after their thirtieth birthday. It was a constant weight upon Daphne's heart. 

Their father had joined the Court of Owls nearly 20 years prior—before either sister was even born—hoping desperately to leverage the Court's vast influence, power, and resources to finally break the ancient Greengrass curse. But despite decades of service, careful maneuvering, and political intrigue, they'd yet to discover a permanent solution.

Now that Astoria had come of age, their father had finally decided to involve her more openly, hoping that his beautiful daughters could succeed where he failed. Maybe even use their beauty to seduce some powerful members of the court into helping them….

Daphne had argued against the decision fiercely, yet their father's resolve was unshakeable. He was sending them alone this time to America, while he stayed in Britain, handling their families' domestic businesses.

"Daphne! Hey, Daphne—guess what?" Astoria chirped excitedly, seemingly unfazed by her older sister's grim warning.

With a resigned sigh, Daphne smiled softly at Astoria. It was impossible to deny her younger sister when she became like this—so earnest, vibrant, and optimistic in the face of their family’s dark history. "What, Astoria?" she asked patiently, allowing the corners of her lips to lift ever so slightly.

"I divined our fortunes for today!" Astoria declared proudly, beaming happily.

Daphne suppressed an exasperated groan, instead opting to roll her eyes gently. She couldn’t fathom why Astoria insisted on choosing Divination as an elective at Hogwarts. It was, by far, the most impractical and useless magical discipline. Everyone knew the professor was half-insane, and the prophecies almost never came true. Yet, despite Daphne's constant teasing, Astoria absolutely adored the subject, always enthusiastically pouring over crystal balls, tea leaves, and tarot cards, convinced she could unravel the future.

"Again, Astoria?" Daphne asked wryly, humoring her sister nonetheless. "Very well—tell me. What exactly did the stars reveal about today's events?"

Astoria’s expression turned suddenly serious, a hint of genuine earnestness entering her eyes as she leaned closer to Daphne conspiratorially. “It’s different this time, Daphne! I used a brand new deck of special tarot cards I bought in Knockturn Alley. The witch who sold them said they were powerful—imbued with real prophetic magic!”

Daphne lifted a skeptical brow, amused at her sister’s enthusiasm. "And?"

Astoria drew a breath dramatically, eyes wide and glittering with delight. "Today is going to be super exciting and maybe even a little dangerous," she explained eagerly. "But most importantly—we’re both going to meet someone new! A new friend—or maybe a new mistress? The cards weren't perfectly clear on that last part."

Daphne nearly choked at her sister’s unexpected phrasing, her elegant composure slipping for just an instant as she let out a surprised laugh. "A mistress, Astoria? Really now, you might be getting carried away with those ridiculous cards of yours."

Astoria huffed playfully, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Don’t mock the cards, Daphne! I'm telling you, this reading felt real. We’re definitely meeting someone important today. You'll see!"

Daphne reached out affectionately, gently squeezing Astoria’s hand. Despite the absurdity of divination, she couldn't deny the warmth that filled her heart every time Astoria smiled. Her sister’s positivity and hope were so deeply refreshing, a beacon of innocence and joy Daphne vowed silently to protect at any cost.

And that was about to be tested right now…

CRACK!!

Before she could register what was happening, a bullet sliced violently through the supposedly bulletproof glass of their vehicle. The window up front shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, glass fragments flying inward. 

Daphne and Astoria both screamed involuntarily, clutching each other instinctively as the projectile found its mark.

Blood sprayed the windshield in thick, crimson splatters, accompanied by chunks of gore and brain matter. The limo driver jerked violently backward in his seat, head lolling grotesquely as he instantly went limp. The limo, suddenly without a conscious hand to guide it, swerved erratically into the opposite lane, accelerating alarmingly toward the oncoming traffic.

“Daphne!” Astoria screamed, eyes wide in absolute terror, her fingernails digging desperately into Daphne's forearm.

“Hold on!” Daphne snapped sharply, tightening her grip around Astoria’s trembling form and bracing herself just seconds before impact.

The limo slammed headlong into another vehicle with a bone-jarring crash, sending both sisters hurtling violently to the floor. The collision reverberated throughout the limo’s reinforced frame, metal buckling and twisting with a screeching protest of tortured steel. 

Daphne and Astoria landed painfully in a tangled heap of limbs upon the lush, thickly padded carpeting that lined the vehicle’s floor. Daphne groaned softly in pain, feeling the violent impact reverberate painfully through her body. But thankfully, despite neither of them wearing seatbelts, neither had sustained any serious injuries. The limo’s interior, luxuriously plush and richly cushioned, had softened the blow significantly.

It helped too that witches were naturally hardier than Muggles.

“What—what the hell just happened?” Astoria whimpered, struggling to right herself, eyes glazed with panic as she clung to her sister’s arm for dear life.

“We’re under attack,” Daphne growled bitterly, pushing herself up onto shaking legs.. “The Court—one of them has turned against us.”

Astoria’s terrified gaze shot toward the ruined front compartment, the lifeless corpse of the driver slumped grotesquely across the steering wheel, blood pooling thickly over the dashboard. She whimpered, pressing trembling fingers to her lips. “Merlin…they actually tried to kill us—”

“No, Astoria,” Daphne corrected harshly, regaining her wits swiftly and gripping her wand tightly as she took rapid stock of their increasingly dire situation. “They’re still trying. They won’t stop until we’re dead. We need to move. Now.”

Already Daphne’s mind raced ahead. This attack was deliberate, orchestrated with ruthless efficiency—the hallmark of their fellow Court members. She knew full well how the Court operated. Its members were ambitious, power-hungry, willing to spill blood to maintain dominance. Their father had warned them time and again about the precarious nature of their family's position. Their family’s power and wealth had bred envy, greed, and hatred among rivals. Especially, considering the fact that they were “new money”  when it came to the Court.  their family had only joined two decades ago, their position not secure. 

Daphne bitterly realized someone had clearly decided they no longer wanted the Greengrasses around.

Quickly pulling herself together, Daphne reached out firmly to steady Astoria, whose breathing was erratic with mounting panic. Daphne's calm gaze locked fiercely with her sister’s frightened eyes, her voice firm and resolute. “Listen to me, Astoria. Follow my lead and stay close.”

Astoria nodded shakily, visibly pulling herself together, forcing a mask of resolve onto her pale face. “I—I understand, Daphne. I trust you.”

Heart swelling with love and fierce protectiveness, Daphne aimed her wand decisively toward the damaged limo door. “Depulso!” she snapped crisply.

An invisible wave of magical energy exploded outward, tearing the reinforced limo door violently from its hinges and sending it flying several feet away onto the busy street. The harsh cacophony of Gotham immediately flooded their ears—blaring car horns, startled shouts from pedestrians, and the distant wail of approaching emergency sirens.

Without hesitating another second, Daphne seized Astoria’s hand and pulled her urgently forward, stepping out into the chaos of Gotham's bustling street. Cars screeched sharply to sudden stops around them, enraged drivers honking furiously, shouting angry curses from rolled-down windows. Daphne ignored them all. Nothing mattered now except getting her sister somewhere safe.

She didn’t dare slow her pace, pulling Astoria roughly along beside her as they sprinted through the maze of stopped vehicles. Her high heels clicked sharply on the pavement, but Daphne barely registered the discomfort.

She risked a glance over her shoulder and her blood turned to ice in her veins.

Emerging swiftly from nearby cars and alleyways were a group of heavily armed Muggle mercenaries, their tactical gear clearly identifying them as well-trained, elite soldiers-for-hire. They were already closing in, raising high-powered assault rifles and automatic weapons, faces obscured by dark tactical masks and tinted goggles. 

Clearly, whoever had orchestrated this attack had hired some real pros...

“Move, Astoria!” Daphne barked urgently, forcing her legs to carry them even faster, desperately weaving through the dense crowd of startled pedestrians. Fearful screams erupted around them as innocent bystanders finally caught sight of the advancing armed mercenaries, scattering desperately in every direction.

Bullets cracked sharply through the air around them, shattering shop windows, ricocheting off metal surfaces. Daphne cursed savagely under her breath, gripping Astoria’s hand so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her wand clenched fiercely in her other hand, ready to unleash magic at a moment's notice.

But Daphne knew they couldn’t afford an open magical firefight here—not in full view of dozens of Muggle witnesses. The Statute of Secrecy still tenuously existed, and the Ministry’s American counterpart, MACUSA, wouldn't hesitate to come down brutally hard on blatant exposure of “Wizarding magic” to the Muggle population. Not with the statute hanging by a thread as it was  with all the magical heroes and villains running around in capes nowadays.

Astoria stumbled slightly, gasping with exertion as they veered sharply into a narrow alleyway, temporarily out of sight from their pursuers. Daphne pulled her close against the alley’s grimy brick wall, pressing a finger urgently to her lips. “Quiet,” she whispered harshly, senses hyper-aware of every distant shout, every pounding footstep closing in on their location. 

Astoria nodded breathlessly, visibly terrified but forcing herself to remain silent and still.

Daphne carefully peered around the alley’s edge, heart pounding wildly. Mercenaries shouted harsh commands, quickly regrouping to continue the chase. It was only a matter of seconds before they discovered their hiding spot.

With steely resolve, Daphne drew her sister protectively closer, whispering urgently. “When I say run, you run—don’t look back, don’t stop. If anything happens to me—”

“No!” Astoria whispered fiercely, eyes wide with desperate refusal. “Don’t even say that, Daphne. You promised to protect me. We’ll get out of this together.”

— Amara –

‘Well, that was certainly interesting,’ I mused silently, pulling my lips away from the straw of my mango smoothie. The icy sweetness lingered on my tongue as I watched the chaotic scene unfolding in front of me with detached curiosity. Without bothering to find a trash can, I carelessly tossed the half-empty smoothie cup onto the grimy Gotham pavement.

Not my problem. Gotham had far bigger issues than a littered smoothie, after all.

From beneath my oversized hoodie, to hide me from all of the security cameras, I quietly observed the scene playing out across the busy street. The vehicle that had just been attacked—an ostentatiously luxurious black limousine—sat crashed against a smaller sedan, smoke and steam billowing from its ruined front end. The smell of burned rubber, gasoline, and blood lingered heavily in the air. Panicked bystanders screamed and scrambled in every direction, cars skidding and honking as their startled drivers reacted frantically to the sudden violence.

Emerging from the wrecked limousine, two stunningly beautiful blondes had stumbled out onto the chaotic Gotham street. 

I raised an eyebrow appreciatively as I watched them sprint through the traffic. Even from a distance, their figures were undeniably enticing, their curves accentuated perfectly by those tight-fitting business suits. 

Yet even their obvious allure wouldn't have been enough to make me linger in this dangerous, chaotic scene. Gotham was a brutal city, and I'd already learned from Morgana that sometimes survival meant minding my own damn business.

At least, it would have—until I'd noticed the object gripped firmly in the older blonde's hand.

A wand. A wizarding wand.

I'd spent enough time around my real FATHER, Sirius Black, now to instantly recognize one.

They were witches. Why were two magical women wandering Gotham dressed like muggle executives? Who had hired armed mercenaries to brazenly attack them in broad daylight? And more importantly—did their presence here hold any interesting implications for me or Morgana?

Well. Only one way to find out.

I quickly assessed the situation as I got closer. The mercenaries, disciplined and organized, were already regrouping from their brief confusion, moving swiftly through the stopped vehicles as they chased after their fleeing prey. The blonde witches had disappeared down a narrow alleyway, clearly hoping to lose their attackers in the labyrinthine side streets of Gotham’s inner city.

Instead of doing the sensible thing and fleeing with the rest of the screaming pedestrians, I simply shrugged to myself, the edges of my lips curling into a wicked smile beneath the shadow of my hoody. Morgana had spent days teaching me how to defend myself with both magic and my succubus nature—now seemed like the perfect opportunity to test my newfound skills.

Keeping my face carefully concealed, I calmly walked forward across the busy road, smoothly weaving through the panicked mob of Gotham citizens. Ahead, the mercenaries had paused momentarily at the alley entrance, weapons raised cautiously as their leader barked terse instructions. 

The mercenaries were completely focused on their mission, entirely oblivious to my casual approach from behind. My sensitive hearing, recently enhanced by Morgana’s blood ritual, easily picked up their hushed voices.

"Targets cornered down this alley. Watch your sectors—engage with extreme prejudice. Client wants no survivors."

No survivors? I frowned thoughtfully beneath my hood, curiosity deepening further. Someone wanted these witches dead very badly, indeed.

My footsteps were practically silent as I drew closer, blending effortlessly into the loud background noise of Gotham. I paused only long enough to quickly gauge my best course of action, taking a deep, calming breath. Then, with cold determination flickering through my veins, I flexed my fingers experimentally and allowed magic to gather at my fingertips.

Time to see if Morgana’s lessons had truly paid off.

I decided not to reveal my demonic traits—my wings and tail stayed carefully concealed inside my body, figuring I wouldn’t need to expose my true nature to deal with these mercenaries. Morgana had taught me well over these last few days. 

Subtlety had its uses. But subtlety didn’t mean harmless.

I glanced down briefly at my slender fingers and smirked as my nails suddenly lengthened, rapidly growing sharper and harder, transforming into wickedly lethal claws. A pretty basic demonic ability. 

Not stopping there, I summoned my newly adept fire magic, focusing intently. Instantly, my claw-like nails burst into life, glowing with intense, molten heat.

My lips curled into a satisfied smile. I stepped closer, stalking silently toward the unaware mercenaries clustered at the alley’s entrance.

They still hadn’t noticed my approach. 

Picking my target, I casually walked up behind the nearest mercenary—a tall, burly man in black tactical gear, clutching his rifle tightly, his attention completely focused down the alley.

“Excuse me?” I purred sweetly, letting my voice drip with innocence as I spoke softly from just behind him.

He jolted slightly at my voice, stiffening in surprise before turning quickly to face me. "Fuck off, you dumb bitch—" he growled irritably, swinging his weapon around to point it directly at me.

Too slow.

I lashed out swiftly, my glowing-hot claws slicing effortlessly across his throat, cutting deeply into vulnerable flesh. 

For a single, glorious moment, his eyes widened in pure, stunned terror—realization dawning on his features a heartbeat too late. Warm, sticky blood sprayed liberally across my outstretched hand, spattering crimson droplets onto my sleeve and cheek. A wicked thrill surged through my core, and I couldn’t suppress the satisfied grin tugging at my lips as I watched the mercenary desperately clawing at his ruined throat, gurgling weakly, falling to his knees, and finally collapsing limply at my feet.

His rifle clattered noisily to the pavement beside him.

Feeling mischievous, I bent gracefully and snatched the fallen rifle, quickly tossing it into my inventory. I smirked inwardly, amused at my growing collection of random weapons. I probably wouldn't use most of them, but there was something undeniably fun about accumulating shiny new toys from the enemies I’d slain.

But before I could dwell on my newfound weapon-hoarding habit, the sharp noise of the mercenary’s rifle hitting the pavement had drawn unwanted attention. Three other mercenaries whipped around sharply, weapons raised. Their eyes widened comically beneath their tactical masks as they spotted me standing casually over their fallen comrade’s corpse.

“Fuck—!”

Smiling coldly, I called upon my fire magic again, allowing two burning-hot lances of bright orange flame to manifest instantly in the palms of my hands. I admired the fiery projectiles for a fraction of a second, feeling their comforting heat, before flinging them forward with pinpoint accuracy.

Enhanced strength, enhanced senses, enhanced magic. Morgana’s ritual really was the gift that kept on giving.

The flaming lances rocketed through the air with blazing speed, sinking deep into two mercenaries’ chests. The magical fire pierced effortlessly through their body armor, plunging directly into their hearts and erupting violently inside their ribcages. I watched with wicked satisfaction as both men shrieked in agony, convulsing helplessly as their torsos rapidly ignited, their screams quickly fading into dying, strangled gurgles as flames devoured their organs and flesh from within.

The third mercenary, standing further back, cursed frantically into his radio, finally understanding what was happening. "We’re under attack by a fucking META!" he roared desperately. He raised his assault rifle, aiming at me wildly.

Oh shit!

With a surge of panic-laced excitement, I swiftly dove behind a nearby dumpster just as bullets erupted in a loud, deafening hailstorm around me. I gasped softly as rounds impacted the metal surface of the dumpster repeatedly, harsh metallic clangs reverberating painfully through my sensitive ears. 

I winced, but thankfully the steel was thick and sturdy enough to keep me protected. A few jagged dents appeared, but mercifully no bullets penetrated my cover. Still, I wasn’t eager to test exactly how good my newfound healing factor really was. Getting shot probably hurt like hell, and my succubus nature certainly preferred pleasure over pain. No thanks.

The mercenary’s rifle finally clicked empty, followed immediately by his furious swearing as he frantically fumbled for his sidearm.

Without giving him a chance to reload, I rolled quickly out from behind the dumpster, springing smoothly back onto my feet with feline agility. He looked up in shock, eyes wide behind his goggles as I rushed straight toward him, claws blazing brightly once again.

“Stay back—!” he screamed in panic, raising his pistol hastily.

Too little, too late.

I slammed bodily into him, sending us both crashing to the ground heavily. Straddling him instantly, pinning him beneath me with my supernaturally enhanced strength, I grinned wickedly down at his struggling form. “Sweet dreams…” I whispered softly, almost tenderly, before plunging my burning claws viciously downward into his wide-open, screaming eyes.

His terrified shrieks pierced my ears briefly, before abruptly cutting off. My searing-hot nails sunk deeply through his eyeballs and plunged into the soft, vulnerable tissue of his brain. His body instantly seized beneath me, twitching violently for a heartbeat, then abruptly fell limp. 

With a satisfied sigh, I slowly pulled my bloodied, glowing claws free, eyeing my handiwork appreciatively. My chest heaved slightly, breathing fast with adrenaline and excitement as the mercenary’s corpse lay utterly still beneath me.

Gods—that had felt amazing.

The final two mercenaries at the far end of the alley, dangerously close to the two cornered witches, rapidly spun around. The commotion I’d caused had finally caught their attention. Both men locked onto me with wild, hate-filled eyes as they raised their weapons threateningly.

“You fucking bitch!” one screamed, his voice shaking with fury. “You’ll pay for murdering our friends, you disgusting Meta-human filth!”

I blinked, momentarily stunned by the venom in his voice. Was "Meta-human" some kind of racial slur in this world? 

I almost felt offended—oddly mislabeled as well. I was a scuccubus-witch, thank you very much!

Still, despite the absurdity of the insult, their guns looked distinctly less amusing. My muscles tensed, readying to launch myself aside as soon as I saw their fingers tightening around the triggers.

But I never had the chance.

From behind them, two feminine voices suddenly rang out loudly and clearly.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Stupefy!”

The mercenaries had made the fatal mistake of turning their backs on the witches. Twin bolts of vibrant magical energy streaked forward from the shadows. A flash of emerald death struck one mercenary squarely in the back, his body seizing violently before collapsing lifelessly to the ground without so much as a twitch. At the same instant, his companion crumpled bonelessly beside him, stunned unconscious.

For a moment, silence hung heavily in the alleyway.

That was the first time I'd seen the infamous Killing Curse up close. Its ruthless efficiency was impressive. I doubt it would work on me though—or Morgana. 

My gaze lifted from the bodies to finally settle upon the witches I’d saved.

Two beautiful blondes cautiously stepped from their hiding spot behind a stack of wooden crates, wands still gripped tightly in their hands. Now that I could study them closely, I saw they could have easily passed for twins, although subtle differences set them apart—one was slightly curvier, her platinum-blonde hair lighter, nearly silvery in the alley’s dim lighting. The younger-looking one had hair slightly more golden and shimmering.

"A-stor-i-a." The older sister spoke slowly, each syllable carefully enunciated, clearly irritated. Her stunning ice-blue eyes narrowed sternly as she turned to her younger sibling. "Why are you using stunning spells? These bastards were trying to murder us. Don't hold back against people who wish us dead!"

The younger girl blushed furiously under her sister’s sharp rebuke, fidgeting nervously in place. Her eyes darted downward shyly as she murmured softly, “I—I’m sorry, Daphne. I’ve never killed before. You know I'm... not very good at dark magic..."

The older girl—Daphne, apparently—let out a frustrated but affectionate sigh, expression softening visibly. Reaching out gently, she touched her younger sister’s shoulder reassuringly, comforting her in a surprisingly tender gesture despite the grim circumstances. "It’s alright, Astoria,” she soothed quietly. "You're safe. That’s what matters most." Only then did Daphne slowly turn to fully acknowledge me. Her gaze immediately became wary once again, caution shimmering in her eyes as she regarded me silently. Her wand still clenched tightly by her side, but she notably made no move to raise it in my direction. “Thanks for the assistance,” she finally said, voice measured and cautiously polite. “Whoever you are…”

I could practically see her mind racing, uncertain if I posed further threat or salvation after what she’d just witnessed.

Before I could reply, though, Astoria suddenly brightened dramatically beside her older sister as she tugged insistently on Daphne's sleeve. “See, Daphne?” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I told you our fortune would come true! This has to be the person the cards foretold we'd meet today—a new friend here to save us!” She hesitated momentarily, chewing her lip thoughtfully, before eagerly adding with startling earnestness, “Or maybe she’s our new mistress?”

… What?

I stood there in stunned silence, my mind temporarily short-circuiting as I blinked dumbly at Astoria, processing her words slowly.

Did this gorgeous, seemingly innocent young witch seriously just imply…? My cheeks flushed involuntarily beneath my hood, an unexpected surge of heat rushing through me. Okay, admittedly, I'd been thinking earlier that both girls were undeniably attractive—but I hadn’t anticipated one of them openly suggesting a relationship quite that intimate just moments after we'd met! 

Daphne turned bright red at her younger sister’s blunt declaration, eyes widening in mortified horror as she spun sharply toward Astoria. "Astoria!" she hissed sharply, clearly scandalized. "You cannot say things like that! Merlin's sake—have some decorum!"

Astoria merely shrugged, unrepentantly grinning at her sister's embarrassment. "But that's what the cards said, Daphne! And look at her—she's obviously powerful and brave. It could definitely happen! And we can't see her face because of that big oversized hoodie she's wearing, but I bet she's really beautiful underneath it! And I know that you like girls more than you like boys because I've seen you and Tracy in your bedroom kissing more than once…" the younger one rambled more and more.

I couldn’t help it and started laughing! 

This was not how I was expecting this to go at all! I'd never actually had any female friends before, but if I did I think I would have liked them to be bubbly and energetic like the younger blonde here…

…

“I'm Astoria Greengrass, and this is my older sister Daphne. Thank you for saving us, stranger. Who are you?”

Greengrass?

The name resonated sharply in my mind, triggering a vague yet insistent memory. Sirius had mentioned it before, hadn’t he? Back during one of his lengthy explanations about pureblood families in Wizarding Britain—his attempt at giving me some sort of education about my heritage. Yes, definitely—the Greengrasses were a pureblood family from Britain.

Also, that crisp, unmistakably posh British accent was unmistakable—the same accent I had of course. 

I felt an odd, nostalgic tug deep in my chest.

Deciding I’d kept the hooded, mysterious savior persona going long enough, I slowly reached up with one slender hand and tugged my oversized hoodie backward, finally revealing my face fully to the two witches standing nervously before me.

As my silky black hair cascaded freely around my shoulders, I carefully studied their reactions.

Daphne’s initial suspicion and wariness abruptly gave way to wide-eyed shock. I could practically feel the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks as she hastily averted her gaze again, eyes widening in embarrassment at her obvious reaction. Cute.

Astoria’s reaction was far less subtle.

“Oh, Merlin, look, Daphne!” the younger blonde exclaimed delightedly, practically bouncing in place as she eagerly tugged once again on the sleeve of Daphne’s impeccably tailored business blouse. She continued babbling happily, seemingly oblivious to her sister's mortification. “See? I told you, Daphne! She’s absolutely stunning, just like I said she’d be! Oh, wow—she’s got such pretty green eyes! And look at her hair—it’s gorgeous!”

Daphne shot her sister an exasperated glare, face flushing an even deeper crimson as she hastily swatted Astoria’s excited fingers from her sleeve, hissing under her breath in embarrassed annoyance, “Merlin’s sake, Astoria! Can you please try to have just a little bit of decorum and dignity?”

Astoria simply laughed merrily at her older sister’s mortification. She boldly ignored Daphne’s scolding and turned her cheerful attention fully toward me. “Ignore my grumpy older sister! She acts all mature and sophisticated, but secretly she loves pretty girls—”

“Astoria!” Daphne snapped sharply.

Gods, these two sisters were adorable in their playful back-and-forth teasing. Even amid the carnage littering the alley around us, I found their sibling banter strangely charming, refreshing even.

“Nice to meet you too,” I finally interjected smoothly, allowing an amused smirk to curl at my lips as I watched Daphne’s blush deepen at my confident gaze. Deciding to have a bit of playful fun at her expense, I winked flirtatiously in her direction before finally offering them both a genuine, friendly smile. “My name is Amara Black.”

XXX

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Chapter Text

Chapter 5 (13k words:)

– Amara –

“My name is Amara Black,” I introduced myself to the two of them. I would have held out my hand, but it was covered in blood.

“Black?” Daphne asked curiously, tilting her head slightly. “As in…the Ancient House of Black? I didn’t know there were any new members in your generation. And I definitely don't recall seeing you at Hogwarts.”

Before I could answer, Astoria chimed in, placing her hands on her hips with playful indignation. “Well, obviously, we don’t count Malfoy. He’s a complete prick.”

I paused for a moment, hesitating as an odd pang of emotion briefly gripped my chest. “My…father was Sirius Black.”

A sudden quiet fell over the alleyway, interrupted only by distant sirens and the occasional groan from the mercenary who'd been stunned rather than killed. Daphne’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, curiosity clearly visible in her expression. Astoria gasped slightly, eyes widening in wonder.

“Sirius Black had a daughter?” Daphne finally asked softly, obviously surprised by my revelation.

I nodded slowly, letting out a gentle sigh as the complicated emotions around my heritage briefly threatened to surface again. “My…family situation is complicated.”

Both sisters exchanged intrigued looks, clearly brimming with questions. However, this was neither the time nor the place. 

I gestured to the blood-soaked pavement and the dead mercenaries scattered around us. “Look, ladies, as fascinating as my tragic family drama might be, is this really the conversation you want to have in an alley littered with corpses?”

Astoria’s gaze fell to the bodies again, her cheeks immediately turning pale. She shook her head vehemently, blonde curls bouncing anxiously. “No. Definitely not.”

Daphne quickly regained her composure, taking charge with practiced confidence. “Right. We absolutely need to get somewhere safe.” Her eyes darted cautiously toward the busy street, unease etched into her usually calm features. “If these bastards were bold enough to stage an assassination attempt on us in the middle of broad daylight, our hotel probably isn't safe either.”

Astoria’s expression quickly shifted from scared to helpless, looking worriedly toward her older sister. “Where do we go, then?”

Both sisters, almost simultaneously, turned their pleading gazes toward me. Wide, hopeful eyes met mine.

I couldn’t help but let out a gentle chuckle, shaking my head slightly as I sighed deeply. These two witches were absolute strangers, but I’d just risked my life to save them. Walking away now and leaving them at the mercy of whoever was hunting them would be pretty cold-hearted, even by Gotham’s standards. 

Plus, Morgana always said that interesting encounters were rarely coincidences. Powerful, and dark magical beings like us, had a different kind of luck than normal people had. 

“Fine,” I finally conceded with a small, playful smirk. “You two can stay at my safe house, at least until things calm down. But I should warn you, I’m not alone there.”

Astoria’s eyes sparkled with excitement, a broad smile immediately breaking across her pretty face. “Oh! Do you have a roommate?”

I bit back another amused laugh, instead giving her a more serious look. “Not exactly. I live with my mistress and magical mentor. She’s extremely powerful, and very dangerous if you cross her—so you'll both need to be respectful.”

Astoria immediately nodded eagerly, bubbling with enthusiasm. “Of course! We can totally do that. Right, Daphne?”

Daphne looked slightly more wary, her brow furrowing at the mention of a powerful witch in Gotham. But she clearly recognized it was the safest immediate option, and after a brief hesitation, she offered me a grateful smile and nodded firmly. 

We emerged carefully from the alley into the now empty street. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, getting steadily louder—we didn’t have much time. 

Just as I turned to guide the sisters toward the quickest route back to my hidden safehouse, Daphne suddenly stopped, her heels clicking urgently against the cracked pavement.

“Wait!” she called out, glancing back toward their wrecked limousine, which was still smoking where it had crashed headlong into another vehicle. 

My gaze followed hers to the ruined car. I arched an eyebrow, mildly confused. “What is it?” I asked quickly, lowering my voice to avoid drawing attention.

She didn’t immediately respond. Instead, Daphne swiftly turned on her heel and dashed back toward the mangled vehicle. My gaze flickered downward involuntarily, appreciating the delightful way her tight skirt hugged her perfectly shaped hips and ass as she hurried away from us.

“Daphne! Wait!” Astoria hissed nervously after her sister, shifting anxiously beside me as she tugged unconsciously at the hem of her own outfit. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing? We need to leave—now!”

“One second!” Daphne shot back sharply without turning, urgency evident in her crisp, British-accented voice. Reaching the limo, she quickly leaned inside through one of the shattered windows as she frantically searched for something amidst the broken glass and scattered debris.

I narrowed my eyes slightly in suspicion, my enhanced vision easily picking out what Daphne was retrieving from the limo’s luxurious interior.

Two ornate owl masks. They looked almost like masquerade masks, finely crafted with eerie details—large almond-shaped eye holes, sharp curved beaks, intricate feather detailing etched into a smooth, polished ivory material. Even at this distance, my enhanced senses could detect faint traces of magic emanating softly from each mask as well. Some kind of spell to obscure the identity of the wearers most likely.

I glanced sideways toward Astoria, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Owl masks?” I murmured curiously. 

Astoria’s gaze quickly darted away from mine. She bit her lower lip, as if debating how much to tell me. “They're—uh—important,” she finally whispered, averting her eyes awkwardly. “Family-related stuff...”

I watched Daphne carefully climb back out of the limo, both masks clutched tightly in one hand. Her expression was relieved yet still tense, and she hurried swiftly back toward us. 

Once Daphne returned to our side, she let out a soft sigh of relief, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she handed one mask over to Astoria. “We couldn’t leave these behind,” she explained quietly, almost apologetically. “If we had… let's just say we'd find ourselves in very serious trouble.”

“More trouble than we’re already in?” Astoria muttered bitterly under her breath, accepting her mask and quickly slipping it into the small handbag at her side.

Daphne frowned slightly at her sister's sarcasm but didn’t respond. Instead, she tucked her own mask safely into the inner pocket of her suit jacket. Her sharp gaze flickered around us, clearly nervous about lingering out in the open.

“I promise we’ll explain everything once we’re somewhere safe,” she said quietly, glancing toward me with an apologetic smile. “Thank you again, Amara—for helping us. Truly.”

“Don’t mention it,” I replied casually, though I found myself oddly curious now about their mysterious owl masks and the evidently secretive, dangerous life these two beautiful witches led. Yet another intriguing mystery added to my rapidly growing list of puzzles to untangle.

But first things first.

I pulled the oversized hood of my dark hoodie up higher, carefully shadowing my face from any security cameras scattered throughout Gotham’s crowded streets. I made sure my hoodie was up, covering my face, and told the two of them to keep their heads down as we walked through Gotham to avoid all the security cameras. 

…The heavy warehouse door groaned softly as I pushed it open, stepping aside to let Daphne and Astoria inside. As soon as the two witches entered, Astoria’s bright eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

“Oh wow, this place is a lot nicer on the inside than the outside!” Astoria blurted out enthusiastically, her golden curls bouncing lightly as she turned her head around to admire our deceptively luxurious safe house. She practically vibrated with curiosity, clearly surprised by the elegant decor and comfortable furnishings concealed within our rust-covered warehouse.

“Astoria!” Daphne quickly scolded, shooting her younger sister a stern look of reproach. “You don’t say things like that to our host! It’s rude.”

I chuckled softly, waving off Daphne’s concern with a casual shrug. “Relax, Daphne, it's fine,” I assured her, my lips curving into a small amused smile. “It's meant to look crummy and inconspicuous from the outside. Helps keep curious eyes away. The inside, however, is much more comfortable. We like our creature comforts around here.”

Feeling mischievous, I stepped closer to Astoria, my emerald eyes locking playfully onto her wide, startled gaze. Gently, slowly, I reached out with one slender finger and carefully traced it along the smooth softness of Astoria’s flushed cheek. Her breath hitched softly at my sudden touch, and I felt her tremble slightly beneath my fingertips.

My succubus side purred in satisfaction at Astoria's innocent reaction, relishing the pleasant thrill running through my veins at her subtle submission. 

I immediately spotted a flash of something in Daphne’s icy-blue eyes—perhaps irritation, perhaps jealousy—as she shot me a faintly reproachful glare. Was she annoyed at me for boldly touching her sister—or secretly disappointed that I hadn't touched her first?

Either way, the older Greengrass sister quickly composed herself, straightening her back proudly as she looked away.

She was going to be fun to tease, I could tell…

Before I could press either of them further about exactly what Astoria had meant earlier by calling me their potential new "mistress," a familiar voice echoed softly from above us, dripping with amusement and intrigue.

“Well now,” Morgana purred, slowly descending the stairs from the upper level of our warehouse home, each graceful step emphasizing the seductive sway of her generous hips beneath her dress. “I wasn’t expecting guests so soon. Who are your lovely new friends, my dear apprentice?”

My heart skipped slightly at her voice, and I felt my breath momentarily catch in my throat as I glanced up toward her. Morgana’s presence always had a powerful effect on me, even after spending several days intimately training beneath her careful tutelage. 

Her aura was magnetic, irresistible, a raw blend of authority, beauty, and seductive danger that made my succubus blood sing.

Unlike my more modern choice of tight jeans and a snug black tank top, Morgana always favored dresses or traditional robes, today choosing a skin-tight black dress that hugged her flawless figure perfectly, highlighting every elegant curve of her hips and full breasts.

Daphne and Astoria both froze, mouths falling slightly open, blatantly staring as Morgana gracefully approached. Their eyes slowly wandered over her, lingering appreciatively on her voluptuous curves with zero subtlety, clearly captivated by her almost supernatural allure.

“You have… a twin sister, Amara?” Daphne finally managed to ask breathlessly.

Morgana chuckled softly as she moved closer. “Not quite,” she murmured silkily, her gaze sliding over the two beautiful witches standing nervously before her. “Though we do look remarkably similar, don’t we?”

Astoria swallowed audibly, her eyes wide and shimmering in fascination as she timidly shifted closer to Daphne’s side, glancing uncertainly between me and Morgana.

“My name is Morgana la Fey,” she continued smoothly, coming to a graceful stop just a few feet away. “I am Amara’s master and mentor. A pleasure to meet you two. Tell me—are you witches from Britain?”

Both sisters instantly stiffened in shock, eyes widening dramatically.

Daphne’s mouth fell open further, a sharp gasp of recognition escaping her lips as she sucked in a startled breath. “Morgana… la Fey…?” she repeated quietly.

Astoria, however, lacked Daphne's sense of restraint, immediately erupting into an adorable squeal of excitement as she bounced energetically on her heels. “Holy crap, Daphne! It really is her!” she gushed excitedly, eyes practically glowing as she beamed openly at Morgana. “I have her chocolate frog card back home in my collection and everything! Merlin, this is amazing!”

Daphne turned bright red at her younger sister’s unabashed enthusiasm, quickly shooting Astoria another mortified glare. “Astoria—Merlin’s sake, calm down!” she hissed urgently. 

Morgana merely laughed. Her emerald eyes sparkled with genuine amusement and warmth as she gracefully stepped forward, gently reaching out to lightly lift Astoria’s chin with delicate fingertips, examining the young witch’s flushed, eager face.

“A chocolate frog card?” Morgana murmured teasingly. “Well now, it seems my legacy continues even in these modern times...”

Astoria visibly shivered beneath Morgana’s touch, completely entranced, and I felt a sudden pang of envy at the sight of Morgana lavishing attention on someone else. Interesting—I'd never felt jealousy this intense before meeting Morgana. 

It was a confusing sensation…

Finally releasing Astoria, Morgana turned her penetrating gaze back toward Daphne, who quickly straightened and recomposed herself beneath that powerful stare, clearly trying—and failing—to conceal her nervous awe.

Morgana's lips curved into a knowing smile. “Tell me, Daphne—was it?—I trust your presence in Gotham, and now my home, comes with quite a fascinating story?”

Daphne nodded hesitantly, clearly overwhelmed by everything that had happened today. “Yes… Lady la Fey,” she replied respectfully, carefully measuring her words as she met Morgana's gaze with cautious reverence. “It's… rather complicated, but we’d be grateful for your hospitality.”

“Oh, I do love complicated stories,” Morgana purred with visible anticipation, casting an approving glance toward me. “And since my dear Amara brought you here, I believe we’ll all have plenty of time to explore… everything.”

I caught Morgana’s meaningful look in my direction, her eyes practically glowing with promise. My pulse quickened, already imagining just how much exploring we could do together.

After all, Morgana always said interesting encounters were rarely coincidences. These two beautiful witches might have stumbled into our lives accidentally, but somehow I suspected fate—or perhaps magic—had greater plans in store for all four of us.

…Daphne and Astoria slipped into the bathroom to clean themselves up. 

Alone now with Morgana, I sank down onto our plush couch, finally allowing myself to relax fully. Morgana smoothly sat beside me, curling her body close against mine.

With a contented sigh, I rested my head back against the cushions as Morgana leaned into me, her warmth radiating softly through her tight black dress. Her slender hand found its way onto my thigh, rubbing slowly and soothingly over the denim fabric of my jeans.

My succubus instincts purred approvingly.

“So,” Morgana murmured softly, her voice velvety and seductive as her fingertips gently traced patterns across my thigh, “it seems you've had quite the exciting adventure today, my dear apprentice. You've done well.”

Just minutes earlier, Daphne and Astoria had shared their own strange story—explaining their connection to the mysterious organization they belonged to, this "Court of Owls."

According to Daphne, this secret society had secretly controlled Gotham—and much of the world's economy—for centuries. The sisters' own family had joined this powerful society years ago, hoping to leverage its immense resources and influence to cure an ancient family curse that now threatened Astoria's life.

But something had clearly gone horribly wrong today. A jealous rival family within the Court had apparently orchestrated the assassination attempt on them, though neither sister could yet say exactly why they'd been targeted.

Morgana listened attentively to their story, and clearly, she found these new developments deeply intriguing.

“You did very well in saving those two witches, Amara,” Morgana praised again. Her fingers gently tightened their hold on my thigh, squeezing possessively as she leaned even closer against my side. “I can tell they are the kind of girls who will be deeply loyal to the future leaders of their coven.”

I blinked in surprise, turning my head slightly to look into Morgana’s beautiful face. Her choice of words caught my attention immediately. “Coven?” I repeated, curiosity piqued. “Are you saying we're forming one…?”

“It's just a thought for now, my dear apprentice. We'll discuss it in more detail later. But consider this—all of my enemies have united themselves against me, hiding behind their ridiculous Justice League. Perhaps it's time we begin building my own loyal forces. And not just for my revenge, but yours as well…”

The idea intrigued me deeply, sending a thrill of excitement racing down my spine. The thought of forming our own coven—of having loyal, devoted witches like Daphne and Astoria beneath us—was tantalizingly appealing. 

Power, companionship, influence… It was all deeply enticing.

As I mulled over Morgana’s intriguing suggestion, her sultry voice suddenly took on a more playful tone. Her hand slid even higher up my thigh, fingers teasing dangerously close to my center. “But tell me, Amara…what else did you think of our beautiful new friends? Beyond mere usefulness, I mean.”

My cheeks flushed warmly at her teasing question, a shy smile tugging involuntarily at my lips as I remembered Daphne and Astoria standing shyly before us. “They're both very beautiful,” I admitted softly, feeling warmth spread across my cheeks and throat. My heartbeat quickened, desire stirring within me as Morgana continued her gentle caress, slowly driving me wild. “And honestly… who doesn't love gorgeous sisters?” I added with a chuckle, trying—and failing—to sound casual and indifferent.

Morgana laughed softly at my attempted nonchalance. Her eyes sparkled knowingly as she leaned closer still, whispering huskily in my ear. “Oh, those girls certainly seem to share that sentiment. Did you see the way they looked at us, Amara? Like hungry little kittens. Completely entranced. As a succubus,” she purred smoothly, her voice like silk as she continued softly stroking my sensitive thigh, “it is natural for you to take many lovers throughout your lifetime. Men, women, mortals, witches… your heart and body will crave them all, in time. And clearly, you're very attracted to beautiful women, my sweet apprentice.”

I shivered slightly beneath her knowing words, feeling vulnerable yet deeply aroused by her frank acknowledgment of my desires. “Obviously,” I admitted quietly, cheeks burning brightly as Morgana gave my thigh another possessive squeeze, sending delightful tingles racing upward through my body.

Then, she tilted her head slightly, studying my reaction carefully as she spoke again. “And what about this hero you encountered—Nightwing, was it?” Morgana teased gently, raising an amused eyebrow. “The way you described him after your brief encounter revealed much more than you probably intended. Tall, strong, handsome—muscles for days, I believe you said?”

My blush intensified, heat spreading rapidly through me as Morgana continued to tease. I quickly raised my gaze to hers, seriousness flickering through my expression as I shook my head slightly. “Look, Morgana—I won’t lie, he's incredibly good-looking. And yes, he's built like a Greek god. But you don't need to worry about my loyalty. I'm not going to turn on you and jump into bed with some arrogant superhero.”

Morgana’s eyes softened immediately at my earnest declaration. Her teasing smirk faded into a gentle, grateful smile as she reached up tenderly to cup my cheek in her warm hand. “Thank you, Amara,” she whispered softly. “Your loyalty is deeply appreciated. But honestly—that isn't exactly what I was getting at.”

I blinked in mild confusion, tilting my head questioningly at her cryptic words. “Then…what exactly do you mean, Morgana?”

She chuckled softly again, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to my forehead before meeting my curious stare once more. “What I mean, my sweet apprentice, is that not every hero is entirely incorruptible. Even the noblest hearts can be tempted by the right person, under the right circumstances…”

“You want me to try and corrupt him? To lure him away from Batman?” I asked, blinking in genuine surprise. A part of me seriously doubted this was even remotely possible, thanks to my [Cursed knowledge]. Everything I remembered screamed that trying to sway someone as idealistic and dedicated as Nightwing was futile.

But Morgana merely offered me one of her sly, knowing smiles as she decided to turn this into yet another of her irresistible teaching moments. “Never ignore even the faintest possibility, if granted the opportunity, my sweet apprentice,” she whispered silkily.

My breath caught sharply as her hand slid upward along my thigh, gliding beneath the waistband of my jeans with practiced ease. My heart raced with anticipation as she smoothly unbuttoned them, the soft hiss of the zipper lowering sending a rush of heat straight between my thighs.

Then her fingers slipped inside my panties, finding my warm, already-damp pussy instantly. I gasped helplessly, my eyelids fluttering as Morgana's skilled fingertips began teasing me, gently rubbing slow circles around my swollen clit.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned softly, unable to stop myself from instinctively rolling my hips upward into her touch, craving more.

Morgana chuckled lightly at my reaction, clearly pleased by my eager response. She leaned closer, whispering teasingly against my ear. “Now then, my apprentice… What do you think we should do about this Court of Owls? They did just try to kill your beautiful new witches, did they not?” She emphasized her words by pressing firmly against my clit, rubbing small, insistent circles. 

Pleasure surged sharply through me, making coherent thought suddenly very challenging. I squirmed beneath her ministrations, my thighs trembling with desire. “They… ahh… they need to pay,” I finally managed to gasp out, voice shaky as Morgana continued her relentless torment. My mind struggled to focus even as pleasure rippled through me. “Nobody hurts my girls and gets away with it…”

Morgana’s smile widened in approval, her emerald eyes darkening with seductive delight. “Exactly right, my lovely Amara,” she purred softly, rewarding me by slipping two slender fingers deeper inside me, making my back arch sharply as another desperate moan spilled from my lips. 

Her skilled fingers sank deeper inside me, gently exploring my wet inner folds. My hips bucked slightly in response with my thighs trembling as pleasure built rapidly within my core. Yet Morgana deliberately held back—her fingertips stopped short of penetrating too deeply, gently pressing against my untouched hymen. 

She’d explained carefully during our intimate lessons that my virginity was special, magically potent, and would need to remain intact for an important future ritual. 

She smiled wickedly as she watched the lustful frustration ripple across my face. Her identical, gorgeous features leaned in slowly, lips brushing softly against mine in a teasing caress. Before I could even process the delicious sensation, her fingers started moving faster inside me, skillfully massaging and rubbing just the right places.

“Oh, fuck…Morgana…” I whimpered softly, breathlessly, my voice trembling as pleasure surged intensely through my pussy. Morgana took my moans as an invitation, pressing her soft lips fully against mine, capturing me in a deep, passionate kiss. Her tongue teased playfully into my mouth as her fingers pumped relentlessly faster, steadily pushing me closer to the edge of my climax.

I moaned deeply against her lips, hips grinding helplessly into her hand as I finally exploded around her fingers, cumming hard and soaking straight through my panties and jeans! 

I felt the slick warmth of my arousal pooling rapidly beneath me, staining the couch fabric beneath our entwined bodies. My thighs shook as I rode out my orgasm, fingers tightly gripping Morgana’s shoulders to keep from collapsing completely.

With a soft, satisfied chuckle, Morgana gently pulled her wet fingers from between my thighs, her eyes heavy-lidded with lust as she slowly brought her glistening fingers up to her mouth. She parted her lips slowly, deliberately sucking my juices from her fingers with an audible moan of appreciation.

“Mmm,” she purred, tongue flicking seductively over her fingertips to catch every last drop. Her voice was dripping with promise as she whispered huskily against my flushed cheek. “That was just a small teaser, my dear apprentice. Tonight, you and I will thoroughly enjoy ourselves with those two beautiful blonde sisters. But remember—work must always come before pleasure.” She gently cupped my chin. “First, we must strategize carefully about this ‘Court of Owls.’”

– Nightwing –

“Thanks again for agreeing to help out on this one, Raven,” Nightwing called softly to his companion as they patrolled Gotham from above. Raven flew effortlessly alongside him, her violet cloak billowing gently around her gorgeous figure, while Nightwing leapt from rooftop to rooftop with practiced ease.

The sun had only just set, bathing Gotham in deepening shadows. Nightwing knew better than anyone that the coming darkness meant an inevitable rise in crime, but tonight, his focus remained tightly locked on a single, dangerous target.

The witch who called herself Amara.

Dick still remembered when he’d stumbled across her robbing that bank. At the time, he’d had no idea she posed such a serious threat. Even if she was Morgana’s apprentice—allegedly. 

Back then, she’d seemed almost playful—dangerous, certainly, but no more sinister than any of Gotham’s other costumed criminals. Hell, he’d found himself briefly entranced by her charm and impossible beauty, an embarrassing fact he preferred not to dwell on.

But recent developments had shattered that illusion completely.

Batman had shared disturbing intel earlier in the day—information sourced directly from none other than the Penguin himself. Nightwing knew Penguin wasn’t the type to exaggerate threats unnecessarily, especially when seeking Batman’s assistance. According to Penguin’s terrified men, Amara had performed a bloody, ruthless ritual involving human sacrifice, mercilessly killing three helpless victims.

He shook his head sharply, pushing away his lingering disbelief. The image of Amara’s stunning face and seductive smile felt impossible to reconcile with the monstrous acts attributed to her.

But if his years of crime fighting had taught Nightwing anything, it was never to underestimate a villain just because they appeared beautiful or charming. Gotham was practically infamous for gorgeous femme fatales—dangerous, alluring women who used their looks to disarm and destroy.

He couldn’t afford to be fooled himself.

Raven drifted silently closer. “It’s fine, Dick,” she finally said softly, breaking the tense silence between them. Her violet eyes glanced briefly downward toward Gotham’s shadowed streets, distant and thoughtful. “Honestly, I’m glad to be out of the Tower in Jump City right now. Too much drama.”

Nightwing winced slightly at her remark, guilt briefly flickering through his heart. He knew Raven’s empathic powers made the Titans’ internal tensions nearly unbearable at times. “Yeah,” he sighed regretfully, offering Raven an apologetic smile. “Sorry about all that. I should have reached out sooner—given you a chance to get away from all that.”

Nightwing sighed quietly to himself as he launched smoothly into another rooftop leap, the lights of Gotham’s grimy skyline racing by beneath him. 

He was deeply grateful for Raven’s presence tonight, though part of him still felt awkward about reaching out to her in the first place. But she hadn’t hesitated for a second when he'd contacted her. 

In fact, Raven had seemed almost relieved to leave Jump City behind, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

Things back home with the Titans had spiraled completely out of control lately, and Dick knew full well he was largely to blame. It still stung like hell, and he felt another bitter wave of embarrassment and anger churn inside his chest as the memories flooded back.

He and Starfire had seemed so perfect together at first—like something straight out of a fairytale. An insanely beautiful, uninhibited alien warrior-princess from another world, vibrant and passionate in everything she did, had somehow fallen completely in love with him, a human vigilante with no special powers beyond training and determination. She was vivacious and fun, playful and sexual in ways he could barely keep up with sometimes.

But what he’d considered a dream come true had quickly turned into a humiliating nightmare.

It had happened only a few nights ago—returning early from a solo patrol he'd walked into Starfire’s bedroom without knocking, intending to surprise her. Instead, he was the one who'd been thoroughly blindsided.

Starfire hadn’t even bothered locking the door. Why would she? Her culture on Tamaran didn’t recognize shame or embarrassment around sexuality. But Dick certainly did.

Starfire sprawled out naked atop her massive bed, moaning enthusiastically beneath three equally naked men—each of them strangers to Dick. She’d clearly been enjoying every second, completely unconcerned by his shocked entrance. The look of pure startled horror on his face apparently hadn’t even registered as she rode one of her lovers eagerly, another man kneeling behind her to roughly grab her hips and thrust deep into her tight ass, while the third enthusiastically fucked her waiting mouth.

Dick had stood frozen in the doorway, heart shattered and face burning with humiliation, unable to tear his gaze away from the graphic spectacle of his girlfriend being thoroughly used and fucked senseless right in front of him. Finally noticing him, Starfire merely paused long enough to flash him a confused, completely unashamed smile around the cock between her lips.

“Oh! Hello, Dick! Would you like to join in?” she'd offered cheerfully as she briefly pulled her mouth free, seemingly oblivious to his stunned heartbreak. “There is plenty of room for more!”

He hadn’t bothered replying, feeling sick as he immediately turned and stormed out of the tower.

Their breakup had been explosive and messy after that, the resulting emotional fallout tearing the Titans nearly apart. Everyone had chosen sides. Cyborg was furious on Dick's behalf, while Beast Boy had awkwardly sympathized with Starfire, claiming cultural misunderstandings made it unfair to judge her too harshly. The other members were all divided as well. The resulting tension and arguing quickly made the tower nearly unbearable to live in.

Raven, however, had refused to choose any side at all. But as an empath, the negative emotions swirling around Titans Tower were too overwhelming for her mental health. 

When Nightwing contacted her about hunting Morgana and Amara in Gotham, she’d practically jumped at the chance to leave Jump City behind for a while.

Dick knew it wasn’t exactly mature to run away from the wreckage of his relationship and his broken pride, but he'd genuinely needed some time and space to recover. Returning to Gotham had been an easy choice. 

Tracking down Amara and Morgana offered a convenient distraction from his humiliation and hurt pride.

“You’re sure you’re okay helping out tonight, Raven?” he finally asked, quietly breaking the long silence stretching between them.

Raven’s gaze flickered briefly toward him as she nodded softly. “I told you, Dick, I’m fine,” she reassured him gently, her voice soft yet firm. “Truthfully, it’s better for me to be away right now. The emotional atmosphere at the tower is... exhausting.”

He winced slightly, feeling another pang of guilt as he nodded in understanding. “Yeah,” he sighed again regretfully, offering her an apologetic smile as he sprinted along a narrow rooftop edge before easily vaulting to the next building. “I'm sorry about all the drama I've caused.”

Raven shook her head softly, the edges of her violet cloak rippling gracefully as she drifted silently beside him. “Don’t apologize. You can't control how you feel. And for what it’s worth, I do understand your anger and hurt. You have every right to feel betrayed and humiliated.”

Dick was pretty sure that Raven had never had a boyfriend, or maybe even a girlfriend before, but the sheer venom in her voice when she spoke told him but she was speaking from experience. 

– Daphne –

Daphne sat quietly in the steaming water of the spacious bathtub, her pale skin flushed bright pink from a combination of warmth, embarrassment, and something else she was unwilling to admit. Across from her, Astoria lounged naked, relaxed, her long golden curls dampened from the heat and clinging enticingly to the smooth curve of her shoulders. Daphne had always known her younger sister was beautiful, but seeing her naked like this—suddenly intimate and vulnerable—left Daphne strangely flustered.

As they gently washed away the tension from their harrowing day, a shimmering mist appeared beside the bath. Daphne froze, her eyes narrowing warily as the mist swiftly coalesced into something more solid—a magical projection hovering clearly in the steamy air.

"This must be Morgana's doing," Daphne murmured softly, breath hitching slightly. Astoria glanced up curiously and let out a soft gasp of surprise.

The screen showed Amara and Morgana sitting together on a plush sofa, intimately close. Even from the projection's angle, Daphne immediately appreciated how stunning both women were. They looked strikingly similar, sharing dark hair, flawless features, and perfect bodies.

Astoria leaned forward in fascination, her eyes locked onto the image. Daphne opened her mouth to say something cautionary—but the words died abruptly on her lips as Morgana’s slender hand slid teasingly down Amara’s jeans.

Daphne’s cheeks flamed crimson. "Merlin's beard," she whispered, utterly transfixed as Morgana’s fingers clearly began stroking Amara's pussy beneath the tight denim. The younger witch arched her hips upward, lips parting in obvious pleasure.

"That's so fucking hot," Astoria moaned softly from across the tub, breaking Daphne’s stunned reverie.

Daphne’s eyes widened further when she saw Astoria slide her own hand beneath the water, clearly beginning to pleasure herself openly right in front of her. Daphne’s breath caught sharply in her throat. Was Astoria seriously masturbating right there, with her sister only feet away?

Astoria caught Daphne's gaze, a small, mischievous smile playing on her flushed lips. She didn't slow her movements—if anything, her breathing grew heavier, her expression daring Daphne to object.

Yet Daphne found no voice to protest. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, tingling warmth spreading rapidly between her legs. Despite the taboo situation, or perhaps because of it, she couldn’t deny her own arousal. Daphne’s legs moved subtly beneath the hot water, rubbing gently together, sending delightful sparks of pleasure through her body. Her feet brushed against Astoria’s legs, causing both sisters to gasp quietly at the sudden contact.

– Morgana –

Morgana couldn’t help but smirk to herself. That mirror spell went both ways. She allowed for the Greengrass sisters to enjoy the show of her and her apprentice. And Morgana also got to see what those two—obviously very pent up pureblood women—would do when shown such an arousing live show as well.

And they didn’t disappoint. The younger one, Astoria, had cum at almost the same time as Amara had, and the older one, Daphne, was looking disappointed that the show ended so soon. Morgana was sure she would have started pleasuring herself had Morgana pushed Amara for another round. 

Those girls would definitely be good practice for her lovely apprentice Amara later.

But all good things would come in time.

Morgana's eyes glittered with amusement as she watched Amara nervously straighten herself, slender fingers fussing with her dark hair and tugging self-consciously at her jeans. The flustered blush that lingered so prettily upon her apprentice’s flawless porcelain cheeks brought a soft smirk of satisfaction to Morgana's lips. Amara was beautifully oblivious to the delicious spectacle she'd just unknowingly put on for their lovely new guests.

As the sound of delicate footsteps echoed lightly down the stairs, Morgana casually reclined against the plush couch, adopting an expression of composed elegance. Her gaze swept appreciatively toward Daphne and Astoria as the sisters reentered the lavishly appointed main room. Both young witches looked beautifully flushed, their cheeks and throats still glowing faintly pink, eyes carefully avoiding direct contact.

Ah, yes—those innocent faces couldn't fool her for a single moment.

For now, however, she merely smiled warmly as Daphne and Astoria approached shyly, clearly uncertain about how best to behave in Morgana’s presence.

“Feeling refreshed, my darlings?” Morgana inquired lightly, voice smooth and welcoming. “I trust you found our bathing chambers... satisfactory?”

Astoria blushed brightly, blonde curls bouncing as she quickly nodded, her gaze darting furtively toward Amara before hastily looking away again. “Very much, Mistress Morgana,” she murmured softly, visibly flustered. “Thank you.”

Daphne’s eyes flickered briefly to Morgana. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated,” she said politely, though her voice carried a faint tremor.

“Think nothing of it,” Morgana purred soothingly, allowing her gaze to slide meaningfully between the two sisters, carefully enjoying their shy embarrassment. “After all, we witches must always support one another—particularly when dark forces conspire against us.”

Daphne visibly tensed at Morgana’s reminder. “Yes... You’re right. The Court of Owls.” Her tone became colder, bitter resentment evident beneath her carefully controlled voice. “They’ll undoubtedly try again. We’ll have targets on our backs as long as they believe we're vulnerable.”

Astoria shivered slightly, eyes widening with renewed anxiety as she stepped instinctively closer to Daphne’s side. Her slender fingers tightened nervously around her older sister's arm, clearly seeking reassurance.

Morgana rose gracefully from the sofa. Slowly, she approached the sisters. 

“You need not fear,” Morgana murmured soothingly. “You are both now under my personal protection—and that of my powerful apprentice, Amara.” She smiled warmly toward the still-blushing Amara, whose emerald eyes widened in surprise and pride at her mentor’s praise. “We will handle this threat for you. Swiftly and decisively.”

Daphne's eyes flickered briefly in confusion, her head tilting questioningly. “But Lady Morgana, surely we cannot simply hide here indefinitely. The Court—”

Morgana silenced her gently with a single graceful gesture, shaking her head softly as amusement curved her full lips once again. “Oh, hiding was never part of my plan, my dear. In fact, Amara and I have devised a rather... bold approach.”

Astoria’s curiosity instantly piqued, her expression lighting up with excitement. “Bold? How?”

Morgana allowed a slow, wicked smile to spread across her lips as she turned slightly toward her apprentice with a knowing glance. “Tonight, the two of us shall attend this Court of Owls meeting—disguised as you and your lovely sister. We will find who tried to kill you both, and eliminate them in your place.”

– Amara –

I tugged uncomfortably at Daphne's perfectly tailored skirt, shifting my hips slightly in the unfamiliar fabric. It hugged me far tighter than I was used to, restricting my movements, but I had to admit, it did wonders to accentuate the generous curves of my ass and thighs. Daphne was slightly slimmer than me, and her blouse strained slightly at my full breasts, buttons barely managing to contain them. Beneath the owl mask obscuring my face, I glanced sideways at Morgana with mild amusement.

My powerful mentor had managed to squeeze herself into Astoria's clothing—quite a feat, considering Morgana was taller and decidedly curvier than the younger Greengrass sister. Her black skirt clung enticingly to the generous swell of her hips, and the snug blouse she'd borrowed from Astoria stretched tautly across Morgana's ample chest, drawing considerable attention to her cleavage. 

In addition to the disguises, Morgana had used a quick spell to transform our raven-black hair to shades of shimmering platinum blonde, perfectly mimicking the Greengrass sisters' hair colors. With these alterations and the enchanted owl masks securely obscuring our faces, I doubted even Daphne and Astoria themselves could have told us apart at a glance.

"Ready?" Morgana murmured quietly, a sly smile curling her full lips beneath the ivory owl mask.

I nodded confidently, smoothing my borrowed skirt once more. "Let's do this."

Together, we descended carefully into Gotham's shadowy underbelly—the city's extensive, notoriously labyrinthine sewer system. The Court of Owls might secretly be Gotham's most influential elite, but their choice of meeting location left much to be desired. 

Richest people in the city and they picked the sewers?

Ugh.

Then again, no one sane wandered into Gotham's sewers willingly.

I hadn't been in Gotham for very long, but every single major city always has that absurd rumor that there were crocodiles in the sewers. 

Well—in Gotham that isn't a rumor. It's a fact.

As we ventured deeper, the smell hit me first—a pungent, unpleasant blend of stagnant water, rotting garbage, and something disturbingly metallic. Morgana walked close beside me. 

We soon approached the first guard. A towering figure standing silently in the shadows.

The guard wore a black owl-themed costume, complete with a black owl mask that obscured most of his features. He was decked out with blades and guns all over his costume as well.

My magically enhanced senses immediately recoiled from the man. For lack of a better word—he felt dead. 

As we passed silently, Morgana leaned subtly toward me, her voice a bare whisper beneath the owl mask. "He's some sort of undead servant," she murmured softly, her tone thoughtful yet intrigued. "Fascinating. Animated corpses bound by dark magic. This 'Court of Owls' is clearly dabbling in dangerous necromancy."

There was a sudden transition from the oppressive, dank tunnel into something entirely unexpected. Morgana and I stepped out of the darkened corridor into a grand, dimly-lit amphitheater. My eyes widened slightly beneath the intricate owl mask as I took in the sheer opulence that greeted us.

Rows of plush seats curved gracefully downward, filled with Gotham’s richest and most powerful, every last one obscured behind identical ivory owl masks. Gentle murmurs and quiet laughter echoed softly around the chamber as these masked elites exchanged pleasantries and hushed gossip.

The men were impeccably dressed, each suit clearly tailored by the finest designers, complemented with expensive watches and cufflinks glittering under the soft light. The women were equally extravagant, draped in exquisite dresses that hugged every alluring curve, necks and wrists adorned with diamonds and gems that would’ve made royalty envious. It was clear the Court of Owls wasn't merely a secret society, it was Gotham’s highest tier of wealth, influence, and dangerous ambition.

I felt a flicker of amused irony. Here we were, deep underground, surrounded by fetid sewer tunnels and undead guards, yet these people couldn't resist flaunting their staggering wealth. Rich elites loved nothing more than to remind each other of their superiority. Though, I reflected briefly, I wasn’t exactly poor myself, not with all that gold Morgana was safeguarding for me.

I mentally sighed, briefly distracted by thoughts of the fortune I had inherited from Sirius. Morgana had warned me sternly that goblins—those cunning, greedy bankers—could never be fully trusted. At some point, I really needed to figure out what to do with all that money. Perhaps investing it safely away from the goblins’ grasp was a smart move, especially now that I’d embraced a life beyond Wizarding Britain’s restrictive confines—at least until I went back for my revenge. 

My wandering thoughts were interrupted abruptly when one masked figure stood up prominently from a raised dais at the center of the amphitheater. The room immediately fell silent as he spread his arms grandly, commanding attention without needing to raise his voice.

“Esteemed members of the Court,” his deep voice resonated clearly across the amphitheater, carrying easily to every corner, “I hereby declare this annual gathering officially begun.”

Polite applause rippled around the chamber, carefully restrained yet enthusiastic enough to signal sincere respect. Morgana leaned subtly toward me, voice barely above a whisper. “Look carefully, my apprentice. One of these wealthy vultures tried to kill our pretty new friends. Stay vigilant.”

I nodded discreetly, scanning the masked crowd with narrowed eyes beneath my ivory owl mask. The gentle fluttering in my chest intensified—the thrill of potential confrontation, the seductive dance of danger, stirring my succubus nature eagerly to life.

The speaker continued smoothly, adjusting elegant cufflinks as he addressed the masked gathering. “As tradition dictates, before we move onto matters of global influence, let us first address internal disputes. Does anyone wish to formally raise grievances at this time?”

An older woman rose dramatically from the opulent seating, gold silk shimmering gaudily over her ample curves. Every inch of her screamed "wealthy matriarch," from the mountains of tasteless jewelry dripping from her neck and wrists, to the glittering diamonds practically swallowing her pudgy fingers. She clearly wanted to ensure every eye in the room lingered on her for as long as possible.

"I demand," she proclaimed loudly, her shrill voice grating beneath the ivory owl mask, "that House Greengrass be removed from this Court at once—and exterminated!"

My eyebrows rose sharply behind my own mask at her bold declaration.

"Exterminated?" echoed the masked leader of the assembly, his voice a neutral monotone. "On what grounds do you make this extraordinary request?"

The woman gestured grandly, trembling with what she undoubtedly considered righteous indignation. "They nearly exposed our very existence to the ignorant masses of Gotham today, flaunting magic openly in broad daylight! We simply cannot risk our secrecy by allowing such recklessness to continue!"

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to sigh audibly. Whoever she was beneath that tacky mask and glittering gold gown, this woman was either staggeringly dumb or unbelievably arrogant. Probably both.

Still, at least we knew now precisely who had orchestrated the earlier attempt on Daphne and Astoria's lives. Her words might as well have been a confession.

The masked leader turned slowly toward Morgana and me, his unseen gaze heavy with judgment. "The accusation has been made clearly and publicly," he intoned solemnly. "How does House Greengrass respond to these charges?"

A tense silence settled over the grand amphitheater, hundreds of concealed faces turning curiously toward us, eagerly awaiting our response. The elites loved nothing more than juicy drama, it seemed.

Morgana spoke first, voice ringing elegantly clear through the crowded space. "We plead not guilty, of course. This absurd accusation is utterly baseless. We have no idea what nonsense this foolish woman is blathering about."

The gold-clad woman gasped theatrically, visibly shaking with outrage. "Lies!" she shrieked indignantly. "You were both nearly murdered in broad daylight, in full view of dozens of witnesses! Do not insult our intelligence with your obvious falsehoods!"

Around us, the murmurs grew louder, amused whispers rippling through the masked assembly. Clearly, this evening’s entertainment was proving delightfully scandalous.

Before Morgana could respond, I took a confident step forward, my borrowed heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. I straightened to my full height, tilting my masked face dismissively toward the fuming woman. Adopting my best condescending, elite bitch voice, I let disdain drip thickly from my words. "And how exactly would you be so intimately aware of the details surrounding today’s attack?" I asked sharply, my tone frigidly polite. "One might suspect, from your vehement certainty, that you yourself had some involvement in orchestrating such a clumsy, pathetic attempt on our lives." I allowed a slight smirk to curl at my lips beneath the owl mask, continuing before she could recover from my accusation. "But let me assure you all, dear Court—my sister and I were never in any real danger. Do you genuinely believe that two witches of our caliber would be threatened by a handful of incompetent mercenaries? Their sad little assassination attempt was foiled easily. They were weak, worthless fools—hardly worthy of our time." My dismissive laughter echoed softly through the chamber. "Frankly, the only genuine threat to our secrecy seems to be you, madam," I finished sweetly, my voice dripping venomous amusement. "Your hysterical outburst just now is far more suspicious and incriminating than any imagined misstep of ours."

The older woman visibly trembled with barely contained rage, gold jewelry rattling with every furious shiver of her pudgy limbs. "How dare you imply such things about me!" she screeched indignantly. "I am merely a concerned citizen looking out for the interests of this noble Court!"

I chuckled lightly, mockingly shaking my head in exaggerated pity. "Of course you are, darling," I purred patronizingly, letting contempt radiate openly from my stance. "Just an innocent, concerned citizen with remarkably convenient knowledge of today's attack."

Several amused titters rippled through the crowd, masked heads swiveling eagerly back and forth between me and my sputtering opponent. They were clearly enjoying every deliciously scandalous moment of this confrontation.

"The Powers family's accusations have been heard," the masked leader's voice carried smoothly through the chamber, "but their request for extermination is denied."

The furious woman in gold recoiled sharply, her angry gasp audible through the entire amphitheater. Even behind her ivory mask, I imagined I could see her flustered disbelief.

The Powers family, hmm? I mused inwardly, a small, satisfied smirk curling my lips beneath my mask. It seemed we finally had a name to attach to our enemies.

The leader turned his attention back to Morgana and myself, his masked face unreadable as he regarded us both.

"However," he continued slowly, "the Court itself has questions for you two."

Morgana tilted her head gracefully, her voice deceptively pleasant. "And what questions might those be?"

The leader chuckled softly, a rich, amused sound that sent uneasy murmurs rippling around the gathered elites. His masked gaze was sharp, piercing even beneath the shadowed eye holes as he addressed us directly. "Did you truly believe we could be so easily infiltrated?" he asked mildly, the simple question dripping with cool mockery.

Gasps of shock echoed around us, filling the lavish amphitheater with urgent whispers and frightened murmurs. I scowled slightly behind my mask, irritation briefly flickering across my expression.

Well, damn. So much for subtlety. I sighed quietly. "Guess we got caught already," I grumbled beneath my breath.

Beside me, Morgana merely chuckled softly, clearly unconcerned by this sudden revelation. Without hesitation, she gracefully removed her ivory owl mask, allowing her magical disguise to dissolve in an instant. Her platinum-blonde hair rapidly shifted back to its original glossy raven-black hue, and her full lips curled into a wicked, amused smirk.

Following her example, I shrugged off my own mask, letting the magical glamour fade away. A slight tingle washed over me as my silky black hair cascaded freely down my shoulders once more, and I lifted my emerald gaze boldly to meet the surprised stares of the masked Court members around us.

The leader visibly stiffened as he stared at Morgana's unmistakable visage, his voice trembling ever so slightly when he finally spoke again. "Morgana le Fay," he murmured nervously, a reverent hush falling instantly across the grand amphitheater.

Awed murmurs swiftly filled the silence, masked heads turning sharply toward us as Morgana's infamous name rippled like wildfire through the gathered elites. 

Their nervousness was palpable.

Finally, the leader found his voice again. His masked gaze shifted toward me, openly curious and cautious. "And who, precisely, are you?" he asked carefully, head tilted in thoughtful contemplation. "Her daughter? Sister?"

I met his hidden eyes directly, my own expression calm and confident as I answered smoothly. "I am Amara of House Black from Britain," I declared clearly, pride coloring my words. "Mistress Morgana is my mentor. I am her apprentice."

The leader paused briefly. "House Black," he mused aloud, clearly intrigued. "As I recall, the Court once reached out to your illustrious family long ago—only to be refused outright. They declared themselves above working with filthy Muggles."

Yep, that sounded about right from what Sirius told me of our family.

I shrugged casually, maintaining an air of cool indifference. "Well, everyone from my family who refused your invitation is dead now," I remarked lightly.

"Heh, so they are," the leader agreed quietly, amusement evident in his voice. After another thoughtful pause, he slowly turned back toward Morgana, inclining his masked head respectfully. "In truth, the Court would be honored to count such an illustrious and powerful witch as yourself among our ranks—provided, of course, that you and your talented apprentice pass our traditional test first."

Morgana raised a single elegant eyebrow, openly skeptical as she rolled her eyes impatiently. "And just what sort of 'test' would this be, exactly?" she asked dryly.

His hidden gaze flickered between us. "Given that you both infiltrated this meeting without invitation, a measure of punishment is necessary. You will each face a dozen of our finest Talons in combat. Should you emerge victorious after slaying them all, you will have proven yourselves worthy of formal admission into our Court."

Before either of us could respond, the gold-clad woman—Madame Powers, presumably—burst indignantly to her feet once more, voice shrill and angry beneath her mask. "Wait just one damn moment! What happened to the real Greengrass sisters? Where are those Bitches?" she demanded furiously.

Morgana turned slowly to face the woman directly. Her emerald gaze glittered dangerously as she answered with chilling finality. "The Greengrass sisters now serve us," she stated calmly, a subtle undercurrent of threat coloring her smooth voice. She offered no further explanation, allowing her words to hang ominously in the silence that followed.

The leader inclined his head slightly, seemingly satisfied with Morgana's answer—or at least unwilling to push the matter further. Madame Powers, however, visibly bristled, obviously displeased. But clearly, she dared not openly challenge Morgana's authority in front of the entire Court.

Morgana turned slightly toward me, her lips quirking upward into an amused smirk as our gazes briefly met. 

Twelve Talons each? I smiled wickedly, my demon blood humming eagerly beneath my skin, hungry for the delicious taste of battle once more.

"Very well," Morgana said evenly, her voice smooth and utterly confident as she addressed the masked leader. "Bring us your Talons. My apprentice and I are more than ready to demonstrate our worthiness."

– Nightwing –

Dick was still lost deep within his own thoughts as he launched himself effortlessly across Gotham’s shadow-drenched rooftops. His powerful legs propelled him swiftly from one darkened ledge to the next, his body moving with fluid grace born of long years training under Batman’s unyielding guidance. Nightwing’s mind raced, troubled by the persistent unease that clenched tightly at his chest.

Something wasn’t right tonight—he could feel it. It was an intangible sense of impending danger, an almost supernatural instinct he had learned long ago never to dismiss. The others in the Bat family often joked it was Gotham itself whispering secrets directly into their ears, guiding them inevitably toward trouble whenever it stirred within the city’s dark heart.

Alfred, ever the thoughtful sage of Wayne Manor, had always seemed to genuinely believe that Gotham itself somehow favored their strange little family. Dick usually brushed such fanciful ideas aside with a gentle smile—but on nights like tonight, he couldn’t help but wonder if the old butler might truly be onto something after all.

He leaped once more, landing silently in a poised crouch atop the edge of a brick apartment building. His trained eyes scanned carefully across Gotham’s shadowy streets, watching cautiously for any sign of movement, any hint of his quarry’s presence.

 Raven drifted quietly alongside him, her slender figure encased in the violet cloak that rippled softly around her as she flew through the night air.

Dick was grateful Raven had agreed to join him tonight. Her calm presence was reassuring, especially now with his nerves so clearly on edge. Having a magic user of her caliber at his side was a huge advantage when dealing with powerful dark witches like Morgana and Amara. Especially since, as Dick painfully recalled, Amara’s beauty and seductive charm had proven dangerously distracting during their first brief encounter.

He couldn’t allow himself to make that same mistake twice.

Raven abruptly froze mid-air, her eyes widening sharply as her whole body stiffened in alarm. 

Dick skidded immediately to a halt, pivoting quickly to face her as concern tightened his chest. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Dick’s gaze flickered involuntarily downward as Raven’s sudden halt made her generously curved breasts jiggle enticingly beneath the form-fitting fabric of her tight leotard and cloak. He swallowed awkwardly, quickly forcing himself to look back up into Raven’s startled violet eyes.

“What is it?” he asked urgently, his voice dropping low and serious as he moved swiftly to her side. “Did you sense something?”

Raven nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with cautious suspicion as she gazed downward toward Gotham’s maze of shadowed alleys and towering skyscrapers. “Someone nearby is throwing around powerful magic,” she murmured softly, her voice cool and composed despite the faint tension Dick detected beneath. “And it feels…wrong. Definitely dark magic.”

Dick’s muscles instantly tensed at her words as he moved protectively closer to Raven’s hovering form. His gloved fists clenched tightly at his sides, jaw tightening in grim determination. 

“But wait,” Dick frowned slightly as he glanced questioningly toward Raven’s calm face. “You told me earlier you couldn’t sense fellow magic users here in Gotham because there’s already so much ambient dark magic saturating the city. How are you picking up on this now?”

Raven gave him a faint, wry smile, amusement briefly softening her usually stoic expression. “Maybe others can’t,” she declared. “But I’m not exactly like most magic users, Dick. I grew up bathing in darkness and chaos. I know its taste, its scent. I can sense it clearly even through Gotham’s ambient corruption.” She turned again, pointing sharply downward toward the grimy streets below. Her voice hardened once more, serious and focused as she narrowed her gaze thoughtfully. “Whoever it is, they’re very close by…and underground, it seems.”

Dick immediately understood, his instincts screaming clearly as realization flashed urgently across his mind. “It has to be Morgana and Amara,” he declared firmly, the icy chill of certainty flooding his veins. “Come on—we have to move fast before whatever ritual they’re performing down there is completed!”

Raven nodded swiftly as they headed down.

– Amara –

Okay, so maybe these damn Talons were a bit tougher than I'd expected.

I hissed sharply in pain as another barrage of bullets ripped into me, punching through Daphne’s now-tattered blouse and tearing into my exposed skin. I felt every agonizing impact keenly, my flesh briefly erupting in sharp bursts of fiery agony. Damn, bullets fucking hurt, no matter how quickly my new enhanced regeneration closed the wounds afterward.

That blood ritual was a godsend right now!

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I watched with grim satisfaction as each useless round was pushed forcefully from my healing skin, clattering uselessly to the blood-slick stone floor. My enemies seemed briefly taken aback by the sight, momentarily hesitating as they reloaded.

I couldn’t waste the opening. Lunging forward, I snarled viciously as blazing-hot claws erupted from my fingertips. With ruthless efficiency, I slashed deeply into the closest two Talons before they had a chance to dodge away. The smell of burning, undead flesh filled my nostrils, sharp and acrid, as my flaming claws carved effortlessly through muscle and bone alike. Both Talons collapsed heavily to the arena floor, their bodies shuddering grotesquely as dark magic and fire devoured their corrupted flesh.

But these Talons were persistent bastards—some twisted cross between undead corpses and elite assassins, driven mindlessly onward by powerful necromancy. 

Leaving anything resembling a head attached meant risking them getting back up again. Growling in frustration, I thrust both hands forward sharply, channeling my fiery mana with deadly intent.

Twin jets of molten-hot flame surged from my palms, blasting directly into each fallen Talon’s skull. The magical fire consumed them completely in seconds, leaving only scorched bone and smoldering ash behind.

Breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Daphne’s ruined blouse, I took a brief moment to glance sideways, quickly assessing Morgana’s status. My jaw nearly dropped in stunned disbelief at the casual ease with which my powerful mentor had dispatched all twelve of her own opponents—each corpse lying burned, melted, or otherwise annihilated around her shapely figure. She stood calmly amidst the carnage, arms folded elegantly beneath her ample chest, emerald eyes glittering with playful amusement as she watched me struggle.

“You could help, you know!” I growled irritably, sidestepping a wild slash from another Talon’s curved blade. The bastard’s sword sliced dangerously close, cleanly shredding through the waistband of my borrowed skirt and leaving it perilously close to falling away entirely. 

Morgana chuckled softly at my predicament, entirely unconcerned by the very real threat these undead assassins posed. “Now, now, my dear apprentice,” she teased lightly, smirking openly at my flushed, frustrated expression. “This little test is intended to demonstrate your prowess, not mine. Consider it good practice!”

Oh, how generous of her.

Growling again beneath my breath, I swiftly ducked beneath a savage thrust aimed directly at my exposed throat. These last three Talons had clearly adjusted their tactics after watching their companions fall—now keeping their distance, wary of my lethal claws and flames. One of them raised a heavy pistol again, clearly deciding ranged combat was the safer option.

Yeah, fuck that.

Before he could squeeze the trigger, I lunged forward aggressively, springing across the blood-soaked arena with succubus-enhanced speed. Daphne’s blouse strained sharply across my bouncing breasts, buttons finally giving way beneath the forceful motion. Fabric tore loudly, fully exposing my ample, sweat-slick tits to the cool air of the arena, nipples immediately hardening from adrenaline and excitement.

Goddamnit—I'd never hear the end of this from Morgana. Not my fault Daphne’s wardrobe couldn’t handle heavy combat.

The sudden exposure momentarily distracted my attacker, his masked gaze flickering downward in unmistakable surprise and fascination. Typical man—zombie or not, the sight of a gorgeous naked woman was apparently enough to temporarily short-circuit his murderous brain.

It was all the opening I needed.

Slamming bodily into him, I knocked the gun from his gloved grip, sending it clattering uselessly to the floor. He staggered backward, arms flailing desperately as he fought to regain balance, but I gave him no opportunity. My fiery claws flashed forward mercilessly, slicing cleanly through his undead throat with ruthless precision. His masked head tumbled grotesquely away from his collapsing corpse, rolling heavily across the gore-soaked ground.

Two left.

The remaining Talons circled warily around me, their masked faces utterly unreadable yet clearly more cautious now. I breathed heavily, adrenaline surging hotly through my veins as excitement thrummed sharply within me, blending seamlessly with lingering pain. 

Unfortunately, Daphne’s ruined skirt finally succumbed completely to its numerous tears, falling away entirely to pool uselessly at my feet. Now standing completely naked in front of Gotham’s masked elites and Morgana herself, I felt heat briefly flood my cheeks in embarrassment. 

Great—just fucking perfect.

Yet I refused to show weakness, raising my chin proudly as I stared boldly at my undead opponents. If they were expecting modesty or embarrassment to distract me further, they’d be sorely disappointed. My curvy, nude body gleamed, glistening with sweat and smeared liberally with blood—both theirs and mine. Let them stare—let every last bastard watching enjoy the view.

“Come on then, boys,” I purred seductively, offering a deliberately provocative smirk as I beckoned mockingly toward the remaining Talons. “Don’t be shy—I promise I don’t bite…much.”

They hesitated briefly, perhaps sensing the seductive danger lurking beneath my flirtatious tone. Yet whatever dark magic controlled their minds quickly overrode caution, driving them aggressively forward once again.

My lips curled wickedly upward in eager anticipation, heart pounding as they charged. This was it—the delicious final climax of violence and bloodshed that my demonic nature craved so desperately.

I dodged swiftly between their frenzied strikes, claws lashing out viciously, fire surging eagerly to my fingertips. Hot blood splattered liberally across my bare skin.

One fell quickly beneath a brutal strike to his mask, flaming claws penetrating deeply into his brain. The final Talon lunged recklessly forward in desperation, sword flashing toward my exposed belly. Smirking darkly, I twisted sharply aside at the last second, allowing his momentum to carry him helplessly past me.

My tail and wings still remained carefully hidden beneath my skin—unwilling to reveal my full demonic nature openly just yet—but my claws were more than sufficient. With ruthless efficiency, I drove my fiery nails cleanly through his spine, severing his head in one fluid motion.

Panting heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, I stood proudly naked amidst the carnage of my fallen opponents. Blood slicked every inch of my flawless skin, my heart raced, and my succubus instincts sang with fierce satisfaction.

Turning slowly to face Morgana, I smiled triumphantly, emerald eyes glittering with pride and adrenaline-fueled lust.

My mentor's expression mirrored my satisfaction, her emerald gaze dark and hungry as she took in my blood-smeared naked body appreciatively.

“Beautifully done, my dear apprentice,” Morgana purred approvingly, stepping gracefully forward through the arena’s gore to gently caress my flushed cheek. “You’ve more than proven your strength today.”

I smiled softly, leaning gratefully into her soothing touch, pulse still pounding wildly from the thrill of combat. Around us, the assembled Court watched in stunned silence, clearly uncertain whether to applaud or flee in terror from the carnage we’d so casually wrought.

Frankly, I didn’t much care either way. The only opinion that mattered was Morgana’s—and from the heated, approving gleam in her emerald eyes, I knew I’d made her proud today.

The Court's masked leader seemed visibly shaken now, his posture far less confident, his voice wavering slightly behind his owl mask as he cleared his throat. He turned slowly toward Morgana and me, carefully keeping his tone respectful. "Congratulations on passing our test, Morgana le Fay and Amara Black," he said, sounding somewhat subdued. "You have both earned formal membership within the Court of Owls. Official invitations will be delivered to you at a later date."

I smirked slightly at the noticeable tremble in his voice. After the ruthless display we'd just put on, I wasn't surprised he was nervous. I imagined that beneath his elaborate ivory mask, his face was pale with genuine fear.

"I trust you'll have no difficulty finding a way to contact us?" Morgana replied coolly, a hint of amusement in her smooth voice.

"Of course," he answered quickly, clearly eager to avoid further confrontation. "Rest assured, we have our methods."

Just then, the leader paused, pressing a gloved hand to a hidden earpiece beneath his mask, apparently listening intently to something being communicated. I noticed immediately how he stiffened with tension as he processed the message.

"Unfortunately," he finally announced grimly, addressing the rest of the murmuring, nervous assembly, "this evening's gathering must come to an immediate close. Our scouts have spotted two heroes rapidly approaching the sewers. Nightwing and Raven of the Titans."

A hush instantly fell over the entire amphitheater, panicked whispers echoing softly as Gotham's elite started glancing nervously toward the exits. These pampered aristocrats were powerful politically and financially, sure, but physically confronting actual superheroes was obviously beyond their capabilities. They looked ready to bolt at the mere mention of Nightwing's name.

Plus we just killed a whole bunch of their guards, and I imagined making new talons would take a while. They didn't think that part through…

Morgana glanced sidelong in my direction, emerald eyes glittering mischievously as they swept over my naked, blood-slicked body, clearly amused at my predicament. A smirk tugged lightly at the corner of her seductive lips. "Well now," she purred teasingly, making absolutely no effort to conceal her delight. "It seems your handsome little boy-toy has found you again, Amara."

I scowled slightly at Morgana's smug teasing, crossing my arms self-consciously beneath my bare breasts as I pouted indignantly. "He's not my 'boy-toy', Morgana!" I protested defensively, cheeks flushing warm beneath her knowing gaze. "I literally met him once. Briefly. That hardly counts as anything."

Morgana merely chuckled softly at my embarrassment, clearly unconvinced. Ignoring my flustered protests entirely, she stepped gracefully forward, raising her voice confidently to address the visibly shaken Court leader and the surrounding elites. "In that case," she said smoothly, "my apprentice and I would be more than happy to intercept these heroes for you. We'll keep them occupied while the rest of you make your discreet exits." She paused meaningfully. "Of course, such assistance will mean you'll owe us both a substantial favor at some point in the future. After all—nothing in this world is ever truly free."

The leader hesitated only briefly before hastily nodding in agreement, clearly relieved at Morgana's generous proposal. "Very well," he declared quickly, eager to evacuate immediately. "Your terms are accepted, Lady Morgana."

Around us, Gotham's elite wasted no time at all, swiftly rising from their seats in an orderly yet clearly anxious fashion, hurriedly exiting the grand chamber through multiple hidden passages. Within moments, the vast amphitheater was nearly empty, leaving just Morgana and myself standing amidst the corpses of our slain Talon opponents.

I glanced down, frowning again at the bloody mess covering every inch of my nude body. "Ugh, Morgana—could you please conjure me something to wash off all this blood before we meet the heroes?" I complained irritably.

She gave an amused smirk and raised her slender hand casually in my direction. Before I could react, a cascade of freezing cold water poured suddenly over my head from nowhere, drenching me instantly. I squealed involuntarily, shivering as it dripped down my curves, swiftly washing away every last trace of blood and gore from my now soaked form.

"There," Morgana chuckled mischievously, openly admiring how the cold water made my nipples harden enticingly, sending a thrill of embarrassment and excitement rippling through me. "All cleaned up."

I shot her a reproachful glare, shivering slightly from the icy chill clinging to my exposed skin. "Very funny," I muttered sarcastically, hugging myself tightly as I gave her a pleading look. "Now can you please conjure me some clothes, too? It's freezing down here."

But Morgana merely tilted her head playfully, emerald eyes sparkling wickedly as she slowly licked her full, luscious lips, clearly enjoying every second of my predicament. "Oh, now why in Merlin's name would I ever go and do a thing like that?" she purred seductively, stepping closer and letting her gaze wander shamelessly over every enticing curve of my trembling nude body. "You're positively breathtaking exactly as you are, my dear apprentice. Besides, wouldn't you love for Nightwing to see you looking like this? If nothing else, he'll have a much harder time trying to hit you."

“And what about Raven?” I pouted in response…

…Oh, I guess Raven was gay or at least bisexual as well because she was blushing up a storm on her pale grey cheeks.

“Why are you completely naked?” Raven blurted out sharply, pointing an accusing finger at me as she hovered just above the street, her violet eyes wide with shock. She was clearly trying—and failing—to maintain her usual aloof composure. The heated blush that flooded her pale grey cheeks was unmistakable.

Nightwing stood frozen beside her, his mouth slightly agape, expression stunned beneath his domino mask. It was almost adorable, honestly—the way Gotham’s famous hero had been rendered completely speechless at the mere sight of me standing confidently naked in the middle of the deserted street.

Morgana and I had barely made it out of the sewers and onto this abandoned Gotham avenue before Nightwing and Raven had intercepted us. 

Despite my nudity, I straightened my spine proudly, not bothering to cover myself. 

Morgana tilted her head playfully. “Heroes,” she teased them. “It’s impolite to ogle my apprentice so openly.” She paused dramatically, the smirk widening wickedly. “Only I have that privilege—whenever and however I desire.”

Her sultry words seemed to finally snap Nightwing out of his daze. He jolted visibly, flushing bright red beneath his mask as he quickly averted his gaze—though not quickly enough. I easily saw the unmistakable bulge now straining against the tight fabric of his costume.

I allowed myself a satisfied smile, gently biting my lower lip as my succubus instincts purred happily within my chest. How deliciously flattering. Even Gotham’s most disciplined hero couldn’t resist reacting to my irresistible demonic allure.

Nightwing recovered quickly, however, his embarrassment shifting rapidly into grim determination as he lifted a gloved finger accusingly in our direction. “Morgana, Amara—you’re both under arrest!” he declared firmly, his voice strong despite the lingering flush upon his cheeks. “For the crimes of ritualistic human sacrifice and murder!”

I glanced sideways toward Morgana, watching closely as my mentor’s seductive amusement instantly evaporated. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, expression darkening with genuine anger. “And how exactly,” Morgana asked coldly, “did you come to learn about that particular ritual? Did a certain cowardly, flightless bird betray our trust? The Penguin certainly seems like a very brave dwarf indeed…”

A faint shiver ran down my spine at the icy venom in Morgana’s tone. She was genuinely angry now. I could feel the dark aura radiating fiercely around her. Morgana despised betrayal above all else. 

And honestly, so did I.

I expected Nightwing to immediately come after me, so I tensed my muscles, preparing to dodge his inevitable first strike. But instead, his masked eyes narrowed grimly onto Morgana beside me, clearly assessing her as the far greater threat. Or perhaps the hero simply found it distasteful to strike at an entirely naked young woman.

Either way, I felt a faint pang of annoyance flare inside me. Was he really underestimating me after everything I’d done so far tonight?

Nightwing lunged sharply forward, his powerful body springing into motion as he raced toward Morgana. 

But before I could move to intercept, I heard Raven’s voice echo sharply from my left side, dark and ominous words sending a chill racing down my spine.

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos!”

The spell hit me hard, erupting from Raven’s outstretched hands as a seething wave of shadowy dark magic slammed forcefully into my naked body. I gasped sharply in surprise and pain, feeling myself violently hurled upward into the Gotham night sky.

Instinctively, my demonic traits immediately manifested, my small, bat-like succubus wings bursting swiftly from my bare back, flapping desperately to catch myself mid-air. My slender tail also slipped free, extending from just above my bare ass cheeks, flicking anxiously behind me as I hovered unsteadily above the deserted street below.

I quickly steadied my balance, heart pounding wildly as adrenaline surged hotly through my veins. Raven ascended rapidly toward me with her dark cloak billowing dramatically around her curvy figure as she approached. She clearly intended to follow up her attack, but the instant she drew close enough to get a proper look at me, she froze abruptly mid-flight, her eyes widening dramatically with unmistakable shock.

“You—you’re part demon?” she exclaimed incredulously as she openly gaped at the delicate wings gently beating behind my shoulders and my slender succubus tail swaying behind me. Her startled gaze traced slowly over my nude body, lingering briefly between my thighs before hastily snapping back up to meet my eyes, cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of grey-purple in embarrassment.

I blinked briefly in confusion at her odd reaction—then understanding suddenly clicked into place inside my mind. Oh, right. Raven herself was famously half-demon, wasn’t she? She’d clearly never expected to encounter someone else like her.

A playful smile curled my lips as I tilted my head slightly toward her. Raven’s startled expression had already shifted subtly, her cautious aggression fading rapidly away, replaced by an openly curious, faintly awed look as she studied me carefully.

“Surprise?” I offered teasingly, allowing amusement to color my tone as I gently folded my arms beneath my bare breasts, striking an intentionally confident and seductive pose in the air.

Raven continued staring openly, biting nervously at her lower lip as she visibly hesitated, clearly uncertain how to proceed now. After a brief pause, she finally spoke again, voice softer this time, hesitant yet undeniably intrigued. “Who—or what—exactly are you?” Raven asked slowly, genuine curiosity flickering briefly in her guarded eyes.

I smiled softly at Raven’s nervous curiosity. “My name’s Amara,” I said smoothly, holding her hesitant gaze. “And you’re right—I’m part demon too. Though probably not the same kind as you.”

"That's right," came a husky, amused voice from behind us. "Unlike you, Spawn of Trigon, she's a slutty little succubus. Although—" the voice paused, tinged with disbelief and open amusement, "—she’s still somehow a virgin, which boggles my freaking mind."

If I hadn’t been hovering midair, I would've jumped straight out of my skin. Raven jolted too, spinning around sharply. Her violet eyes widened as she took in the striking newcomer.

Floating effortlessly toward us was Mazikeen. Her breathtaking dark beauty was exactly as intimidatingly stunning as I'd remembered, her figure flawless and sensual, barely concealed beneath tight, revealing black leather. Her wings, though—those wings sent a shiver racing down my spine. They were twisted, burned, and mutilated—scarred remains of what must have once been majestic. Yet despite their ruined appearance, they still carried her with graceful ease.

"M-Mazikeen?" I stammered nervously, heart racing as the demoness drifted closer, her dark eyes fixed intently on me.

She tilted her head slightly, full lips pouting in exaggerated offense. "Amara," she murmured reproachfully, sounding genuinely hurt. "Why didn't you call me?"

A nervous blush spread across my cheeks. "I—I'm sorry," I admitted sheepishly. "Morgana destroyed the paper with your number."

Technically, that was true. But honestly, even without Morgana's intervention, I'd been terrified of contacting Lucifer Morningstar's infamous top lieutenant. Mazikeen had effortlessly exuded danger and seductive power when we'd met before. 

I wasn't sure I could handle such an intimidating presence on my own.

Thankfully, Raven interrupted, glaring suspiciously at Mazikeen. "Who are you?" she demanded sharply, clearly on edge. "And how the hell do you know about Trigon?"

Mazikeen merely chuckled softly, glancing briefly at Raven before her gaze drifted lazily downward toward the street below. "Oh, that's for me to know and you to dot dot dot," she teased wickedly, casually gesturing downward.

Confused, Raven and I both glanced toward the ground.

Beside Morgana, sprawled unconscious on the pavement, lay Nightwing.

I blinked in surprise. Morgana had actually spared the hero's life?

Perhaps it was because Nightwing technically wasn't officially League-affiliated? Whatever Morgana's reasoning, Raven didn't hesitate. Without a word, she shot rapidly downward.

She swiftly landed, grabbing Nightwing's unconscious form protectively. With a final wary glare upward toward us, Raven murmured her familiar spell and teleported them both safely away in a swirl of shadowy violet magic.

Now alone in the sky with Mazikeen, I swallowed nervously, feeling heat flood my cheeks under her appreciative stare. Her dark eyes slid slowly over every inch of my naked, hovering form, lingering openly on my full breasts, my gently curved hips, and the sensitive place between my trembling thighs.

A satisfied smirk curled Mazikeen's lips. "Mmm…you're even more beautiful than I imagined you'd be, Amara," she purred seductively, her tone low and filled with open admiration.

My blush intensified sharply at her bold compliment. Before I could respond, Mazikeen gracefully reached between her ample cleavage and pulled out another small slip of paper, offering it casually toward me.

"Don't lose this one," she instructed firmly, amusement glinting in her dark eyes. "I'd hate to have to track you down again personally…though I'm certainly enjoying the view."

My fingers trembled slightly as I accepted the scrap of paper, heart racing faster at the warmth radiating softly from Mazikeen’s lingering touch. Then, just as abruptly as she'd appeared, Mazikeen vanished once more, leaving me hovering alone in the dark Gotham sky.

Still flushed and slightly shaken, I carefully descended back to the ground, landing lightly beside Morgana. My mentor quickly stepped closer, emerald eyes filled with genuine concern as she gently reached out, cupping my cheek tenderly. "Are you alright, my dear apprentice?" she asked softly, studying me closely. "I must admit—I certainly didn't expect that particular demoness to make another appearance."

"I'm fine," I assured her quickly, offering Morgana a reassuring smile as I leaned gratefully into her soothing touch. "Just surprised. Are you ready to head back home?"

Morgana nodded slowly, eyes glittering with subtle menace as she glanced briefly upward toward the shadowy rooftops. "Yes," she murmured thoughtfully. "We can deal with Penguin’s foolish betrayal tomorrow. Tonight, however…" Her full lips curled into a deliciously wicked smirk, emerald eyes gleaming hungrily as she stepped even closer, pressing her voluptuous curves enticingly against my still-bare body. "Tonight we have two very beautiful blonde sisters waiting back home—two lovely young witches who owe us their heartfelt gratitude. I fully intend to ensure we both take full advantage of their…gratitude."

I shivered slightly beneath Morgana’s seductive promise, my succubus blood already stirring eagerly within me at the tantalizing thought. Smiling softly, I slipped my slender hand into hers, anticipation fluttering warmly in my chest.

"Lead the way, Morgana," I purred seductively, desire and excitement coloring my tone as I leaned affectionately into her side. "Let’s go claim our reward."

XXX

Chapter Text

Hello! Here is chapter 6! There is a R-18 scene in the first third of this chapter.

Chapter 6 (~12k words):

– Amara –

I sat completely naked upon the plush velvet couch. My thighs were gently crossed, but the position hardly concealed anything. 

Morgana’s body wrapped around me from behind. Her clothed generous breasts pressed against my bare back. Her arm wrapped possessively around me. I struggled slightly to maintain my composure as her other hand slowly, teasingly stroked and fondled my breast, her thumb occasionally flicking over my hardened nipple, sending shocks of pleasure straight to my core.

Directly across from us sat Daphne and Astoria, perched nervously on the edge of their own seats, their pretty faces flushed bright red. They were desperately attempting to focus on what I was explaining, yet their gazes kept drifting down helplessly to my exposed breasts and pussy every time I shifted position, their eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and barely restrained arousal.

“So,” I continued, doing my very best to sound composed despite the sensations Morgana was expertly eliciting from me, “after Morgana and I infiltrated the Court of Owls meeting, disguised as the two of you—ah!—we discovered that it was Madame Powers who had orchestrated tonight’s attack. She demanded the Greengrass family be removed from the Court and exterminated.”

I paused, biting my lower lip as Morgana’s fingers slowly circled my nipple, tweaking and teasing until I couldn’t help but softly moan in front of the Greengrass sisters.

“Are you alright, Amara?” Daphne asked hesitantly, her blush deepening beautifully, though she clearly couldn’t bring herself to avert her gaze entirely from my nude form.

“Perfectly fine,” I replied breathily, smiling playfully at Daphne. Morgana chuckled quietly behind me, clearly enjoying my struggle to remain coherent beneath her teasing caresses. Her fingertips resumed their slow, deliberate exploration of my breast, gently pinching and rolling my nipple between her skilled fingers until my hips squirmed helplessly atop the couch. “Just a bit distracted, that's all. Morgana is being a terrible tease…”

Astoria openly stared at Morgana’s hand as it gently fondled me, her eyes wide and fascinated, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment. Yet she clearly couldn’t tear herself away, she was leaning forward slightly to get a better look. I caught a subtle, unconscious shift of Astoria’s hips.

Clearing my throat gently, I forced myself to continue my explanation. “Anyway, after we removed our disguises, the Court leader made us pass a sort of…combat trial. Each of us faced twelve undead assassins, called Talons. Morgana easily defeated hers. I struggled a bit—mmph—my clothing didn’t survive. Hence…” I gestured vaguely downward to my naked body, my voice slightly shaky with arousal as Morgana’s teasing touch continued. “Hence why I'm currently completely nude.”

Daphne’s gaze slowly roamed over my figure, drinking in every curve, lingering appreciatively on my bare pussy before hastily returning upward to meet my gaze. I felt my succubus nature purring in satisfaction beneath her heated stare.

Astoria, meanwhile, seemed too entranced by Morgana’s openly erotic display to bother with subtlety. Her tongue darted out nervously, wetting her plump lips as she breathed shakily.

“So, ah,” Daphne finally stammered softly, clearly trying to regain some semblance of composure despite her obvious arousal, “it was the Powers family who wanted us dead? That’s what you both found out?”

“Yes,” I confirmed with a small, sympathetic nod. “That lady was the one who openly accused you two of “endangering the Court.” She seemed personally pissed off with your family.”

“But… who exactly are the Powers family? Why in Merlin’s name would they want to kill Daphne and me?” Astoria asked in confusion.

I opened my mouth to reply, but just as I began speaking, Morgana’s fingers abruptly squeezed my nipple firmly, sending a sharp jolt of sensation through my sensitive breast. I gasped aloud, body shuddering in helpless pleasure as the teasing witch continued fondling me openly, boldly, before our clearly captivated audience. “I-I don't actually know…” I finally managed to gasp breathlessly, giving Morgana a playful, half-hearted glare as she smiled innocently behind me. “Perhaps Daphne knows more.”

Daphne nodded quietly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, clearly doing her utmost not to openly show her growing arousal. “The Powers family own some of the most luxurious, famous hotels in the Muggle world. They're extraordinarily wealthy and influential among non-magicals.” She paused briefly, chewing nervously on her lower lip as embarrassment flashed briefly across her face. “You see, hotels aren't really a common thing in the magical world. We mostly rely on traditional inns—and the Greengrass family has a near-monopoly over wizarding inns and lodgings across Britain and Europe. I suspect Madame Powers wants us eliminated as competition, to expand their business into the magical world.”

Astoria frowned thoughtfully, nodding slowly as she processed Daphne’s explanation. Yet even as she attempted to seriously consider her sister’s words, Astoria’s gaze inevitably drifted downward again.

I let out another soft, involuntary moan as Morgana’s expert fingers continued tormenting my sensitive nipples. Her breath was warm and teasing against my ear as she chuckled softly, clearly savoring every moment of my struggle to remain composed in front of our beautiful guests.

“M-Morgana…” I finally whimpered softly, turning my head slightly to gaze pleadingly into my mentor’s emerald eyes. “You’re being terribly possessive right now.”

“Ah, my sweet apprentice,” Morgana purred huskily. “Just consider this part of your training… in the subtle art of seduction,” she purred seductively. “Well, don’t worry, my lovely Greengrass sisters. Now that you’ve agreed to join our little growing coven, we’ll ensure your rivals deeply regret ever daring to cross you…”

Both Daphne and Astoria looked stunned by Morgana’s confident words. I caught the faintest flicker of hope sparking within their eyes, mingled intimately with barely contained arousal as they gazed once more upon my helplessly moaning naked form beneath Morgana’s sensual torment.

And despite the embarrassment of being completely exposed and fondled openly in front of these beautiful sisters, I felt an undeniable thrill ripple sharply through my core. Morgana had promised earlier tonight that we would thoroughly enjoy ourselves with the Greengrass sisters, taking full advantage of their gratefulness.

– Morgana –

Morgana watched the young Greengrass sisters carefully as she allowed a gentle smile to grace her lips. Morgana could see clearly in the sisters’ flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes just how desperately they craved her and Amara’s touch…

And yet…

“That will be all for tonight, Daphne, Astoria,” Morgana said gently, her voice leaving no room for question. “You may return to your rooms and rest.”

Surprise flashed briefly across the sisters’ faces, followed closely by unmistakable disappointment. Daphne opened her mouth as if to protest, but quickly closed it again, perhaps realizing the futility of arguing with Morgana’s firm command.

“Yes, Lady Morgana,” Daphne murmured respectfully, rising slowly to her feet, her cheeks still painted with an alluring blush as she cast a longing glance toward Amara’s still-naked figure. Astoria followed suit, biting her lower lip nervously, her eyes wide with barely restrained longing. The two witches hesitated briefly, exchanging a final, lingering look with Amara, before finally bowing their heads and slipping quietly from the room.

As the door softly clicked shut behind the Greengrass sisters, Morgana could practically feel Amara’s questioning gaze upon her. A soft, amused chuckle escaped Morgana’s lips as she slowly turned her full attention toward the stunning young succubus seated naked on her lap.

“My dear apprentice,” Morgana purred gently. “You’re wondering why I sent those witches away, aren’t you?”

Amara blushed deeply, nodding shyly as her emerald gaze lowered briefly. “Yes,” she admitted softly, peeking up through dark lashes, “I thought… Well, you promised earlier that we would enjoy ourselves fully with them tonight.”

“Oh, my sweet Amara,” Morgana whispered, voice low and deeply sensual, her emerald eyes burning with unmistakable possessiveness and desire. “I haven’t forgotten my promise. Believe me, we shall certainly enjoy those sisters very soon.”

“Then…why send them away tonight?” Amara asked breathlessly.

Morgana’s eyes softened gently. “Because tonight,” she whispered gently, her thumb tenderly brushing along the succubus’s lower lip, “I found myself feeling something I never expected—a hint of jealousy.”

Amara’s emerald eyes widened slightly in adorable confusion, clearly stunned by Morgana’s honest admission. “Jealousy?” she repeated uncertainly. “You?”

Morgana nodded softly, smiling affectionately. “Yes, jealousy,” she admitted again with gentle sincerity, her voice silky and vulnerable. “When that demoness Mazikeen appeared, shamelessly flirting with you again, I realized quite vividly that… your first experience of real, passionate sex… should belong solely to me!”

A deep flush immediately spread across Amara’s cheeks, her breath hitching audibly in her throat as her eyes gazed up at Morgana, filled with anticipation. 

Morgana leaned her head in slowly, allowing her lips to graze softly against her apprentice’s ear, whispering warmly, seductively, “I have touched your beautiful body many times now, my sweet Amara. I’ve tasted you, pleasured you, driven you to incredible climaxes… but I have yet to truly make love to you. Tonight, that will change…”

Morgana slowly drew her head back, pushing Amara off her lap. Placing her body on the cushion next to her. Amara was breathing heavily but also looked a bit confused. 

Morgana rose from the couch. She reached for the delicate clasp of her gown, feeling a rush of excitement dance deliciously down her spine. With a single fluid motion, she slipped the dress from her body, allowing it to pool at her feet, leaving Morgana completely naked in front of Amara for the first time.

Amara stared openly, speechless, her eyes immediately roaming every inch of Morgana’s flawless body. 

Morgana could practically see the desire igniting within Amara’s eyes as they traced over her full, heavy breasts, down the soft curve of her waist and the alluring roundness of her hips and thighs, then settling on her pussy that was already glistening faintly with arousal.

“Do you like what you see, my dear apprentice?” Morgana whispered warmly, smiling tenderly down into Amara’s flushed face.

“Yes…” Amara breathed softly. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.”

Morgana smiled gently, leaning down to tenderly capture Amara’s lips in a soft, loving kiss. When she pulled her lips back, slowly breaking their heated kiss, Morgana pulled back just enough to gaze lovingly into her apprentice’s beautiful emerald eyes. “Come, my darling,” she murmured softly, gently guiding Amara to stand with her. “Let us retire to OUR bedchamber. I intend to savor every exquisite inch of your body tonight, to claim fully what rightfully belongs to me alone.”

Amara nodded breathlessly, cheeks glowing radiantly with anticipation. Morgana smiled lovingly, taking her apprentice’s hand gently within her own. She led Amara toward what, she hoped, from now on would be their shared quarters.

…Morgana sighed contentedly as she settled onto her large, luxurious bed, reclining gracefully against the plush pillows behind her. She was completely bare, her nude body proudly on display as she comfortably spread her long, shapely legs, openly exposing herself fully for Amara.

Unlike Amara, Morgana was raised in an entirely different era. A time where women weren’t always shaved bare. Although of course, Morgana didn’t allow hair to grow anywhere else on her body than on her head or between her legs. Her dark pubic hair grew naturally and lushly between her thighs, framing the delicate, flushed folds of her pussy, which already glistened faintly with anticipation and excitement.

She could sense Amara’s curious eagerness as her apprentice moved hesitantly forward onto the bed, crawling slowly between Morgana's parted thighs. Morgana smiled encouragingly down at the stunning young succubus.

Amara paused briefly, gently biting her lower lip, cheeks flushing beautifully pink as she admired Morgana's exposed sex. 

“Don’t be shy.” Morgana reached down, gently stroking Amara’s silky black hair, silently encouraging her beloved apprentice onward.

“I’m going to do my best, Morgana.” Finally, with a deep, nervous breath, Amara lowered her face gently between Morgana's thighs, the soft warmth of her breath sending a pleasurable shiver along Morgana’s spine. The moment Amara’s delicate mouth made contact, Morgana gasped softly, feeling an electric thrill ripple through her entire body.

Amara’s nose buried itself intimately into the softness of Morgana’s pubic hair, her cheeks pressed warmly against Morgana’s inner thighs as she slowly, experimentally, began licking tenderly at Morgana’s sensitive pussy. Her tongue was warm, soft, and surprisingly confident as it slowly explored Morgana’s lower lips, tracing delicate patterns along the slick, sensitive folds.

“Ohh…yes…just like that, Amara,” Morgana whispered encouragingly, her voice thick with genuine pleasure. “You’re doing wonderfully, Amara,” Morgana praised breathily, her hips shifting instinctively upward. “It feels absolutely incredible…”

Amara lifted her face briefly as her lips glistened faintly with Morgana’s juices as she softly admitted, “Thank you, Morgana, but…I’m nervous. It's my first time licking pussy. I wasn't sure if I'd be good…”

Morgana smiled warmly down at her adorable apprentice. She reached down, gently stroking Amara’s flushed cheek. “You're doing beautifully, Amara. You’re already a natural—just as I'd expect from a succubus like yourself. Trust your inborn racial instincts, my apprentice.”

Amara visibly brightened at Morgana’s praise, clearly eager to please her mentor. With renewed enthusiasm, she quickly lowered her face again, pressing herself more firmly against Morgana's welcoming pussy as she resumed licking more confidently, her tongue slipping lovingly between Morgana’s slick folds, swirling tenderly around her clit.

“Oh, that’s good—Amara!” Morgana cried out softly, shivering helplessly beneath her apprentice’s devoted, passionate attention. She felt herself growing rapidly wetter, pleasure building steadily within her core with each skilled stroke of Amara’s tongue. Morgana’s breathing grew ragged, her curvy body quivering deliciously as intense sensation surged through her nerves.

Amara continued eagerly, her soft lips sealing warmly around Morgana’s swollen clit as her tongue skillfully flicked and teased, clearly savoring every moment, every taste. Morgana’s thighs quivered, hips shifting uncontrollably, seeking more of the incredible pleasure Amara was lovingly providing.

“Just like that, my beautiful apprentice,” Morgana moaned breathlessly, fingers threading gently into Amara’s silky hair, lovingly guiding her apprentice’s movements. “You're perfect…keep going…

“I’m going to try something else,” Amara told her with a slight pause.

Morgana gasped sharply, her entire body jolting in delighted surprise as she felt the impossible happen—Amara’s tongue slid deeply, effortlessly into her pussy, far deeper than any human tongue had the right to reach! Her breath hitching audibly as the sensation overwhelmed her senses.

“Oh, Goddess—yes!” Morgana cried out helplessly, hips arching upward to meet her apprentice’s gifted tongue. “Your tongue—it feels divine, Amara! So good!”

Morgana’s fingers tightened instinctively in Amara’s silky black hair, her heartbeat quickening to a wild tempo as another wave of pleasure rushed through her body. As Amara’s impossibly deep tongue slowly withdrew and thrust back into her tight pussy, Morgana realized with awe that her lovely apprentice had discovered a new succubus ability.

Glancing down over the generous swell of her own heavy, heaving breasts, Morgana met Amara’s mischievously sparkling green eyes gazing back at her from between her spread thighs. Amara was clearly enjoying the look of astonishment on Morgana’s face. Amara maintained eye contact, demonstrating just how thoroughly she enjoyed driving Morgana wild with pleasure as her elongated succubus tongue continued deeply fucking her mentor’s soaking-wet pussy.

Morgana’s breathing grew ragged, her curvaceous body squirming uncontrollably atop the luxurious bed sheets. She was completely at Amara’s mercy, helplessly captivated by the newfound skill her apprentice had unleashed. 

Then, as if Amara’s incredibly talented tongue wasn’t enough, Morgana felt Amara’s slender hand gently settle atop her lower belly, directly above her womb, pressing softly but firmly into Morgan’s skin.

Before Morgana could even guess at Amara’s intentions, an astonishing rush of potent pleasure surged upward from that gentle touch, coursing rapidly through Morgana’s toes. 

“Holy—Mmmm!” she gasped aloud! 

Amara had begun channeling an intensely pleasurable form of sex magic—a spell Morgana herself had never taught her apprentice! Although, she certainly should have!

“Ohhh, fuck—Amara!” Morgana shrieked, her elegant composure utterly shattered as her exquisite body writhed beneath the powerful surge of heightened sensitivity. The room seemed to spin dizzily around her as each stroke of her apprentice’s remarkable tongue became an ecstatic torment, infinitely more pleasurable and overwhelming than before.

Her muscles tensed sharply, back arching from the bed in an elegant curve, as Morgana felt herself rapidly hurtling toward a climax unlike anything she had ever previously experienced. Amara’s tongue slid deeper still, filling Morgana completely, hitting impossibly sensitive places inside her that no lover had ever touched before.

“Amara—I—I’m going to—” Morgana’s voice broke in a desperate scream of ecstasy as her orgasm crashed over her like an unstoppable tidal wave.

Her pussy spasmed uncontrollably around Amara’s still-thrusting tongue, an eruption of pleasure that left Morgana helplessly shuddering. Then, to her astonished embarrassment and delight, Morgana felt herself squirting intensely for the first time in centuries—warm jets of her essence soaking Amara’s beautiful face and mouth, dripping down her chin and breasts!

Amara continued eagerly, tongue greedily drinking in Morgana’s juices even as Morgana quivered violently, gasping and shaking beneath the exquisite intensity of her apprentice’s loving attention. Eventually, Amara slowly withdrew her elongated tongue from Morgana’s throbbing, spent pussy, a teasing smirk curling her lips as she softly kissed Morgana’s inner thighs, licking Morgana’s juices from her chin and lips.

As Morgana slowly regained her breath, she felt an amused yet affectionate irritation at her own surprise. Somehow, despite all her experience, her centuries of power, her beautiful young apprentice had found a way to shock her, to teach her something entirely new about pleasure!

Amara crawled slowly upward over Morgana’s flushed form, smiling shyly yet confidently, emerald eyes glimmering with satisfaction. “Did you enjoy that, Mistress?” Amara purred teasingly, clearly knowing the answer already.

Morgana smiled warmly as she cupped her apprentice’s flushed cheek, pulling Amara’s lips down to her own in a tender, lingering kiss. She could taste her own release on Amara’s lips, but didn’t mind one bit. 

When their lips finally parted, Morgana sighed softly, contentedly, admitting gently, “You, my sweet apprentice, never cease to amaze me...” 

‘But—she certainly couldn't let her adorable apprentice grow overly confident too soon,’ Morgana thought amusedly.

Morgana gently caressed Amara’s flushed cheek before gripping her apprentice’s shoulders and suddenly flipping her onto her back upon the bed. Amara yelped playfully in surprise as Morgana’s lithe, naked body smoothly settled atop hers.

“Not so fast, my dear apprentice,” Morgana purred teasingly as she pressed closer, pinning the succubus gently yet firmly beneath her.

Amara smiled shyly upward, a beautiful blush deepening her cheeks. Her long, silky black hair spread elegantly around her head like a dark halo, framing features Morgana knew well—after all, they were a perfect reflection of her own. 

Identical, yet delightfully innocent and youthful.

No matter how many times Morgana gazed upon Amara’s nude form, she never tired of the exquisite sight. The younger woman’s breasts rose and fell gently with each breath, full and heavy, topped by those pink nipples hardened eagerly by arousal and excitement. Her stomach was smooth and toned, flowing sensually down toward wide, inviting hips and those absolutely stunning thighs that seemed designed specifically to wrap lovingly around Morgana’s waist.

Morgana slowly moved her slender hands along those trembling thighs, carefully spreading them apart and positioning Amara exactly how she wanted her. 

“Get ready~” Morgana gently pushed one of Amara’s legs further aside, opening her even wider to accommodate their new position.

Then Morgana eased herself downward, settling her hips gracefully between Amara’s parted thighs. A soft, delighted gasp escaped Morgana’s lips at the exquisite sensation of their heated, wet pussies finally meeting intimately for the first time.

The contact was electric—Morgana felt a wave of intense pleasure and magic surge through her entire being. Her own pussy, covered with soft black curls grown naturally over centuries, pressed sensuously against Amara’s smooth, perfectly hairless sex. Morgana couldn’t help but appreciate how beautifully their differences complemented one another—the contrast was utterly erotic and deeply satisfying.

As Morgana began slowly rocking her hips, gently grinding their warm, slick pussies together, a low, helpless moan spilled from Amara’s parted lips. Her apprentice's eyes widened beautifully in surprise and arousal, her hips instinctively pressing upward into Morgana’s movements, matching her rhythm eagerly.

“Oh—Morgana… this feels incredible,” Amara whimpered breathlessly, hands clutching softly at Morgana’s waist, holding her close as she began rocking in tandem, savoring the intimacy and pleasure of the moment.

Morgana chuckled warmly, leaning forward to lovingly capture Amara’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues dancing tenderly together as Morgana maintained the deliciously erotic movement of their hips. Her breasts brushed teasingly against Amara’s own ample curves, each thrust gently bouncing both pairs together.

“Did you think you’d taken control from me so easily, my dear apprentice?” Morgana murmured seductively as she pulled back from the kiss, breathing heavily. Her eyes were filled with pure lust. “I have been pleasuring lovers since long before you were born. You still have much to learn.”

Amara’s usually pale face flushed deeply as she gazed up adoringly at Morgana. “Then teach me, Mistress,” she whispered softly.

Morgana smiled lovingly down at her beautiful apprentice as her pleasure rapidly intensified. Morgana increased her pace, each rhythmic thrust of their hips growing firmer, hotter, more intimate as the wet, slick sounds filled the bedchamber.

Their magic seemed to blend effortlessly, amplifying each sensation tenfold. Morgana had recognized from the very first moment they met just how perfectly compatible their magical essences were—two powerful witches bound by fate, desire, and destiny. Now, as their slick folds moved sensuously together, that compatibility surged wildly through her, heightening every touch, every shared breath.

Amara’s breasts continued bouncing softly beneath Morgana’s passionate movements, her expression shifting into one of pure, helpless ecstasy as the succubus cried out Morgana’s name again and again, clearly lost completely within the erotic sensations. Morgana reveled in every delighted sound, in the sight of Amara so utterly at her mercy and vulnerable to her every whim.

Morgana felt herself quickly nearing another powerful climax, her muscles tightening deliciously, her pussy growing hotter, wetter, desperate for release. She held Amara’s gaze passionately, communicating silently the depth of love, desire, and possessiveness she felt for her beautiful apprentice.

“You’re mine, Amara,” Morgana whispered fiercely, her voice shaking slightly with intensity as she ground their pussies even more firmly together, building rapidly toward the peak of her pleasure. “Tonight, and always. You may take more lovers—it's in your nature after all—but you’ll always come back to me, won’t you?”

“Forever, Morgana!” Amara gasped helplessly beneath her. “Always yours!”

Morgana smiled down lustfully at the beautiful succubus beneath her, savoring every gasp and breathless moan Amara offered in response to each rhythmic thrust of her hips. She could feel the slick heat between them, the sweet friction of their dripping pussies sliding intimately together, heightening her own pleasure beyond anything she had felt before.

Amara's emerald eyes gazed up at her, wide and glistening with tears of pure pleasure, her luscious lips parted as she whimpered Morgana’s name with adoration.

The large bed beneath them creaked rhythmically. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Amara whispered breathlessly, her voice shaking slightly from the sheer intensity of the sensations Morgana was expertly delivering. Her eyes brimmed with joyful tears, her gaze filled with pure devotion. “Morgana…I’m so glad you found me that day, down in the vault.”

Morgana laughed softly, affectionately, gently brushing away a stray tear from Amara’s flushed cheek with her thumb. Her own breathing was heavy now, ragged with rapidly mounting pleasure. “Hah, my darling apprentice,” she purred warmly, her hips moving in firm, passionate thrusts that drew another ragged moan from Amara’s throat. “If anything, it was you who found me.”

She felt the slick, exquisite heat of Amara’s pussy pressing firmly against her own, their swollen clits brushing tantalizingly together with each thrust, sending powerful jolts of electric sensation through Morgana’s body. Her own thighs trembled slightly, pleasure coiling deliciously within her core. 

The sensations of Amara’s body beneath her—her warmth, her slickness, her sweet moans—sent Morgana soaring towards an inevitable climax. Morgana’s eyes locked onto Amara’s face, savoring the expression of utter surrender, of pure ecstasy etched beautifully across the younger woman’s delicate features. Morgana felt herself, deliciously overwhelmed by pleasure, realizing vaguely that she was drooling slightly, so utterly consumed by her desire.

She felt herself approaching the precipice rapidly, her hips moving urgently, rhythmically, as the pressure built steadily within her core. “Amara,” Morgana gasped huskily, voice thick with lustful need, “I want you to cum with me. Right now.”

“Yes, Morgana—Mistress—!” Amara cried out loudly beneath her, her body arching beautifully upward from the bed. Her voice rose sharply, almost desperately, as the younger witch surrendered entirely to the pleasure Morgana gave her. “I—I’m going to cum so fucking hard, Mistress!”

Morgana smiled triumphantly, feeling the first wave of her orgasm crashing gloriously through her body even as Amara’s own release tore violently through her beautiful apprentice. Their bodies shuddered together, writhing passionately upon the luxurious bed, their slick pussies spasming and throbbing deliciously against one another in perfect, synchronized bliss. 

“Fuck! I’m cumming~” Morgana cried out softly, her voice mingling with Amara’s loud, ecstatic moans, as the intensity of their shared orgasm completely overwhelmed them both.

For several endless moments, they remained locked in this exquisite embrace, their shared pleasure washing through them in wave after powerful wave, until at last their bodies slowly came to rest against each other, panting heavily and utterly spent.

Morgana gazed affectionately down into her apprentice’s beautiful face, brushing a few damp strands of dark hair lovingly away from Amara’s flushed cheek. Her emerald eyes glowed warmly, filled with affection and deep satisfaction.

“That,” Morgana murmured breathlessly, gently pressing a tender, lingering kiss to Amara’s soft lips, “was absolutely perfect, my sweet apprentice. You are truly extraordinary.”

“It felt so good…” Amara smiled softly. “I want to go longer, but I’m pretty tired after the day we had.”

“Rest now, Amara,” Morgana whispered gently, gathering her beloved apprentice into her arms. “Tomorrow, we have vengeance to seek and plans to make. But tonight, simply rest and know you belong fully and irrevocably to me.”

Amara sighed softly, contentedly, as she nestled closer, her eyes drifting shut peacefully in Morgana’s embrace. Morgana smiled tenderly, her own eyes slowly closing as well, feeling deeply satisfied.

– Amara –

…Warm sunlight gently filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, caressing my skin and slowly pulling me from a deep, blissful sleep. My body felt relaxed and wonderfully sensitive, still tingling pleasantly from the events of the previous night. I smiled softly as I opened my eyes, immediately met by the sight of Morgana’s beautiful face beside mine. She was already awake.

“Good morning, my apprentice,” Morgana whispered softly, smiling tenderly as she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from my cheek.

“Morning,” I murmured sleepily, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks as memories of last night flooded through me once again. I shifted slightly, enjoying the pleasant sensation of our naked bodies still pressed intimately close beneath the silken sheets. Morgana’s arm remained possessively wrapped around me, holding me firmly against her soft, curvy form. “Did you sleep well?”

She chuckled softly, fingertips softly tracing along my jawline, affectionately exploring my features. “Better than I have in centuries, my sweet Amara,” Morgana confessed softly, her voice rich with gentle sincerity. “Having you beside me made all the difference.”

Carefully propping myself up on one elbow, I gazed lovingly down into Morgana’s flawless face. “Last night was absolutely amazing,” I admitted shyly, my cheeks flushing bright pink. “I had no idea it could feel so good. You made my first time... unforgettable.”

Morgana reached up gently, stroking her thumb tenderly across my lower lip. “Good,” she purred teasingly, her gaze playful and seductive. “I’d hate for your very first experience of real sex to have been disappointing. I'm pleased to have exceeded your expectations.”

I bit my lower lip, feeling suddenly bolder. “Oh, it certainly wasn’t disappointing. Not at all,” I reassured her quickly, giving Morgana a playful wink. “Though, maybe next time, we could experiment a little more. Perhaps try out some... toys?”

“Mmm, you naughty little succubus,” she purred affectionately, eyes filled with playful approval. “I see your true nature is rapidly revealing itself. But yes, I think that can certainly be arranged.”

I hesitated, gently biting my lower lip. “The only thing missing last night was deeper penetration,” I admitted softly, cheeks flushing a bit brighter. “You never really went deep inside me...”

She lifted her hand, tracing her fingertip affectionately along my flushed cheek. “Oh, Amara,” she murmured. “You know precisely why that is. We need to preserve your virginity for now. When the conditions are exactly right to make full magical use for the perfect ritual.”

“But when will that be?” I asked, feeling slightly frustrated by the vague, mysterious promise. “How long will we have to wait?”

“All will become clear soon enough. Trust your mistress.” she replied cryptically.

I sighed again, but this time a small smile crept onto my lips. If Morgana was keeping the details secret, it must truly be for an important reason. I decided to trust her, at least for now, allowing my curiosity to fade momentarily.

She shifted again, propping herself up slightly as she regarded me with sudden excitement gleaming in her beautiful emerald eyes. “But there is something special we can do today—something I know you’ve been eagerly anticipating.”

“Oh?” I perked up immediately, curiosity piqued as my excitement stirred. “What is it?”

“Today, we shall finally craft your wand,” Morgana revealed proudly, eyes glowing warmly as she gazed at me. “I know you've been waiting patiently for this.”

Excitement surged instantly through me, the prospect of finally owning my very own wand making my heart race with anticipation. “Really? We can finally make my wand today?” I asked eagerly, eyes wide with excitement.

“I've prepared everything needed. Remember how I was away yesterday morning, busy with my errands?”

“Oh, so that’s what you were doing! You were gathering all the supplies we'll need?”

Morgana nodded slowly. “Exactly. You’re becoming so powerful, Amara. It’s time you had a wand truly worthy of your magic—something uniquely crafted, imbued with your own essence and perfectly suited to your abilities.”

“Speaking of wands,” I murmured thoughtfully, my fingertips tracing soft circles along the curve of Morgana’s hip beneath the warm morning sheets, “I just realized—I've never once actually seen you use yours. Why is that?”

Morgana’s expression immediately darkened. “My wand…” Morgana began softly, a delicate tension lacing her voice as memories flashed across her features, “it was stolen from me a very long time ago. That’s why you've never seen me use it—I haven’t possessed my wand for centuries.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise, shock rippling through me. The very idea that Morgana—the single most powerful and talented witch I'd ever known—could lose something so precious seemed impossible to comprehend.

“Your wand was stolen?” I repeated gently, reaching up to gently cup her smooth cheek, guiding her troubled gaze back toward me. “Do you have any idea who took it?”

Morgana shook her head slowly, a hint of frustrated sadness clouding her gaze. “No, sadly. Over the centuries I've sought its whereabouts again and again. It occasionally resurfaces, always in the hands of some powerful witch or wizard—each one of them meeting an untimely and violent death before I can retrieve my wand again. Each time, someone new absconds with it, and the vicious cycle repeats itself.”

I blinked in astonishment. “What the hell is that about?” I asked with genuine confusion. “Why would your wand cause so many deaths on its own?”

Morgana chuckled softly, the sound both amused and slightly bitter as she stroked my bare shoulder gently. “Because, my sweet apprentice, despite my wand being specifically attuned only to me, it remains infinitely superior to any pathetic stick created by the rest of wizardkind,” Morgana explained with an elegant shrug. “When I crafted it, I poured unimaginable magic, intention, and unique ingredients into its core. It’s an exceptionally powerful magical artifact, one so potent that its legend grew far beyond reality. Wizards and witches came to covet it greedily. Over the ages, my wand became something of a mythical object in their eyes—a fabled relic. They’ve foolishly begun referring to it as one of the three ‘Deathly Hallows,’ convinced it grants mastery over death itself.”

I stared blankly at Morgana, still utterly confused by her strange words. I’d never once heard mention of anything called the Deathly Hallows.

Morgana read my obvious confusion with ease, laughter sparkling affectionately in her gaze as she smiled gently. “Of course, technically speaking, there are only two real Deathly Hallows. The Cloak of Invisibility, and the Resurrection Stone. My wand—the one they call the Elder Wand—is merely my own creation, yet somehow became entangled into their ridiculous legends.”

I shook my head slowly, giving Morgana a helplessly lost look. “I'm sorry, Morgana, but I still have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

She chuckled again softly, reaching out affectionately to stroke my dark hair with tender fingers. “Don't worry, my sweet Amara,” she purred reassuringly. “I promise, I’ll find you a book containing these silly old wizarding stories someday. They’re quite entertaining, even if mostly nonsense. Who knows?” Her emerald eyes flashed playfully as she smirked teasingly at me. “Perhaps someday it might prove amusing for you to track down the real Cloak or the Stone yourself.”

I shrugged casually, smiling gently back at her. To be honest, I wasn’t terribly interested in old fairy tales or silly wizard legends. I had more than enough excitement and danger in my daily life already.

With a soft sigh, I gently slipped from Morgana’s warm embrace, rising slowly from the bed and stretching luxuriously in the warm morning sunlight. I felt her appreciative gaze tracing hungrily over every inch of my bare body, making me shiver softly with delight.

“I suppose,” I called back teasingly over my shoulder, glancing playfully toward Morgana’s lounging form on the bed, “I should shower quickly before we start crafting my wand.”

But just as I stepped toward the bathroom, I felt Morgana’s own warm, nude body pressing suddenly against me from behind. Her full, generous breasts pressed delightfully against my back, her slender arms wrapping possessively around my waist as she hugged me tenderly from behind.

I gasped aloud, startled but deeply pleased by her sudden affectionate gesture. Morgana’s soft lips brushed teasingly against my ear, her warm breath whispering intimately against my sensitive skin. “Why waste water, my apprentice?” she purred seductively, her voice warm and teasing. “Surely showering together is far more efficient—not to mention infinitely more enjoyable…”

I giggled playfully, feigning resistance despite the flush of desire already blossoming brightly within me. “Morgana,” I protested teasingly, a delighted squeal escaping my lips as she gently guided me into the bathroom, “you truly are shameless!”

“Only when it comes to you, my darling Amara,” she whispered affectionately, drawing me into the warm embrace of the running shower, her lips descending tenderly onto mine as the hot water cascaded sensually over our entwined bodies.

…After Morgana and I had enjoyed our intimate, leisurely morning shower, I slipped into a fresh pair of tight black jeans and a soft tank top. Morgana donned her usual elegantly revealing black dress. Together, we headed down into our basement ritual chamber, ready to begin the wand-crafting process she’d promised me.

I immediately noticed that Daphne and Astoria were already present. The beautiful sisters sat quietly off to the side, waiting patiently for our arrival. However, something about them caught my attention immediately.

“Good morning, Daphne, Astoria,” I greeted them warmly, flashing them a cheerful smile. “Did you both have a good night?”

Both sisters glanced up at my words, and I immediately noticed the heavy, dark circles shadowing their eyes. They both looked oddly exhausted, almost drained, and exchanged uncomfortable glances before quietly murmuring polite replies.

“Good morning, Amara,” Daphne finally responded with a faintly forced smile, her usually icy-blue eyes weary but still appreciative as they subtly roamed over my figure. “Yes, our night was… pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” Astoria muttered softly under her breath, clearly disagreeing. She shifted uncomfortably, glaring pointedly across the room—directly at Morgana.

To my surprise, Morgana let out a soft, musical chuckle beside me, clearly amused by something I was missing. 

Both Daphne and Astoria immediately sent her sharp, irritated glares, their beautiful faces flushing bright red.

“Am I missing something here?” I asked with mild curiosity, glancing between the strangely tense witches. “You two look exhausted. Did you not get enough sleep?”

Astoria opened her mouth as if to answer, but Daphne quickly elbowed her sister sharply, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say. Morgana chuckled softly again, clearly enjoying their embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m sure they simply had trouble relaxing,” Morgana replied lightly, her voice filled with subtle innuendo as she smiled knowingly at the mortified sisters. “Perhaps our lovely Greengrass sisters need better… stress relief next time?”

Daphne flushed deeply at Morgana’s teasing words, quickly looking away. Astoria, however, was more openly irritated. “We barely managed any rest because you made us watch—”

“Astoria!” Daphne hissed sharply, silencing her younger sister again.

My curiosity intensified, but Morgana merely chuckled softly, clearly refusing to explain further. With a small shrug, I finally turned my attention toward the large table set in the center of the room. Spread neatly across it were numerous unfamiliar materials—all carefully gathered by Morgana for the express purpose of creating my personal wand.

I eagerly approached the table. My gaze was immediately drawn toward an odd-looking black nut with a faintly ominous reddish tint. Curiously, I picked it up and turned toward Morgana. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”

Morgana’s eyes glittered with pride as she gazed fondly at the strange seed-like object. “Ah, that was difficult to acquire, my dear apprentice. We were exceptionally lucky. That… is a Demon Seed, grown from the fruit of a tree fed exclusively with human blood, instead of water.”

I stared blankly at Morgana, utterly speechless. Daphne and Astoria gasped aloud behind me, horrified expressions crossing their faces.

Morgana pouted defensively, clearly sensing our combined judgment. “Don’t give me that look! It’s not like I grew that particular tree myself! I simply know someone who cultivates them. I may be a dark, wicked witch—but I’m not that evil!” she declared, before adding with a sly smirk, “…most of the time.”

I merely shook my head slightly.

Turning back to the table, my attention was suddenly drawn to another item. It was a black, gnarled tree branch, unlike anything I’d seen previously. It radiated an aura I struggled to identify, dark yet melancholy, filled with a cold sense of deep loneliness. 

Curiously, I reached out to pick it up—

Morgana abruptly grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand sharply away from the mysterious branch. “What the hell…?” she hissed sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That certainly wasn’t among the materials I prepared for you!”

I frowned in confusion, glancing between Morgana and the strange branch. I’d rarely seen Morgana so genuinely startled. My eyes then spotted a small folded note lying next to the branch. 

Without thinking, I picked it up and read for everyone.

“‘This will work much better for you than boring yew wood. With love, Didi~’”

Beside me, Morgana immediately sucked in a sharp, startled breath upon hearing the name, her emerald eyes widening briefly in alarm.

“Who the hell is ‘Didi’?” I asked cautiously, feeling a sudden chill ripple down my spine at Morgana’s visceral reaction.

Morgana hesitated, clearly torn over how much to reveal. Finally, she sighed softly, reaching out gently to stroke my cheek. “My dear apprentice, if you don’t already know that name… it’s genuinely better off that you never learn it. Trust me when I say you truly are amazing. I’ve never encountered someone so persistently fascinating as you.”

I frowned again in confusion, the name “Didi” stirring vague, distant echoes of recognition within me. Yet, frustratingly, even my [Cursed Knowledge] offered nothing concrete. It was as if some powerful force deliberately blocked my memory.

Before I could press further, Astoria hesitantly cleared her throat. She shyly stepped forward, expression hopeful yet nervous. “Um, Lady Morgana—if you’re going to craft a custom wand for Amara… would it also be possible for Daphne and me to have personalized wands?”

Morgana turned slowly toward Astoria. “Of course,” she agreed. “You both will certainly have your own custom wands—though, naturally, Amara’s wand must always be crafted first. She will forever remain my highest priority, as my beloved apprentice.”

“As is expected,” Daphne replied softly, her voice filled with respectful understanding as she inclined her head politely toward Morgana.

Astoria nodded eagerly, looking satisfied by Morgana’s answer. Yet the younger witch hesitated again, biting her lip nervously before finally asking, “Lady Morgana… exactly what materials will you be using for our wands? Nothing quite so terrifying as Amara’s, I hope?”

Morgana chuckled softly, clearly amused by Astoria’s anxious expression. “Fear not, Astoria. I will ensure both you and Daphne receive wands perfectly suited to each of you. Powerful, yes—but without such… uniquely dark ingredients.”

Daphne and Astoria both visibly relaxed at Morgana’s reassuring promise. Yet I couldn’t help but glance once more toward the ominous black branch provided by this mysterious “Didi,” its cold, lonely aura still inexplicably calling to something deep within me.

Who exactly was this “Didi” person—and why did even Morgana fear speaking openly about her?

“It is time,” Morgana said quietly. She reached out, lifting an ornately carved dagger from its resting place atop the table. She offered it calmly to me. “Your wand requires a sacrifice of your own magical blood, Amara. Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” I replied without hesitation, accepting the dagger with steady fingers. I turned toward Daphne and Astoria briefly. “Don’t panic,” I warned them gently, already anticipating their reaction. “I'll be fine.”

Without giving them a chance to protest, I pressed the blade firmly against my pale wrist. Daphne and Astoria’s terrified yelps rang out simultaneously as I quickly drew the blade across my smooth flesh, slicing deeply. Bright crimson blood welled rapidly from the fresh wound, spilling generously across the strange and sinister ingredients spread across the ritual table.

“Amara, what the fuck are you doing?!” Astoria shrieked in panic, looking horrified. Daphne was pale as a ghost, staring at my bleeding wrist with wide eyes filled with dread.

But I simply smiled calmly at the beautiful, frightened sisters, already feeling the soothing warmth of my powerful regeneration surging beneath my skin. “Relax, ladies, I told you I’d be fine,” I chuckled lightly, casually lifting my wrist to show them. As they stared, speechless, the deep wound sealed shut in seconds, leaving behind only flawless pale skin. Not even the faintest scar remained. “See?”

“Wow…” Astoria whispered faintly, wide-eyed in awe. Her gaze flickered between my flawless wrist and the blood I’d spilled across the ritual ingredients. “That's incredible. I wish I could heal like that!”

I flashed her a mischievous smirk, unable to resist teasing. “Well, you certainly can,” I purred playfully, winking at Astoria as she flushed adorably beneath my attention. “All it takes is a tiny bit of human sacrifice.”

Both Greengrass sisters immediately blanched again, their expressions utterly horrified. Daphne shot me a pleading, terrified glance, as if silently begging me to admit I was joking.

Morgana sighed softly beside me, shaking her head slightly in exasperation. “Amara, stop terrifying our poor new coven mates,” she gently scolded, clearly trying not to laugh herself. “Remember—they spent years attending Hogwarts, a terribly stuffy, light-oriented school in Britain. It will take quite a while to properly acclimate them to the wonders of truly powerful dark magic.”

“Sorry, Mistress,” I apologized sweetly, giving Morgana an innocent, playful smile. Daphne and Astoria both visibly relaxed again, thinking I had been teasing them.  

I had not, but they’d learn one day…

Morgana smiled indulgently, raising her slender hands gracefully above the blood-soaked ritual ingredients. She began chanting softly in Latin, the ancient, haunting words filling the dim chamber with palpable power. Without needing instruction, I immediately joined my voice with Morgana’s, matching her Latin chant word-for-word as best I could.

“Anima et sanguine, vim meam tibi do… In sanguine noctis, magiam tuam creo…”

Together, our voices blended harmoniously, each syllable resonating deep within my soul. I felt my magic stir restlessly beneath my skin, eager to be unleashed. The spilled blood across the ritual table glowed faintly crimson, absorbing our combined magical energy as we continued chanting.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the strange and sinister wand components began moving, shifting unnaturally across the table. Guided by the combined force of our chanting, the dark materials drew closer, merging gradually, seamlessly fusing together into something new.

My heart raced faster, yet I forced myself to focus, carefully repeating each powerful Latin word Morgana taught me. She was channeling effortlessly, calmly—yet I could feel an incredible drain as more and more of my personal magic was drawn relentlessly from my body.

Minutes dragged onward, our chanting never faltering. Sweat beaded across my forehead, my limbs trembling slightly from the incredible exertion of magic I was giving off. 

Daphne and Astoria watched in awe from the sidelines.

Finally, after nearly twenty exhausting minutes of ceaseless chanting, I suddenly felt an enormous surge of magic tear violently from my body, leaving me gasping weakly, vision darkening rapidly. 

I swayed unsteadily on my feet, consciousness nearly slipping away entirely.

Strong arms wrapped quickly around me. Morgana’s reassuring embrace steadying me immediately. “Easy, my dear apprentice,” she murmured softly in my ear. “It is done. Your wand is complete.”

Blinking dazedly, my vision slowly cleared, revealing the incredible sight before me. Resting proudly in the very center of the blood-stained ritual table was a fully assembled witch’s wand—my wand.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

Pitch-black and polished to perfection, the wand radiated undeniable dark power. When I shakily reached out to lift it, a sudden surge of warmth and fierce connection shot through my skin, confirming instantly that this wand was uniquely, perfectly mine.

I stared speechless at the beautiful wand now resting reverently within my grasp, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Morgana gently cupped my flushed cheek, smiling warmly. “Congratulations, Amara,” she whispered proudly, eyes shining affectionately. “You are finally a true witch.”

I smiled weakly, leaning gratefully into her touch. Behind us, Daphne and Astoria watched quietly, their expressions openly stunned by what they’d just witnessed. 

Perhaps, after today, the Greengrass sisters would finally begin understanding what it truly meant to wield genuinely powerful magic—and why Morgana and I were unafraid to embrace darkness in pursuit of ultimate strength and vengeance. 

I turned to Morgana, still breathing a bit heavily as the aftershocks of our ritual faded. The power surging from my new wand pulsed through my fingers, intense and thrilling, practically humming with promise. It was mine, truly mine, forged of my blood and soul—dark magic bound intimately to my will. The sheer potential made my heart race with anticipation.

Morgana smiled warmly, her gaze lingering proudly on my flushed face before turning smoothly toward Daphne and Astoria. The sisters stood quietly nearby, still looking visibly shaken by the intensity of the wand-creation ceremony they had just witnessed.

“Daphne, Astoria,” Morgana spoke calmly, her voice once more the elegant, confident purr of authority. “Amara and I will be heading out immediately. It’s time we properly test her wand in the field. After all, sometimes vengeance is a dish best served cold—but other times, it must be swift and merciless.”

Daphne paled slightly, exchanging an anxious glance with Astoria. “Vengeance?” she echoed softly. “Who are you taking vengeance upon, Lady Morgana?”

Morgana’s emerald eyes narrowed dangerously, a cold smile playing upon her lips. “The Penguin,” she declared coolly. “He betrayed our trust by selling information about us directly to Batman. Such betrayal cannot go unpunished—especially amongst villains. Loyalty among criminals is tenuous enough already. Without swift punishment, others might think it acceptable to defy us.”

My eyes widened slightly, and I tilted my head curiously. “Are we planning to kill him?” I asked calmly, my voice devoid of sympathy. Honestly, the Penguin had never impressed me much—he was little more than a glorified mobster with gimmicks and far less important or threatening than some of Gotham’s more dangerous villains. Surely no one would miss him much if we did kill him.

Yet Morgana merely smirked, her eyes glittering with dark amusement. “Oh no, my sweet apprentice. Death would be far too merciful a fate for such blatant betrayal,” she purred ominously. “We’ll deliver him a far more appropriate punishment—something far worse, a reminder to anyone else who might ever consider betraying us.”

Behind me, Daphne and Astoria audibly gulped, shifting nervously at Morgana’s chilling promise. The older witch smiled indulgently at their reaction, before gently addressing the two sisters again. “Now, tell me, my beautiful Greengrass sisters—what exactly are your plans from this moment onward? Will you both be living here with us full-time from now on, or do you have other commitments?”

Daphne hesitated briefly, exchanging a cautious look with her younger sister before finally stepping forward. “Lady Morgana,” she replied respectfully, choosing her words carefully, “we would be honored to remain here with you and Amara in Gotham—for the rest of the summer, at the very least. But when September arrives, Hogwarts will resume again back in Britain. Both Astoria and I intend to return.”

Morgana’s lips instantly curled in a faintly disdainful sneer. “Hogwarts? Honestly, Daphne, I find myself rather disappointed,” she scoffed lightly, waving her slender hand dismissively. “That tedious, backward school filled with old fools who preach about morality and limit the true potential of witches like yourselves—it hardly seems worthy of your time and attention anymore. Not when Amara and I could provide you both with a far superior magical education.”

Astoria quickly nodded, her expression surprisingly determined as she hurriedly interjected, “We agree completely, Mistress Morgana! In terms of an actual education, Hogwarts is undoubtedly inferior compared to the kind of training you and Amara could offer us. However, our family still maintains crucial business connections among other Slytherin students—connections we simply cannot afford to lose. Attending Hogwarts, at least until we’re finished our schooling, is still necessary.”

Daphne added carefully, “Yes, precisely. And by continuing to attend Hogwarts, we could also act as your agents, keeping you both informed of any important developments in Britain’s magical community.”

Morgana considered this thoughtfully for a long moment before finally nodding slowly, seeming to accept their logic. “Hmm. You make a fair argument. Very well, my Greengrass sisters—continue attending Hogwarts if you must. But in terms of actual magical training, it is settled.” She turned, smiling confidently toward me. “I will personally instruct Amara, teaching her everything I know. And then she will, in turn, instruct the two of you.”

I blinked in surprise, not having anticipated such responsibility so quickly. Yet, despite the suddenness of it all, I found myself feeling strangely excited by the prospect of teaching these beautiful witches.

Daphne and Astoria both immediately turned toward me, their expressions openly hopeful. Morgana chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the moment. She gracefully approached the two younger witches, leaning close to whisper teasingly, “Of course, precisely how much Amara chooses to teach you both… well, that entirely depends on how thoroughly you manage to please her.”

The sisters blushed furiously at Morgana’s blatant teasing, both immediately casting nervous, eager glances in my direction. I couldn’t help but smile mischievously at their adorable reactions, deliberately letting my gaze sweep slowly and appreciatively over their flushed, pretty faces and curvaceous figures. “I’m sure we can work out a suitable arrangement,” I purred playfully, smirking slightly as the beautiful sisters visibly squirmed beneath my hungry stare. “Consider it proper motivation to always strive toward excellence.”

Astoria swallowed audibly, clearly trying to contain her excitement. Daphne blushed even deeper, biting nervously at her lower lip. Yet neither sister raised any objections—in fact, judging from the heated desire already shining within their gazes, they were looking forward immensely to “earning” my personal instruction.

…Villains didn't usually strike in broad daylight in Gotham, but then again, Morgana wasn't your average villain. She had her own rules, her own methods. And according to her, daylight was the best opportunity to avoid Batman’s meddling. 

For all his legendary resilience, Gotham's Dark Knight was still human. He had to sleep eventually.

“One day he’ll sleep forever,” Morgana had murmured darkly, a cold, vengeful gleam in her emerald eyes. Her voice had sent shivers down my spine. She’d lost so much because of Batman and his allies, and vengeance seemed to be her primary motivation these days.

I still wasn’t completely on board with Morgana’s idea of destroying the entire Justice League. My [Cursed Knowledge] had already informed me exactly what kind of a piece of shit her son Mordred was. 

Nightwing had backed that up, explaining Mordred’s attempted destruction of Metropolis. If Mordred had succeeded… that would have been a disaster on an epic scale.

He could have started Injustice…

I just reminded myself to kill the Joker as soon as possible…

In a strange way, I was grateful Mordred was dead. Morgana was mine now. Her body, her thoughts—they revolved around me. And though I knew it was twisted, my demonic side thrilled at the thought. 

As we materialized just outside the ornate entrance to Penguin’s nightclub, the Iceberg Lounge, I felt my new wand pulsing at my fingertips. The lounge was naturally closed during the morning hours, which suited our plan perfectly.

We hadn’t bothered disguising ourselves today, there was no need. Morgana’s beauty was intimidating enough, and even though neither of us were as publicly recognizable as someone like the Joker or Two-Face, Penguin's thugs obviously knew exactly who we were.

Two large, bulky guards stood outside the door, glancing at us nervously. I recognized one of them immediately. It was one of the same unfortunate men who had cleaned up the mess after my sacrificial ritual. Either he squealed, or his buddies did. Bad luck for him either way.

“Good morning, ladies,” he stammered, his eyes wide and fearful. He glanced anxiously at his equally nervous partner before addressing us again. “W-what brings you two here?”

I gave him my sweetest smile, stepping closer as I twirled my wand lazily between my fingers.

“You know,” I purred softly, stepping dangerously close. He flinched, backing himself against the ornate doorway. “I like to consider myself a genuinely nice person.”

He stared blankly at me, his breathing becoming erratic. He clearly knew what was coming.

“But there’s one thing I really, really dislike,” I whispered darkly, leaning in closer until my emerald eyes filled his terrified vision. “Betrayal.”

I raised my wand, pointing its sleek ebony length directly at his chest. My magic surged, responding to my desire rather than a specific spell. Morgana had warned me my wand would amplify and focus my magical intent, shaping my desires into reality. And right now, I wanted to see this traitorous little bastard suffer.

With a dark pulse of power, a blast of pure darkness erupted from my wand and slammed directly into his body. He stumbled backwards, clutching his chest as his eyes widened in pure agony.

Then he screamed.

It wasn’t an ordinary scream of pain—it was a raw, desperate shriek of unimaginable torment. He fell to his knees, his veins rapidly darkening beneath his skin, eyes bulging grotesquely. His hands clawed frantically at his flesh, skin steaming and blistering from the inside out.

My spell was literally boiling his blood within him.

The second guard stared in horrified disbelief, frozen like a statue, too terrified to move.

Morgana casually stepped forward, watching my handiwork with open approval.

“Beautifully done, my apprentice,” she praised softly, placing her hand gently upon my shoulder. Her gaze flicked coldly toward the other guard. “Would you like the second one as well, or shall I?”

“I’ve had my fun. Be my guest,” I offered graciously, smirking as I watched the remaining guard’s face twist in terror.

Morgana lifted her hand gracefully, not even bothering to draw a wand. “Run, mortal,” she murmured with mocking gentleness. “Perhaps you’ll escape.”

The terrified guard hesitated only briefly before bolting desperately down the alleyway.

With an almost bored sigh, Morgana casually flicked her wrist. An invisible force erupted forth, striking him squarely in the back, sending him violently crashing into the brick wall. Bones cracked loudly, his skull shattering against brickwork, leaving a gruesome smear of blood and brains dripping down.

I glanced appreciatively at Morgana. “You have a real knack for dramatic kills.”

She chuckled lightly, her smile icy. “Centuries of practice, my dear apprentice.”

Stepping over the boiling corpse, Morgana elegantly pushed open the double doors leading inside the Iceberg Lounge. A startled group of Penguin’s lackeys scrambled for their weapons, yet Morgana raised her hand calmly. With another effortless gesture, a concussive blast knocked all five men violently backwards, unconscious bodies sprawling onto the club’s polished floor.

Together we proceeded deeper inside, striding confidently through lavish rooms decorated with extravagant ice-themed sculptures and elaborate chandeliers. Penguin’s guards were no match for us, falling effortlessly to our combined magic.

Finally, we arrived at Penguin’s office, an overly decorated chamber filled with gaudy luxury. Behind an ornate mahogany desk sat Oswald Cobblepot himself, sweating profusely beneath his top hat. His monocle dropped onto his desk as he shakily raised his hands in immediate surrender.

“Ladies, please!” Penguin pleaded desperately, his voice strained and terrified. “There’s clearly been some misunderstanding—”

“Oh, there’s no misunderstanding,” I purred coldly, stepping closer, wand still pointed threateningly. “You betrayed us to Batman, Cobblepot. That is a very grave mistake.”

Penguin’s face paled dramatically, eyes darting rapidly between Morgana and myself. “I—I swear, I had no choice! Batman—he cornered me! Threatened to shut down my entire operation unless I gave him intel!”

“And yet,” Morgana interjected icily, gracefully stepping around his desk, her piercing emerald eyes locked coldly onto Penguin’s sweating face. “You still chose him over us.”

Penguin swallowed audibly, his expression utterly desperate. “Please… what can I do? I’ll do anything—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Morgana purred ominously, her voice dripping sweetly with menace. “You will.”

Before Penguin could scream, Morgana’s hand snapped out, clasping his head firmly in her delicate grip. A searing pulse of dark magic surged from her fingertips, flooding directly into his skull. Penguin shrieked helplessly, body jerking and convulsing violently beneath Morgana’s touch.

She released him abruptly, letting Penguin collapse weakly into his chair. He stared blankly forward, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“What did you do?” I asked, intrigued.

“I shattered his mind completely,” Morgana replied calmly, casually wiping her fingertips as if removing dirt. “I left behind just enough instinct to remain alive, a drooling husk. From now on, let this be a reminder to all who betray us. Death would be a mercy in comparison.”

I shivered, deeply impressed by Morgana’s ruthlessness. Penguin’s punishment was utterly perfect—a lasting warning.

– Batman –

Gotham General Hospital's sterile, antiseptic scent mingled unpleasantly with the lingering trace of coppery blood and human misery. 

Batman stood silently at the bedside of Oswald Cobblepot, better known as the Penguin. The once-infamous villain stared vacantly at the ceiling, eyes dull, mouth slack with a thin string of drool trickling slowly down his chin. To the Dark Knight's trained gaze, this was worse than death—cruel, deliberate, and calculated.

Beside him stood J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter. His eyes emitted a faint emerald glow as he carefully probed Penguin's shattered psyche, gentle hands hovering just above the man's temples. Dick Grayson, Nightwing, paced nearby, visibly restless, glancing anxiously at the monitors. Batman studied his former apprentice closely, noting the subtle tension in Nightwing's stance—the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his jaw clenched tight each time Penguin let out another nonsensical moan.

"J'onn," Batman spoke, voice low but carrying undeniable authority. "Any progress?"

The Martian Manhunter's eyes ceased glowing as he pulled his hands back slowly, straightening himself upright and sighing softly. "His mind is fractured beyond anything I've encountered in recent years," J'onn reported gravely. "Fragments of memories and personality are scattered chaotically. It's like a delicate crystal sculpture smashed against a stone wall." The Martian paused, his expression deeply troubled. "However, there is a chance I can reconstruct at least some portion of his consciousness—but it would require my undivided attention for weeks. Perhaps longer."

Batman scowled beneath the shadow of his cowl. Losing Martian Manhunter's formidable abilities for several weeks just to salvage whatever scraps remained of Penguin's mind was unacceptable. The rest of the Justice League would never agree to such a waste of resources, especially for a murderous villain like Cobblepot—even if the man had supposedly tried reforming himself by becoming Gotham's "legitimate" businessman. Of course, 'legitimate' was a subjective term. The Iceberg Lounge still served as Gotham's cesspool of drugs, prostitution, and corrupt power-brokering.

"Understood," Batman finally replied, his voice terse. "Take a short break, J'onn. We'll discuss our options shortly."

The Martian nodded solemnly, stepping away from the bedside to give the two vigilantes privacy. Once alone, Batman turned towards Nightwing. "This violence has escalated rapidly," Batman growled, frustration simmering just below his carefully maintained exterior. "Morgana and her apprentice—this girl, Amara—they've piled up an unacceptable body count in my city in just a few days."

Nightwing stiffened perceptibly at Amara’s name, a reaction so subtle most others would miss it—but not Batman. Narrowing his eyes, Batman studied Dick closely. "Is something wrong?"

Dick hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I'm not trying to excuse Morgana," he finally began, tone cautious. "But Amara... She hasn’t been with Morgana very long. I'm certain of that. She still might be redeemable. In fact, I believe the only reason I survived that fight last night was because she saved me somehow! Morgana incapacitated me effortlessly—she could've easily ended me right then and there—but Amara intervened somehow. And Raven..." He paused, voice softening noticeably. "Amara didn't even try attacking Raven at all. Although Raven hasn’t told me everything that happened between the two of them when I was unconscious."

Batman considered Nightwing's earnest expression thoughtfully. "Dick, we both know how dangerous it is to trust a beautiful villainess," Batman warned, voice carefully neutral. "They exploit compassion. Play with your sympathies and twist your feelings against you."

Even as Batman spoke those words, he knew exactly how hypocritical he sounded. Memories surfaced, painfully clear and vivid—of passionate nights tangled up with dangerous women he'd foolishly believed he could save. Selina. Talia. Others. Women who had once been enemies yet somehow managed to crawl beneath the armor, past all his carefully constructed defenses, straight into his battered heart.

Hell, Bruce even had a child with Talia al Ghul, heir to one of the world's deadliest assassins. Damian—a son raised in violence, now desperately clawing his way toward redemption, despite everything he'd been taught.

And then there was Helena. Officially, he had never acknowledged Helena as his child. Yet he still quietly ensured the girl received the finest care, education, and funding he could anonymously funnel toward her foster home. Even if Selina had stubbornly refused to confirm Helena’s parentage, Batman knew in his bones—she was his daughter. And a piece of him feared Helena's lineage would inevitably draw her back into Gotham's shadows, just like Amara had been drawn into Morgana's darkness.

Batman exhaled quietly, feeling an unwelcome pang of empathy. "It may still be possible to save her," Batman finally conceded, choosing his words carefully. "But every single day she spends with Morgana—every life she willingly takes—it becomes harder. I've seen the security footage from Penguin's club. She smiled when she killed that man, Dick. She enjoyed it. Boiled his blood from the inside out without even flinching."

Dick lowered his gaze, shoulders slumping wearily beneath the crushing weight of Batman’s words. "I have to try, Bruce," Nightwing whispered softly, determination flickering behind those troubled blue eyes. "I can't give up on her. Not yet."

Batman silently regarded Nightwing, sensing clearly the depth of his protégé’s desperation—the raw emotional pain lingering beneath the surface. He understood perfectly well that Dick needed a win, badly. The Titans were splintering, torn apart by internal betrayal after Starfire had cheated on Dick, shattering the young hero’s heart and dignity in one brutal stroke.

Batman knew better than anyone just how profoundly devastating such personal betrayals could feel. How they could destroy a hero from within, chipping relentlessly at their sense of self-worth, their purpose. If saving Amara represented even the slightest chance for Dick to reclaim his shattered confidence—to regain some sense of justice and hope—Batman couldn't deny him that slim opportunity.

After a long moment of heavy silence, Batman finally sighed softly, placing a supportive hand upon Nightwing's tense shoulder. "Alright. If you truly believe there's still hope—I'll trust your judgment. But tread carefully, Dick. Don't let emotions cloud your decisions. Amara’s actions show she's slipping deeper into Morgana’s darkness."

Nightwing nodded slowly, clearly grateful. "I'll be careful, Bruce. I promise."

Batman squeezed Dick's shoulder gently before turning back toward Penguin's shattered, vacant form lying helplessly in the hospital bed. His scowl deepened beneath the cowl.

Morgana le Fay represented one of the most dangerous magical threats Batman had faced in recent years—her cruelty, ruthlessness, and raw magical power placing her firmly amongst Gotham's deadliest foes. 

"We have to stop Morgana soon," Batman murmured darkly, voice hardened steel beneath the grim determination. "Before she plunges Gotham even deeper into darkness."

Nightwing met Batman’s steely gaze unflinchingly, determined fire rekindling fiercely within his blue eyes. "We will. I swear it, Bruce. Whatever it takes."

Batman allowed himself a brief, approving nod. "Good. I'll work on tracking Morgana's movements and predicting her next target. But Amara..." He hesitated, allowing himself a brief moment of vulnerability beneath the armor. "She's your mission now, Dick. Try to reach her—but remember your limits."

Dick Grayson nodded again, visibly relieved by Batman’s cautious approval. "I understand. I'll find her—and I'll try."

– Raven –

Raven knew she should have gone back to Jump City by now, but instead she found herself aimlessly wandering the grim, rain-slick streets of Gotham. The hood of her oversized, dark-grey hoodie cast deep shadows across her pale face, and her baggy sweatpants obscured the sensual curves of her hips and thighs, a deliberate attempt to hide her more distinctive and recognizable features.

She sighed, shaking her head lightly at her own foolishness. 

Once upon a time, Raven had naively thought herself ordinary-looking—plain, even. But a single misguided venture onto the internet had shattered that delusion forever! To her astonishment and embarrassment, she discovered she was easily one of the most popular female superheroes in the world! Websites, forums, fan art—all obsessively dedicated to her, much of it shamelessly explicit.

So MUCH PORN!

Raven shuddered, pulling her hoodie tighter around her slender body, attempting vainly to erase the vivid mental images burned into her mind. It wasn't vanity that disturbed her, rather, it was the sheer intensity of people’s desires projected onto her—strangers fantasizing obsessively about her without really knowing her. 

She tried to clear her mind, shifting her thoughts to something—someone—far more important. Amara. The mysterious, alluring half-demon she had encountered last night. Raven’s pulse quickened at the mere thought of her.

Raven felt heat bloom across her pale cheeks as memories of Amara flooded back—her striking emerald eyes, her silky raven-black hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, the generous swell of her full, supple breasts, tipped with soft pink nipples that Raven couldn't help but vividly recall. Amara’s body had been perfection incarnate, every curve seemingly designed to evoke desire. Raven’s mouth went dry, her heart beating faster at the undeniable pull she felt towards the beautiful young succubus.

She paused on a deserted street corner, leaning against a grimy brick wall. Get a grip, she chided herself inwardly. This fixation was unusual for her—normally she controlled her desires and emotions ruthlessly. Yet she couldn’t deny that something about Amara drew her in like an irresistible force, beyond mere physical attraction. Was it because they were both half-demons? Was it because there would finally be someone else who could truly accept her. No one else on her team, even after all these years—going from the Teen Titans, to just the Titans—knew about her demonic heritage. It was better that way she always thought.

Raven found it amusing, too, that Dick—Nightwing—had also clearly developed an attraction towards Amara. It felt almost karmic in a way, considering that Raven herself had once harbored a painfully intense crush on Starfire during their younger days. She had yearned quietly and secretly for the stunning Tamaranean beauty for years, stealing glances and fantasizing shamefully whenever Koriand'r unknowingly flaunted her luscious curves in the Titans Tower.

The vivid memory of Starfire's earnest, casual offer to "assist Raven in losing her virginity" resurfaced suddenly, sending another heated blush rippling across Raven’s pale skin. Raven had nearly accepted Starfire's playful offer, only stopping herself because Starfire and Dick were together at the time. And Raven, despite all her hidden desires, refused to betray Dick. She remembered clearly how Starfire, untroubled by earthly concepts of fidelity, had cheerfully explained to a shocked Raven that on her planet, love and sexuality were openly shared between friends. 

Yet Raven had refused, mostly due to her own insecurities and lingering guilt.

Years later now, when Starfire had ultimately cheated on Dick, Raven had felt a deep sadness—but also, shamefully, a flicker of regret for not allowing herself at least one intimate night with Starfire when the Tamaranean had offered. Perhaps then her heart wouldn’t still ache whenever Starfire's name crossed her mind.

Raven sighed again, frustration simmering within her. Her thoughts rarely switched topics this rapidly or chaotically. She felt jittery, her usually disciplined mind restless and distracted. Perhaps I should meditate for a few hours, she decided. Meditation always calmed her, restored order and control over her tumultuous emotions.

“Later tonight,” Raven whispered softly to herself beneath the shadow of her hoodie, “I'll go out with Dick. He's determined to hunt Amara down again.”

Just as she stepped away from the wall to continue walking, she sensed movement behind her. A rush of adrenaline surged through her veins, and she instinctively braced herself.

A rough hand clamped tightly around Raven’s arm from behind, spinning her roughly to face a greasy-haired, wild-eyed mugger wielding a rusty knife. “Wallet and phone, bitch!” he snarled, voice trembling slightly from either drugs or nerves. His breath reeked of stale booze and cheap cigarettes.

Freaking Gotham… 

Raven didn’t even bother raising an eyebrow at him. “Bad idea,” she replied flatly.

With an effortless mental command, she summoned forth tendrils of darkness. Shadows erupted violently from beneath the mugger's feet, yanking him downward with a startled, terrified scream. He vanished completely, swallowed entirely by his own shadow.

Raven sighed softly, shaking her head at Gotham’s perpetual stupidity. “You'll survive,” she murmured with mild indifference toward the now-empty street. “Probably.”

She resumed her aimless wandering, ignoring the faint sound of muffled cries drifting up from beneath the pavement. The mugger was unharmed—physically, anyway—but would spend the next few hours trapped in a terrifying, nightmarish dimension Raven had created for him. It would teach him a valuable lesson about respecting women, she hoped. 

But frankly, she didn't much care either way.

Her mind immediately returned again to thoughts of Amara—beautiful, alluring Amara. Raven felt the blush return fiercely, warmth spreading rapidly through her body, heat pooling shamelessly between her thighs as she imagined running her fingers across the succubus’s naked skin. 

It was strange. Raven had suppressed her desires for so long, buried them deeply behind careful emotional walls. Yet somehow, just thinking about the young succubus left her heart racing and her panties embarrassingly damp.

If Amara was even half as lonely, misunderstood, and conflicted about her demonic side as Raven herself had once been, then perhaps Raven could genuinely help her find a better path. And perhaps, whispered a hidden, shamefully hopeful part of her mind, Amara could finally understand Raven, too—in ways no one else ever had.

With her heartbeat still quickening slightly, Raven pulled her hood more securely over her head and hurried along Gotham’s dark streets, determined. 

Later tonight, she would go patrolling again alongside Dick, yes. 

XXX

Thanks for reading!!! You can check out more of my stories on my profile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 (~11k words):

– Amara –

Are you still doing important things, or can I finally give you your built-up rewards now?

I blinked in surprise as my system's text flashed suddenly in front of my eyes, snapping me from my thoughts.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘too busy’? I never said that!” I snapped aloud, even though the damned thing could easily read my thoughts. “Wait, hold up… I have built-up rewards?”

Of course you have built-up rewards, my system immediately responded.

I scowled. When I first received this system, it adamantly insisted it wasn't sentient—yet now it had somehow developed enough personality to actively sass me?

When I attempted to grant you a reward a few days ago, it continued smugly, you specifically told me: ‘Stop interrupting me when I’m busy!’

“Oh yeah?” I folded my arms under my chest and cocked my eyebrow defiantly. “And what exactly was I doing that was so damn important, huh?”

At the time, you were mid-orgasm.

My cheeks burned bright red, heat rising rapidly beneath my skin. That didn't…exactly narrow down the moment did it? 

“Fine, fine,” I grumbled, fighting to hide my embarrassment and failing miserably. “Just give me my rewards already. And consider that stupid order officially rescinded—I don’t give a shit how busy I am next time. If you have rewards, hand them over immediately!”

Understood, Amara, it replied, and I swear it was still sassing me.

Congratulations on joining a secret society! You have gained the bloodline ability: Metamorphmagus. You now possess the power to alter your physical traits at will, although doing so will steadily drain your magical reserves. Transformations cannot be held indefinitely without sufficient magic.

I perked up in sudden excitement. Not that I'd ever genuinely want to change a damn thing about myself—after all, I was sex incarnate, every curve and supple inch of my flawless body perfectly crafted already. 

Still, the ability thrilled me nonetheless. It meant I wouldn't have to rely on cumbersome disguises or illusions anymore. For a few blissful hours a day, I could simply become whoever the fuck I wanted. Hell, I was now the ultimate disguise.

Another notification flashed into existence, shimmering before my eyes:

Congratulations on taking down a famous villain permanently! You have gained the ability: Penguin Speech! You can now talk to penguins!

I blinked slowly, scowling slightly. Well, fuck. That one...okay, that one was pretty goddamn useless, if I was being totally honest with myself. What the hell was I supposed to do, open up a penguin petting zoo? Have a tuxedo-clad bird waddling awkwardly around our house, stinking the place up with fishy odor and shitting everywhere? Nope, hard pass. I mean, weren't those chubby bastards supposed to hibernate or something, anyway? Or was that polar bears? Whatever, penguin facts were pretty fucking low on my priority list right now.

I sighed, rolling my eyes dramatically. "Is that it, or are there more of these things?" I demanded impatiently.

Instantly, another glowing text materialized, the system seemingly amused by my irritation:

Congratulations on gaining your Soul-Bound Wand! You have gained the ability: Mana Siphon! You can now steal mana from people you have sex with. Stolen mana will be stored in a separate magical core within your body and will not dissipate over time. Theoretically, it possesses infinite capacity!

I paused, rereading the notification again carefully. Holy shit—was this thing serious? I now had an entirely separate magical core inside me dedicated exclusively to storing mana stolen through fucking? 

Sex-powered magic storage... 

I couldn't help but laugh aloud, shaking my head in amazement. 

Yet another alert shimmered into existence, interrupting my naughty little fantasies:

Congratulations on gaining two magical pupils and/or sex slaves! You have gained the perk: Passionate Teacher! Your teaching skills are automatically twice as effective, and their effectiveness increases exponentially the less clothing you wear when teaching someone magic!

A wicked smile slowly spread across my lips as I read that delightful little tidbit. So, my teaching abilities improved dramatically if I stripped down and flaunted my body while instructing my lovely new Greengrass sisters? I couldn't wait to see their pretty, blushing faces as they tried desperately to concentrate on magic while staring at my perfectly bare breasts on full, shameless display. 

Teaching magic was about to get a hell of a lot more interesting, and infinitely more fun…

After stepping from the shower for the second time today—ans it wasn't even night time yet—I sighed heavily, squeezing droplets from my thick mane of raven-black hair. The plush towel in my hands traveled slowly downward, soaking up the remaining moisture as I lazily admired my reflection in the steamed mirror.

A few hours earlier, Morgana had unceremoniously booted Daphne and Astoria from the basement ritual chamber—something about needing my absolute, undivided attention. 

Her definition of 'attention' today apparently hadn’t included fondling my tits—instead, she'd put my newly-acquired Soul-Bound Wand to rigorous, exhausting use. She wanted me to get used to casting with it as soon as possible since it made spells much more powerful and cost less mana to use.

Sure, learning new forms of potent magic thrilled me, but I'd ended up hot, sweaty, and exhausted—all without the blissful release of climax. It seemed criminally unfair that my body felt this drained, this overheated, yet completely unsatisfied.

Running the towel slowly down my ample breasts, I lingered for a moment, gently tracing over my sensitive nipples, sending a teasing shiver of anticipation straight between my thighs. Perhaps tonight Morgana or the Greengrass sisters could make up for this frustrating neglect. Hell, maybe I’d demand they all pitch in—god knew I deserved the attention after such strenuous magical training.

Dropping the towel carelessly to the floor, I let my mind wander a bit.

With the day's magical study finally behind me, the only question left was how exactly I'd indulge myself next. Maybe I should go out tonight? Not to rob another bank, but maybe just to have fun…?

Had—Had I ever actually done that before…? 

Morgana was going to be busy tonight, and I felt like making the green grass sisters stew a little bit more. Rushing them into a completely different lifestyle than they were used to wouldn’t do anybody any good.

I should just go out on my own then!

…Feeling more daring than usual tonight, I set aside my typical casual attire—jeans and a t-shirt—and reached into the back of my closet. 

Now that I had my new Metamorphmagus powers, disguising myself would be a breeze. 

Maybe I could even hit up a nightclub later—one that wasn't run by Gotham's newest brain-dead vegetable, of course. The Penguin might've been out of commission after selling us out and getting punished for it, but his club definitely wasn’t the only source of fun and trouble in this sinful town.

With a sultry grin, I pulled out a skimpy black dress, inspecting the slinky, barely-there fabric with approval. Skin-tight, thin-strapped, and scandalously short—perfect for drawing attention. 

I laid it carefully on my bed, anticipation beginning to tingle deliciously down my spine.

Standing nude in front of my mirror, I admired myself shamelessly, smiling as my eyes traveled slowly down my figure. 

"Fuck, I look good tonight," I purred to my reflection, giving myself a playful wink. I wondered if it was because I got laid last night? Sex was supposed to be healthy for a Succubus, right? Or maybe it was just my [Sin of Lust!] that liked getting regularly satisfied?

You know, I should really start reading up more about my kind… 

Reaching into my dresser, I grabbed a tiny black thong—little more than a thin scrap of lace—and bent forward at the waist, slipping one leg into the delicate panties, then the other. I pulled it slowly upward, wiggling my hips playfully as the fabric stretched snugly between my toned thighs, the thin string sliding perfectly between my firm ass cheeks.

Just as the thin lace settled deliciously into place, nestling warmly against my pussy, I abruptly felt something foreign pressing insistently against my consciousness—like fingertips gently brushing the edges of my mind. 

My body stiffened, immediately wary.

“Hello, little succubus…” a teasing, familiar voice purred softly in my head.

My heart leaped at the intrusion! 

"...Mazikeen?!" I whispered in shock. "How the fuck are you doing this?" Should I immediately call Morgana!?

She chuckled softly inside my head. “Relax, sweet Amara. It’s just a harmless demonic messaging spell. Nothing dangerous, nothing intrusive. You can easily cut the connection or block me anytime you want.”

I exhaled slowly, letting myself relax slightly—though the sheer ease with which she'd breached my mental defenses over a distance and through Morgana’s wards unsettled me more than I cared to admit. 

Still, I was undeniably intrigued about why she was “calling” me.

"Okay," I conceded hesitantly, biting my lip nervously. "So, what exactly do you want, Mazikeen?"

“Oh, so cautious. Before you shut me out, little succubus, I was simply curious. Are you busy tonight? I was hoping we might finally spend some quality time together…”

Was she asking me out on a date…?

A shiver raced down my spine at her flirtatious tone. "I...was actually thinking about going clubbing tonight," I confessed softly, heart racing slightly as I practically felt Mazikeen’s wicked smirk curling across her lips.

“Mmm, perfect,” she purred, voice dripping with satisfaction. “It just so happens I know all the best nightspots this filthy little city has to offer. Wouldn't you like me to show you a truly sinful night out, Amara?”

I hesitated, temptation pulling sharply at my core. A powerful demoness like Mazikeen would definitely know exactly where all the dirtiest, most hedonistic parties and clubs were hidden away. 

Plus, I did want to go out tonight… 

I know Morgana would not approve, but she was gone tonight and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her right? Plus, maybe Mazikeen could end up answering some questions I had about being a demoness. Morgana knew a bit about demons, but not as much as either of us would have liked.

Mazikeen chuckled sensually. “I can feel your curiosity, little succubus. Say yes…”

I bit my lip softly, excitement fluttering wildly inside my stomach. "Fuck it," I finally relented breathlessly. "I'm in. Where do you want to meet…?"

I could feel Mazikeen’s delight instantly, her pleasure surging vividly through the connection. “Wonderful! I'll send you a mental image of the location. Make sure that you dress to kill! I promise tonight will be utterly unforgettable.”

Then, with one last teasing mental caress, Mazikeen’s presence withdrew gently from my mind, leaving me flushed, breathless, and very, very aroused.

I glanced back at my skimpy dress on the bed, smiling wickedly. Well, I already was planning on dressing to kill, so I had that covered.

…After the sun went down, I stood before the bedroom mirror, thoroughly enjoying my newfound ability to shift my appearance. Sure, I absolutely adored my usual raven-black hair and striking emerald eyes. I mean, who wouldn’t? 

But tonight, I felt inspired by the Greengrass sisters and decided to channel their look instead. 

Concentrating briefly, my dark hair brightened and lengthened into silky, wavy golden-blonde locks that cascaded over my shoulders and down my back. My eyes shifted to an icy, vibrant blue, matching theirs perfectly.

Checking my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but grin wickedly. Damn, I looked hot as a blonde too—this power was going to be incredibly fun. It felt like I could hold it for hours too, before my magic reserves would start to suffer.

With a confident toss of my new shimmering golden hair, I made my way downstairs. 

Daphne and Astoria were lounging together on the couch, lazily chatting, but both instantly froze, mouths literally dropping open when their eyes fell upon me.

“Holy shit, Amara?” Astoria breathed, eyes wide and filled with unmistakable appreciation. She practically devoured me with her gaze, trailing from my daringly low neckline down to my exposed thighs, her cheeks flushing adorably pink.

Daphne swallowed audibly, clearly fighting to maintain her usual refined composure—but failing spectacularly. “You… you look incredible,” she stammered softly, breath hitching slightly as she squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa, shifting her thighs together.

“I know,” I purred playfully, shooting both girls a flirtatious wink as I walked past them toward the door, my hips swaying seductively beneath my scandalously short black dress. “Bye, Daphne, Astoria. I’m going out tonight, and don’t worry—you two don’t have to wait up for me.”

Before either sister could gather their scattered thoughts enough to protest or question me further, I was already out the front door, giggling to myself about their confusion as I strutted down Gotham’s darkening streets.

Strutting down Gotham’s dimly-lit streets, wearing this slutty little dress, wasn’t exactly a smart choice if you happened to be a helpless, defenseless young woman. But luckily for me, and unfortunately for anyone stupid enough to mistake me for an easy target, I was neither helpless nor defenseless.

It wasn't long before I sensed the presence of a group of men lingering behind me, their heavy footsteps echoing ominously against the pavement, their crude whispers being loud enough for me to hear them:

“Hey, look at that dumb bitch? Strutting around all arrogant.

“Let’s have some fun with her and then take her money!”

“I want first dibs, I’m tired of always getting your sloppy seconds!” 

I rolled my eyes at the disgusting comments. 

Deciding a quick detour wouldn’t hurt, I turned casually down a narrow alleyway, allowing them to eagerly follow with stupid grins spreading across their greasy faces as they moved closer, convinced they’d cornered an easy target.

I smirked while raising my new wand lazily as the first idiot lunged toward me. A sharp flick of my wrist sent a scorching bolt of fire directly into his chest, the smell of burning flesh filling my nostrils as he fell screaming, clawing helplessly at his rapidly charring torso.

His two friends stood paralyzed for a split second in disbelief, mouths agape, clearly not expecting their prey to bite back. I didn’t grant them any chance to run. Two more precise, merciless spells exploded from my wand in rapid succession, slamming violently into their stunned bodies and dropping them like lifeless sacks of meat onto the filthy alley pavement.

In just moments, three smoldering corpses lay at my feet, their worthless lives snuffed out effortlessly by my potent magic. Humming softly to myself, I used a simple levitation spell to toss the freshly charred bodies into a nearby dumpster, carefully ensuring I hadn’t gotten a single drop of their disgusting blood or gore on my flawless skin or dress.

I giggled softly, running my fingers through my silky blonde hair before sashaying back out onto the sidewalk with renewed confidence with my hips swaying seductively beneath the thin fabric of my scandalous dress.

– Nightwing –

“...These three were killed by fire magic, very recently,” Raven murmured quietly, her voice oddly calm as she knelt beside the dumpster, fingertips hovering lightly over the charred flesh. 

Nightwing grimaced as he stared at the scorched remains within, the unmistakable acrid stench of burnt human flesh curling nauseatingly through the cool Gotham night.

He and Raven had been on patrol together, scouring the shadowed streets and dingy alleys for any sign of Morgana’s apprentice, Amara, when Raven had abruptly halted mid-flight. She'd faintly detected traces of magic emanating from a few blocks away.

But they'd been just a fraction too late. Now they were staring at three corpses unceremoniously dumped like garbage—still steaming faintly, cooked flesh blistered grotesquely beneath blackened skin.

“Do you think this was Amara?” Nightwing asked.

“From the other bodies we witnessed at Penguin’s club,” Raven said carefully, her violet eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “She seems to prefer using fire magic. It matches the kind of energy signature she left behind. So yes… I think so.”

Nightwing sighed heavily, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. He flipped open his comm, quickly contacting Gotham PD and quietly reporting the grisly discovery. As he relayed the location, his eyes kept drifting toward the narrow streets around them, instinctively searching for any lingering presence—particularly that of a stunning, dangerous witch whose beautiful face refused to leave his mind…

After ending the call, he turned toward Raven again, expression tense. “But why here?” he wondered aloud. “What could she possibly be looking for around this part of town?”

Raven folded her slender arms thoughtfully beneath her cloak, drawing it tighter around herself as though she felt a sudden chill. “When I flew over, I noticed some kind of nightclub not far from here…? Could it be that? Villains like to party don't they?"

Dick's eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “That must be the Inferno Club,” he said slowly, a knot forming uncomfortably in his stomach. 

He knew its reputation well enough—a hidden gem of sin and debauchery, a place designed to satisfy every filthy desire and sordid indulgence imaginable. Drugs, sex, violence, and depravity blended seamlessly beneath the flashing lights, pounding music, and seductive darkness.

Nightwing’s jaw tightened subtly as he imagined Amara—beautiful, alluring, sensual Amara—stepping boldly into such a den of iniquity. Irrationally, protective instincts flared in his chest, urging him forward, driving the need to find her, to somehow shield her from harm… even if she had just casually incinerated three people. The contradiction gnawed at him, confusing and frustrating.

“It’s not a great place,” he admitted quietly to Raven, voice hardening with distaste. “It’s… explicit. The kind of club people visit to lose themselves entirely—sex, drugs, alcohol, every taboo and indulgence you can imagine, openly on display.”

Raven’s cheeks flushed slightly at his blunt description, her usually calm, reserved expression flickering momentarily into embarrassment. Still, she recovered quickly, nodding seriously. “If she’s there, we’ll need to get inside. I can cloak us both easily, let us sneak in unnoticed—”

Dick held up a hand, cutting her off gently, the faintest smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth despite the grim situation. “Actually, Raven, we don’t have to sneak in.”

She blinked at him curiously, the blush still lingering softly upon her pale skin. “What do you mean?”

“You forget who my father is,” Dick explained patiently, allowing a faint smile to briefly ease the tension. “I'm Bruce Wayne’s son. Places like Inferno—they cater specifically to Gotham’s wealthiest degenerates and celebrities. Dick Grayson would have absolutely no trouble getting inside through the front door!”

Raven stared at him for a long moment, comprehension finally dawning across her face. “Oh,” she finally said softly, shifting uncomfortably. “But… not dressed like this. If we're entering as civilians, we’d have to blend in properly.”

Nightwing nodded in agreement, glancing briefly down at his armored suit, then letting his eyes drift quickly down Raven’s cloaked form. 

Though the sorceress hid herself beneath dark robes now, he’d glimpsed enough of her figure in training sessions and quiet moments around Titans Tower to know Raven possessed a devastatingly sensual body beneath that modest facade. His mouth went momentarily dry at the sudden mental image of Raven wearing a scandalously revealing dress and heels—the truth was, before he got with Starfire, he used to have a big crush on Raven. Alongside half the internet apparently. 

His mind then drifted to an image of Raven and Amara dancing together with him under the strobing lights…

Dick quickly pushed the provocative thought aside, mentally chastising himself. Now definitely wasn’t the time for such distractions—though clearly his recent encounters with Amara were seriously fucking with his self-control.

Clearing his throat roughly, he turned abruptly away, trying to sound casual and failing entirely. “We’d better head back to the Manor first then,” he said briskly. “We’ll both need something more appropriate for clubbing. Something… believable.”

“Agreed,” Raven murmured softly from behind him, her voice oddly strained, as though she, too, was battling similarly inappropriate thoughts.

Nightwing spared one last grim glance toward the scorched bodies before grappling silently upward, Raven floating smoothly beside him as they returned swiftly toward Wayne Manor.

– Amara –

I arrived at the nightclub Mazikeen had given me directions to, instantly spotting her standing confidently just outside the building. She was lounging casually near the long line of impatient patrons, utterly ignoring their curious stares. 

My breath caught momentarily at the sight of her.

Mazikeen wore sinfully tight black leather pants, clinging to every tempting curve of her shapely hips and toned thighs. Her upper half was barely contained within a scandalously low-cut leather vest, the supple black material parted enticingly to reveal the generous swell of her gorgeous, dark-skinned cleavage. Her long, dark hair cascaded elegantly down her shoulders, framing an absolutely breathtaking vision of raw, seductive beauty.

Her dark eyes swept curiously over my blonde disguise at first, a puzzled frown crossing her luscious lips—but recognition dawned quickly, her expression shifting into a wickedly delighted smirk. “Trying out a new look, beautiful succubus?” Mazikeen teased, her voice a sultry purr as she drank me in approvingly.

I shrugged lightly, attempting to sound casual. “Just didn’t feel like being bothered tonight,” I explained quietly, shifting self-consciously beneath her penetrating stare. “My normal look is becoming far too recognizable in this damned city.”

Mazikeen’s smirk deepened. “Mmm, blondes are plenty of fun, too,” she purred suggestively, leaning closer until her warm breath brushed sensuously against my ear. “Especially when the carpet matches the drapes—and they're riding my face.”

My cheeks flushed crimson at her explicit teasing, and before I could form a coherent reply, Mazikeen’s slender, powerful arm slid possessively around my waist. She pulled me intimately close, pressing our hips snugly together as she guided me smoothly toward the club’s entrance.

The burly bouncer stationed at the doorway took one appreciative glance at the two of us approaching—his gaze lingering hungrily over Mazikeen’s barely-contained breasts, then dropping briefly to my scandalously short black dress and toned thighs—before wordlessly unclipping the velvet rope and waving us eagerly forward.

“You two ladies head right on in,” he said with an openly lustful grin, completely ignoring the indignant cries and jealous complaints erupting from the long line of patrons forced to wait their turn! Without even bothering to look at them, he called over his shoulder with lazy mockery, “Maybe try being less fucking ugly if you don’t wanna wait next time!”

Mazikeen chuckled softly, and tightened her hold on me even further, guiding me through the darkened entrance into the pounding, throbbing beat of the crowded nightclub.

Inside, neon lights strobed wildly, painting the tightly packed mass of bodies with vivid hues of electric pink and sultry violet. I felt Mazikeen’s lips brush teasingly against the sensitive curve of my neck as she murmured against my skin, “Tell me, sweet Amara, however did you manage to escape your strict little Mistress Morgana tonight? I didn’t think she liked me very much.”

My blush deepened as embarrassment burned brightly across my cheeks. “Um, well…” I began hesitantly…

Mazikeen didn’t miss my embarrassment. “Ohh,” she whispered knowingly. “She doesn’t even know you’re here with me, does she, Amara?”

I bit my lower lip, heart pounding fiercely within my chest as I met Mazikeen’s gaze. “Not exactly,” I confessed quietly. “She wasn’t home tonight, so I just decided to go out on my own…”

Her full lips curled in open delight as her hand slowly, deliberately slid downward, tracing a tantalizing path across my hip and lower back before boldly cupping the rounded curve of my ass through the thin fabric of my dress. “Oh, this night just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” she purred seductively. “Come, little succubus—let’s have some real fun.”

She stepped back, taking my hand firmly in her own, and led me confidently toward the crowded dance floor.

The pulsating beat of the club surged through my body, matching my racing heartbeat as Mazikeen pulled me onto the packed dance floor. Bright neon strobes flashed overhead, illuminating the dense, writhing mass of bodies around us. Sweat, alcohol, and raw sexual tension hung thick in the smoky air. I'd never experienced anything like this before, and I fucking loved every second of it!

Maze spun around, pressing her shapely hips back against me with a playful smirk, grinding slowly in rhythm with the music. I laughed freely, slipping my hands onto her hips, savoring the way her leather pants molded perfectly to the lush curves of her firm ass. Every sway and twist of her hips sent a pleasant jolt of warmth straight between my thighs.

She turned around, hips still swaying gracefully, and grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against her body. Our breasts pressed warmly together through our thin clothing as she leaned in close, lips brushing teasingly against my ear. “Enjoying yourself, little succubus?” she purred huskily, voice dripping seduction beneath the throbbing bass of the music.

I shivered in delight, grinning widely as I bounced lightly in place, my scandalously short dress riding dangerously high with each movement. “Fuck yes,” I admitted breathlessly. “I've never been out like this—it's amazing!”

Mazikeen’s smile widened, clearly pleased with herself as she pulled back slightly, her hips moving in hypnotic rhythm. 

Around us, dancers surged and flowed. Occasionally, someone nearby—sometimes a guy, sometimes a bold girl—reached out and grabbed a generous handful of my ass beneath my skimpy dress. Normally, that would have pissed me off, but tonight it just amused me. 

Hell, I was practically asking for it in a dress this slutty, and honestly, the raw, primal atmosphere had me feeling hotter and more liberated than ever before.

Maze caught me giggling after a particularly firm squeeze from a cute brunette behind me. “Feeling generous tonight?” she teased knowingly, clearly having noticed how easily I’d shrugged off all the wandering hands. She grinned wickedly, eyes glittering as she leaned closer again. “Careful, Amara—keep letting strangers cop a feel, and I might start feeling possessive.”

I flushed warmly beneath her teasing gaze, hips swaying slowly in seductive invitation. “Maybe I like seeing you jealous,” I shot back playfully.

“Oh, sweet succubus,” she purred, voice lowering sensually, “you’d definitely enjoy my jealousy more if we were somewhere private.”

Before I could respond, a young guy slipped between us, his pupils dilated and eyes slightly glazed. He leaned close. “Hey, gorgeous ladies!” His eyes darted appreciatively over both of our bodies. “Interested in buying some party favors? I've got top-quality shit tonight.”

I blinked, momentarily startled, before amusement overtook me. 

Fucking Gotham. 

Only here would dealers stroll up and casually offer their wares right in the middle of a crowded dance floor. 

Mazikeen chuckled softly beside me, clearly sharing my thoughts. She shook her head smoothly, running her hand suggestively down my hip as she replied. “Maybe later,” she told him teasingly, her voice silky and dismissive. “But we don't want to lose our inhibitions just yet. The night’s still young...”

He shrugged easily, completely unfazed by her refusal. “No problem,” he said casually, already moving off toward another group of dancers who looked eager for his product. “You ladies have fun.”

Mazikeen laughed again, shaking her head as she pulled me intimately against her body once more. Her dark gaze found mine. “Drugs aren't really my thing,” she confessed lightly with her thumb tracing suggestive circles on my lower back. “I'd rather remember every filthy detail clearly tomorrow morning.”

“I've never actually tried any,” I admitted quietly, hips swaying smoothly against hers. “Not that I feel like I’m missing out.”

She smiled approvingly. “Smart girl,” she murmured warmly against my neck. “How about drinks instead?”

Before I could agree, a pair of men stepped forward, grinning confidently as they eyed us. “Hey, beautiful ladies,” the taller of the two shouted over the music. “Let us buy you both some drinks?”

Mazikeen gave him a lazy smile, pressing herself shamelessly against me and sliding her palm slowly down my ass, making it abundantly clear exactly who I belonged to tonight. “Sorry, boys,” she purred smugly, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she tightened her possessive hold around my waist. “I’ll be paying for my date myself.”

With a sultry wink aimed directly at me, she smoothly guided us through the throng of dancers, leaving the disappointed men staring longingly after us. 

Hm…

What was the drinking age in America again—twenty-one? Fuck it. Not like bartenders in this degenerate city would care I was nineteen anyway, especially dressed like this. Besides, twenty-one seemed like such a stupidly arbitrary number to me. I mean, here I was, apprenticed to one of Gotham’s most wanted villains and even tonight I’d just murdered three rapist assholes in cold blood. 

The vodka cranberry or whatever the hell Maze had handed me hardly seemed risky by comparison.

Still, I couldn’t shake a nervous flutter in my stomach as I raised the glass to my lips. I’d never actually had hard alcohol before—just butterbeer Sirius gave me—but I sure as hell wasn't about to let Mazikeen see me hesitate and think I was some sheltered little girl. 

I watched Maze confidently toss back her own shot like it was nothing..

Fuck, she looked sexy doing that. I forced myself to match her, carefully taking a slow sip of mine. The liquid burned warmly down my throat, sharp yet strangely pleasant, the taste surprisingly enjoyable. Heat immediately blossomed within my belly, spreading outward with every cautious sip. After just a few more tentative tastes, a gentle, pleasant buzz began to hum through me, making my limbs feel slightly lighter, more relaxed. 

Okay, yeah, I definitely saw the appeal now.

Mazikeen flashed me a wicked grin and grabbed my hand again, pulling me firmly away from the bar and back out onto the crowded dance floor. The club’s pulsing lights blurred pleasantly around me, the music almost seemed deeper and slower, vibrating deliciously through my entire body. 

Our bodies swayed closer this time, hips grinding softly, slowly against each other in perfect sync. Maze held me close, her hands sliding possessively down my back and settling firmly on my ass as we danced, her thigh slipping between mine, pressing teasingly upward into my core with every subtle movement. The contact sent hot pulses of arousal through me, my skin tingling, nipples hardening beneath my thin dress. 

Fuck, she definitely knew exactly what she was doing to me.

Suddenly, a low, unmistakable moan drifted toward us over the pounding bass. I turned my head curiously, eyes widening slightly as I spotted a couple dancing just a few feet away—well, “dancing” was definitely stretching it. A slutty-looking blonde, her skirt so absurdly short it barely covered half her firm ass cheeks, stood bent forward slightly, grinding shamelessly back against the man behind her.

My cheeks flushed crimson when I realized they weren't just dancing—they were openly fucking right there in the middle of the dance floor. His cock was jutting thickly from his opened pants, plunging smoothly and rhythmically into her wet, glistening pussy with every rolling thrust of their hips. She was moaning lewdly, her heavy tits bouncing slightly beneath the tight fabric of her skimpy top with each deep, plunging stroke. Nobody around them seemed remotely bothered—hell, the crowd even parted slightly to give them extra room.

Mazikeen laughed wickedly beside me, clearly amused by my shocked reaction. Her lips brushed against my ear as she purred teasingly, “Oh, this place is almost as delightfully debauched as Lucifer’s club, The Lux…”

Before my attention focused back on her, a new voice called out next to us.

“...Do you mind if I get a turn with the lady?” a masculine voice interrupted.

My eyes quickly scanned the newcomer. He was handsome—ridiculously handsome, actually—and something about him was very familiar to me. His black hair was stylishly tousled, framing sharp, striking features, and beneath the expensive, tailored silk shirt hugging his broad chest, it was obvious he was very muscular. 

Clinging lightly to his muscular arm was an equally gorgeous girl, her skin impossibly pale and flawless beneath the strobing club lights. Her figure was snugly wrapped in a scandalously tight purple dress, the fabric stretched enticingly over generous curves. Her cleavage was displayed shamelessly by a plunging neckline, creamy swells of full breasts pressing tantalizingly against thin, delicate fabric. Her hair cascaded softly down her shoulders, a startlingly vibrant shade of purple matching her exotic, violet-colored eyes—eyes that currently studied me with intense curiosity and something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Wait a fucking second!

Were these two seriously Nightwing and Raven—out of costume, clubbing, and looking like sin incarnate? Holy fuck—who knew Raven had that kind of body hidden beneath all those dreary robes and cloaks she usually wore? 

I guess the internet knew…

How the hell had they found me here? 

More importantly, why were both of them staring at me like they wanted to devour me alive? Sure, Mazikeen was objectively sexy as fuck, but their gazes were lingering hotly on my barely-clothed body far more openly than they were on hers.

Mazikeen gave the handsome newcomer a mock-jealous glare, her eyes flicking mischievously toward mine before returning to meet his gaze. “...Sure thing, handsome. You can dance with my date,” she stated directly before turning her eyes toward Raven next, giving the pale heroine a slow, openly appreciative look that practically stripped her bare right then and there. “But only if I get to dance with yours!”

Raven visibly flushed beneath Mazikeen’s teasing, blatantly approving stare. It was obvious Raven wasn’t accustomed to this sort of openly sexual attention, yet judging by the heated way her violet eyes darted quickly down Mazikeen’s curves in return, she definitely wasn’t opposed to it either.

…I quickly found myself dancing with Nightwing—or as he gently requested, "Call me Dick." My lips curled slightly at that. 

I guess he was a bit more liberal with his secret identity than Batman was.

Nearby, Mazikeen was grinding sensually against Raven, her hips rolling slow and seductive as the flustered sorceress visibly blushed beneath the club’s flashing lights. Raven kept shooting pleading, uncertain glances in our direction, clearly unsure how to handle Maze’s assertive advances—but Dick didn't seem to notice her discomfort in the slightest.

He was utterly fixated on me.

"I almost didn't recognize you as a blonde, Amara," he admitted softly, his voice low, eyes roaming appreciatively over my transformed features.

"That’s kind of the idea," I pointed out playfully, swaying my hips just a bit closer. I quickly realized he was dancing more respectfully with me than anyone else here—holding himself back, maintaining careful distance between us like he was afraid of crossing some invisible line.

Well, we couldn’t have that, now could we?

Smirking softly, I pressed my body intimately against his, wrapping my slender arms around his strong shoulders. My fingers brushed teasingly along the heated skin of his bare arm, deliberately activating my [Lewd Touch] with the faintest pulse of subtle magic. The effect wouldn't overwhelm him immediately, but soon enough he’d feel it—slowly, inexorably growing more aroused with every moment we stayed in contact.

Dick visibly tensed at our closeness, muscles tightening deliciously beneath my fingertips. Attempting to maintain composure, he leaned down slightly, whispering firmly into my ear, "You know, Raven and I found three bodies earlier tonight. Burned pretty badly. That was your handiwork, wasn’t it?"

I rolled my eyes in irritation. "So what? Those rapist assholes got exactly what was coming to them," I snapped back heatedly, my voice dripping with contempt. "If I'd been a helpless, normal girl tonight, my night—and maybe my life—could have ended right there in that fucking alley. They even bragged openly about other victims before me. They deserved far worse."

Dick's brow furrowed, conflict flashing momentarily across his handsome face. "That doesn't give you the right to play judge, jury, and executioner," he argued quietly, though I noted the conviction in his tone faltering slightly. He may have been lecturing me, but his words lacked genuine passion or belief.

Interesting.

Glancing downward deliberately, I smirked wickedly at what I found—his cock was already stiffening noticeably beneath the thin fabric of his expensive slacks, rock-hard in response to my subtle, persistent magical caresses.

Dick noticed my gaze instantly, cheeks flushing a faint red beneath the strobe lights. Embarrassed and flustered, he opened his mouth, perhaps to protest further, but I cut him off smoothly.

"What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here, Dick? Do you honestly expect to reform me into some squeaky-clean, virtuous heroine? Inspire some miraculous change of heart?" I scoffed lightly, shaking my head in cold amusement. "You don't have the slightest clue what I've been through. The hatred I carry inside me won't just fade away because some handsome hero tries lecturing me about right and wrong. It will never stop—not until I'm finally strong enough to exact my revenge."

I held his gaze fiercely, unyieldingly, refusing to soften my stance. His eyes darkened slightly, the internal struggle clearly visible as he stared back at me, emotions warring within him—concern, attraction, and something deeper, more primal. 

I smiled slowly, pressing my body tighter against his, my breasts pressing softly into his firm chest, our hips aligned intimately. "Face it, Dick," I whispered huskily, tilting my lips toward his ear, my voice low and seductive, "you didn't come here tonight because you honestly thought you could save me. You came because, deep down, you secretly hoped I'd corrupt you instead."

His breathing quickened slightly, eyes darkening with barely restrained desire as he swallowed hard. The heat between our bodies became almost unbearably intense, the throbbing bass of the club’s music vibrating through our intimately pressed forms. "Amara…" he murmured quietly, almost pleadingly, yet unable—or unwilling—to pull away from my provocative embrace.

I smiled wickedly, my magic still humming teasingly beneath his skin, steadily eroding his resistance bit by bit…

Morgana would be very proud of me, but before I could continue further, Raven was suddenly in between the two of us. “Time to switch," she said firmly.

…Raven had gotten away from Mazikeen and was now pressed up even closer to me than Dick had been moments earlier. Her delicate hands rested uncertainly on my hips, fingertips gently brushing against my bare thighs beneath the hem of my skimpy dress. 

She tilted her face toward mine, those fascinating violet eyes meeting my disguised blue gaze with clear frustration and more than a little jealousy. A faint pout curved her full lips, making her look irresistibly adorable.

"Amara," Raven said softly, the rhythmic beat of the music forcing her to lean closer so that her warm breath tickled gently against my ear. "Dick’s emotions are all over the place right now! I can sense them clearly. What exactly did you say or do to him?"

A wicked little smile curled slowly across my lips, and I reached out teasingly, tracing a fingertip along the curve of her smooth jawline. "Sorry, beautiful," I purred seductively into her ear, deliberately brushing my soft lips against her sensitive skin. "That's a secret between Dick and me. You’ll have to try harder if you really want to know..."

Raven flushed deeply beneath the club lights, the delicate pink coloring beautifully accentuating her pale skin. Her eyes widened slightly, and I could practically hear her heart rate speeding up, hammering frantically within her chest.

Before she could respond, I shifted the conversation to something more important.

"What exactly are you two even doing here tonight?" I asked playfully, pressing my body just a bit tighter against hers, allowing her to feel the generous swell of my breasts against her own lush curves. "Did you and Dick really come all the way to this dirty, sinful club just for little ol' me?"

She averted her gaze slightly, biting nervously at her plump lower lip—an adorable habit I was quickly starting to appreciate more and more. That nervous gesture combined with the shy, vulnerable look in her violet eyes told me everything I needed to know. She and Dick had specifically hunted me down tonight.

The thought sent a thrill of excitement surging deliciously through me. Two famous heroes had trekked all across Gotham, into this seedy little nightclub…just for me. 

Honestly, the attention was making me wetter by the minute.

Raven’s eyes finally rose to meet mine again, her expression quickly shifting from embarrassment into something more serious, more concerned. Her grip tightened possessively around my hips, as though she feared letting go might lose me forever. "Amara," she whispered quietly, voice tight with genuine emotion, "you don’t have to embrace your demonic side like this. You don’t need to give in and commit evil so freely."

My teasing mood faltered for just a moment at her earnest words, the sudden sincerity in her gaze momentarily piercing straight through my playful defenses. 

From my [Cursed Knowledge], I knew just how deeply Raven hated and feared her own demonic heritage, how desperately she tried to repress and deny that crucial aspect of herself.

Did her fellow heroes—her teammates—know yet about the dark, dangerous blood that ran through her veins? 

Somehow, I doubted it.

Raven carried the weight of her demonic heritage like a hidden, shameful secret, terrified of rejection and disgust from the people closest to her. The thought tugged at my heart, a pang of empathy briefly surfacing amidst my teasing lust.

I reached up gently, cupping Raven’s cheek with surprising tenderness, forcing her violet gaze to meet my own. "Just because I embrace my demonic side more openly than you doesn’t automatically make me evil, Raven," I explained quietly, my voice soft yet firm beneath the pulsing music. "This world isn't as simple as black and white, good and evil. Repressing and denying who you truly are isn't helpful, it only leads to self-loathing, isolation, and an inevitable explosion later."

Her eyes widened slightly, breath catching audibly in her throat. Clearly, my words had hit closer to home than she'd anticipated. Yet still, her expression remained uncertain, conflicted, torn between fear and desperate longing.

I sighed inwardly, a faintly bitter smile flickering briefly across my lips. I knew exactly how lucky I'd been—saved by the intervention of my mysterious system at just the right moment. Without that divine intervention, who knows how twisted, broken, or even dead I might have ended up? 

Not everyone got so fortunate.

Raven clearly struggled to form a reply, emotions warring vividly behind those beautiful violet eyes. I could practically sense her internal turmoil—the painful pull between fear of rejection and the desperate yearning for acceptance, for someone who truly understood.

Deciding to press further, I leaned forward again, brushing my lips gently, teasingly against the shell of her ear. "Tell me honestly, Raven," I murmured softly, my voice a seductive whisper. "Do your teammates—Dick, the other heroes—know yet about what you really are? About your own demon blood?"

She froze abruptly against me, body tensing sharply beneath my fingertips, her breath hitching audibly. Her silence told me everything—no, they didn't know. Raven's secret remained carefully buried beneath layer after layer of fear, shame, and insecurity.

"Exactly," I continued firmly, keeping my voice gentle yet insistent. "You're living in constant fear of exposure and rejection. You're hiding an essential part of yourself out of shame. But trust me—denying yourself, hating yourself—it doesn't work, Raven. Eventually, it will destroy you from within."

Her wide eyes filled suddenly with shimmering tears, glittering softly beneath the club’s neon lights. Her lower lip quivered slightly, clearly fighting desperately to maintain her fragile composure. "I...I don't know any other way," she whispered brokenly, vulnerability raw in her voice. "If they find out, they'll fear me. Reject me."

I smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of vibrant violet hair away from her flushed cheek. "Maybe some of them would," I admitted honestly. Real life was different from comics or cartoons after all. “But I can tell you with certainty that I will never reject you for who you are, Raven…” I told her truthfully. 

She was one of my favorite heroines after all and we had so much in common!

I think she took my words for something else though, because I saw goosebumps forming on her skin as she shuddered slightly. She tilted her head, her eyes suddenly a bit glassy.  

Before either of us could speak further, a familiar, sultry voice interrupted us both. "As absolutely delicious as this sight is," Mazikeen purred teasingly from beside us, "I’d like my date back now…"

I noticed that Raven and Dick both made their way to the back of the club as Mazikeen and I went back to our own fun. I bet they both had a lot to think about. 

– Raven –

‘That girl is trouble…’ Raven thought to herself as she crouched on the rooftop above the Inferno Club.

Who knew succubi were so dangerous? Succubi were usually seen as relatively minor demons—mischievous seductresses more interested in sexual conquest than outright evil. But Amara… the girl radiated raw, dangerous sexuality effortlessly, and Raven found herself helplessly drawn toward her.

She shook her head slightly, embarrassed at how easily Amara had gotten under her skin. 

Slipping into her tight, form-fitting costume just minutes earlier had been mortifying—her lace panties had been completely soaked, her pussy shamelessly dripping with arousal. Her pale cheeks flushed crimson again at the memory of hastily wiping away the slickness between her thighs with trembling fingers, praying Nightwing hadn’t heard her frustrated whimper through the thin bathroom walls.

Speaking of Nightwing… Raven's blush deepened further as she remembered glancing at Dick when he'd slipped into the men's restroom. Even through his expensive slacks, his erection had been impossible to miss, the outline of his thick cock straining impressively against the fabric. 

Clearly, Amara had left them both painfully aroused.

Raven sighed softly, trying to refocus her scattered thoughts. Now that they knew Amara was here, the plan was simple. They’d wait until she left the club, then apprehend her quietly, safely removing her from Morgana’s poisonous influence.

Yet Raven still felt uneasy about that other mysterious, demonic woman who had accompanied Amara tonight. The woman hadn't appeared in any criminal database, and Raven didn't recognize her from any demonic archives she’d studied. Whoever that temptress was, Raven fervently hoped the beautiful stranger wouldn't interfere when the time came to subdue Amara. The last thing they needed tonight was a fight against an unknown demoness of clearly formidable strength and confidence.

Raven shuddered slightly, feeling a thrill rush through her at the thought of being close to Amara again, away from Morgana's dark influence—perhaps eventually even becoming heroes together. 

Maybe even… something more? 

The thought sent a heated flush rippling down her neck and between her thighs once more, forcing Raven to steady her breathing carefully.

She felt Nightwing’s presence approach and straighten beside her, his voice oddly hesitant as he murmured, "And now we wait."

He sounded awkward, uncertain—clearly, his own thoughts and emotions were as chaotic as Raven’s tonight. 

A sinking feeling settled uncomfortably into her chest as Raven wondered if they’d once again fallen for the same woman. Her cheeks burned hotter, painful memories of the disaster with Starfire still fresh in her mind. She sincerely hoped things would turn out differently this time.

Perhaps Raven needed to finally trust Dick with her biggest secret, her true demonic heritage? She’d hidden it for so many years now, fearing his rejection and disgust—but maybe tonight, after this mission, would finally be the right time. After all, she’d trusted Dick more deeply and completely than any other teammate since she'd joined the Titans. He deserved to know the truth.

But before Raven could dwell further on her thoughts, a flash of movement below instantly caught her attention. Her violet eyes widened sharply in alarm as she spotted a gaudy van careening wildly down the street, rapidly approaching the club.

It was painted in garish shades of purple, green, and orange—the Joker's infamous colors—complete with a grotesquely smiling clown-face logo emblazoned prominently across its side.

Nightwing immediately tensed beside her, eyes narrowing darkly as he watched the gaudy vehicle speeding recklessly forward. "Fuck. Are those Joker’s men?" he growled quietly, frustration evident in his voice. "Of all the goddamned nights, they have to raid this place now?"

– Amara –

The sounds of explosions and gunfire erupting right outside the club instantly snapped me from my pleasant, alcohol-induced buzz. The pounding music cut out abruptly, replaced by panicked screams and frantic cries as terrified patrons began to scatter like rats.

I turned toward Mazikeen, whose lovely features twisted in irritation, a dangerous scowl darkening her flawless face. "Ugh, I fucking hate when my dates get ruined—especially just when things were starting to get good," she growled, dark eyes narrowed with annoyance as she glanced toward the commotion outside. “And I was going to get lucky tonight too…”

"Oh? And who says I'm the type of girl who puts out on a first date anyway?"

"Trust me, little succubus," she purred huskily, sending a thrilling shiver racing down my spine. "That's still yet to be decided."

My cheeks flushed slightly at her confident promise, and I smiled softly, biting my lower lip as I glanced around us. The club was quickly emptying, the screaming crowd pouring frantically toward the exits, shoving and trampling each other in their desperate panic.

“I should probably get home,” I admitted reluctantly, already mourning the abrupt end of our delicious evening. "But tonight was amazing, Maze. I had a lot of fun. It was my first time clubbing…"

Mazikeen’s expression softened slightly, disappointment flickering briefly across her gorgeous features before she sighed lightly, nodding in resigned acceptance. "Well, unfortunately, I have to head back to Los Angeles tonight anyway. My boss keeps nagging and calling me incessantly," she muttered irritably, rolling her eyes dramatically. She paused, then met my gaze intently, dark eyes glittering with unmistakable desire. "But you—I definitely want to stay in touch with you, Amara. You're far too much fun to let go of so easily."

Without warning, Mazikeen reached out and firmly wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me possessively close against her body. Her full, sumptuous breasts pressed enticingly against mine through our thin clothes, and before I could protest—not that I fucking would—she leaned down and captured my lips in a fiercely dominant kiss.

I moaned softly into her mouth, surrendering eagerly to her bold claim on me, our tongues sliding sensually together for one heated, perfect moment. Mazikeen finally pulled back, licking her lush lips. "Stay safe, little succubus," she murmured huskily. "And whatever you do—don't let those tiresome heroes corrupt you. Trust me when I say, nothing feels more satisfying than sweet, delicious revenge."

With one last playful smirk, Mazikeen vanished abruptly from my arms, teleporting instantly out of sight, leaving me flushed, breathless, and painfully turned on despite the chaos unfolding all around me.

Deciding it was definitely time to leave, I quickly joined the panicked crowd fleeing toward the back exit. To be extra cautious—just in case anyone was trying to follow or track me—I shifted my hair color from blonde to a dull, unassuming shade of brown, further obscuring my identity in the mass of fleeing bodies.

I glanced briefly toward the front entrance of the club, knowing that Nightwing and Raven were undoubtedly too busy dealing with whoever was stupid enough to start trouble at a place like this. 

With a small sigh, I decided to just call it a night and head back home to our secret warehouse. As fun as the evening had been, I'd had enough excitement and chaos for one night.

…I made it back home, quietly stepping through the warehouse door and shutting it firmly behind me. My body still hummed with lingering excitement from my night out clubbing with Mazikeen. God, that woman was sin incarnate, and she'd left me achingly aroused, my panties damp and clinging uncomfortably between my thighs.

As I moved into the main area, my gaze immediately fell on Daphne and Astoria, lounging impatiently on the sofa. Both sisters perked up the second they noticed me enter, sitting straighter as their lovely, matching blue eyes narrowed in accusation. Their expressions clearly said it all. 

They weren't happy I'd left them behind.

"Well, look who's finally home," Daphne said softly, trying—and failing—to keep the irritation out of her voice. She uncrossed her shapely legs, rising smoothly to her feet. Her gaze traveled slowly over my barely-there dress and tousled hair, her pout deepening. "Looks like you had quite the eventful evening."

Astoria quickly followed her sister, approaching me with an openly disgruntled expression, her eyes lingering just a little too appreciatively on my scandalously short dress. "Seriously, Amara?" she complained sulkily, her full lips curving into a cute pout. "You just left us behind like that, all dressed up looking amazing, to go out and have fun alone?"

I chuckled softly, shrugging my shoulders as I smirked teasingly at the frustrated sisters. "Sorry, ladies," I purred playfully, running my fingers slowly through my hair and deliberately tousling it further. "But yes, I had a lot of fun tonight. I just wasn't sure if the kind of places I went to would be suitable for proper noble witches like you two."

Daphne's eyebrows rose sharply at that, her icy gaze narrowing slightly. "Excuse me?" she asked pointedly. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Well," I explained teasingly, "it was a very... explicit nightclub. Loud music, sweaty bodies grinding together, drinking, drugs, and sex practically happening on the dance floor—probably too scandalous and improper for noble ladies."

Daphne blushed prettily, visibly flustered beneath my teasing description, but Astoria merely folded her arms beneath her chest, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Oh please, Amara," Astoria said dismissively, a smirk playing across her lips. "You're noble too, aren't you? You're literally a member of the Black family."

I paused, smile fading slightly as my teasing facade slipped momentarily. "Actually," I admitted quietly, suddenly feeling a small twinge of vulnerability despite myself, "I only found out I was a Black this past year. Before that... my entire childhood was spent in a shitty muggle orphanage, not some fancy ancestral manor."

Both sisters blinked, clearly taken aback by my casual revelation. Daphne opened her mouth as though to speak, but quickly closed it again, clearly unsure how exactly to respond to something like that.

Seeing their shocked expressions, I swiftly brushed away the mood, flashing them a playful wink. "But let's not dwell on depressing shit like that," I said smoothly, running my gaze appreciatively over their elegant evening gowns.

Unfortunately for them, I'd already gotten far too worked up by Mazikeen's teasing tonight, my body practically vibrating with pent-up tension and arousal. I desperately needed release, and tonight, violence seemed a far better outlet than sex.

I gave the girls a wicked grin, nodding toward the basement stairs. "Tell you what, since you missed out on tonight's fun, I'll make it up to you both. Morgana set up some training dummies downstairs earlier today. Let's go down, and I'll teach you both a new dark spell she showed me earlier. I promise it'll blow your minds."

Astoria immediately perked up at the promise of new magic, eyes brightening excitedly as she eagerly took my arm. Daphne still seemed slightly hesitant, clearly hoping for a different kind of "fun," but after a brief pause she sighed softly and nodded in reluctant agreement.

Together, the three of us descended to the dimly-lit basement ritual chamber. Morgana had placed enchanted training dummies in the center, their blank faces gazing silently toward us, awaiting their destruction.

"All right, girls," I said, slipping easily into my role as their dark magic instructor. "Pay close attention to this spell. It's powerful, lethal, and incredibly satisfying when you're pent-up and angry—exactly the way I'm feeling tonight."

Daphne and Astoria both shivered slightly in anticipation, their eager eyes fixed intently on me as I stepped toward the closest dummy. Drawing my newly-crafted wand, I raised it confidently, picturing clearly the incantation Morgana had shown me earlier.

Taking a deep breath, I spoke the dark, forbidden words clearly, confidently. "Corruptio Viscera!"

Instantly, a sickly dark-green bolt of magic erupted violently from the tip of my wand, slamming viciously into the chest of the training dummy. An instant later, the enchantment took effect. 

The dummy's fake skin bloated grotesquely, warping outward hideously before erupting in a sickening explosion of simulated blood and viscera, splattering thickly across the ritual chamber walls. 

Astoria gasped audibly beside me, eyes wide with shocked awe as she watched the brutal devastation I'd unleashed. Daphne visibly paled, staring at the disgusting, dripping remains now littering the chamber. Both sisters turned toward me, their expressions a mixture of fascination and uncertainty.

It held there a couple seconds before Morgana’s magic kicked in and the fake skin and entrails flew back to the dummy, restoring it to normal.

I smirked wickedly, meeting their gazes boldly. "Like I said," I purred darkly, "exactly what a girl needs after a frustrating night." God, that felt fucking incredible. Dark magic always did when I cast it!

Astoria swallowed hard. "Merlin, Amara," she whispered breathlessly. "That was incredible! Please, teach us how to do that!"

Daphne hesitated briefly, but finally nodded determinedly. "I agree…"

I smiled slowly, genuinely pleased by their eagerness and willingness to embrace darker magic. Morgana would be proud of our new coven witches. "All right, then," I said firmly, stepping closer to both sisters. "Wands out, ladies—let's get started. This spell requires a lot of violent imagination to get right. Its not very easy to use that much imagination in combat, but its great for sending a fucking message…"

– Joseph Greengrass –

Joseph Greengrass, patriarch of the distinguished Greengrass family, gripped the parchment letter tightly in his trembling fingers. His eyes narrowed sharply as he scanned the words once again, heart swelling with a potent mixture of fury and pride!

Those damned Powers bastards had dared to attempt to murder his precious daughters! The audacity alone sent a fresh wave of anger boiling through Joseph’s veins. But the rage was tempered by immense pride—his Daphne and Astoria had not only survived, but had used their cunning and wits to secure an alliance with the current heiress of the infamous Black family.

Not that he knew they even HAD an heiress—but still!

And, incredibly, they had even met and made an alliance with Morgana le Fay herself!

The legendary dark sorceress—the genuine one—not one of the many impostors who'd attempted to exploit her infamous reputation through the centuries. 

Joseph couldn't help but smile slightly at the thought, despite the dark clouds hanging over his head. Such alliances would elevate the Greengrass name beyond anything he'd ever dared hope. 

Finally, his family stood poised to ascend in power and prestige beyond imagination! Finally, they might even be able to use Morgana’s dark knowledge to be free of the curse plaguing the women of his family.

But then—

His brief moment of satisfaction was shattered by a sudden, deafening bang echoing violently from downstairs. Joseph leaped to his feet, with his wand drawn instinctively, as a terrified, high-pitched scream immediately followed. 

He recognized his wife Evelyn’s voice instantly—panicked, shrill, filled with raw terror!

“Avada Kedavra!” a cold, pitiless voice shouted from below, chilling Joseph’s blood and sending an icy spike of fear straight through his chest.

“No!” Joseph gasped aloud, terror gripping him as he sprinted desperately toward the grand foyer, his robes billowing wildly behind him. Evelyn!

Rounding the corner at breakneck speed, Joseph’s panic eased slightly upon seeing Evelyn alive, though visibly shaken. She had fallen to her knees upon the marble floor, eyes wide with shock, staring blankly at the smoking corpse of their faithful house elf sprawled lifelessly before her…

‘Thank god it was just the dumb elf,’ he thought to himself…

Joseph’s relief evaporated instantly into cold dread as he finally registered precisely who had just invaded his home.

Standing arrogantly within his family’s ancestral manor was the feared Dark Lord Voldemort himself. Beside him stood his most fanatically loyal followers. The sadistic Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, who stared toward Joseph with an expression of icy disdain.

“Hello, Joseph,” Voldemort said, a cruel smile twisting his thin lips as he stepped confidently forward, casually examining the luxurious décor of the Greengrass foyer as though it bored him. “You haven't been responding to my friend Lucius’ recruitment letters, so I decided we’d come in person this time.”

Joseph instinctively tightened his grip on his wand, yet knew any resistance would mean instant death. He forced himself to remain calm, despite the terror rapidly building in his chest.

“You see, Joseph,” Voldemort continued smoothly, his voice deceptively gentle yet dripping with unmistakable menace, “in this coming war—unlike last time—I have decided no family will remain neutral. YOU MUST CHOOSE A SIDE!” The dark lord’s crimson gaze bored piercingly into Joseph’s eyes, the unspoken threat crystal clear.

The Greengrass family had always maintained careful neutrality, cautiously navigating dangerous political currents without openly declaring allegiance. But now Voldemort had left him no choice—submit, or face extinction.

Voldemort smiled slightly, almost pleasantly, before casually looking around the richly decorated foyer, his expression shifting into calculated curiosity. “Now then,” he murmured thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly as if suddenly recalling an interesting detail. “Where are your supposedly lovely daughters… Daphne and Astoria, wasn't it?”

Joseph felt his blood run cold. The Dark Lord’s interest in Daphne and Astoria terrified him even more deeply than the threat of losing neutrality. He silently thanked whatever deity was listening that both of his beloved daughters currently remained safely out of the country.

“My daughters are abroad at the moment, my Lord,” Joseph explained carefully, striving to keep his voice steady and submissive. “Traveling with…family friends.”

Voldemort’s crimson gaze narrowed sharply with clear suspicion and annoyance. He studied Joseph silently for a long, uncomfortable moment, the tension in the room rapidly intensifying to a suffocating degree. Finally, after an agonizingly long pause, Voldemort seemed satisfied enough to continue the conversation—though his displeasure clearly remained.

“A pity,” Voldemort murmured softly, though his expression clearly indicated he suspected Joseph was not being entirely truthful. “I have heard such delightful things about your lovely daughters. But no matter—they can pledge loyalty when they return. You will be joining me, Joseph Greengrass. You and your entire family. Or you will face the consequences of defying Lord Voldemort.”

Joseph was glad his daughters planned to be gone all summer…

XXX

Name: Amara Black 

Age: 19

Race: Succubus-Witch

System Spells, Talents and Magic Powers:

[Ritual Magic: Peak Performance!] You have performed an incredibly dark blood ritual—sacrificing the lives of three mortals to grant yourself the three boons of enhanced strength, enhanced senses, and enhanced recovery.

[Adept Flames!] You can use adept fire magic at will. No incantation needed, only intent. Costs slightly more magic and is slightly less powerful if used without your [Soul-Bound Wand].

[Disciple of Dark Magic!] You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!

[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch!] By making direct skin-to-skin contact with another being, you can channel dark mana into their body, gradually increasing their sexual arousal. Prolonged, continuous contact can even drive them to orgasm.

[Penguin Speech!] You can now talk to penguins!

[Metamorphmagus!] You now possess the power to alter your physical traits at will, although doing so will steadily drain your magical reserves. Transformations cannot be held indefinitely without sufficient magic.

[Mana Siphon!] You can now steal mana from people you have sex with. Stolen mana will be stored in a separate magical core within your body and will not dissipate over time. Theoretically, it possesses infinite capacity!

Perks:

[Passionate Teacher!] Your teaching skills are automatically twice as effective, and their effectiveness increases exponentially the less clothing you wear when teaching someone magic!

[Daughter of a Succubus!] Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.

[Blessed by Fire!] Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.

[Soul-Bound Wand!] When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!

Drawbacks:

[Major Sin of Lust!] You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.

[Cursed Knowledge!] You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.

[Simmering Fury!] Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.

Inventory: 

[Money!] - $15,000 in American Currency. £34 in British Pounds. 

[Minor health potion!] - A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.

[Soul Bound Wand!] - A wand that cannot be destroyed and can be summoned to your hand instantly even if you lose it.

[Basic Handgun x4…] - 10 shots each. Do you really need this?

[Basic Assault Rifle x5…] - 30 shots each. Now you’re just hoarding…

[Frag Grenades x6!] - These go boom when you pull the pin!

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 (~9k words):

– Amara –

A couple days later.

…Having Morgana back home with us, after she'd been away for days hunting down a few of her stolen artifacts, felt good. I could admit it—I’d missed her terribly. More than just physically—though I couldn’t lie and pretend her absence hadn’t left me horny and frustrated as hell, it was deeper than that. 

With Morgana, Daphne, and Astoria all together under one roof again, I felt like I had an actual, functional family for the first time in my entire fucked-up life. Not like the sham, dysfunctional orphanage bullshit I’d grown up with. 

No, this was a real coven, sisters and lovers bound by magic, trust, desire, and loyalty.

I'd had something like family once before, briefly, with Sirius. But life had cruelly snatched him away from me almost as soon as I'd found him. That wound stayed fresh, a constant simmering fury that never faded—just like the [Simmering Fury] drawback described. But distance helped, and staying across the Atlantic, far from the fucking pieces of shit who’d robbed me of my godfather, let me keep that rage at a manageable simmer instead of an uncontrollable blaze. 

And of course, distractions always helped, too. Like training my new coven sisters and getting thoroughly fucked by my mentor. That second one hadn't happened nearly as often as I'd wanted, however, as I'd mentioned she'd been gone for the past couple days. 

Most of that time I'd simply spent training up Daphne and Astoria in more dark spells.

Daphne, herself, was already capable of casting the killing curse which was very impressive, but at the same time that spell wasn't practical in sustained combat because of how much magic it took to cast. She could probably only cast it three or four times before completely tiring out her reserves of Mana. Even a powerful dark lord like the former, and now dead, Voldemort might be only able to cast that spell 10 to 15 times a day. 

It was a spell that was better for shock and awe than actual practicality. Plus, instant death was just so boring wasn't it!? 

This morning was one of those calm, pleasant moments that let me keep the anger comfortably in the background. The kitchen smelled richly of cooking bacon, the pan sizzling loudly on the stove as I expertly flipped a batch of fluffy, golden-brown pancakes. I always liked cooking breakfast. It felt domestic, strangely wholesome for someone who so openly embraced her darker impulses. Maybe I was a contradiction. 

Whatever. I fucking loved pancakes and crispy bacon.

As I finished stacking the hot pancakes onto a plate, I turned slightly and checked Morgana, Daphne, and Astoria at the dining table. Daphne and Astoria were both chatting eagerly with Morgana, clearly thrilled to have her back. Astoria was describing in vivid detail exactly how I’d taught them the spell Corruptio Viscera, her cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes practically sparkling as she recounted the splattering gore. 

Morgana chuckled in approval, giving me a satisfied, appreciative glance.

I smiled smugly back at her. Yeah, I'd done a good job with them while she was gone.

Carefully balancing multiple plates, I carried the pancakes, bacon, and fresh-cut fruit over to the kitchen table, setting them down in the middle for everyone to help themselves.

“Alright ladies, dig in,” I announced playfully, taking my seat next to Morgana. “Fresh pancakes, bacon hot off the pan, and the rare privilege of my spectacular company. You’re welcome.”

Astoria laughed lightly, reaching eagerly for the pancakes. “God, Amara. You really do spoil us sometimes.”

Daphne nodded appreciatively, taking some bacon for herself. “Yes, thank you. Breakfast always tastes better when you’re the one cooking it, for some reason.”

“Probably my secret ingredient,” I joked casually, loading my own plate with pancakes, syrup dripping generously over them. “Pure, undiluted sex appeal.”

Astoria blushed adorably at my words, and Daphne almost choked on her bite of bacon, quickly hiding her laughter behind a napkin.

Morgana gave me a knowing, sly grin, running a possessive hand over my thigh beneath the table. “I can certainly attest to that,” she murmured, voice low, warm and husky in my ear. “Everything you serve is always perfectly delicious.”

I leaned into her touch, my cheeks heating faintly as I smiled. “Careful, Morgana,” I teased her quietly. “If you start flirting like that, we won’t make it through breakfast.”

She laughed softly, pulling her hand back with a final, teasing squeeze. “Perhaps later, then.”

We ate together in comfortable silence for several moments, the quiet broken only by appreciative sounds and the occasional playful teasing between Daphne and Astoria. It felt strangely normal, peaceful even. 

Moments like this reminded me sharply how much I’d lacked a true home until now.

After a few minutes of eating, Morgana’s head suddenly snapped upright, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she paused mid-chew. Her magic seemed to briefly ripple outwards, invisible to the others perhaps, but I sensed it clearly—a cautious scanning of the wards she had carefully placed around our warehouse safehouse.

“What is it?” I asked, instantly alert, fork still raised halfway to my mouth.

“Someone just passed through our outermost wards,” Morgana said quietly, her voice calm but wary. “They were only here a moment. They left immediately, but they deposited something at our front door.”

My curiosity was instantly piqued. “Something?” I repeated. “You’re sure it wasn’t dangerous?”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes briefly distant as she checked once more. “I’m sure. It feels like…a gift, or a delivery of some sort?”

“I’ll check it out,” I volunteered, rising quickly from my seat. Morgana gave me a small approving nod, pleased with my initiative.

I strode quickly to the side entrance door, pulling it open cautiously and peering out. Sure enough, a small, ornate box rested directly on the ground in front of our entrance, placed with careful precision. The craftsmanship was remarkable—carved wood inlaid with delicate silver filigree, small gemstones glittering gently along its edges.

Interesting.

Picking it up carefully, I shut the door firmly behind me and returned to the kitchen table, placing the mysterious delivery down for everyone to see.

Morgana observed carefully but remained silent, clearly waiting to see how I’d handle this. With a focused thought, I instantly summoned my wand to my hand.

Carefully, methodically, I ran through the detailed series of diagnostic charms Morgana had painstakingly taught me, probing the box thoroughly for both mundane and magical traps. I checked for hexes, curses, dangerous enchantments—anything that might harm any of us. Morgana’s quiet scrutiny during my careful, thorough examination gave me confidence; her approving nod confirmed I’d learned my lessons well.

“It’s clean,” I finally announced confidently. “No curses, no traps. Just a secure box.”

Morgana gave me a small, satisfied smile. “Excellent work, Amara. You’re learning beautifully.”

With that vote of confidence, I lifted the lid slowly, revealing the contents within.

Inside the velvet-lined interior rested a lavishly decorated parchment letter—embossed with gold and black ink, its intricate design screaming wealth, secrecy, and prestige. But my attention was quickly drawn to what lay beneath it. Two polished white masks stared up at me, ornate and instantly recognizable—familiar porcelain masks with stylized, hollow eyes, their design unmistakably belonging to the Court of Owls.

“Looks like our official invitation finally arrived,” I announced, feeling a thrill of dark anticipation as I removed the masks carefully, placing them on the table in front of us for everyone to see. Then I gently pulled the elegant letter from its resting place, handing it directly to Morgana. “Here, you should read this. Something tells me they’d prefer communicating directly with our coven leader.”

Morgana chuckled softly, amusement flickering in her eyes as she unfolded the parchment. “Such diplomacy,” she teased me gently. “You really are learning quickly.”

“Only from the best,” I shot back playfully, taking my seat again. I eagerly watched Morgana’s expression as she began reading, intrigued to know exactly what the Court wanted from us next.

I watched Morgana intently as she carefully unfolded the ornate parchment, scanning over its contents silently. Her piercing eyes moved steadily, taking in every pretentious line of text while the rest of us waited in an increasingly uncomfortable silence.

Impatiently, I drummed my manicured nails on the wooden table, trying not to let my curiosity boil over. Next to me, Astoria was practically bouncing in her seat, clearly eager to hear whatever juicy bit of intrigue the Court of Owls had delivered to our doorstep. Daphne was more composed, her delicate features set in a carefully neutral expression, but I could see the faint twitch in her jawline that betrayed her own tension.

After what felt like an annoyingly long minute, Morgana finally set the letter down gently, folding her hands atop it as she leaned back in her chair. Her dark red lips curled into a knowing smirk, and I raised my eyebrow, waiting impatiently for her to speak.

“Well,” Morgana began, her voice smooth, controlled, with an edge of amusement, “as anticipated, the first paragraph of the letter is nothing but excessive flattery. Apparently, the esteemed Court of Owls is utterly delighted to welcome the legendary Morgana le Fay and her promising apprentice, Amara Black, officially into their prestigious ranks.”

I couldn’t stop the snort of derision that escaped my lips. “Jesus,” I muttered sarcastically, rolling my eyes theatrically. “Sounds like those rich assholes went all out kissing your ass. Did they promise you a fucking golden throne next?”

Astoria giggled lightly at my crude remark, quickly covering her mouth with her hand, eyes darting guiltily toward Morgana, who merely smiled indulgently at me.

“Sadly, no mention of a golden throne, Amara,” Morgana responded dryly. “But, despite their sycophantic praise, the Court’s letter also contains something more intriguing. An interesting request.”

Daphne immediately perked up, leaning forward and resting her chin gracefully on the back of one hand, her blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “An interesting request, you say? Just what kind of ‘interesting’ are we talking about exactly, Lady Morgana? Because, powerful as you undoubtedly are, dealing with the Court of Owls requires extreme caution. They’re all snakes—every single last one of them.”

“I appreciate your concern, Daphne,” Morgana replied calmly, giving Daphne a warm but confident smile. “But I assure you I’m quite capable of handling these vipers. And, yes, the request is intriguing enough that I think even our dear Amara will find it rather compelling.”

My curiosity immediately shot up another notch. Morgana rarely said things lightly—if she called it compelling, I knew damn well it wasn’t some mundane bullshit.

Morgana turned her mesmerizing gaze toward me, the intensity of her stare making me shift slightly in my seat. “The Court has received intelligence that MACUSA is quietly attempting to re-establish itself here in America.”

“Makusa?” I repeated aloud, tilting my head slightly and furrowing my brow as the name triggered a vague memory. “Makusa… MACUSA… Where have I heard that before…?” I muttered to myself.

Then it clicked, and my eyes widened slightly with realization. “Wait, hold on—MACUSA, wasn’t that the American equivalent of the Ministry of Magic? The magical governing body here in America that got absolutely obliterated during World War II, thanks to Grindelwald and his forces?”

“Precisely,” Daphne responded immediately, looking at me approvingly.

“You got it,” Astoria chimed in enthusiastically, batting her eyelashes playfully at me. “Honestly, Amara, you’re so smart sometimes. I love how easily you recall all these details…” she trailed off flirtatiously, biting her lower lip suggestively.

I rolled my eyes at Astoria’s shameless flirting, though inwardly I couldn’t deny it pleased me. Still, I shot her a teasing smirk. “Careful there, Tori, or Morgana will scold us for distracting the class again.”

Morgana chuckled softly at my jab, her deep green eyes glinting with amusement as she gave Astoria a playful but warning look. “Ladies, do try to contain your… enthusiasm,” she drawled. “As I was saying—yes, Grindelwald and the Court of Owls cooperated closely during that era. Decades ago, it was in their mutual interest to ensure that MACUSA was dismantled completely. Having a separate magical government in America threatened the Court’s control over this continent’s magical and non-magical affairs alike.”

Daphne and Astoria both froze, stunned. Daphne leaned forward, her elegant brows knitting together in disbelief. “You’re telling us the Court actually helped Grindelwald back then?” she asked, voice tight. “That would make them directly complicit in—Merlin, half the atrocities of the war…”

“Of course they were complicit,” Morgana said smoothly, smiling faintly as if discussing the weather. “The Court always places power and influence above morality. In their minds, alliances are just temporary arrangements—tools to achieve dominance. Grindelwald’s defeat didn’t change that philosophy. It only made them more cautious about overt magical politics.”

Astoria gasped softly. “That’s… insane. They’ve been manipulating governments that long?”

Daphne let out a bitter laugh. “Honestly, it makes sense. I hate that Father forced our family to get involved with them...”

I grinned at that, resting my chin on my hand. “Hey, if your father hadn’t dragged your family into that snake pit, I never would’ve met the two of you.” I gave both sisters a teasing wink. “And wouldn’t that have been a damn tragedy?”

Both sisters flushed a deep pink—Astoria biting her lip and glancing away, Daphne pretending to adjust her hair just to hide her face. Morgana sighed, shaking her head with an indulgent smile. “Amara, stop tormenting the lovely sisters,” she said, though her tone was more amused than scolding. “Now, if I may continue…”

She tapped the letter with one manicured finger. “According to the Court, MACUSA is attempting to rebuild itself—quietly, discreetly—right in Metropolis of all places.”

My brows shot up. “Metropolis? Are you serious? They’re setting up shop in the city that literally has Superman flying overhead every damn day? Talk about fucking suicidal.”

Morgana chuckled softly, clearly sharing my incredulity. “Yes. Perhaps they believe that hiding in plain sight, beneath the shadow of such a powerful protector, will keep them safe. Or perhaps they’re hoping to use Superman’s presence as a distraction. Either way, the Court isn’t amused. They’ve requested that we… address this situation.”

“‘Address it,’” I repeated with a smirk. “That’s Court-speak for ‘wipe them out before they become inconvenient,’ isn’t it?”

“More or less,” Morgana confirmed with a graceful shrug. “They want us to investigate how far along this so-called reformation has progressed—and ensure it collapses before it threatens their authority again…”

Daphne frowned, thoughtful. “But wouldn’t that put us at odds with some very powerful forces? If Superman ends up involved—”

Morgana waved a dismissive hand. “Superman will not interfere in matters he is not aware of. The man is noble, but painfully naive when it comes to magic. He’ll be watching for aliens or weapons of mass destruction being created from his rival Lex Luthor, not a secret magic government that secretly hates him…”

Astoria leaned forward eagerly. “So, does that mean we’re going to Metropolis?” she asked, her voice almost bubbling with excitement.

I smirked, already feeling that familiar rush of anticipation bubbling up in my veins. “Looks like it, sweetheart. Time to stretch our legs and pay America’s second most infamous city a visit…”

…As a concept, having a structured magical government made sense—at least historically speaking, back during Salem witch trials and other bullshit witch hunts centuries ago. But now? In modern-day America? As far as I knew, magical people here were getting along just fine without MACUSA’s oversight. 

Honestly, the whole idea felt outdated and pointless. The statute of secrecy was dumb in my opinion. Especially with blatant magical users in the Justice League—even if the public naively still didn’t think it was real magic, just some meta-human powers that looked like it.

It wasn't hard to figure out why MACUSA suddenly wanted to show their faces again after decades. It wasn't about protecting witches or wizards anymore—this was all about power, plain and simple. They missed having control. 

America had functioned perfectly fine for decades without their authoritarian oversight over this continent's magic. In fact, I’d say it's been thriving more than Britain for sure. Ordinary witches and wizards went about their lives quietly, discreetly, and effectively, blending seamlessly into the muggle population when necessary. 

MACUSA reemerging now? 

They clearly weren’t back to "help." No, they were back to exert control, to regulate and monitor—exactly the kind of shit I hated the most.

Morgana accepted the Court of Owls' request to shut this MACUSA revival down, part of me couldn't help but wonder if what we were about to do might technically qualify as "heroic." 

Could a villainess-in-training perform heroic acts unintentionally? Was there even a point in categorizing it like that? Shit, I'd probably end up killing people today, and something told me heroes frowned heavily upon incinerating illegal government agents. 

I wasn't overly concerned with morality, but the irony of the situation certainly wasn't lost on me.

I sighed quietly, shaking those philosophical thoughts away and refocusing on the task at hand. Morgana, Daphne, and Astoria had each split off to search different sections of Metropolis. Splitting up saved us time and gave us more efficient coverage. I was tasked with combing through one of the busier downtown areas of the city, a bustling district thick with towering glass skyscrapers, vibrant cafés, upscale shops, and endless throngs of busy, oblivious people rushing to and fro beneath the morning sunlight.

I moved deliberately down the crowded sidewalk, extending my senses carefully, methodically scanning for any sign of magical concealment or defensive wards. Witches and wizards tended to use specific types of protective enchantments—anti-muggle charms, repelling fields, magical barriers—and if MACUSA was back, they'd be heavily warded against muggle interference in some locations.

My senses stretched outward, probing delicately. Magic felt distinctive, a tangible, electric hum vibrating subtly against my consciousness, an unmistakable sensation impossible to describe to those who couldn't experience it. I walked slowly, cautiously extending my magical perception, utterly absorbed in the task, until—

Wham.

Lost in my thoughts, completely distracted, I failed to notice the gorgeous woman walking toward me until our bodies collided head-on. My smaller frame was instantly knocked backwards—holy shit, was she solid—and I landed painfully on my ass, sprawled awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“Oh my gosh! Are you okay? I'm so sorry—I wasn’t watching where I was going at all!” Her voice was sweet and genuine, practically radiating innocent sincerity, even as her vibrant blue eyes swept worriedly over my fallen form.

I paused briefly, momentarily stunned, as I fully registered the woman standing above me. Holy shit. She was stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous, borderline supermodel gorgeous, with bright blonde hair tumbling loosely past her shoulders in soft, luxurious waves. Her tight white T-shirt hugged her toned stomach perfectly, thin cotton stretched provocatively across firm breasts, hinting enticingly at the shape of her nipples beneath. Short, blue denim shorts barely covered shapely, long legs that looked strong yet unmistakably feminine.

“No, no, it's my fault,” I replied hurriedly, accepting the delicate but oddly strong hand she extended down toward me. “I'm new here—just got to Metropolis actually—and I got a bit distracted. I really should've been paying better attention.”

She pulled me up effortlessly with surprising ease, a warm and dazzling smile lighting up her flawless face. Standing now eye-to-eye, I realized she wasn't much taller than I was, maybe by an inch or two, yet she felt infinitely sturdier, practically immovable. Her eyes were stunningly blue, deep and vivid. Something about her felt annoyingly familiar, yet I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was just her ridiculous level of attractiveness triggering some weird déjà vu?

“Don’t worry about it at all,” she assured gently, her voice earnest. “Honestly, I'm pretty new here myself. I've only been living in Metropolis for a few months now. Still learning my way around.”

“Is that so?” I asked, giving her my best charming smile, intentionally holding her gaze for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. I definitely noticed the faint blush dusting her cheeks as she looked away shyly. Interesting reaction for someone who probably got hit on constantly. “I just moved to America recently, from England. Metropolis is way brighter and bigger than I'm used to. I got overwhelmed, I guess.”

She laughed lightly, almost musically, brushing a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear with a shy glance downward. “I totally get that. My hometown is tiny compared to this city. Definitely takes some getting used to.”

“I'm Amara, by the way,” I offered casually, extending my hand toward her again, officially this time. “Since I knocked into you, I figure proper introductions are only polite.”

The gorgeous woman shook my hand firmly, her grip gentle but solid, her warm skin smooth and incredibly pleasant to touch. Her eyes met mine again, and there was a momentary spark there, a curious and slightly interested glint before she smiled wider, appearing more relaxed. “It's really nice to meet you, Amara,” she said genuinely. “My name’s Kara. Kara Danvers.”

Fuck…

What was my luck!? First Nightwing, then Raven, and now Supergirl? Was there something about me that just attracted superheroes…? 

Other than my amazing sexy charms of course. 

And yet, my instincts couldn’t stop the teasing words that automatically left my lips now that I recognized her. “You know, Kara, you look extremely familiar. Have we met before? Or maybe you've been in the news or magazines recently? Something about your face…”

Kara flushed adorably, shaking her head sheepishly as she laughed shyly. “Oh, no—I seriously doubt that. I’m definitely not famous or anything. Probably just one of those faces, you know?” I couldn't help but notice the way her gaze lingered thoughtfully on my face and chest, subtly admiring my tight-fitting, black tank top that hugged my full breasts. A faint pink blush dusted her cheeks before she quickly met my eyes again. "So, Amara," she began softly, her voice holding a shy but friendly curiosity, "what brings you to Metropolis anyway? Work, vacation—or just an impulse for adventure?"

I chuckled lightly, a soft sound that felt natural and comfortable. "I suppose you could say work. It's sort of a… temporary assignment," I said vaguely, carefully sidestepping the more problematic details. "Though I'd be lying if I said the city itself wasn't part of the appeal. I've always loved big cities—something about the chaos, the noise, the endless opportunities. It just suits me."

Kara nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with shared excitement. "I totally get that! There's so much going on here—so many interesting people, such incredible energy. It's practically contagious." She laughed softly, brushing her hand through her golden locks. "I guess that's why I picked Metropolis too. I was just looking for a place where I could start fresh, explore, and maybe find my place in the world."

I tilted my head slightly, intrigued. "Oh? Starting fresh—sounds like there's a story there."

She smiled again, a bit sheepishly this time, and glanced downward as if briefly embarrassed. "You caught me," she admitted, her voice softening slightly. "Nothing scandalous or anything. Just... moving away from a small town, wanting to see the world beyond that. I wanted something bigger. Something exciting." Her eyes met mine again, a playful sparkle dancing there. "Like bumping into mysterious, attractive strangers on crowded city streets."

"Careful there, Kara," I joked lightly, smirking softly at her. "You flatter me like that, and you might never get rid of me."

Kara giggled again, her bright eyes dancing with delight, clearly enjoying our spontaneous little flirtation. "Oh, I don't know—something tells me having you around might be pretty entertaining. And it certainly wouldn't be the worst way to spend an afternoon."

Okay, so maybe I was slacking off from my assigned search mission—just a little bit. But fuck, I couldn't help myself. The impulsive words had practically blurted themselves out of my mouth earlier. Before I'd even realized what I was doing, I was asking Kara if she wanted to grab some coffee together.

The moment I'd suggested it, Kara’s entire face had lit up with delight. She’d accepted instantly, excitedly, and before I knew it, the two of us were nestled together in the cozy corner of a charming little coffee shop I’d spotted across the street.

We sat across from each other at a small round table, sipping lattes and chatting in a way that felt effortless, intimate, almost strangely familiar.

"I absolutely adore your accent, Amara," Kara said suddenly, grinning warmly at me from over the rim of her steaming mug. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows comfortably on the tabletop as she smiled shyly. "It's so pretty and sophisticated. Reminds me of characters from those classy British dramas I binge-watch. So where exactly are you from? Like, specifically?"

I chuckled softly at the enthusiasm in her voice. Damn, she really was cute as hell—earnest and genuinely sweet in a way I hadn't expected. "I'm from London," I told her simply, smiling faintly as I met her eager gaze. "Born and raised there. Spent most of my life in the city—though not exactly the nice, posh parts."

Her blue eyes widened slightly with genuine curiosity. "Oh, really? You seem so..." she paused for a moment, biting her lip thoughtfully as she searched for the right word, "...elegant? Like someone who would've grown up sipping tea in an enormous estate somewhere."

I laughed lightly at that, shaking my head. "Hardly. No mansions or sprawling gardens in my childhood. My background is honestly pretty dull. I spent years at a rather shitty orphanage until I finally managed to get out."

“Oh.” Kara’s expression softened immediately, her eyes filling with a blend of sympathy and understanding. “I'm sorry—I didn’t mean to pry or anything. That sounds really difficult.”

“No worries,” I assured her casually, waving away her concern with a gentle, dismissive gesture. “Honestly, I don’t really mind talking about it anymore. I've long since accepted that part of my past. And anyway, enough about me—what about you, Kara? Where’d you live before coming here to Metropolis?”

Kara hesitated. After a second, she quickly recovered her warm smile, though her response seemed carefully vague. “Oh, I uh, lived on a small farm actually. Way out in Kansas. Middle of nowhere, practically.” She laughed a little nervously, not quite meeting my eyes now. 

I noticed immediately that she avoided naming her hometown or mentioning any family specifics. It was kind of cute how transparent she was about hiding things. Though of course, thanks to my annoying [Cursed Knowledge] drawback, I already knew exactly who this adorable blonde truly was. Kara Zor-El—cousin to Superman, and now known to the world as Supergirl. Although, I’m pretty sure she has only become a known figure recently. One of the newest official members of the Justice League. 

Not that I planned on telling her that I knew. It was more fun this way, pretending ignorance. And besides, there was no way in hell I was outing myself as anything special or suspicious either.

I leaned back comfortably in my chair, offering her a teasing, gentle smile. “Kansas, huh? Now that sounds like the complete opposite of bustling Metropolis. Do you miss that small-town life at all?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “I do miss the quiet, and the slower pace of things. But honestly, being somewhere new and exciting like Metropolis—it feels amazing. There are so many opportunities here, so many fascinating people to meet.”

She glanced shyly at me, her cheeks tinged pink again. Damn, she was easy to fluster. I couldn't resist continuing my playful interrogation.

“How old are you, anyway?” I asked casually. “You seem pretty mature, but also incredibly enthusiastic at the same time. It's an intriguing combination.”

She laughed lightly, the sound bright and musical. “I just turned twenty-one a few months ago,” she told me. “And you, Amara? You're definitely younger, right?”

I nodded easily. “Yeah, nineteen actually. But I think I’ve seen more of life than most people twice my age.”

She raised an eyebrow curiously. “So... are you studying anywhere? Attending one of the universities in Metropolis maybe?”

I gave her a dismissive little wave, smirking faintly as I lied with practiced ease. “No, I decided to take a gap year. University can wait. I'm still figuring out what exactly I want to do with myself.”

“A gap year?” she laughed brightly, shaking her head in amusement. “I get that. Honestly, I think I’m on my third gap year now. At this rate, my gap years might become permanent.”

I chuckled softly. Of course, given her Kryptonian education, Kara was probably one of the smartest beings currently walking around on this entire planet. If she wasn’t attending college, it definitely wasn’t because of lacking intelligence.

“Honestly,” I teased, “something tells me that you’re already far smarter than most people anyway. You definitely give off a hidden genius vibe.”

Kara giggled, ducking her head shyly, clearly pleased by the compliment. “You're really sweet, Amara,” she said softly, her bright blue eyes meeting mine warmly, filled with unmistakable attraction. “Honestly, I—” She was abruptly cut off by a shrill beeping sound emanating from her wrist. Kara glanced down at the extremely high-tech looking watch on her wrist, frowning deeply as it beeped urgently. “Oh no,” she murmured worriedly, clearly recognizing whatever this alert was. She looked up at me, expression apologetic and flustered. “Amara, I'm so, so sorry—but this is an emergency. I have to leave immediately.” Before I could even fully respond, Kara had already jumped from her chair, pulling out her wallet and quickly dropping some money onto the table for our coffees. “It was really, truly nice talking with you, Amara. And I promise I'll call you later!” she added hastily, offering me one last brilliant, distracted smile.

And then she was suddenly gone, zipping out of the café with that absurd superhuman speed of hers. She vanished in an instant, leaving me sitting there alone, slightly stunned.

“We didn't even exchange phone numbers yet…”

But of course, Kara was already out of earshot. A second later, my own enhanced senses picked up a distinctive, whooshing sound above the café. No doubt Supergirl was already streaking through the sky above Metropolis, rushing off to whatever critical Justice League mission had summoned her.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping my coffee slowly. Maybe this unexpected little distraction wasn't actually such a bad thing. After all, with Supergirl gone, there was a good chance Superman himself would be away from the city, too. 

That was certainly helpful timing, considering our current mission.

Deciding I should inform Morgana of this latest development, I casually pulled out my phone, sending her a brief message about Kara and the situation.

– Morgana –

“What…?” Morgana muttered to herself as she read the message Amara just sent her on their new cell phones. 

“Just had coffee with Supergirl. She and Superman should be out of the city for a while…”

How does her apprentice always stumble into these wild situations whenever Morgana is not around…? Well, Morgana found the suspected new headquarters of MACUSA so at least the news she just got from Amara was good news.

– “Mad-Eye” Moody –

Mad-Eye Moody limped through the overly elaborate halls of the newly established MACUSA headquarters, the metallic thunk of his prosthetic leg echoing sharply off polished marble floors. His magical eye swiveled restlessly in his skull, scanning each hallway, corner, and dark alcove, never trusting his surroundings—certainly not in the company he currently kept.

Beside him strutted President Alexander Myers, recently appointed head of MACUSA. The man puffed his chest out like an arrogant peacock, his shiny black boots clicking sharply against the polished stone with every pompous step. Myers was the picture of smug confidence, chin raised high, eyes sharp and calculating, every syllable he spoke dripping with a condescending superiority that grated on Moody’s nerves.

“And over here, we have our new detection system!” Myers announced loudly, his voice booming with enthusiasm that bordered on fanatical. He gestured dramatically to a long row of gleaming silver instruments manned by dozens of stern-faced wizards and witches, all diligently watching glowing magical screens. “This revolutionary enchantment is so advanced that it allows us to pinpoint unauthorized magical activity anywhere on the East Coast within mere seconds. Soon, we’ll have our Aurors trained well enough to track down and apprehend these rogue witches and wizards before they even have a chance to flee.”

Moody studied Myers with his good eye, noting the unsettling fire in the man’s gaze and the way his mouth curled cruelly around words like “apprehend” and “rogue.” Something about Myers unsettled Moody deeply. He felt like a dictator—one of those smug bastards who hid their craving for power behind the thin veil of “order and security.” Moody silently cursed Dumbledore for sending him to this madhouse. Whatever was happening here, this didn’t feel anything like the alliance-building he’d hoped for.

Myers continued eagerly, oblivious to Moody’s barely concealed disgust. “I assure you, Mr. Moody, anyone caught breaking the Statute of Secrecy will be imprisoned without trial. America’s magical community has become far too brazen in its interactions with the No-Majs—or Muggles, as your people like to call them. The fact that wizards and witches marry those filthy, ignorant non-magicals is a disgrace!” Myers' voice rose sharply in agitation, face flushing red beneath his carefully groomed silver beard. “We’ll be reinstating the old purity laws soon enough, Mr. Moody. Magical and No-Maj marriages must be prohibited once more. Allowing those disgusting unions in the first place was the greatest mistake MACUSA ever made!”

Moody’s lips curled into an involuntary sneer as Myers’ hateful rhetoric spilled forth freely, eyes shining with a feverish zeal. The man was outright dangerous, Moody decided grimly—fanaticism in its purest form. He briefly wondered who exactly had elected such an authoritarian prick as the new president of MACUSA. Certainly not anyone with half a bloody brain, he reckoned bitterly.

“President Myers,” Moody said gruffly, interrupting Myers' latest tirade, deciding it was time to redirect the conversation before he snapped and hexed the bastard right then and there. “I appreciate your… enthusiasm… for keeping your people safe from exposure. But perhaps we should return to the reason I was sent here in the first place.”

Myers paused, a flicker of irritation briefly crossing his face, clearly unused to being cut off. Yet he quickly composed himself, donning an oily, practiced smile as he inclined his head magnanimously. “Ah yes, of course, Mr. Moody. How rude of me. I was merely excited to share our ambitious reforms. Do continue.”

Moody grunted impatiently, not buying the polite act for a second. “Dumbledore told me you two have had several correspondences. As you’re already aware, he agreed to send considerable funds from Hogwarts' private accounts to help re-establish MACUSA after its long absence. He also authorized some of our top Aurors—myself included—to come over here and whip your new recruits into shape.” Moody leaned forward slightly, glaring intently at Myers with both eyes now. “In return for this considerable aid, you agreed MACUSA will assist the Order of the Phoenix when it’s time to confront Voldemort directly. We have your solemn word on that?”

“Of course, Mr. Moody,” Myers replied instantly, expression shifting into one of earnest sincerity that Moody didn’t believe for a bloody second. “MACUSA honors its commitments. If this Voldemort fellow truly poses such a severe threat to Britain’s magical community, it’s only natural we aid our brothers and sisters overseas in stopping him. You can count on us, I assure you.”

Moody eyed him warily, studying every twitch of the man’s face and every nuance in his voice. He didn’t trust Myers as far as he could throw the arrogant sod—which admittedly wouldn’t be far, with Moody’s battered body. He gave Myers a stiff nod anyway, keeping his suspicion firmly hidden behind a grim poker face.

“Glad to hear it,” Moody growled. “But talk’s cheap. Why don’t you show me exactly what kind of material you have for Aurors? If we’re supposed to train these people into competent fighters worthy of standing against Death Eaters, I want to see precisely what I’m dealing with. Show me your new Auror recruits.”

Myers flashed him another oily smile, nodding eagerly. “Certainly, Mr. Moody. Right this way, please.”

Moody limped after Myers down another overly-grand hallway, following the MACUSA leader through two enormous bronze doors that swung silently open at their approach. They stepped into a vast, gymnasium-sized chamber where several dozen witches and wizards, mostly young and clearly inexperienced, were assembled into neat rows. The would-be Aurors straightened up noticeably when Myers entered, a ripple of nervous tension passing through their ranks.

“Here we are,” Myers announced proudly, spreading his arms wide as if showing off a prized collection. “Our best and brightest recruits. Every single one chosen for their pure magical bloodlines and their unwavering devotion to MACUSA’s mission. Of course, some lack real combat experience, but that’s where your expertise comes in, Mr. Moody.”

Moody studied the recruits critically. Most of them barely looked older than Hogwarts graduates, their eyes wide and uncertain. Several fidgeted nervously beneath Moody’s intimidating stare, clearly uncomfortable under the harsh scrutiny of his magical eye. Moody’s lip curled into a dissatisfied sneer.

“These kids are greener than spring grass, Myers,” Moody growled bluntly. “I don’t see a single recruit among them who’s seen actual battle.”

Myers’ expression hardened, his voice dropping dangerously low. “They’re obedient and loyal to MACUSA, Moody. That matters more than battle experience right now. With your training, they’ll quickly gain the combat skills they require.”

Moody snorted dismissively, shaking his head. “Obedience means jack-shit when you’re face-to-face with dark magic, Myers. You’re naive to think blind loyalty alone makes an Auror worth a damn. If these kids aren’t battle-ready, they’re nothing but fodder for Voldemort’s curses.”

Myers scowled deeply, jaw clenching tightly as he glared daggers at Moody, clearly unhappy at having his authority challenged so directly. “Of course, that's why you're here to train them in the first place! and they won't be going up against any Dark Lords anytime soon. They'll be practicing their skills on ordinary law breaking witches and wizards primarily!”

Moody frowned at that. “Oh? And what are they gonna do about any dark wizards or witches currently in America?”

Moody was annoyed by the expression on the president's face after he asked that question, the president was looking at him like he was an idiot. “What are you talking about? We don't have any dark lords or ladies IN MY COUNTRY! Everything is completely under control here!”

BOOOOM!

And of course, right as he finished saying that the entire building violently shook, as Moody sensed the powerful magical wards around the new headquarters had all simultaneously gone down. 

– Amara –

Morgana raised her hand, signaling Daphne and Astoria to remain outside as the four of us stood before the deceptively mundane building. 

To a regular person, it looked like nothing more than a boring office complex, but our Mage sight clearly revealed shimmering layers of potent magical wards draped protectively around it—charms specifically designed to keep nosy, oblivious Muggles at bay. 

I had no doubt this modest-looking facade concealed something far more expansive, luxurious, and intricately enchanted within. Wizards fucking loved that 'bigger-on-the-inside' cliché. Ok, I loved it too. Having big rooms was pretty great.

Daphne and Astoria both immediately frowned, visibly unhappy with Morgana's decision to exclude them from the initial assault. Daphne, arms folded beneath her impressive chest, scowled lightly as she spoke up first. "Lady Morgana, please reconsider this. We've trained hard these past few days. Amara herself said we were making significant progress. We're capable now, we can assist you both."

Astoria chimed in quickly after her sister, nodding earnestly with large, pleading blue eyes. "Exactly! You shouldn't underestimate us just because we're newer. We've already learned several powerful dark spells—let us come with you! We promise we won't slow you down."

Morgana shook her head firmly, her eyes meeting each sister's gaze with calm, gentle authority. "My dear witches, your enthusiasm is admirable, and yes, I know you've improved greatly. But trust me when I say there is an enormous difference between learning magic under controlled circumstances, versus facing true violence and death. Casting a deadly spell in practice against enchanted dummies is easy enough, but taking a human life in combat—where hesitation or uncertainty can get you killed—is an entirely different matter altogether."

Her expression softened briefly, perhaps in sympathy toward the two disappointed sisters. "Your time will come, soon enough. But for now, you two will guard the perimeter. If anyone attempts to flee, if someone manages to slip past us, I trust you'll handle them. Do you understand?"

Daphne sighed softly, recognizing Morgana’s logic despite clearly still feeling disappointed. "Yes, Lady Morgana. We'll make sure nobody escapes."

Astoria nodded reluctantly as well, looking slightly pouty but determined to obey. "Fine... just please be careful in there."

Morgana’s lips curled into a wicked smile as she slid an arm possessively around my waist, pulling me closely against her side. "Don't worry, my darlings," she teased gently, addressing Daphne and Astoria but clearly talking to me. "My lovely apprentice and I have faced worse dangers. We can handle a few pathetic MACUSA bureaucrats." Then, leaning in even closer to me, Morgana whispered hotly into my ear, her breath tickling the sensitive skin of my neck and sending delicious shivers rippling down my spine. "Oh, and don't think I've forgotten your little 'date' with that pretty superhero girl, Amara. Going out and having fun behind your Mistress’s back while I spent all day tracking this place down?" Her voice dripped low and smoky, making my knees weak. "You’ll certainly be receiving punishment later, my sweet little succubus apprentice."

Fuck yes. I swallowed audibly, thighs pressing together involuntarily as Morgana chuckled softly at my reaction. Who was she kidding—any punishment she could conjure would only leave me begging her for more, not less. A wicked grin spread slowly across her lips before she released me, turning toward the building with renewed focus.

"Now," she instructed clearly, raising one hand toward the protective wards around the entrance, "prepare yourself, Amara. Let’s give these arrogant magical politicians the surprise of their pathetic lives!"

Without further hesitation, Morgana unleashed a devastating jet of brilliant, dark purple lightning from her outstretched hand. The magic crashed violently into the invisible wards with immense force, crackling arcs of destructive energy dancing briefly across the protective barrier. A moment later, the defensive spells shattered completely with a sharp, explosive burst, the wards flickering one last time before dissipating harmlessly into nothingness.

I took a deep, calming breath, composing myself and slipping easily into my best budding-dark-lady resting-bitch-face. Squaring my shoulders confidently, I followed Morgana’s graceful stride toward the main entrance.

The moment we crossed the threshold, my suspicion about the place being much larger on the inside immediately proved correct. Instead of the plain, dull lobby you'd expect from the exterior, we stepped into a massive, ornately furnished chamber filled with marble columns, polished floors, plush carpets, and exquisite woodwork. Doors lining the corridors on both sides burst open simultaneously as panicked wizards and witches poured out into the lavish lobby, all dressed in expensive-looking business robes, each gripping their wands fearfully as they stared at us with shock and growing horror.

"What in Merlin’s fucking name is going on here!?" a loud, arrogant voice suddenly boomed out from the grand staircase across the lobby. A smug-looking, finely-dressed wizard descended swiftly, flanked closely by a scarred, hideous-looking man who limped along with difficulty, clutching a long wizard's staff rather than a standard wand. The richly dressed wizard stomped angrily toward us, puffing himself up indignantly. "I am President Alexander Myers—the head of MACUSA! Do you two witches have any bloody idea of the severity of your actions? You've blatantly violated multiple magical laws with this ridiculous assault—prepare yourselves for the consequences!"

Morgana simply scoffed loudly, clearly unimpressed by the arrogant fool’s blustering threats. Before she could open her mouth to reply, however, the grotesque, limping man hobbled forward with a sharp intake of breath, his mismatched eyes darting between Morgana and myself in confusion and amazement.

"Merlin’s balls… twins!? It’s worse than Dumbledore feared!" the ugly wizard gasped roughly, raising his staff defensively toward us, his expression shifting from shock to grim determination. "Twins… There’s bloody two of you! Damn it, but that doesn’t matter! I recognize exactly who you two dark witches are!"

"Oh, really now?" Morgana purred mockingly, raising one elegant eyebrow, clearly assuming he was about to correctly name her as the ancient, legendary Morgana Le Fay.

But the scarred man instead jabbed an accusing finger straight at us both, shouting triumphantly, "Of course I do! Dumbledore himself warned me all about you—you two must be the secret twin daughters of Voldemort and Bellatrix Black! Dark witches, both of you! I know your faces from Gringotts’ wanted poster. You especially, Amara Black—I’ve heard all about your bloody massacre there!"

Massacre? Only one Goblin got killed, and that was Morgana who killed him, not me! Although, I guess since she killed the only witness I would be blamed for that goblin's death, wouldn't I? Not that I cared about the beast after everything Morgana told me about them and their disgusting culture and methods of reproduction. 

And then the rest of his dramatic speech registered with me.

Secret daughters of Voldemort…? 

Morgana muttered under her breath, her voice laced with clear offense and irritation. “Of all the arrogant, blind fools in this miserable age,” she hissed, crossing her arms as she glared at the limping old man in disgust. “To think that scarred, decrepit bastard genuinely mistook me—Morgana le Fay—for the offspring of some weak, upstart dark lord. The audacity. I’ve ended empires older than that half-blood pretender he’s babbling about.”

Her tone was venomous, every word dripping with wounded pride. She looked like she could have peeled the skin from Moody’s bones purely out of spite. I could almost feel the energy radiating off her, the sharp, dangerous pulse of her annoyance filling the air.

Then she turned toward me, her expression shifting from insulted disdain to something far more dangerous. A feral grin stretched across her lips, sharp and full of promise. “Tell me, my dear apprentice,” she purred, her voice lowering to a soft, predatory tone, “did you hear what that ugly, limping fool just said?”

I met her gaze, my own irritation building. “Yeah,” I said, my voice dry but curious. “Something about us being twins or whatever—the daughters of a dead dark lord and… Bellatrix Black? Sirius’s cousin?” I frowned slightly, still trying to process it. “That’s what he said, right?”

“Not that,” Morgana said softly. She stepped closer. “Did you catch the part about him knowing Dumbledore personally? The same man who tried to destroy your life, my beautiful, vengeful apprentice.” Her tone darkened, every word dripping with malice and temptation. “I wonder,” she mused, tilting her head thoughtfully, “if they’re good friends?” She leaned in closer until her breath ghosted over my ear, her next words slow, deliberate, and deliciously cruel. “Wouldn’t it just break Dumbledore’s heart if you sent him a parcel one day—with his dear friend’s head neatly packed inside!?”

The moment she said it, something inside me snapped.

I felt my expression twist, my control slipping. That infernal, ever-present anger that never truly left me—the curse of my [Simmering Fury]—came alive with a vengeance. My jaw tightened, my nails digging into my palms as I struggled not to explode right there.

A low growl rumbled in my throat. “That sounds like a damn good idea,” I said darkly, my voice shaking with contained fury. “Let’s see how long Dumbledore keeps preaching his ‘forgiveness and redemption’ bullshit when he’s staring at his friend’s rotting skull.”

Morgana’s grin turned downright devilish, eyes gleaming with delight at my reaction. “There’s my perfect little monster,” she whispered approvingly. “Let us kill them all…”

– Supergirl –

A couple hours later…

Kara hovered silently above the devastated streets of Star City, feeling utterly exhausted. Every muscle in her body ached, her ribs were sore, and her normally flawless skin sported painful bruises. And yes, bruises—despite her Kryptonian invulnerability, this fight had been brutal enough that even she bore obvious damage. Below her stretched block after block of shattered concrete, burning wreckage, and overturned cars; the once bustling city center had been cordoned off by authorities, emergency lights flashing silently against crumbled storefronts and blackened debris.

It had all started when Green Arrow ran headlong into some unstoppable android calling itself Amazo. Recognizing quickly he was outmatched, Oliver had frantically called for assistance from the entire Justice League. At the time, that request had seemed reasonable enough. 

But once reinforcements had arrived, everything rapidly spiraled out of control. Rather than being overwhelmed by the combined strength of Earth's greatest heroes, Amazo adapted—absorbing and copying every single League member’s powers.

And then the situation had rapidly turned nightmarish.

Kara winced in embarrassment, replaying her humiliating moments battling the ruthless robot. Amazo had effortlessly replicated her own powers alongside Superman’s incredible Kryptonian strength and flight. Then it had further elevated its lethality by assimilating Batman’s unparalleled martial arts expertise. The end result had been painfully clear—Kara and Clark both took the brunt of a savage beating.

As Kara drifted downwards towards her fellow heroes, she couldn’t suppress a flash of admiration as her gaze settled upon the slender figure in the flowing black cloak. 

Raven of the Titans.

When Amazo had initially copied Raven's magical abilities, something had gone seriously wrong. While it had replicated other powers flawlessly, the android started to smoke and malfunction after it tried copying her powers. Once it glitched, they were able to all dogpile and destroy it!

In Kara’s opinion, Raven had proven herself the true MVP of today’s desperate battle.

Down on street level, Superman and EVEN Batman had just finished personally congratulating the dark-clad young heroine. Raven appeared somewhat overwhelmed by their praise. 

Supergirl was a bit jealous but knew the other girl deserved it today.

She floated down to join Nightwing and Raven. She landed lightly in front of them, forcing a cheerful smile despite her exhaustion and soreness. Raven, noticing her approach, shifted uncomfortably and offered a hesitant, shy smile in return.

“Hey, Raven,” Kara greeted warmly, genuinely pleased to speak directly with the quiet heroine. “I just wanted to say you were incredible out there today. Seriously, we’d have never stopped that psycho robot without you. I mean it—thanks for pulling our asses out of the fire.”

Raven’s pale cheeks flushed vividly beneath her dark hood, clearly unaccustomed to such direct and glowing compliments she kept getting. 

Nightwing, standing beside her, chuckled softly, nudging her playfully. “See? I told you,” he teased gently. “Even Superman himself was impressed. You're finally getting noticed by the League, Raven.”

Raven ducked her head slightly, clearly flustered but smiling shyly at Kara’s earnest praise. “It—it wasn’t just me,” Raven murmured modestly. “This was a team effort. Everyone gave it their all out there, especially you, Supergirl. You were incredible, too. You saved countless lives.”

Kara laughed softly at that, shaking her head self-deprecatingly. After all, Amazo’s ruthless pummeling was still painfully fresh in her memory. “Oh, trust me, I’m not so sure about that,” Kara admitted dryly. “After that asshole copied my cousin’s powers and mine, he proceeded to use us as punching bags. Not exactly my finest hour, getting my butt kicked like that.”

Nightwing grinned sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on Kara’s shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kara. You both bought us valuable time. Besides, bruises heal.”

Kara sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Honestly, I probably would’ve been more useful staying behind in Metropolis today. You know,” she added wistfully, “I had just started a promising date with a pretty girl earlier today. Instead, I’m here, beaten and battered.”

Nightwing raised his eyebrows immediately. “A date, huh?” he teased. “Well, now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Who’s the lucky girl to get to go on a date with THE Supergirl?”

Kara laughed softly, shaking her head. “Well, if you must know,” she admitted lightly, feeling herself blush slightly, “she’s pretty amazing. Honestly, when I first bumped into her, she almost didn’t seem real. Long, silky black hair, flawless skin, absolutely perfect curves, rosy lips, and these incredibly gorgeous emerald-green eyes—”

Kara broke off suddenly, noticing the unexpected stiffness in both Nightwing and Raven’s posture. Raven had gone deathly still, her usually calm expression replaced by something between shocked recognition and alarm. Nightwing’s teasing grin faded abruptly, replaced by intense seriousness.

“You… you said this girl was in Metropolis? Not Gotham?” Raven asked slowly, carefully, her voice noticeably strained as she exchanged an uneasy glance with Nightwing. “Did… did you happen to catch her name, Kara?”

Kara frowned slightly at their unexpected reactions, puzzled. Had she said something strange? “Yeah, we exchanged names at least. Hers is Amara. Why—do you two know her or something?”

A strained, uncomfortable silence fell heavily between the trio. Raven and Nightwing shared another tense look, clearly engaged in some unspoken, nervous conversation. Raven bit anxiously at her lower lip, her eyes troubled.

Nightwing finally spoke, his voice low and carefully controlled. “Amara… black hair, green eyes, absurdly beautiful…” He paused briefly, releasing a heavy sigh. “Please tell me she didn’t give you her last name, did she?”

Kara shifted uneasily now, unsure what was happening. “Um, yeah actually,” she replied uncertainly. “She introduced herself as Amara Black. Wait… Should I know who she is?”

XXX

Chapter Text

Chapter 9:

– Amara –

"...Kill them!" the hideous wizard with the peg leg bellowed at the top of his lungs, his gravelly voice echoing through the overly-decorated hall. 

I watched with a mix of irritation and amusement as he swung his staff wildly, pointing it at Morgana and then at me. I swear, the scarred old bastard looked positively unhinged as his twisted face contorted with barely contained rage.

A familiar, venomous green glow erupted from the tip of his staff, streaking directly toward Morgana. "Avada Kedavra!" he snarled, practically frothing at the mouth.

My heart instinctively lurched in fear for a split second before logic took over. 

What the hell was I worried about? This was Morgana fucking le Fay standing beside me, ancient mistress of dark magic herself. My mentor barely even bothered to glance at the curse sailing towards her. Instead, with an almost lazy disdain, Morgana lifted one hand, casually flicking it sideways as if batting away a particularly annoying fly. 

Her palm collided with the searing green magic, and the killing curse shattered into harmless green sparks, dissipating uselessly into nothingness.

The peg-legged wizard's eyes bulged grotesquely in their sockets as his jaw dropped open, exposing crooked, yellowed teeth. "What—? That's bloody impossible!" he choked out, his voice shaking. "No witch alive can block the Killing Curse with her bare hand! What manner of witchcraft—?"

Morgana laughed darkly at his pathetic incredulity. She tilted her head slightly, regarding the stunned old fool as if he were little more than a bug she could squash beneath her expensive heel. "You poor, ignorant, ugly excuse for a wizard," she purred smoothly. "I was wielding powers darker and more forbidden than your weak mind could ever fathom while your ancestors were still crawling around caves and clubbing each other with stones!"

The MACUSA President finally seemed to shake himself from his paralyzing shock at Morgana's display. His eyes darted frantically around the hall, finally focusing upon the rows of trembling witches and wizards who had gathered to stare at us with wide-eyed horror and confusion.

"For Merlin's sake, don't just stand there like idiots!" Myers thundered furiously, the veins in his forehead bulging. "Do your damned jobs! Fight these witches! Protect your president!"

A ripple of reluctant obedience stirred through the assembled wizards and witches, and they hesitantly raised their wands, clearly terrified but unwilling—or perhaps unable—to disobey their pompous leader's frantic orders. 

Beside me, Morgana's confident, amused smile only widened further. She turned her gorgeous gaze toward me, nodding slightly. "Go ahead, my apprentice," she said silkily. "Let these self-righteous fools taste the true power of a Black witch."

That was all the encouragement I needed.

My lips curled into a wicked smirk as I raised my wand high above my head as magic surged powerfully through my veins. 

"Burn," I hissed softly, pouring every ounce of my searing anger and rage into the spell.

In an instant, black flames erupted from the tip of my wand, blazing hot and impossibly dark, coiling and writhing until the fiery shape solidified clearly—a massive serpent of ebony fire, easily as thick and powerful as a fully-grown basilisk. The beast's eyes glowed like molten lava, its gaping mouth dripping smoking embers onto the polished marble floor.

No, this wasn't true Fiendfyre—not quite. But it was damn close, and I'd lovingly practiced the brutal spell until I'd practically perfected its lethal potential. I glanced briefly around the room, locking eyes with several MACUSA agents who stared back at my creation with growing dread and horror.

Then, with a graceful flick of my wrist, I commanded the enormous flaming snake forward. "Kill them all," I whispered coldly.

Chaos erupted immediately. The massive serpent of black flames lunged forward, jaws wide, fangs of pure molten fire snapping viciously around screaming MACUSA witches and wizards. In an instant, their robes ignited into agonizing flames, their flesh sizzling grotesquely as they shrieked and flailed helplessly. They burned alive—charred, smoking corpses collapsing and littering the expensive, decorative halls.

Panicked screams echoed deafeningly through the vast chamber, blending into a symphony of terror and pain. I watched as my conjured serpent lashed out again and again, consuming more terrified victims in its searing jaws.

Some MACUSA agents tried desperately to flee, but the fiery snake effortlessly pursued them, slithering swiftly across the hall, leaving trails of burning devastation in its wake. 

I briefly wondered why the hell the Court of Owls had even been remotely concerned about MACUSA. Honestly, these arrogant magical government assholes had turned out to be utterly incompetent at casting even the simplest of combat spells. These witches and wizards flailed and stumbled, their spells flying wildly off-target or fizzling out entirely because they were too scared to even cast them in the first place. Frankly, they would've been a hell of a lot more dangerous if someone had handed them a bunch of guns instead of wands.

“Hold the line, you pathetic fools!” President Myers shouted desperately from across the hall, his face flushed crimson with outrage and humiliation. Sweat poured down his forehead as he wildly gestured at his panicked and rapidly dwindling forces. “Reinforcements are coming soon, damn you! Keep casting your fucking spells! Protect your president!”

I snorted softly in disdain. The man was hysterical, screeching impotently like a child having a tantrum—his command utterly ignored by the terrified remnants of MACUSA agents as they fled in blind panic, screaming hysterically while my black flame serpent gleefully pursued them across the marble floors. Of course there was no escape for any of them. The Court wanted them all dead, and I imagined they were willing to pay us a hefty bonus to make them happen. Morgana hadn’t mentioned anything about us getting paid—now that I thought about it—but obviously I knew she was a woman who wouldn’t work for free like this.

Myers turned furiously toward the ugly, peg-legged wizard still futilely firing spell after spell at Morgana—spells she barely acknowledged beyond lazily swatting them aside with casual contempt. “For the love of Merlin, Moody! You’re supposed to be the greatest fucking Dark Wizard hunter alive! Do something! Defeat these damn witches already!” Myers shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth in his crazed desperation.

Moody’s scarred face contorted into a mask of barely-contained fury, his grotesque magical eye spinning rapidly as his lips peeled back in a furious snarl. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing, you ignorant bastard?” Moody spat venomously, aiming another furious hex directly at Morgana. “These witches are far beyond anything I’ve faced in decades! I’m trying, damn it!”

“Trying, are you?” Morgana purred mockingly with a wicked smirk curving her flawless lips. She flicked a finger at the vivid red spell Moody hurled toward her, effortlessly deflecting the potent magic with insulting ease. “Perhaps you should ‘try’ a bit harder, old man. I'm actually growing rather bored of your pathetic attempts.”

My mentor was a glorious fucking sight to behold. Watching her toy with the man named Moody so casually sent pleasant shivers racing down my spine.

But I didn't have the luxury of losing myself entirely in admiration. My attention returned swiftly to the burning carnage of my own making. The enormous black serpent of magical flame that I'd conjured continued to ravage the room, jaws of molten fire snapping viciously around its screaming victims. 

One by one, MACUSA agents fell beneath the blistering heat of my spell, their robes igniting into roaring, merciless flames that consumed their flesh down to charred bone and ash. Their pitiful screams of agony echoed hauntingly throughout the lavish chamber—music to my ears, frankly.

Just as I admired my own dark handiwork, an icy tingle raced sharply down my spine—a sudden, instinctive warning screaming urgently in the back of my mind.

Danger!

I reacted instantly. My succubus bat-like wings burst from my back. At the same time, my slender tail shot eagerly out from the base of my tailbone.

I propelled myself up toward the high vaulted ceiling, just as five voices rang out simultaneously from behind me.

“““““Bombarda!”””””

A deafening explosion detonated exactly where I'd been standing just seconds earlier, shattering the marble tiles into jagged shrapnel and leaving behind a smoking crater of destruction.

“Damn,” I purred wickedly, glancing down at the ruined floor as I hovered above the room, my wings beating lazily behind me. My heart raced wildly with exhilaration at my narrow escape, a savage grin spreading slowly across my lips. “That was a close one, boys.”

My gaze shifted toward the newcomers who’d attempted their surprise attack. A group of young wizards around my own age stood clustered together near the entrance hall—clearly the “reinforcements” Myers had been screaming about earlier. They wore matching badges prominently displayed upon their robes, insignias that presumably marked them as MACUSA’s newest generation of Aurors. 

Young, brave, foolish—and from their wide-eyed expressions of shock, entirely unprepared to face someone like me.

I tilted my head thoughtfully, giving them a teasing, seductive smirk. “Really? You lot are the cavalry Myers was counting on?” I laughed mockingly, shaking my head. “Well, fuck me, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected much. Still, props for the effort.”

They gaped openly at me, their expressions frozen into horrified disbelief as their eyes traced my wings and the sinuous tail swishing gently behind me. Their wands shook visibly in their trembling hands.

“W-what the hell is she?” one terrified Auror finally choked out, his voice cracking pathetically as he took an instinctive step backward.

“Sh-she's not human!” another stammered fearfully, his wand nearly slipping from his shaking fingers. “Oh my god, she’s got wings! And a tail!”

The Auror beside him sputtered in blind panic, finally screaming aloud with an almost comical hysteria. “Demon! She’s a fucking demon!”

The five MACUSA Aurors—if you could even generously call these trembling rookies by that actual title—stared up at me with widened, frightened eyes. Their wands shook like leaves caught in a storm, faces pale beneath the flickering lights cast by my raging serpent of ebony flames. Still, to their credit, the terrified bastards stood their ground bravely, doing their absolute best to put on a show of courage.

"F-form ranks!" their apparent leader, a brown-haired young wizard around my own age, stammered nervously, desperately attempting to muster authority as his voice cracked pathetically. "Concentrate your spells—she can’t evade us all at once! Hold steady!"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. Gods, they really had no fucking clue, did they?

"Aw, aren't you cute?" I purred mockingly from my elevated position above them, gracefully hovering with languid beats of my powerful succubus wings. My sinuous tail swished lazily behind me as I met the leader's panicked gaze, flashing him a sultry, wicked grin. "Such admirable confidence for a man trembling like a frightened virgin." 

Ok, by the technical definition of the word I was still a virgin too, but they didn’t need to know that!

He flushed deeply at my taunt, jaw tightening stubbornly. With a shaky inhale, he thrust his wand upwards, defiantly shouting, "All together! Stupefy!"

Seriously? They were gonna use stunning spells now?

Immediately, his four comrades echoed his desperate cry, simultaneously firing off a volley of red stunning spells. But from my aerial vantage point, avoiding their frantic, poorly aimed attacks was laughably simple. A smooth tilt of my wings carried me effortlessly to the left, their spells sailing harmlessly past my former position, sizzling uselessly into the high vaulted ceiling.

"Come now," I taunted softly, floating above them with insulting ease. "Surely the MACUSA Aurors can do better than that pitiful attempt?"

They hurriedly regrouped below me.

"Don’t give up!" the leader snapped in growing desperation. "Try again, damn it!"

"You're adorable when you're flustered," I teased him playfully, enjoying his rising panic immensely. "Perhaps it's time I demonstrated how a real witch casts her spells."

I raised my wand deliberately, aiming directly for the nervous young wizard standing furthest left—the weakest link in their flimsy chain. He noticed my intention, eyes widening in horror, but far too late to evade the lethal hex that escaped my lips in a seductive whisper.

"Corruptio Viscera!"

He shrieked pitifully as his skin swelled like a balloon—and then he popped. Blood spraying in all directions!

"She killed him!"

“Oh my god! I didn’t sign up for this!”

“He exploded! We need to run!”

Yet still, against all reason, the leader bravely raised his wand again. "Don’t run! We have to slay this demon here or all is lost! We can do this!”

Spells flew wildly upwards, a chaotic mixture of curses and hexes that I easily evaded with graceful twists and turns in the air, laughing delightedly as their desperate efforts repeatedly failed.

With a bored flick of my wand, I unleashed a blazing fireball of roaring black flames that streaked downwards mercilessly. It engulfed another screaming Auror completely, consuming her body in a blistering inferno. 

"Two down," I purred seductively, lazily examining my remaining prey. "Three more frightened little mice to go."

The remaining Aurors visibly trembled, terror etched deeply upon their pale faces. One stumbled backwards, frantically babbling pleas for mercy and forgiveness.

"No—no, please!" he begged desperately, tears streaming openly down his cheeks. "We surrender! For the love of Merlin, spare us!"

I tilted my head thoughtfully, feigning consideration. "Oh, spare you?" I murmured sweetly, eyes glittering cruelly. "But that's no fun at all."

Before the sniveling coward could even blink, a scorching lash of flame erupted violently from my wand, slicing brutally through his pleading throat. His final gurgled scream ended abruptly as he toppled backwards, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

The two survivors—only the leader and a trembling wizard with blonde hair remained—stood frozen, eyes glazed with helpless terror. Their wands hung limply at their sides, utterly defeated.

"Look at you," I purred softly, floating smoothly downwards until my elegant black wings folded behind me. I landed lightly, advancing toward them with seductive steps. "So brave, so proud... now reduced to frightened, whimpering children."

The young leader swallowed audibly, raising his wand defiantly despite the hopelessness etched clearly upon his face. "We...we won't surrender to evil," he whispered stubbornly, voice quivering with suppressed fear.

I laughed softly, genuinely amused. "Evil?" I echoed mockingly, stepping intimately close, placing a single delicate finger beneath his trembling chin. “You think I’m evil?” I asked while staring into his eyes. 

His breath hitched sharply, eyes wide and glassy with fear, arousal, and confusion.

But before he could utter another heroic remark, my tail whipped viciously forward, plunging through his chest. His eyes widened in shocked disbelief. I withdrew smoothly, allowing his lifeless body to collapse heavily at my feet.

That left only the trembling blond wizard remaining, eyes wild with hysteria, sobbing uncontrollably as she stared helplessly at her fallen companions.

"Please!" he whimpered brokenly. "Please just end it quickly."

"As you wish." My wand lifted one final time.

"Avada Kedavra."

…I slowly stepped over the remains of the last Auror I'd slaughtered, lazily making my way toward Morgana. She stood in the center of the grand hall. The marble floors were now slick with crimson blood and littered with dozens of charred corpses. The air stank heavily of smoke, death, and burned flesh, yet Morgana appeared entirely unbothered by the gruesome carnage we'd wrought together. 

If anything, my beautiful dark mentor seemed thoroughly amused as she gazed at her two newest captives.

At Morgana's feet knelt the MACUSA President and that hideous wizard named Moody, both utterly defeated, bound securely with glowing magical ropes that coiled tightly around their bodies. Thick, enchanted gags stuffed their mouths, muffling any pathetic sounds or insults they might try to shout at us. 

I leisurely approached Morgana, savoring the intoxicating rush of power still humming through my veins from the slaughter I'd just unleashed. And I wasn’t done yet either! 

Morgana turned toward me, watching my every step as I drew closer.

"Well, Morgana," I purred softly as I reached her side, giving her a wicked smile, "I suppose we handled the Court of Owls' little request rather efficiently, didn't we?"

Morgana didn't reply immediately. Instead, she stared at me intently, something calculating flickering in her gaze. Before I had the chance to question her reaction, Morgana abruptly reached out and grasped my tail firmly with her soft fingers, wrapping them around the sensitive appendage and squeezing gently.

A sharp, intense bolt of pure pleasure surged violently up my tailbone, racing up my spine and slamming into every nerve ending in my body. My legs instantly turned weak beneath me, and a startled moan spilled unbidden from my lips. 

Morgana smirked mischievously, her grip tightening possessively around my tail as she yanked me closer toward her until I stumbled forward, colliding intimately against her lithe body.

"What—?" I gasped breathlessly, my heart now hammering wildly inside my chest as I gazed into Morgana's amused eyes, my cheeks flushed hotly. "Morgana, what are you—?"

But she silenced my confused question immediately, pressing her full, supple lips fiercely against mine in a hungry, dominating kiss. Morgana's tongue immediately invaded my mouth. I melted helplessly into her embrace, moaning against her mouth as she teased and stroked my sensitive tail in firm, rhythmic motions, keeping me deliciously off-balance and needy.

Morgana's free hand boldly moved upwards, roughly groping my breasts through the thin fabric of my tight shirt, fingers squeezing and kneading the soft, heavy flesh possessively. My nipples instantly hardened into stiff peaks beneath her skilled touch, pleasure coiling tightly within my core.

"Mmmph!" I groaned helplessly into Morgana's mouth, my body trembling uncontrollably as overwhelming sensations built rapidly. Her soft fingers continued their relentless stroking of my tail, each firm stroke sending another surge of molten heat racing straight between my thighs. I felt myself rapidly losing control.

And then, with a final teasing squeeze of my tail, Morgana pushed me over the edge. Pure ecstasy exploded violently within me, my entire body spasming uncontrollably as an intense orgasm tore through me without warning.

"Fuck—!" I gasped raggedly, breaking our heated kiss as my head fell limply against her shoulder. My legs shook, knees almost buckling beneath me as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through my body, leaving me dazed and breathless.

Morgana chuckled softly, holding me firmly against her chest until my trembling finally began to subside. Once my heart rate slowed slightly, she released my tail gently, letting her hand rest comfortably on my lower back instead.

"Are you calm now, my beautiful apprentice?" Morgana whispered into my ear teasingly, her voice low and husky. "Or do you need another...reminder?"

I slowly lifted my head, gazing up at her with flushed cheeks, panting softly. "I'm—I'm fine now, Morgana," I stammered breathlessly, embarrassment and satisfaction warring within me. "But damn, Mistress...a little warning next time?"

Morgana smirked knowingly, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "A warning?" she repeated playfully, shaking her head slowly. "No, I don't think so, my dear. You needed that."

"Needed it?" I echoed, slightly confused.

She sighed softly, becoming suddenly serious as she cupped my face gently with one hand, making me look directly into her eyes. "Yes, Amara. I know you felt incredible rage toward this Moody. Your anger was justified. But you cannot lose yourself entirely to your demonic side. You became much more sadistic than I'd expected. It's crucial to keep control of yourself, even in moments of fury."

I bit my lower lip nervously, remembering vividly how I'd brutally slaughtered those young Aurors. "I—I suppose you're right, Mistress," I admitted reluctantly, feeling strangely guilty. "I didn't realize just how far gone I was. I completely lost myself in my rage and my power."

Morgana stroked my cheek soothingly with her thumb, her expression softening slightly. "I understand, my sweet apprentice. And trust me, your fierce passion is exactly what makes you so incredibly powerful and appealing. But control is equally important. If you become completely consumed by fury, you'll eventually make a mistake. And that mistake could cost us everything we've worked for up to this point. Revenge is meaningless if you die in the pursuit of it…"

I nodded slowly, understanding the seriousness of her words. "You're right," I whispered softly. "I won't let it happen again. I'll learn to harness and control my anger better, I promise."

Although, I wasn’t sure how possible that was considering my anger was a drawback from my System itself. It was almost built into my very soul.

"Good girl," Morgana praised gently, brushing a soft, affectionate kiss against my forehead. "And remember, whenever your anger threatens to consume you...I'll always be right here to help calm you down again."

I smiled warmly at her comforting promise, feeling reassured. "Thank you, Mistress."

Morgana chuckled softly, giving me another playful, teasing squeeze on my tail. "Of course, my dear," she murmured sensually. "Now, are you ready to deal with these two pathetic fools?"

“I thought you’d never ask…” I replied.

Morgana ripped the gag violently from Moody's scarred, ugly face, causing his head to jerk forward roughly from the force of her tug. The bound wizard immediately began coughing and sputtering loudly. His breath wheezed and rasped, struggling for air as he glared upwards with visible contempt burning in his mismatched eyes. "You filthy dark witches make me sick!" Moody snarled venomously. "Only twisted, fucked-up daughters of Voldemort himself would be involved in a disgusting, incestuous relationship like the two of you clearly are!"

I raised an eyebrow incredulously, exchanging a quick glance with Morgana. Neither of us bothered correcting Moody's wildly incorrect assumption about us supposedly being twin sisters. He could think whatever shit he wanted.

"Amara, my darling apprentice," she began, her voice low, calm, and filled with anticipation, "I believe the time has finally come for me to properly instruct you on the art of torturing someone for information."

Moody immediately barked out a bitter, hateful laugh. "Ha! Do your worst, you twisted witch. I've faced far more skilled torturers than you over the years. Even the Cruciatus Curse itself is nothing but a bloody tickle to me at this point! I'll never break. You'll get nothing out of Alastor Moody."

"Oh, you poor, arrogant fool," she murmured softly, almost pityingly, as she reached out and placed her fingertips gently beneath his chin. "The Cruciatus Curse? That boring, predictable, tedious spell is your reference point for pain and torture?" She laughed mockingly again, shaking her head slowly. "Honestly, it's so pathetic how limited your imagination is. That curse is a tool for lazy, inexperienced children."

Moody's bravado faltered slightly beneath Morgana's mocking words. A flicker of uncertainty passed briefly through his mismatched eyes before he swiftly masked it again behind a façade of hatred and determination. "You won't intimidate me, witch," he growled stubbornly. "Do whatever the hell you want to my body—I'll never betray my secrets or my allies!"

"We shall see..."

– Kara Zor-El –

The sun’s rays beat down warmly on Kara’s bruised, sore body as she soared back toward Metropolis. She still ached everywhere from that relentless beating Amazo had dealt her back in Star City. The cuts and bruises adorning her toned limbs and smooth skin were already visibly healing thanks to the sunlight. Kryptonian physiology was one hell of an advantage.

But she wasn't flying anywhere near her top speed, which left her feeling impatient and frustrated. Behind her, Raven was trailing along through the air, effortlessly supported by that eerie cloak of shadows she always used. Nightwing was tucked carefully beneath Raven’s arm, awkwardly gripping her tightly as they flew. 

Kara sighed softly, glancing back impatiently once again, waiting for them to catch up.

It wasn’t Raven’s fault that they were moving slowly. The empathic young woman had already helped tremendously back in Star City, after all. Kara knew she shouldn’t complain. Still, the wait gave her far too much time to think about the surreal, infuriatingly complicated situation she found herself in now.

Amara Black.

The name was practically branded into Kara’s brain now, tormenting her. The first beautiful, charming, charismatic woman she’d met on Earth just had to turn out to be the apprentice of Morgana le Fay. The same Morgana whose deranged son Mordred had nearly destroyed Metropolis mere months earlier. 

Now Morgana had a new apprentice to replace her dead son. And of course, of all the fucking humans on this stupid blue planet, it just had to be the stunningly beautiful, flirty girl Kara had impulsively gone on a date with mere hours earlier. 

“Fuck,” Kara muttered to herself bitterly, shaking her head in disbelief. “My life back on Krypton was never even close to this fucked-up and complicated.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the skies directly above Metropolis. Kara immediately halted in midair, hovering impatiently as she waited for Raven to catch up again.

Raven smoothly extended one hand outward, conjuring a wide platform of solid darkness that appeared beneath their feet. Kara slowly landed upon it, sighing gratefully as she stretched out her tense muscles. She folded her arms tightly beneath her chest, trying to calm her frayed nerves as she glanced expectantly toward Raven and Nightwing.

“So,” Kara began irritably, frustration clear in her tone, “where the hell do you two think we should even start looking for Amara? Metropolis is huge, and I honestly don’t even know where to begin.” She exhaled sharply, voice laced with bitter self-reproach. “God, I can’t believe I got fooled like this. How was I supposed to know my cute date was literally a sadistic magical villainess?”

Nightwing rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, appearing sympathetic rather than amused by Kara’s plight. “Don’t beat yourself up, Kara,” he offered gently. “Amara is…. She’s dangerously charismatic. But I still have hope that she can be redeemed!”

“It will be difficult, but I believe with the connection she and I share, that I can lead her away from the darkness,” Raven said almost right after. Raven and Nightwing then exchanged almost competitive looks for some reason before they both turned and stared at Kara. 

As if they were waiting for her to say something similar?

Kara stared silently at Nightwing and Raven for a few awkward seconds, slowly piecing together a realization from the strange, tense expressions etched across their faces. 

Were they… blushing?

Oh, for fuck’s sake… Kara thought irritably, biting back an exasperated sigh. It suddenly clicked. These two superheroes—were blushing like teenagers. They clearly both had crushes on Amara, too.

Great. Just fucking perfect. Not only had Kara herself impulsively flirted with the gorgeous, green-eyed woman mere hours ago—now it seemed the alluring apprentice of Morgana Le Fay had effortlessly entranced Raven and Nightwing, too. 

Exactly how many of Earth’s superheroes had the beautiful villainess managed to charm already?

“Okay, look,” Kara finally said, shaking off her annoyance. She rubbed the back of her neck anxiously, frustration dripping from her voice. “I’m going to forget about the awkward revelation I just had, for now. We need to find Amara before anything else. The problem is, this city’s huge. Where do we even begin looking?”

Nightwing sighed. “You’re right, Kara. This isn’t the time to argue or get distracted.” He turned toward Raven. “Raven, can you sense anything? Maybe pick up Amara’s magic somehow?”

Raven took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, her eyes flashed for a moment. “Actually, yes. I can feel a strong concentration of dark magic nearby—over in that direction,” she answered, pointing toward downtown Metropolis. “It’s potent enough that it must’ve happened very recently.”

“Then that’s our best lead,” Kara agreed impatiently. “Take us there, Raven.”

The shadowy platform beneath their feet moved swiftly across the skyline. Within moments, they were hovering directly above a large office building.

The entire front wall and entrance doors of the building were smashed open, shattered chunks of debris scattered across the pavement. Even from here, Kara’s heightened senses picked up the strong, coppery stench of blood.

“I smell a lot of blood down there. This is going to be bad.”

Raven slowly lowered their platform, allowing the three heroes to land gently on the street outside the wrecked office building. They cautiously approached the ruined entrance together, stepping carefully over broken rubble and shattered glass littering the ground.

As they stepped inside, Kara immediately felt bile rising in her throat at the horrific sight before them.

“Fuck…” Nightwing whispered hoarsely, staring wide-eyed at the devastation around them.

Kara clenched her jaw tightly, fists balling at her sides as she took in the horrific carnage. Bodies lay everywhere, twisted and charred beyond recognition. Many had obviously been burned alive, their blackened limbs curled grotesquely, still smoking faintly. Blood pooled thickly across the marble floors, smeared crimson footprints showing where panicked victims had tried and failed to escape.

“Amara did all this?” Kara whispered incredulously, voice shaking with disbelief. She felt sickened to her core. How could the beautiful woman who’d smiled so charmingly at her just hours ago cause such ruthless devastation? It didn’t seem possible. “Are you sure it was her?”

“Trust me,” Raven said quietly, kneeling down and placing a gentle palm over one of the burned bodies. She grimaced as her eyes glowed faintly, her brow furrowing in concentration. “There’s no doubt. I can sense the dark fire magic here clearly. Exactly like Amara’s signature energy when we encountered her before. Morgana’s aura is also unmistakable.”

Nightwing moved cautiously through the wreckage, scanning their surroundings intently. “So Amara was definitely here with Morgana,” he murmured, still processing the scene. He stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing as he noticed a large, partially burned banner hanging from one wall. “‘Magical Congress of the United States of America’? What the hell? Have either of you ever heard of such a thing?”

Raven shook her head slowly, eyes wide with surprise. “No, I’ve never come across that name before in any of my readings. I had no idea something like this even existed.”

Kara shook her head too, equally confused. “Me neither. Sounds like some secret government thing, obviously magical in nature. But why would Amara and Morgana target it?”

Nightwing quickly moved over to a nearby computer terminal, surprisingly intact amid the carnage. Pulling out a small device from his utility belt, he began rapidly hacking into the machine. His gloved fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, breaking through passwords and encryptions effortlessly.

After a tense moment, Nightwing stopped typing, staring at the computer screen with visible shock. “Holy shit,” he whispered, face going pale. He swallowed hard, visibly shaken.

“What? What is it?” Kara demanded urgently, moving quickly to stand beside him. “Nightwing, tell us!”

He exhaled heavily, looking up at Kara and Raven with an expression of grim disbelief. “You’re not gonna fucking believe this—but it looks like this place really was some kind of secret magical government organization. Like an Illuminati for witches and wizards or something. And they weren’t exactly benevolent. ”

Raven stepped forward nervously. “What were they doing?”

Nightwing shook his head slowly, visibly disturbed. “According to their internal documents, this MACUSA group wanted complete control over the entire magical population, enforced through extreme measures. Anyone who resisted their authority would be executed. They had lists—long, detailed lists—of civilians slated for imprisonment or death.”

“What the fuck…” Kara breathed.

“It gets even worse,” Nightwing continued darkly. “MACUSA had also identified regular, non-magical humans who discovered magic—including most of us in the Justice League. They had every one of our secret identities documented here, listed as targets for immediate assassination. They were literally planning to murder superheroes and normal people alike to maintain their secrecy and control.”

“Oh my god,” Raven whispered shakily, looking horrified.

Kara stared at the carnage around them with a new understanding dawning in her mind. She voiced the question none of them wanted to consider. “So wait—if all these people were actually dangerous, genocidal assholes, does that mean Amara and Morgana actually did the right thing by killing them all?”

Obviously, her cousin would NOT approve. 

Growing up on a more rigid Krypton, Kara was more used to evil criminals being executed or sentenced to the phantom zone.

– Amara –

Gotham and Metropolis were neighboring cities, so it wasn't a long drive between the two places. Morgana compelled some random limo driver into chauffeuring us back home. 

It was about a two-hour drive, and I spent most of that time pampering Daphne and Astoria shamelessly.

Both of the gorgeous Greengrass sisters sat comfortably beside me in the spacious limo—Daphne on my left, Astoria cuddled close against my right. I lavished praise upon them, stroking their egos as much as their luscious bodies. Honestly, they deserved every bit of my affection tonight. After all, despite never killing anyone before—aside from Daphne's earlier case of self-defense when I first rescued them—they'd done an impressively ruthless job dealing with the MACUSA agents who'd tried to escape the slaughter.

They didn’t let a single person escape the building while Morgana and I were having our “fun.”

"You two were fucking incredible tonight," I purred softly, running my fingertips gently up and down Daphne's smooth thigh, feeling her tremble slightly under my touch. "Honestly, Morgana and I couldn't have asked for better witches watching our backs."

Daphne smiled, her cheeks flushed attractively pink from the combination of my praise and the lingering adrenaline of battle. She shifted closer, her warm breath teasing across my ear as she whispered softly, "You really mean that, Amara? We weren't sure how you'd react. Astoria was nervous we'd disappoint you and Lady Morgana."

Astoria's head popped up immediately from where she'd rested it on my shoulder, eyes wide with adorable indignation. "Daphne!" she protested, cheeks heating as she shot her sister an embarrassed glare. "You weren't supposed to tell her that!"

I chuckled, pressing a soft, soothing kiss against Astoria's forehead, feeling her instantly melt into my affection. "You silly girls," I teased gently, my voice low and intimate. "You're part of our coven. Morgana and I trust you implicitly. And after tonight, it's clear we've made the right choice bringing you both into this life."

Their bright smiles told me I'd said exactly what they'd needed to hear. My lips found their way next to Astoria's neck, gently sucking and biting the soft skin there until I left behind a deep red mark—a visible reminder of how proud I was. She whimpered softly, leaning into my touch.

Not to be outdone, Daphne cleared her throat lightly, tilting her head to expose the elegant, pale curve of her own throat. "Don't forget about me," she murmured playfully, eyes heavy-lidded and filled with anticipation.

"As if I ever could," I teased right back, leaning over to trail sensual kisses along Daphne's neck, adding yet another possessive mark to match her sister's. By the time the limo finally slowed to a stop, both Greengrass sisters wore multiple, prominent hickeys along their slender throats.

Morgana chuckled indulgently from her spot across from us. "Such eager, lovely girls," she said lightly. "Amara, my dear apprentice, you'll need to finish rewarding them properly once we're safely back home. For now, we have a bit of business to conclude."

"Of course, Mistress," I agreed immediately, reluctantly untangling myself from the Greengrass sisters and giving them each a final gentle kiss. "You two stay put. Morgana and I shouldn't take long."

We stepped out of the limo together into the dirty night air of Gotham. We moved to the back of the vehicle, popping open the trunk. 

The MACUSA president, Alexander Myers, lay tightly bound and gagged in the trunk, his eyes wide with horror. Of course, that might've had something to do with his traveling companion. Moody's severed head was nestled casually right beside him, staring blankly up at the terrified president through lifeless, mismatched eyes.

"Comfortable ride, Mr. President?" I mocked, smirking cruelly at his horrified reaction. "I do hope our friend Moody didn't make for overly unpleasant company. Though to be fair, you and he seemed pretty close back at MACUSA headquarters."

Myers made frantic, muffled protests through the gag, squirming uselessly against the magical ropes binding him tightly. I laughed softly, flicking my wand casually in his direction, easily levitating his trembling body out of the trunk to hover helplessly before us.

Morgana chuckled darkly, shutting the trunk once more and gesturing toward the discreetly hidden entrance of the Court of Owls' secret safehouse just across the street. "Come along, Mr. President," she said mockingly. "Our employers are eager to see you."

Together, we entered, ready to deliver our prisoner and collect the payment we rightfully deserved.

Congratulations on successfully bringing down your first government body! Even if it was a very small one that consisted of a few dozen people and a single building!

You have been awarded a [Familiar Egg!] Whatever magical creature closest matches you will eventually hatch from the egg, and be soul bound to you as well. Upon death it will always revive as long as you are still alive. The egg will incubate in your inventory until it's ready to hatch!

I smiled at the notification before dismissing it. Getting a familiar sounded fun, as long as it wasn’t a penguin… Just because I could speak with them did not make us compatible!

It sort of does… But it won’t be a penguin. Probably.

“Is something wrong, Amara? You’re pouting at the… air?” Morgana asked me while glancing around, probably wondering what I was looking at.

I quickly shook my head and told her it was nothing.

…

We were finally back home at our luxurious warehouse—the one Morgana and I had forcibly liberated from the Penguin. 

Right now, we were both lounging comfortably on the large leather couch. I sighed contentedly, stretching out my freshly-showered legs and letting my body sink into the soft cushions. 

"Feeling better now, my darling apprentice?" Morgana asked gently, her soft voice breaking the comfortable silence between us. She reached out casually, letting her hand trail along my bare thigh beneath the silk robe I wore.

I tilted my head lazily toward her, giving her a small, satisfied nod. "Much calmer," I replied quietly, sighing softly as her fingertips traced lazy, teasing circles over my skin. 

Honestly, I'm amazed at how quickly that [Simmering Fury] subsided.

I'd have happily killed that scarred old bastard for free if I knew Dumbledore’s friend was going to be there. "...But getting paid fifty million dollars by the Court of Owls for doing exactly that—now that was just a beautiful bonus."

She laughed softly again as she stroked my thigh soothingly. "Yes, the Court was rather generous. They were clearly pleased by our efficient handling of MACUSA. I expect they'll be requesting our assistance again in the future when they need people to become dead..."

I let out a sigh, shifting slightly closer to her on the couch until my head rested comfortably against her shoulder. "Did you arrange that special delivery as we discussed?"

Morgana's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Of course," she purred smugly. "His severed head is already securely packaged and en route across the ocean to Scotland as we speak. By tomorrow morning, Headmaster Dumbledore will receive a rather... memorable parcel."

I smiled slowly, unable to suppress a pleased chuckle. "God, I almost wish I could see the look on that sanctimonious old bastard’s face when he opens the box," I muttered darkly. "I bet he'll be positively horrified."

"Undoubtedly," Morgana agreed calmly, clearly enjoying the thought as well. She squeezed my thigh gently, pulling my attention back to her and away from vengeful fantasies. "But enough about Dumbledore for now, my sweet. Our delightful Greengrass sisters seem to be keeping us waiting tonight."

I glanced toward the stairs, noticing their absence. "True," I agreed idly, feeling a slight pang of impatience. "They're certainly taking their time up there getting cleaned up. Neither of them were even covered in blood like we were…"

We fell silent again, simply relaxing together on the comfortable couch as we waited. After several long minutes, the sound of footsteps finally echoed softly down the staircase. 

And then, Daphne and Astoria appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Holy shit..." I whispered breathlessly, eyes widening as I drank in the mesmerizing sight before me.

Daphne and Astoria Greengrass—two stunningly beautiful blonde sisters—stood side by side, staring boldly down at us. Both wore skimpy white lingerie that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The delicate, transparent fabric hugged their slender bodies perfectly, emphasizing every mouth-watering curve. Daphne's ample breasts pressed invitingly against the sheer lace of her bra, her pale skin glowing softly beneath the lights. Astoria’s smaller but equally alluring figure looked equally irresistible, her petite body accentuated enticingly by her own revealing outfit. Their long, toned legs were bare and smooth, clearly on display for our gazes.

I swallowed audibly, unable to tear my eyes away from them. My pulse thundered violently inside my chest, heat pooling between my thighs.

"Well, well," Morgana purred appreciatively beside me, sounding equally affected by their sultry appearance. "It seems our beautiful new coven members are finally finished keeping us waiting."

Astoria smiled shyly, her cheeks flushed faintly pink beneath our combined lustful stares. But it was Daphne who spoke first, voice low and sultry, filled with impatience.

"You promised to reward us properly tonight, Amara. And we have no intention of waiting any longer." Daphne announced boldly…

Astoria nodded quickly, biting her lower lip nervously even as she boldly approached me. "You said we were incredible earlier," she murmured softly, gazing shyly into my eyes. "We thought we deserved something special tonight."

My breath hitched sharply in my throat as the sisters stopped directly before the couch, practically within touching distance. Their intoxicating presence overwhelmed me completely, my entire body suddenly feeling flushed and unbearably aroused.

"You absolutely do," I managed to reply hoarsely, heart racing wildly. "Fuck, you both look incredible tonight."

"Then perhaps," Daphne purred seductively, reaching down slowly and untying the silk sash holding my robe closed, "you'll finally stop wasting time and show us exactly how much you appreciate us."

– Lily –

The atmosphere in the Potter household had become unbearably tense ever since her husband James and their son James Junior were hit with the curse of impotence. Lily felt like she was living in a house constantly filled with simmering rage. Every conversation felt like walking on eggshells, every silence weighed heavy with resentment.

Her sex life with James was officially dead and buried. Ever since the curse took effect, they'd attempted intimacy a handful of times, but James couldn't get himself hard even once. They had finally stopped trying altogether, leaving them both sexually frustrated and irritable. Her husband was angry all the time now. He sulked around the house, snapping at everyone and everything. She missed how he used to be—before all of this happened, when he was charming, funny, and confident.

But James wasn't the only one dealing badly with the curse. James Junior was just as angry, just as miserable. He spent most of his time locked away in his bedroom, refusing to talk or even look his parents in the eye. Lily knew exactly why her son had become so withdrawn. His girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, had broken up with him recently. The poor girl had snuck into James Junior’s bedroom earlier that summer. Ginny had apparently decided that she was ready to lose her virginity to him. But when James Junior couldn’t get it up, no matter how much Ginny tried to get him hard, she had gotten frustrated and humiliated. And right after that embarrassing night, she promptly dumped him.

James Junior hadn’t exactly been quiet about how bitter he was over the whole thing. Just a few nights ago, Lily had stood quietly outside his door, hearing him angrily venting on the phone to one of his friends.

“That stupid bitch was supposed to belong to me! What’s the point of being friends with a poor loser like Ron if I didn’t even get to shag his hot sister out of it!” he had shouted bitterly, clearly not caring if anyone else in the house overheard. “Do you know how long I waited for Ginny to let me fuck her? Months, man! And the one goddamn night she actually sneaks into my bed, naked, ready to spread her legs and finally give it up, I couldn’t even get my dick hard. Can you imagine anything more humiliating than that shit? And then Ginny tells me I’m useless and dumps me right after. Fuck her!”

Lily had quickly left after hearing that, feeling ashamed at overhearing such intimate, angry details from her son's failed sex life. But she understood his frustration completely. James Junior was young and proud, and being cursed with impotence had to be humiliating beyond belief, especially at his age of 19. 

Standing alone now in the empty kitchen, Lily sighed deeply, staring out the window without really seeing anything. Where had it all gone so wrong? But even as she asked herself the question, Lily knew deep down she already had the answer. Everything had started going to shit the day she willingly agreed with James to abandon their own daughter eighteen years ago. She had tried convincing herself for years that she’d done the right thing, that abandoning the child was necessary, even justified.

All because of that damn prophecy Dumbledore had told them…

But Lily knew the truth now. Their family had always been broken, ever since that day. It had been damaged right from the start. It had just taken this curse, this humiliating sexual dysfunction that affected both her husband and son, to finally open Lily’s eyes and force her to face reality. They were cursed in more ways than one—and it had taken nearly two decades for Lily to finally realize it.

Her mind drifted back to the tense, uncomfortable conversation she'd endured with her husband James the night before.

James had sat slumped on the couch, his face tight and angry, nursing yet another glass of firewhiskey. His words had been blunt, harsh, and brutally honest. He’d been drinking more lately, frustrated by his inability to perform sexually since they'd both been struck with that damn impotence curse. Lily had hesitated to even broach the subject, knowing James' pride was already fragile enough. But eventually, the inevitable topic of heirs had come up—and James had finally snapped.

“You realize we’re utterly fucked, don’t you, Lily?” he'd snarled, turning sharply to face her with his eyes dark and bitter. “Unless some miracle healer suddenly fixes my dick, and our useless son’s dick too, the Potter family bloodline dies with us. After all we’ve been through to uphold the family name, it’s going to fucking end because neither of us can get it up.”

Lily had winced at his words, her cheeks flushed hotly at the humiliating reality of their situation. But as uncomfortable as the conversation had been, James was right. She’d quietly murmured back, barely above a whisper, “James… what if there isn’t a cure for this curse? What if there’s no healer in the world who can undo it? Have you thought about what that means?”

James had laughed darkly, throwing back the rest of his drink and pouring another immediately afterward. “Of course I’ve fucking thought about it, Lily. It means we're done. It means no more Potters after us.” He'd sneered bitterly, shaking his head. “Unless, of course, you have another brilliant solution you're keeping from me.”

She'd swallowed nervously, trying to work up the courage to voice the idea that had been haunting her thoughts for weeks. Finally, she'd taken a deep breath and said quietly, “James… there is one other person with Potter blood. Someone who might be able to keep our family line alive.”

James had stared blankly at her for a moment, before comprehension and anger flooded his face. “Heather?” he'd spat the name out like a curse, his voice dripping with disgust. “You’re seriously suggesting we crawl back to that worthless squib who is destined to damn our family? Fuck, Lily—I'd sooner watch the Potter name die out completely than rely on her.”

Lily had known he'd react badly. But she'd still felt compelled to try reasoning with him. “James, please, think about it logically,” she'd pleaded softly. “Heather is our blood. She might be unaffected by the curse, because she's a squib. She could still bear children. If she has a child—a magical child—that child would carry on our family legacy.”

James had scoffed loudly, shaking his head as he took another long pull from his drink. But after a tense silence, he'd narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. The tone in his voice had shifted, becoming colder and calculating. “Fine, Lily. Let's say I entertain this idea for a moment. So, what? We just beg Heather to have children for us? That pathetic little squib we abandoned like trash?” Lily had flinched again at his cruelty, but before she'd answered, James had continued, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice into something darkly amused and mocking. “Though, I suppose even a pathetic girl like Heather could at least spread her legs for the good of the family. She doesn't have to be magical to pop out a useful heir or two, does she?”

Lily had remained quiet, knowing how pointless it would be to argue against his crassness.

“Come to think of it,” he'd mused aloud, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass thoughtfully, “if she's managed to hold onto her virginity all these years, we might as well make some profit from it. Squib or not, the Potter bloodline should be worth a pretty penny to the right buyer. Selling Heather's virginity to the highest bidder could at least put some gold in our vault. Something good might actually come from her useless existence.”

Lily had simply stared at her husband, appalled and speechless for a moment. She'd wanted to argue against it, but the sickening truth was that part of her—the pragmatic, desperate part—recognized that he might be right. They had been hurting for money for a while now after James had lent so much to Dumbledore and the order. They didn’t regret it, but the James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, books weren’t making their family as much royalties after all these years.

Now, standing alone in the kitchen, Lily forced herself out of her thoughts and looked back down at the carefully written letter. The words she’d penned on the parchment were gentle, deeply apologetic, and she hoped they came off as sincere. 

She’d spent hours crafting every sentence, carefully expressing regret for abandoning Heather all those years ago. The letter begged Heather to return home and allow them the chance to make amends—to start fresh and reconnect as a family. Of course, Lily left out the other plans she and James had for their daughter.

As much as she wished things were different, Heather was their only option left.

With a quiet sigh, Lily straightened her back and called out clearly, “Flipsy?”

A small pop echoed in the silent kitchen, and their house elf Flipsy appeared instantly before her. The elf looked up at Lily, bowing her head respectfully. “Yes, Mistress Lily? How may Flipsy serve?”

Lily held out the sealed letter with steady fingers. “I need you to deliver this letter directly into the hands of Heather Potter. Can you do that, Flipsy?”

The house elf’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, clearly startled at hearing the long-forgotten name of the Potter daughter. But she quickly bowed again, accepting the letter without question. “Of course, Mistress Lily. Flipsy will deliver it immediately!”

“Good, very good…” Lily said. Lily then watched impatiently as her house elf, Flipsy, stood frozen in place. The little elf’s huge eyes widened dramatically as if something were seriously wrong. 

Flipsy stared down at the letter in his tiny hands, visibly trembling with distress. 

"What is it now, Flipsy?" Lily snapped irritably, feeling her frustration quickly rising. She had enough problems on her plate without needing to deal with the elf having another panic attack. "I gave you very simple instructions. Just go deliver that letter directly into my daughter's hands—how difficult can that possibly be?"

The elf's long ears drooped miserably as he looked up at Lily, clearly anxious. "Mistress Lily, Flipsy is terribly sorry, but Flipsy cannot find Heather Potter anywhere!" he blurted out nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot in agitation.

A sharp bolt of panic jolted through Lily’s chest. "What are you talking about, Flipsy? Are you saying you can't sense my daughter at all?" Her voice tightened with sudden fear. "Has something happened to Heather?"

The elf quickly shook his head, looking even more distressed at Lily’s panicked reaction. "Oh no, Mistress Lily! Flipsy does sense your daughter—as she is connected to you’s! Flipsy just cannot locate anyone by the name of Heather Potter, specifically!" The elf twisted his thin hands nervously, eyes darting anxiously around the kitchen.

Lily immediately released a heavy sigh of relief, the intense pressure easing from her chest. For a horrible moment, she'd thought something truly terrible had happened—that Heather might be dead. Realizing it was simply a misunderstanding instantly calmed her nerves. She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled deeply to compose herself again.

"You silly elf," Lily said sharply, annoyance replacing her earlier fear. "If you sense my daughter’s magical presence clearly, then obviously you can sense Heather Potter. You’re probably just having trouble sensing her properly because she’s a squib!"

The elf quickly nodded, relief evident on his tiny face. "Yes, Mistress Lily! Flipsy understands perfectly now. Flipsy apologizes deeply for confusing Mistress!" He gave her a quick, eager bow, clutching the letter protectively in both hands.

"Good," Lily replied firmly, her tone cold and commanding. "Now hurry up, Flipsy. Do not delay any longer. It’s crucial that my daughter receives that letter immediately. And make absolutely certain you place it directly into her hands yourself—no mistakes."

XXX

Chapter Text

This chapter has some R-18

Chapter 10:

– Lucifer –

The Lux was packed as it was every night.

Lucifer Morningstar watched the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke and pulsing neon lights. His club, The Lux, throbbed with the sound of music and laughter, the air thick with human desires—lust, greed, hunger for escape. The mortals on the dance floor seemed determined to lose themselves tonight, just as they always did. The bar was surrounded by hopeful sinners, their voices rising and falling like a tide. Lucifer took a slow sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn, letting the chaos of the club settle pleasantly around him like a familiar blanket.

He lounged in his private booth near the back, shielded from the crowd by heavy velvet curtains and the aura of his presence. Across the small marble table sat Mazikeen, his most loyal demon and the only companion he truly trusted. 

Maze had finally returned from her suspiciously long visit to Gotham. And it seemed she brought back some emotional baggage.

How fun…

Pressed tightly to her side was a human girl with long black hair. The girl was young, probably in her early twenties, and wore a tight red dress that barely covered her thighs. Maze had pulled the neckline down so far that the girl's breasts were almost entirely exposed. One of Maze's hands was curled around a full, soft breast, squeezing it idly, her thumb circling the nipple until the girl shivered and gasped softly.

Lucifer watched the scene with a faint smile. This was nothing unusual—Maze had always found pleasure in the sins of the flesh, and she enjoyed indulging every one of her appetites. 

Still, as the minutes passed, Lucifer noticed something odd. 

Maze’s expression barely changed, even as her hand slipped lower, fingers trailing over the girl's flat stomach, beneath the dress and between her thighs. The human arched into Maze’s touch, whimpering as Maze worked her fingers expertly inside her. Her orgasm came quickly—her back arching, hips bucking, hands clutching desperately at Maze’s shoulders as she moaned aloud, not caring who might hear. In the past, Maze would have looked utterly satisfied.

But not tonight.

Maze stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocused. She looked bored. When the girl finally came down from her high, she snuggled closer, trying to press a kiss to Maze’s cheek. Instead, Maze just muttered, “It’s not the same.” There was frustration in her voice—a kind of hollowness that Lucifer rarely heard.

The girl, confused and still panting, frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, trying to touch Maze’s jaw. “Did I do something wrong?”

Maze barely glanced at her, her face cold. “You are nothing like Amara,” she said. She pulled her hand away and reached for her glass, taking a long drink without looking at the girl. 

The human hesitated, embarrassment flashing across her face. “Who’s Amara?” she asked, her voice small.

Maze shot her a look that was sharp as a knife. “None of your business. Now get out. I’m bored of you.” The words were flat, not cruel—just matter-of-fact. Maze’s attention had already wandered.

The girl’s mouth fell open in hurt and disbelief, but she saw the finality in Maze’s eyes. She quickly fixed her dress, stood up, and hurried out of the booth, her heels clicking across the tile as she disappeared into the crowd.

Lucifer smirked as he watched the girl retreat. He set his glass down and leaned back, studying Maze with interest. “My, my, Mazikeen. I do believe you’ve just set a new record for sending a lover away so quickly.” He raised an eyebrow, his voice low and teasing. “She seemed quite willing to keep you company tonight. I’ve never seen you so… touchy before. Or so hard to please.”

Maze glared at him, her mouth twisting in a scowl. “Don’t start with me, Lucifer. That girl wasn’t even close to what I wanted.” She stared down at her own hands, as if remembering Amara’s skin. “I told you before. That little succubus was something else. Teasing her was—” Maze cut herself off, shaking her head in frustration.

Lucifer noticed the edge in Maze’s eyes as she finished her drink, still clearly preoccupied with thoughts of Amara. He decided to needle her a little, if only for his own amusement. He lounged back against the velvet cushions.

“Now you’re just trying to make me jealous,” Lucifer drawled, his gaze flicking from Maze to the lingering crowd and back. “A new demon is born on Earth, and not just any demon—a succubus, of all things. Yet somehow, I’m not even allowed to say hello. Not a single friendly handshake, not a proper introduction, nothing at all.” He shook his head, sighing in melodramatic frustration. “All because, that annoying goth girl Didi, keeps telling me no, as if I’m some sort of irresponsible child who can’t be trusted with the new toys.”

Although, at this very moment, he knew that Didi was currently distracted having to hide that annoying equation—because that foolish alien god Darkside almost found it. Lucifer was pretty sure she was going to hide it past the Source Wall this time so the New God would never be able to attain it. That meant she’d be busy for the next few hours!

He let the words hang in the air between them, observing Maze’s subtle reactions. For a moment, he caught something almost vulnerable in her posture—a certain tension in her shoulders, a defensive set to her jaw. 

That, more than anything, told him just how much Maze cared about this succubus.

Lucifer straightened, the pout vanishing as he leaned forward, voice lowering a bit. “But you know me, Maze. If there’s anything the last few thousand years have proven, it’s that I don’t give up easily. Determination is practically written into my bones. The Bible may have gotten a lot wrong, but it certainly captured that about me.” He paused, letting his words sink in before offering her a sly, self-satisfied smirk. “As it happens, I’ve already thought of a small scheme to lure our lovely new succubus here to Los Angeles.”

Maze shifted in her seat, her eyes sharpening at the prospect. Her response was immediate, more fierce than he’d expected. “Don’t you dare, Lucifer,” she warned, her voice carrying an edge that could cut glass. “Whatever you’re planning, leave Amara out of it. Don’t hurt her. I mean it.” Her fingers clenched the edge of the marble table, knuckles whitening with unspoken tension.

Lucifer blinked, momentarily surprised by the intensity of her reaction. Maze had always been possessive and loyal, but that protectiveness was usually reserved for him and only him. Seeing her extend it to someone else—especially someone she’d only just met—was new, and a little fascinating.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture, shaking his head. “Maze, please. You know me better than that. I have no intention of harming your precious Amara. That’s not what this is about.” He paused, sincerity threading his usually flippant tone. “I’m just… curious. That’s all. She sounds utterly fascinating—this latest damned soul to join our ranks. I simply want to meet her. To look her in the eye, see what makes her tick, maybe even find out what it is about her that has you so completely head over heels.” He grinned, letting his teasing return. “And let’s be honest, Maze, you’ve never lost your head over anyone quite like this before.”

Maze’s glare softened a fraction, but she remained wary. “You’d better not be lying to me, Lucifer. I’m serious.”

Lucifer spread his arms wide, feigning wounded innocence. “Cross my non-existent heart, Maze. No harm will come to your succubus. I just want to share a drink, a conversation—see for myself what all the fuss is about. Maybe ask her a few questions… And a small test,” he slipped in at the end, speaking so soft she didn’t hear that last part. The devil was not a liar, but if she didn’t hear him, then that didn’t make him one.

Maze seemed to study him for a moment, weighing his words, before she relented with a reluctant nod. “Alright, then. I can admit, I would like to see her again. I wonder what she’s doing right now in Gotham?”

– Amara –

(R-18 start)

Daphne’s head was buried between my thighs, her tongue working me over with a kind of confident intensity that made it hard to keep my voice down. 

I let out a ragged, needy moan, my back arching against the tangled sheets beneath me. The silk pillows slid against my bare skin, cooling the sweat that was already starting to gather along my neck and chest. My fingers threaded into Daphne’s pale blonde hair, desperate for something to hold on to as her tongue circled my clit again and again.

I forced myself to look down, needing to see her—the beautiful, older Greengrass sister, still wearing that ridiculously sheer white lingerie. The lacy bra was pulled down beneath her perfect breasts, barely exposing pale skin and pink nipples that looked stiff with arousal. 

“God, Daphne,” I gasped, barely able to get the words out. My hips rocked up to meet her mouth. “How the hell are you so good at this? Have you—fuck, right there—have you done this before?”

Daphne answered with a muffled hum, her lips never leaving my slick folds. She didn’t stop. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her tongue pressing flat against me before she slid it slowly up, tracing every inch from my entrance to my clit, then lapping softly at the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top. Every time she flicked her tongue over me, a bolt of pleasure shot up through my core. My thighs trembled on either side of her face, the muscles flexing involuntarily. The world narrowed to her mouth, her hands gripping my hips to hold me in place, her hot breath washing over my pussy with every exhale.

I couldn’t help but talk, couldn’t help but let her know what she was doing to me. “Yes, just like that—don’t stop. Please, Daphne, don’t you fucking dare stop…”

Beside us, we could hear Astoria’s desperate moans. I turned my head and took in the sight—Astoria on all fours, her pale skin flushed, her back arched and her face buried in the pillows. 

Morgana was behind her, her hands spreading Astoria’s ass apart as she feasted hungrily on her pussy and her tight, puckered hole. The sight was obscene and beautiful—Morgana’s dark hair falling over her shoulders, her body gleaming with sweat as she licked and sucked at Astoria, drawing long, shuddering cries from the younger Greengrass sister.

Astoria’s voice rose above the thrum of blood in my ears, high and needy. “Lady Morgana, please—please, more! It’s so good, I can’t—oh, please, don’t stop, please—”

Morgana paused to answer her, her voice smooth and commanding, “You like that, Astoria? You like how my tongue feels inside you, how I play with your sweet little ass? You’re such a beautiful girl. You taste amazing and I’m not going to stop until you can’t remember your own name.”

Astoria shivered violently, her hands clutching at the sheets as Morgana’s tongue worked her relentlessly. I saw Morgana slip a finger between Astoria’s cheeks, slowly pressing it into her tight hole, making Astoria’s breath catch in her throat as she whimpered with delight.

The room was filled with wet, needy sounds—Morgana’s mouth moving on Astoria, Daphne’s tongue sliding over my clit, Astoria’s high moans, and the broken, desperate noises coming from my own lips. My whole body felt feverish, every inch of my skin alive with sensation.

Daphne increased the pace, her tongue flicking rapidly now, her lips sealed around my clit as she sucked hard, sending shocks of pleasure through my belly. I gasped, my thighs trembling violently as I felt the orgasm building, cresting like a wave ready to break.

I let go, giving myself over to the pleasure completely, my voice cracking as I cried out, “Yes—yes, Daphne, I’m going to—” I broke off, my back arching, thighs squeezing around her head as I came hard, my whole body shaking with the force of it. My vision blurred and my hearing filled with a low rushing sound as my climax tore through me, leaving me gasping and half-limp on the bed.

Daphne didn’t stop right away—she licked me slowly, softly, gathering every drop of my release, kissing my inner thighs as I trembled. She finally pulled herself up, her face flushed, lips swollen, her eyes shining with satisfaction as she crawled up my body to lie beside me. She kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on her tongue, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.

On the other side of the bed, Morgana was still working Astoria mercilessly. She’d slipped two fingers into Astoria’s pussy, pumping them steadily while her tongue swirled around the other girl’s ass. 

Astoria was almost incoherent, her cries broken and breathless, her body writhing desperately as she pressed back into Morgana’s mouth.

Morgana looked up for a moment, catching my gaze. Her lips were wet and shining, her eyes dark with desire. “Enjoying yourself, my sweet apprentice?” she asked, her voice thick with lust.

I managed a weak, breathless laugh. “Yes I am, Morgana. And so are these beautiful girls.”

She grinned, then turned back to Astoria, increasing the pace of her fingers and tongue. 

Astoria’s moans grew louder, more desperate, and then suddenly she convulsed, her whole body shaking as she came, crying out Morgana’s name in a long, helpless wail.

Morgana eased her through it, gently kissing Astoria’s thighs and lower back as she shuddered and gasped for air. When she was done, Morgana pulled her up and turned her over, gathering her into her arms and kissing her tenderly on the lips.

Astoria clung to her, still trembling, tears of pleasure streaming down her cheeks as she whispered, “Thank you, Lady Morgana, thank you—oh gods, that was—thank you…” 

I ran my hands over Daphne’s soft skin, savoring the warmth of her body beneath my palms. My fingers traced her arms and shoulders, feeling how she trembled with anticipation. 

Slowly, I brought my hands to the straps of her white lingerie, gently slipping them down her arms, exposing more and more of her pale skin. The delicate lace slid away, and I took my time admiring her figure. Her large, pale breasts spilled free, her nipples already stiff and flushed a beautiful shade of pink. I cupped one breast in my hand, kneading it gently, loving how it fit so perfectly in my grasp. 

Daphne gasped at my touch, her breath catching in her throat as I teased and rolled her nipple between my thumb and finger.

I leaned in, pressing a kiss to her breast, letting my tongue flick across her sensitive nipple. Daphne moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed, and I smiled against her skin, feeling a surge of satisfaction. She tasted faintly of sweat and skin and something uniquely her own, something that made me want more. I pressed a few more kisses along her chest and then began to trail lower, my lips gliding down her stomach, pausing to swirl my tongue at her navel.

As I moved lower, my hands slipped down Daphne’s soft stomach. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of her white thong and met her gaze, holding her eyes for a moment. I wanted her to feel every second of this. Slowly, I began to peel the thin fabric down her hips and over her thighs, exposing her completely. 

Like her sister Astoria, Daphne’s pussy was completely shaved, her lips smooth and pink, already glistening with arousal. The scent was sweet and intoxicating—my mouth watered at the thought of tasting her.

Daphne let out a playful yelp as I gave her a gentle push, urging her to lie back. She settled onto her back, looking up at me with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Her legs parted eagerly for me, exposing the soft, wet folds between her thighs. 

I couldn’t help but pause and take in the sight—her pussy was flushed and glistening, her arousal already dripping down the insides of her thighs.

I leaned forward, positioning myself between her open legs. The scent of her arousal hit me fully, and I inhaled deeply, letting it fill my senses. My hunger for her grew stronger. I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, kissing and licking my way closer, letting her feel my breath against her skin.

I looked up, catching Daphne’s gaze. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. “You’re beautiful,” I murmured, letting her see the desire in my face.

She smiled shyly, her hands trembling as she reached down and gently threaded her fingers through my hair. “I want you so much, Amara,” she whispered, her voice shaking with need. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

I grinned and obliged, leaning in and taking a long, slow lick up the full length of Daphne’s pussy. I dragged my tongue from her entrance all the way up to her clit, tasting her arousal, savoring how wet she was for me. She tasted salty and sweet, with a sharp tang that made me crave more. Daphne gasped, her hips jerking up toward my mouth as I licked her again, this time pressing my tongue deeper between her lips.

“Oh—oh, gods, Amara,” she moaned, her voice high and breathless. “That feels—fuck, that feels incredible.”

I circled her clit with my tongue, teasing it with light, slow strokes, then flicking it faster, enjoying how her body responded. Daphne’s thighs trembled on either side of my face, and she let out a string of desperate, pleading noises, her fingers tightening in my hair.

“Please, Amara,” she begged, her voice raw with need.

The bed shook slightly beneath us as Morgana shifted her position, scooting closer to Astoria once again. I watched as Morgana leaned in, brushing her lips against Astoria’s ear. She whispered something softly, her voice a low, seductive purr. I couldn’t hear exactly what she said, but whatever it was made Astoria’s eyes widen in shock and her face turn an even deeper shade of red. For a heartbeat, Astoria seemed frozen, uncertainty flickering across her delicate features, but Morgana reached out, her hand gentle but insistent on Astoria’s lower back, guiding her closer to where Daphne and I were sprawled together on the tangled sheets.

“Go on, beautiful,” Morgana murmured, “I want you to try it.”

Astoria looked at me with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Her breaths came in short, quick bursts as she hesitated for a moment. 

I gulped when I realized what I was about to see.

Astoria slowly swung one leg over Daphne’s face, straddling her sister carefully. Daphne looked up in surprise as Astoria’s bare thigh brushed against her cheek, but when Astoria began to lower herself, Daphne’s expression shifted to eager acceptance.

Astoria’s hips shook, her hands gripping the headboard for support. She guided herself down until her slick, glistening pussy was poised just above Daphne’s mouth. The two of them exchanged a long, searching look. 

Finally, Astoria closed her eyes and surrendered, her soft, bare flesh settling fully onto Daphne’s waiting lips.

Morgana giggled quietly, a pleased sound that vibrated through the air. “That’s so sexy, Astoria. You look beautiful like that, riding your sister’s tongue. Don’t hold back. Let yourself enjoy every second of it.”

Daphne needed no further encouragement. Her hands found Astoria’s hips, holding her in place as she began to work her tongue slowly up and down Astoria’s slick folds. Astoria let out a soft, broken gasp, her body shuddering as she began to gently rock her hips, grinding herself against Daphne’s mouth. The wet sounds of Daphne’s tongue lapping at Astoria filled the room, punctuated by Astoria’s high, trembling moans.

For a moment, I just watched them, fascinated and deeply aroused by the sight. 

Then I turned my attention back to Daphne, who was now sandwiched between us. I shifted forward on my hands and knees, positioning myself between Daphne’s parted legs, my bare ass swaying back and forth above the sheets. I lowered my head and pressed my tongue to Daphne’s swollen, wet pussy, licking her slowly, savoring the taste of her arousal.

Daphne let out a muffled groan, her mouth still occupied with Astoria, her thighs tensing around my head. I let my tongue trace slow, deliberate circles around her clit, my hands gripping her soft thighs to keep her in place. 

Suddenly, I felt Morgana’s hands on my ass, her fingers spreading my cheeks apart, her nails raking gently across my sensitive skin. I moaned involuntarily into Daphne, the vibration making her hips jerk. Morgana’s grip was firm, possessive, her palms kneading my flesh, squeezing and massaging until I was trembling. 

I arched my back, pressing into her touch, silently begging for more.

But then the sensation changed. I felt something long, thick, and warm press between my ass cheeks, the shape unmistakably phallic and much firmer than Morgana’s fingers. My eyes shot open in surprise, and I jerked my head up, Daphne’s taste still on my lips. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Morgana kneeling behind me, her eyes glittering with wicked delight.

“Morgana?” I asked, my voice breathless and uncertain, my lips shiny with Daphne’s juices. “What is that?”

Morgana grinned, her hands tightening on my hips. “Just a little prototype I’ve been working on,” she said, her voice full of mischief and promise. “It’s a magical toy—enchanted to feel exactly like the real thing. Warm, hard, and perfectly shaped. I enhanced it so that it gives pleasure to both you and me, every time I move inside you.” She leaned forward, her breath hot against my ear as she continued, “Your pussy needs to remain a virgin for now, my beautiful apprentice. But tonight, you’re going to learn exactly how it feels to have your gorgeous ass fucked for the very first time. Relax for me, darling.”

I swallowed hard, anticipation and nerves twisting together inside me. “Y-yes, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice trembling with both excitement and nervousness.

Morgana pressed the slick, enchanted tip against my tight entrance, rubbing slow, gentle circles until my muscles began to relax. She reached beneath me with one hand, her fingers slipping between my thighs, teasing and stroking my clit as she worked me open. 

(R-18 end)

…Suddenly, a sharp popping sound echoed in the bedroom. 

I flinched. I whipped my head toward the source, only to see a house elf standing just to the side of our bed, its enormous green eyes blinking in shock behind ragged flaps of a filthy pillowcase.

The elf’s hands were shaking, clutching a folded letter in its long. Its big bat-like ears drooped as it stared at us, its mouth working uselessly before it managed to squeak, “I—I’m so sorry, Flipsy didn’t mean to intrude on—”

Astoria let out a yelp that was halfway between a squeak and a full shriek. Her thighs clamped together as she tumbled ungracefully off Daphne’s face, crashing to the side and nearly falling off the bed entirely. Daphne jerked upright, her face flushed and slick, hands scrambling for the edge of the sheets as if she could somehow cover her exposed breasts and stomach. 

Morgana, who had been kneeling behind me, instantly pulled back. Her hand released my hip just before she could drive her new magical toy deeper inside of me. I could feel it slip out of me.

For a long, awkward heartbeat, none of us spoke. We simply stared, all four witches, as the terrified little elf tried desperately to avert its eyes but failed miserably. Finally, Flipsy stammered, “Hello, I’m Flipsy, and I’m here for—Here is your letter Lady Heathy Potter! …Bye!” the elf squeaked and dropped the letter on the floor before it teleported away. 

An instant before a red spell lashed out, melting the floor where it had stood an instant before. “Dammit, I was too distracted, not expecting a BLOODY HOUSE ELF to be able to sneak in here!” Morgana lamented.

Astoria was half-sitting, half-kneeling, her hands pressed to her chest in disbelief. Daphne, still panting, pulled a pillow over her bare chest, her face bright red. 

I pulled the sheet halfway up my hips, though at this point it felt more like an afterthought than actual modesty.

“Well,” Morgana said finally, her voice edged with anger, “that was an abrupt end to the evening. Of all the idiotic, ill-timed intrusions…” She trailed off, grinding her teeth.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to gather my thoughts as I glanced at my lovers for this evening. “What the hell just happened?” I muttered, my voice raw, low with embarrassment and disbelief. “Did that really just—did a house elf just pop into our room in the middle of… everything?”

Daphne’s hands were trembling as she fumbled to pull the bedsheet higher over herself. Her cheeks were scarlet. “I think—I think I’ve just been traumatized for life,” she whispered. “That elf saw—everything.”

…The next morning…

I stood beneath the hot stream of water in my private bathroom, letting the steady pressure rinse the lingering frustration and disappointment from last night away. The heat from the shower made my skin flush slightly, the warmth feeling pleasant as it relaxed my muscles.

My mind wandered back to the events that had unfolded after the intrusion by the house elf. The interruption had spoiled the intimate moment we had been enjoying, and after that, none of us were in the right mood to continue. 

Eventually, I had retreated alone to my room, and after hesitating briefly, I'd finally unfolded the letter the elf had left behind.

My birth mother, Lily Potter, had written me a letter. She had said she was deeply sorry for everything she had done. She had apologized over and over, claiming she regretted abandoning me, regretted the distance and the hurt caused by their actions. She claimed she wanted me to come back, to return home and finally be part of a family again. Lily wrote about my twin brother, James Junior, stating that he wanted to get to know me, to form a real sibling relationship after all these years apart.

As I had read those words, tears had filled my eyes. I had let myself cry openly as I sat on the edge of my bed. 

But I knew better than to believe such promises. 

I had no reason to trust her. My heart wanted to believe Lily Potter meant it, that she truly regretted abandoning me, but logic warned me that it was probably a lie. There was no reason for them to suddenly care about me after all these years. It felt like a cruel manipulation—a scheme that would only hurt me again if I allowed myself to fall for it.

It had to be!

Eventually, exhausted by my own emotions, and I had drifted into a restless sleep…

Now, standing beneath the hot water the next morning, I allowed myself to temporarily put the letter out of my mind, focusing instead on the comforting physical sensations of the shower. I carefully applied soap to my body, spreading thick suds over my shoulders and down across my chest. My hands moved down my stomach and across my hips, cleansing myself thoroughly.

The glass shower door opened quietly behind me, startling me slightly. I relaxed immediately when I recognized Morgana’s familiar presence as she stepped silently into the spacious shower behind me. The water splashed lightly against her bare skin as she moved closer to me.

Without saying a word at first, Morgana wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her chest into my back. 

I sighed softly, leaning backward slightly into the comforting touch of her body. Her bare breasts were warm and full as they pressed against me.

She reached up slowly, bringing her hands forward to cup my naked breasts. Morgana’s touch was gentle but firm as her fingers squeezed my sensitive flesh, carefully massaging each breast in turn. She ran her fingers carefully around each nipple, making slow, teasing circles until I felt the sensitive buds stiffen against her hands. A low, satisfied moan slipped past my lips, my body responding naturally to her experienced touch.

Morgana pressed her lips softly against the side of my neck, her mouth warm and gentle as she kissed the sensitive skin there. She kissed her way upward, tracing soft kisses from the base of my neck to just below my ear. Her warm breath tickled my ear slightly as she finally began speaking in a quiet, soothing voice.

“You are the most important person in the world to me, my beautiful apprentice,” Morgana murmured softly, her tone completely sincere. Her fingers continued to tease and gently pinch my nipples, heightening the sensations flowing through my body. “There is nothing I would not do for you. Anything you ask, I would gladly do.”

I shivered slightly at her words, feeling deeply moved by the clear honesty in her voice. Still, my heart twisted slightly as my thoughts returned unwillingly to that letter. Morgana, sensing the subtle shift in my mood, continued to kiss my neck softly, pressing closer to reassure me.

“If you truly wished it,” she whispered carefully, her tone now more serious, “I would even risk Merlin discovering my existence by traveling with you back to London. I would stand at your side if you decided to confront your birth mother. If you need answers from Lily Potter in order to finally have closure, I would help you seek them—no matter how dangerous it might be for me.”

I turned slowly to face Morgana fully, needing to look directly into her eyes as I responded. Her wet black hair hung around her shoulders, and her gaze was open and filled with genuine devotion as she stared back at me. 

My heart clenched painfully at the thought of placing her in danger simply to satisfy my curiosity or my longing for answers.

“Morgana,” I finally said, my voice soft but firm as I met her gaze directly, “you are also the most important person in the world to me right now. More than anyone else, more than answers or revenge. I refuse to put you in danger just to chase after the possibility of understanding why my birth mother suddenly wants me back. Your well-being is far more important to me than Lily Potter ever will be.” 

Morgana’s expression softened noticeably at my declaration, and she reached up gently, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face. She smiled softly, clearly pleased and deeply touched by my sincerity and concern for her safety. Her fingers lightly traced the side of my face, lingering on my cheek as she looked lovingly into my eyes.

“That pleases me greatly, my dear apprentice,” she told me gently, her voice full of satisfaction. “You have proven yourself worthy of my trust and my love countless times. I will never allow anything to separate us, and nothing will ever come between us. Not your past, not your birth mother, not anyone or anything else.”

She leaned forward again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my lips. Her mouth moved carefully and deliberately against mine, making certain that I could feel the depth of her affection and sincerity in every gentle press of her lips.

…After the steamy shower.

Since I now had a whole bunch of money to my name—in actual usable American currency—I decided to do some shopping around Gotham. After all the chaos and bloodshed I'd been involved in recently, I found myself genuinely looking forward to doing something simple, normal, and perhaps even enjoyable for once. 

And since I was a millionaire now, I could finally afford to treat myself to whatever caught my eye without any guilt or hesitation.

It was still fairly early in the morning, and I knew Gotham’s streets well enough by now. I also knew the city's reputation. I knew firsthand how violent and dangerous Gotham could be, especially after sundown. 

But since it was still early, I hoped most of the criminal element would be asleep, nursing hangovers, or just too lazy to bother me. Besides, killing random street thugs was getting tiresome. It was messy, it brought unwanted attention.

Morgana had told me earlier that she would be busy today. Apparently, she was trying to get in touch with some ancient acquaintance whom she hadn't spoken to in hundreds of years. Morgana had been oddly vague about this acquaintance, mentioning only briefly that it was someone who owed her a favor from long ago. Normally, I would have pressed for more details, but Morgana's tone had made it clear she wasn't interested in sharing much at the moment. 

I decided not to push her.

As for Daphne and Astoria, both had expressed interest in joining me on my shopping trip. In fact, Astoria had practically begged. Daphne had been a little subtler but still made it obvious she didn't want me going out alone.

However, Morgana had intervened, giving the Greengrass sisters a rather important and specific task instead. She had instructed Daphne and Astoria to attempt immediate contact with their parents back in London. 

Their father usually sent them letters frequently, often every other day, to ensure their safety and to give them updates from home. Yet it had already been around five days since they'd last received anything at all from their parents.

It seemed unusual—especially given how overprotective and paranoid their father was, at least according to what Daphne had told me. 

Daphne had reluctantly agreed. Astoria had pouted briefly, but she'd accepted the responsibility as well. Morgana's orders were absolute, after all, and neither sister wanted to disappoint her.

This left me free to shop alone, at least for a while.

I stood in front of the mirror in the warehouse bedroom, examining my reflection. My body was still damp from my earlier shower. I reached for a black tank top, pulling the tight-fitting garment down over my chest until it rested comfortably against my torso. The tank top hugged my curves firmly, emphasizing my figure in a way I knew others would notice.

Next, I grabbed a pair of blue short shorts, slipping them up my thighs until the snug fabric rested firmly over my hips. The shorts were tight and revealing, the hemline ending just below my ass cheeks. They left my toned legs fully visible. It felt a little daring, but I was in the mood to show off today. As I was everyday since I’d acquired this perfect body.

After adjusting the shorts, I paused again, staring thoughtfully at my face. 

I concentrated carefully for a few moments, watching my reflection shift subtly in the mirror. My black hair faded smoothly into a warm shade of medium brown. My vivid green eyes changed into a more common blue color. 

I nodded in satisfaction, satisfied with the subtle but effective changes I'd made to my appearance. "Not bad," I murmured quietly to myself. "I almost look harmless now."

I allowed myself a small chuckle at the thought, knowing that anyone foolish enough to underestimate me would quickly regret it. 

Finally ready to leave, I stepped out of the warehouse. Gotham’s streets were already bustling with activity, but at this time of the day, most people on the sidewalks were going to work or just opening their shops for business. I moved with casual confidence down the sidewalk, keeping my pace steady but unhurried. I didn’t have anything specific in mind yet. 

I figured I would just explore Gotham’s more affluent shopping districts until something caught my eye.

It didn't take long to find an upscale clothing store. I entered the establishment, noticing how the interior was bright, clean, and clearly designed to cater to wealthy customers. Various racks of designer clothing filled the spacious area, and neatly dressed sales associates moved quietly throughout the store.

One of the saleswomen approached me almost immediately. She was an attractive brunette, probably in her late twenties, dressed professionally in a sleek black dress. She smiled politely as she spoke. "Good morning. Welcome to our store. Is there anything specific I can help you find today?"

I paused, giving her a small, polite smile in return. "I don't really have anything specific in mind yet," I admitted honestly. "I just felt like doing a little shopping today. If you have any recommendations, I'd appreciate it."

She nodded thoughtfully, her professional smile remaining pleasant and friendly. "Of course. If you'd like, I can show you some of our newest arrivals. We received a new line of summer outfits that arrived just yesterday—light, comfortable, perfect for warmer weather. Would you be interested in seeing them?"

I considered her offer briefly before nodding in agreement. "Sure, why not? That sounds nice."

…I had multiple shopping bags hanging off each arm. It was genuinely an unusual feeling. A part of my mind kept dwelling on the sheer strangeness of it all. Just a short while ago, I'd been a penniless orphan. And now? Now I was a wealthy dark witch across the ocean in Gotham City, casually buying whatever caught my eye without even bothering to check price tags.

It was genuinely bizarre to experience life shifting so dramatically, multiple times, within just a few months. But I was hardly complaining. I deserved this indulgence after everything I'd been through.

But of course, Gotham City being Gotham City, I knew very well that peace and quiet were luxuries never meant to last long. There was always trouble lurking around the corner, always something violent or destructive happening nearby. 

And right on cue, just as I'd allowed myself to briefly relax, I suddenly heard the distinct, unmistakable sound of metal violently clashing against metal. The sharp ringing was immediately followed by a muffled explosion, the vibrations faintly rattling shop windows around me.

I stopped walking instantly, my senses immediately sharpening as adrenaline surged inside my chest. Glancing around quickly, I expected chaos to break out as pedestrians scattered, panicking and screaming in fear. But to my slight amusement, no one screamed. No one panicked. 

Instead, everyone else on the sidewalk seemed entirely used to this sort of thing. They merely stopped for one moment, calmly identified the source of the disturbance, and then swiftly turned around as one, walking purposefully in the opposite direction. 

It was so casual, so practiced, that I couldn't help but laugh softly to myself.

Only in Gotham City, I supposed.

Shrugging to myself, I quickly moved all my shopping bags into my inventory with a thought, freeing both of my hands. 

Normal, peaceful mornings were boring anyway. 

I headed directly toward the sounds of combat, curious to see exactly what kind of trouble I'd discover today. I could use a good distraction from my thoughts. 

As I rounded the corner and entered the scene, my eyes widened slightly in surprise at what greeted me. It was Robin. 

Well, not the Robin I'd already met—Nightwing—but the newest Robin. This one was much younger, clearly just a kid. He couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen at the most, wearing his bright, colorful Robin costume and half-mask. He was wielding a katana with obvious skill and practiced precision, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone so young. 

But even from a distance, I could clearly see he was struggling.

He was fighting five adult men dressed completely in black, with their faces obscured behind fabric masks. Ninja, clearly—and they were absolutely not pulling their punches. 

These weren’t Talons… Were they from the League of Shadows?

Their blades flashed relentlessly, attacking the boy from multiple angles simultaneously. I immediately noticed that Robin already had several shallow, bleeding cuts visible along both his arms and legs. He was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted, but he stubbornly kept fighting without showing any signs of fear or weakness.

One ninja lunged toward him, blade aimed directly for the boy's exposed throat. My pulse quickened slightly, thinking Robin was about to be seriously injured or worse, but at the last possible second, Robin swiftly parried the attack with his katana, deflecting the lethal blow away. Immediately following his block, Robin delivered a sharp, powerful kick straight into the attacker's stomach, sending the ninja stumbling backward—but notably, not falling.

The ninja quickly regained his balance and rejoined the circle, once again surrounding Robin, who was forced back into a defensive stance, his eyes darting quickly from enemy to enemy.

I shook my head, mildly annoyed at the situation. These ninjas weren't going to stop until Robin was dead. And judging from how the fight was going, the young hero wouldn't be able to hold them off much longer. He was brave, I had to give him that. Brave but heavily outmatched. I supposed, after everything I'd been through lately, it wouldn't kill me to do a good deed today.

I summoned my soul-bound black wand into my right hand. The familiar sensation of powerful magic flowing through my fingertips instantly made me feel prepared and focused. At the same time, the perfectly manicured nails on my left hand lengthened instantly, sharpening into claws capable of ripping through flesh with little effort…

…A few minutes later.

…I had to admit, those ninjas were definitely better fighters than the wizards and witches who'd put up that pathetic struggle against Morgana and myself yesterday. My breathing was slightly labored, and my pulse was elevated from exertion. Sweat trickled down the side of my face, and I felt a sharp stinging sensation radiating outward from the deep gash along my left arm. The wound was steadily dripping with blood, staining my arm and dripping slowly onto the cracked pavement beneath my feet. Even with my naturally enhanced regeneration granted by the blood ritual I’d performed, I knew instinctively it would still take a considerable amount of time to fully heal on its own.

The new Robin stood leaning heavily against the wall of a brick building nearby. He had added a couple more wounds to the collection he'd gathered before I intervened. Thin trickles of blood ran down his left thigh and across his right shoulder, visible clearly beneath the torn sections of his colorful costume. He breathed heavily, chest rising and falling noticeably, and he was glaring at me from beneath his half-mask. His grip on the handle of his katana remained tight, white-knuckled, clearly communicating that he viewed me as a threat. 

Still, considering I'd just saved his life, he wasn’t making any aggressive movements toward me.

"I didn't ask you to kill them," he growled quietly, breaking the tense silence between us. His voice was low, strained with both pain and anger. "Batman says killing is wrong. We don't take lives. No exceptions."

I raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at his stubbornness despite the situation. A short laugh escaped my lips, genuine amusement replacing the tension I'd felt earlier. "Batman isn't here right now, Robin," I pointed out calmly, keeping my tone neutral. "Besides, I'm pretty sure those ninjas had no problem killing you. I doubt they would have hesitated if I hadn’t stepped in."

He pressed his lips tightly together, clearly displeased by the logic of my argument. But he didn't say anything further to challenge my words. He just continued glaring at me silently, still gripping his weapon.

I sighed softly, summoning the small, red minor health potion from my inventory directly into my hand. 

I'd almost forgotten about it completely. 

In fact, this was actually the very first time I’d ever needed to use it, which was a bit ironic given how many dangerous fights I'd already found myself in recently. I uncorked the small bottle and took a careful, small sip, feeling the immediate warmth and relief flood through me as my regeneration accelerated noticeably. The deep gash on my arm began rapidly sealing shut, the skin knitting itself together until only faint redness remained behind.

Robin's eyes widened visibly behind his mask. He stared at my rapidly healing arm with an expression of obvious astonishment. "What is that?" he asked warily, clearly wary but unable to hide his curiosity.

"It's a healing potion," I replied simply, holding it out to him as an offer. "Drink some. You're hurt worse than I initially realized."

He eyed the small glass bottle suspiciously, his expression guarded. "Batman will be furious if he finds out I drank something given to me by an apprentice supervillain," he muttered reluctantly. Yet he couldn't hide the slight tremor in his voice or the paleness in his face, both clear signs he needed it more urgently than he wanted to admit.

I gave him a small, impatient sigh. "I imagine Batman will be a lot more furious if you bleed out here in the middle of Gotham in broad daylight," I pointed out bluntly. I motioned again for him to take the potion. "Just drink it, Robin. I didn't bother saving your life just to poison you afterward. It would be a complete waste of my effort."

He hesitated only a moment longer before finally reaching out and snatching the potion from my hand. "Fine," he conceded grumpily, "but if this turns out to be poison, I promise you I'll find a way to kill you, no matter what it takes."

I couldn't help but laugh softly at his stubborn bravado. He tipped his head back and swallowed the entire contents of the potion bottle in one gulp. Almost immediately, he shivered as a surge of magic visibly ran through him. The numerous wounds scattered across his arms and legs sealed themselves shut rapidly, leaving behind only dried blood and faintly reddened skin. His torn costume remained bloodied, but his injuries had been fully repaired. 

He stared down at his newly healed limbs in obvious astonishment before reluctantly handing the now-empty glass bottle back to me. I slipped the empty bottle into my inventory, knowing it would automatically refill itself after exactly three days.

He shifted his weight slightly, looking uncomfortable as he studied me carefully. Finally, he asked in a softer tone, less hostile than before, "Why did you help me? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of psychotic, mass-murdering supervillain? I heard reports about you and your mentor killing dozens of people yesterday in Metropolis. Was all of that true?"

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair, noticing idly that my metamorphmagus disguise had worn off at some point during the battle, returning my hair and eyes to their usual striking colors. "It's complicated," I answered him honestly, feeling strangely exhausted by the mere thought of trying to explain everything to him. Especially since he was a kid. "Nothing about me or my life is simple enough to summarize easily. But I didn't kill you just now, did I? And I certainly didn't have to heal you afterward."

He seemed thoughtful, clearly considering my words before nodding reluctantly in acceptance. After a pause, he turned his face away, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, thank you," he finally muttered awkwardly. Then he added, "I guess."

I studied him curiously for a moment before asking, "What exactly did you do to make a bunch of ninjas try to kill you in broad daylight, anyway?"

Robin's face twisted slightly in irritation, and he looked away, his expression shifting to one of obvious discomfort. "It's complicated," he said softly, echoing my earlier response back at me.

I couldn't help but laugh gently again, feeling strangely amused by the entire situation. 

Without really thinking about it, I reached out my hand and playfully ruffled his messy dark hair, treating him like a younger brother or annoying sibling. "Yeah, seems like everything is complicated nowadays," I remarked with genuine humor in my voice.

Robin immediately jerked back slightly from my touch, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Don't touch me," he snapped, clearly annoyed, swinging his katana through the air in my direction. It was a controlled, playful motion that I easily dodged by stepping backward a couple of steps, completely unharmed. He didn't seem genuinely angry, more embarrassed and flustered than anything else.

I smirked slightly, shaking my head at his childish reaction. "Relax, Robin. I'm not going to hurt you," I told him patiently, rolling my eyes slightly at his behavior.

He huffed irritably and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at me petulantly, clearly still embarrassed about the interaction. I chuckled softly once more before deciding it was time to leave. I'd done my good deed for today. It was time to continue on with my day, and hopefully, I wouldn't encounter more problems before I got home.

I turned away from him, taking a few steps toward the direction I'd originally been heading. Over my shoulder, I called out casually, "Oh, Robin, tell Nightwing I said hi when you see him again."

He stared silently at me, a startled expression crossing his face briefly before he quickly masked it again with his usual defiant scowl. Without waiting for his reply, I simply walked away, leaving the newest Robin standing quietly behind me on the sidewalk, probably wondering what in the world he'd just experienced.

I turned around another corner. I intended to alter my hair and eyes into a completely different disguise. But as I concentrated and prepared myself, everything shifted abruptly. 

I blinked several times, disoriented by the sudden and drastic change. I quickly realized I wasn't standing on the bustling streets of Gotham City anymore.

Instead, I stood in the center of an entirely different place, one I had never visited before. The room resembled a modern nightclub, stylishly furnished. 

My gaze swept around quickly, analyzing my surroundings. Apart from myself, there were only two other occupants in the entire club. They sat comfortably side-by-side in a booth a few feet from where I stood. The first was a woman I recognized immediately. 

It was Mazikeen, the dangerous and seductive demoness.

Next to her sat a man I had never seen in person, yet I knew exactly who he was without needing an introduction. He appeared handsome, with messy dark-brown hair and an easy smirk pulling at his lips. His eyes glimmered with intelligence and clear amusement as he studied my surprised reaction. I could sense the unimaginable power radiating casually from him, confirming without a doubt his identity. 

This man was Lucifer Morningstar, one of the most powerful beings in existence, capable of effortlessly obliterating me if he wished to.

My pulse quickened sharply. Immediately, my fingers twitched, and my wand appeared instantly in my grip. Even so, I understood very clearly how pointless my caution was. 

If either of these two decided to attack me, my attempts at defense would be laughably useless. Still, I held my wand tightly, because surrendering to panic or despair would accomplish nothing. At least, this way, I could feel a small illusion of control.

I took a deep, calming breath, keeping my voice carefully neutral as I spoke, forcing my tone into a steady and confident pitch.

"Did you just kidnap me and bring me halfway across the country without permission or warning?" I asked clearly, keeping my words slow and deliberate.

Lucifer immediately stood up from the booth, sliding to his feet in one smooth movement. He faced me directly, his expression shifting into one of playful innocence as he spread his arms wide in a theatrical gesture. "Oh, my dear, beautiful succubus," he said, his voice charming and smooth. "I wouldn't dream of kidnapping someone like yourself. You wound me with such accusations. I simply issued a very sudden and unexpected invitation—albeit one that didn't allow you the opportunity to decline." He then executed an exaggerated bow.

Before he could straighten himself again, Mazikeen stood swiftly as well, raising one hand and smacking Lucifer sharply across the back of his head with an audible slap. The demoness scowled at him in open annoyance, her gaze sharp and irritated. "Lucifer," Maze snapped firmly, her tone clearly annoyed. "That's exactly what kidnapping is. You can't just randomly summon people across state lines and expect them to be fine with it. I already told you this before."

Lucifer rubbed the back of his head gently, feigning hurt as he glanced briefly toward Mazikeen with a mildly sheepish expression. "I suppose that's a fair assessment," he admitted.

His attention quickly shifted fully back to me. Lucifer allowed his gaze to drift slowly and openly over my body. His eyes moved deliberately, tracing my hips and thighs, lingering noticeably on my chest, then sliding upward to finally meet my eyes again. 

I felt my heartbeat quicken even further under his intense scrutiny. But I stood straight and met his stare, determined not to show weakness or discomfort.

He gave me a wide, appreciative smile before finally speaking again. "Maze has spoken highly of you," Lucifer stated smoothly, his tone casual but sincere. "I can fully see why she was so captivated. You truly are an astonishingly beautiful woman, Amara Black. The description she gave hardly does justice to your appearance in person."

I raised an eyebrow slightly, doing my best to appear composed and unaffected, despite my racing pulse. "Is there an actual purpose behind this unexpected visit?" I asked carefully, keeping my tone controlled and even. "Or did you simply bring me here because you wanted to get a better look at me yourself? Because honestly, if that's your only intention, you could have just asked Maze to show you a picture."

Lucifer laughed softly, clearly delighted by my response. He slowly sat back down in the booth, making an inviting gesture toward the empty seats opposite him. "Sharp-tongued and confident," he commented approvingly. "Exactly as I was hoping you'd be. Please, join us, Amara. I promise there is no reason to fear or distrust me. All I wanted to do was meet the newest of the damned, and maybe give you a little test to judge your character…”

“Lucifer…” Maze growled his name, almost like she was warning him for me. “That’s not what we agreed to!”

“Yes it is, Maze, you just weren’t listening at the end there…” he replied to her.

“What kind of test?” I asked Lucifer cautiously, stepping closer toward the table. 

However, I deliberately chose not to sit beside him or Mazikeen. Instead, I halted several feet away, maintaining my distance to demonstrate clearly that I did not trust him or this situation. My gaze immediately shifted toward Maze, and I gave her a long, cold glare. 

I wanted her to know how disappointed I was that she had obviously agreed to help Lucifer abduct me without my permission.

Maze returned my look, and for a brief moment, something like genuine pain crossed her features. Her mouth pressed into a tight, tense line, and her normally confident eyes wavered briefly under my harsh gaze. 

Still, I understood that at the end of the day, Maze’s first loyalty would always belong to Lucifer. No matter how strongly she seemed to feel about me, or how hurt she might currently appear, I knew she would never go directly against his wishes.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence between us, Lucifer finally spoke again, smoothly interrupting our unspoken conversation. He rested his elbows comfortably upon the table, lightly interlacing his fingers together as he watched me closely. “Let’s call this small test a test of character, shall we?” he explained calmly, his voice casual yet full of intention. “I want to see for myself if you truly are worthy of being called a demoness, or if you’re merely another lost soul who’s stumbled into a power you don’t deserve.”

Before I could ask for further clarification, Lucifer abruptly lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers sharply. The sound echoed through the empty club, and I instinctively took several rapid steps backward. I was startled and wary. 

A ring of flames instantly appeared on the floor between his table and my position, flames that burned with a strange dark intensity. 

I could distinctly hear agonized screams emerging from within the flames, millions of voices twisted with suffering and despair. The flames themselves seemed to radiate a sensation of complete hopelessness and fear. 

As I watched in shocked disbelief, the flames shifted, and the ring became a fiery portal into some dark, horrifying realm. From within its depths, a figure suddenly emerged—a young blond boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, roughly my height. His body was semi-transparent, a ghostly apparition that seemed somehow solid and yet intangible at the same time. He stumbled slightly as the flames finally vanished entirely, leaving him standing alone on the nightclub floor.

He straightened up quickly, regaining his composure with surprising ease. An arrogant smile spread slowly across his youthful face as he surveyed the club’s interior. He glanced toward Lucifer and Maze first, before finally focusing directly upon me.

“YES!” the boy exclaimed triumphantly, speaking in a strange, archaic accent reminiscent of old English speech. “AT LONG LAST, I HAVE FINALLY ESCAPED THAT MISERABLE INFERNAL REALM!”

The boy then lifted his chin in a haughty manner, glaring disdainfully around the nightclub. His eyes narrowed as he stared directly at us, clearly unimpressed with what he saw. “You there—slaves!” he snapped imperiously, looking directly into my eyes. “My mother must have orchestrated this daring rescue, no doubt. Why is she not present to welcome me herself? I demand you take me directly to her. I have been imprisoned long enough, and I wish to be reunited with her immediately!”

I stared at him blankly for several seconds, disbelief and irritation rising simultaneously inside of me. I crossed my arms defensively over my chest, frowning deeply as I answered him sharply. “Who the hell are you supposed to be, kid?” I asked bluntly, not bothering to hide my annoyance or my lack of respect for his attitude.

The boy glared back fiercely, his expression twisting with clear offense. He straightened even further, puffing out his chest proudly. “I am Mordred!” he declared loudly, his voice filled with conviction and self-assured arrogance. “I am the rightful King of England, the future ruler of all realms, and someday master of the entire world itself!”

He paused briefly, his blue eyes blazing defiantly as he stared me down. “Now,” he continued, his tone becoming increasingly arrogant and demanding, “I command you to tell me immediately where my mother is located! Inform her that I have returned, and do so quickly! If you comply promptly and beg my forgiveness for your earlier disrespect, perhaps I shall grant you mercy and allow your punishment to be somewhat less painful.”

Behind Mordred, Lucifer calmly leaned backward into his booth, casually picking up his glass of whiskey and taking a leisurely sip. His eyes held mild amusement as he observed the exchange with evident curiosity. “He’s quite an arrogant little shit, isn’t he?” Lucifer remarked casually, seemingly unbothered by the entire situation. “Truly, one has to wonder how such a charming young man could possibly have found himself condemned to hell.”

Despite Lucifer’s lighthearted remark, my heart was pounding fiercely within my chest. My pulse quickened dramatically, fear and worry filling my thoughts. 

This was Mordred. 

Morgana’s son—the son she had lost. I knew that Morgana still grieved him. She rarely spoke of him, but I could tell she had never truly forgotten his death. I had no idea how she would react if they were reunited. Would Morgana choose her beloved, lost son over me, her apprentice and lover? Would she abandon me completely, sacrificing our relationship to reclaim the child she once loved more than anything in the world? 

The uncertainty frightened me deeply, threatening to consume my thoughts entirely.

My demonic instincts surged suddenly into the forefront of my mind, overriding my rationality. My body tensed sharply, every muscle coiled with readiness. A fierce possessiveness and protectiveness toward Morgana rose rapidly within my heart.

No, I realized—I could never allow these two to meet. I could never let Mordred return to Morgana’s side. Morgana was mine alone, now. I refused to lose her. I would fight, kill, and do whatever it took to ensure this arrogant boy stayed forever away from my beloved Mistress. He had died and that should have been final!

Lucifer chuckled softly behind Mordred, his voice filled with amusement and satisfaction. “Ah, there it is,” he commented lightly, clearly delighted by the intense expression now visible upon my face. “That right there is exactly what I was waiting for, my dear. The cold determination, possessiveness, and raw anger—the true face of a genuine demoness finally revealed.” He took another casual sip from his whiskey, smiling calmly over the rim of the glass as he carefully studied my expression. “So tell me, Amara,” he continued smoothly, still clearly amused by my obvious distress, “what exactly do you plan to do now, hmm?”

I already had the answer to his question. 

I took a deliberate step closer to Mordred, watching his eyes move slowly up and down my body. He wasn’t subtle about it at all. His gaze lingered on my breasts, and a smug grin spread across his young looking face—although his soul was around 1000 years old. 

“Oh?” Mordred asked, lifting one eyebrow and staring at me with open arrogance. His gaze returned pointedly to my chest, not bothering to hide his lust. “Are you to be my newest pleasure slave, then? I must admit, Mother truly outdid herself this time. You are a remarkably beautiful woman—I’ll certainly enjoy making use of you often.” He leaned forward slightly, squinting thoughtfully as his smile widened further, becoming increasingly smug. “In fact,” he continued confidently, “you nearly resemble my mother perfectly. I see she selected my latest pleasure slave wisely. Clearly, Mother understands exactly what pleases me.”

I stepped even closer. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” I said. 

He just grinned more broadly as if he thought I was about to throw myself at his feet. “You may as well get used to your place. If my mother orchestrated my rescue, then she clearly expects you to serve me. Once I am king, you will—”

I didn’t let him finish. In one quick, controlled motion, I reached out and grabbed both his arms and his shoulders. He stiffened in surprise, his grin faltering for the first time. I could feel the strange resistance of his form—he was surprisingly solid for a ghost or a spirit, but it didn’t matter. 

I squeezed tightly, holding him immobile.

His expression turned from smug to startled in a heartbeat. “What are you doing? Unhand me at once!” he barked, but I could hear the first note of uncertainty in his voice.

I ignored him. I opened my mouth wide, baring my teeth. I could see the realization dawn in his eyes, the fear that replaced his arrogance. I drove my teeth down into the place where his shoulder met his neck. 

He screamed—a high, desperate, panicked scream that filled the club. 

I could hear Lucifer laughing softly behind me, but I didn’t look away from Mordred. I focused on the taste and sensation, but I wasn’t after blood. He had none. This was no physical body.

No, I was after something much deeper—his very soul, the core of his essence. 

I started to draw it from him, using the ancient, instinctive power that all demons possessed. His hands flailed at my arms, his strength fading rapidly as I continued to drain everything that made him who he was. The struggle grew weaker with every passing moment, his kicks and shoves becoming sluggish and ineffectual.

I felt the energy of his spirit enter me, filling me with a strange, fierce vitality. I felt a new layer of power settle over my own, something that was both familiar and foreign. It was knowledge, memory, a lifetime of Mordred’s arrogance, hate, ambition, and pain. I absorbed all of it without hesitation.

He tried to force me off one last time, but I didn’t let him. I held him fast, refusing to break the connection. I kept sucking in his essence, draining him dry, watching as his body grew more and more insubstantial with every passing second.

His mouth moved soundlessly now, the last of his voice lost. His eyes were wide with disbelief and fear. Finally, he faded completely, dissolving in my grasp until there was nothing left. I had devoured everything. Mordred was gone, utterly erased. His soul was now part of me—energy and memory, a new strength added to my own.

Lucifer began clapping slowly, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Wonderful, my dear succubus," he said approvingly. "You truly do belong among us demons. You did not hesitate even once to consume his soul, putting your own happiness and desires above anyone else's. Welcome to the circle of the damned, Amara Black."

I shot him a sharp glare, my anger flaring. “You put me in an impossible position. Now I’ll have to live with this forever—knowing that I was the reason Morgana will never see her son again. That I happily made this horrific choice for my own happiness…”

Lucifer only smiled more. “It’s what separates demons from mortals, Amara.”

Maze looked away, silent. I could see the tension in her jaw, the guilt in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted this either, but she’d still let it happen. 

That hurt me more than I expected.

Before I could say anything else, Lucifer tilted his head, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, and by the way—your horns look quite lovely, too.”

For a moment I was confused. “Horns? What are you talking about?” I reached up with my hands, searching my forehead. My fingers brushed against something solid and sharp. Two hard, pale-white horns, each a couple of inches long, protruded from the top of my head. 

I stared, shocked, unable to comprehend what had changed.

Lucifer snapped his fingers. A floating, silver mirror appeared before me, hovering at eye level. I stared at my reflection. My horns were real. They looked natural, almost elegant—clearly a mark of what I had just done. 

I looked even more like a demon now, a true succubus.

I stared at my reflection again, still trying to process everything. Mordred’s soul still pulsed faintly within me, a strange warmth resting deep inside my chest. I had taken his essence, gained something from it, and lost something of myself at the same time.

Mazikeen looked as if she wanted to say something to me after everything that had just happened. I saw her lips part slightly, and there was an uncomfortable hesitation in her expression, her eyes lingering on me as though silently asking me to stay and hear her out. But I ignored her completely. I didn’t have the emotional strength or the willingness to talk to her right now, not after she had willingly allowed Lucifer to drag me here.

Instead, I fixed Lucifer Morningstar with a stern, unwavering gaze. I didn't care at that moment about the potential consequences of showing open irritation toward someone as powerful as him. I wanted nothing more than to get out of here as quickly as possible, to leave this unsettling club and return to the streets of Gotham. 

My voice came out firm and cold as I spoke directly to him. "Send me back to Gotham now, Lucifer. I don’t want to spend another moment here," I told him bluntly, keeping my gaze fixed steadily upon his handsome, casually smiling face.

Lucifer didn't seem bothered at all by my tone or my obvious displeasure. Instead, he just let out a low, smooth chuckle, his amusement unmistakably genuine. He shook his head slightly and gave me a casual shrug, as though my anger amused him rather than offended him. Then he lifted his hand again, casually snapping his fingers, and in an instant, my surroundings shifted again.

Suddenly, I found myself standing back on the streets of Gotham City, exactly where I'd been moments before Lucifer had transported me away without my permission. The sudden shift in location made me feel slightly dizzy, but I quickly steadied myself and glanced around to confirm my surroundings. Gotham's partially cloudy sky stretched overhead. Judging by the position of the sun, I realized it wasn't even noon yet. Only a small portion of the morning had passed. 

The realization that all of that madness had taken such a brief amount of real-world time was disorienting and exhausting.

For a moment, I just stood there on the sidewalk, breathing deeply, trying to organize my chaotic thoughts. My heart still pounded heavily within my chest, and my mind was swirling with guilt and anxiety. The letter I'd received from Lily Potter was weighing heavily on my thoughts, as was the knowledge of what I'd just done in Lucifer’s club to Mordred, Morgana's only son. I felt a deep, painful ache in my chest, a mixture of remorse and uncertainty.

I closed my eyes briefly, remembering Morgana’s voice clearly from our conversation in the shower that morning. She had told me in clear, certain words that I was the most important person in her life. Morgana trusted me completely, and yet I had betrayed her trust in the most profound way. I had stolen and devoured the soul of the son she had once loved more than anything. 

How could she ever forgive me if she found out? The thought of losing Morgana’s trust terrified me more than anything else. 

I would make sure that she NEVER found out…

I shook my head gently, trying to push aside the heavy thoughts at least temporarily. 

I wasn't ready to return home yet. I needed some more time alone, some space to try and process everything. Deciding to clear my head with another walk around the city, I began walking forward slowly along Gotham's sidewalks, taking careful, deliberate steps as I lost myself in thought.

However, before I'd gone farther than a couple of blocks, I suddenly stopped. Directly in front of me, standing close enough to block my path, were three familiar figures. Two beautiful women flanked a taller, handsome man standing between them. All three of them wore complicated, serious expressions on their faces, silently studying me as I stopped in place.

I recognized them instantly, even though none of them wore their usual superhero costumes. Instead of calling them Supergirl, Nightwing, and Raven, I supposed I should refer to them now as Kara, Dick, and Rachel.

I sighed softly, not in the mood for more conflict. My body still felt drained and my mind overwhelmed by guilt and confusion. "I really don't feel like fighting right now," I told them plainly, my voice quiet but clear enough for them to hear. "I have too much on my mind today."

Kara rolled her pretty blue eyes in mild exasperation, but a small pout formed on her attractive face as she looked at me. Her voice was calm, not confrontational, as she replied quickly. "We didn't come here to fight you anyway, Amara," Kara explained patiently, holding her hands loosely at her sides to demonstrate peaceful intent. "Believe it or not, fighting isn't the only thing we superheroes do."

Dick took a single careful step forward, his dark eyes sincere and steady as they met mine directly. His expression was serious but calm.

"I heard about what happened earlier today," Dick began gently, clearly choosing his words carefully. "You saved Robin's life. He was in real trouble, and you stepped in and protected him even though you didn't have to. I wanted to personally thank you for that."

"I knew there was still kindness in you, Amara," Rachel said earnestly, looking directly into my eyes as she spoke. "I could feel it before when we first met. Even with everything you've done, even with all the darkness you carry inside, I could still sense something good..."

Her words made the knot of guilt in my chest tighten painfully. Hearing Rachel speak so sincerely about sensing goodness in me felt deeply uncomfortable, especially after I'd just betrayed Morgana and condemned her son permanently to oblivion. I shook my head softly, looking down briefly in discomfort.

“So… Do you three just hang out on your downtime or whatever?” I couldn’t help but point out to them. They didn’t bother answering that question.

They all took another cautious step closer. Rachel was now close enough to reach out and touch me if she wished, though she wisely kept her hands by her sides. Her voice came gently again, filled with sincere compassion. "Amara, I can sense the sadness and turmoil radiating off of you right now," Rachel said quietly, her voice soothing. "Did something happen? Something recent that's troubling you deeply?"

I sighed deeply again, looking at Rachel. I wasn't ready to share details about what I'd just done to Mordred or about Morgana. It was too sensitive, too raw. But there was something else troubling me that perhaps I could talk about.

"I got a letter this morning from my estranged birth mother," I finally admitted quietly, feeling vulnerable but needing to talk. I paused, glancing between Rachel, Kara, and Dick. All three seemed genuinely concerned and interested, so I continued. "She claims she regrets abandoning me as a baby and wants to reconnect with me after all these years. I'm honestly not sure what to think or how to respond. Everything is just so complicated."

Rachel nodded slowly, her expression gentle and patient. She took another half-step closer, clearly encouraging me to continue speaking openly. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. "You can trust us with your story if you're willing to share."

I considered her offer carefully, seeing no deception or manipulation in her gaze, just genuine willingness to listen. After another brief hesitation, I nodded slowly and met her eyes directly. "Yes," I replied quietly, taking a steadying breath. "I'd like to share my story with you."

XXX

This chapter was a whirlwind. Amara did good things, bad things, and lewd things~!

Chapter Text

Chapter 11:

– Kara –

Kara scowled down at the greasy burger in her hands. She had already taken three large, angry bites from it, yet she hardly tasted a thing. Right now, eating was little more than an irritated distraction from the heavy atmosphere that lingered over their crowded booth at Big Belly Burger. 

It wasn’t exactly where she’d expected they would end up when they’d gone looking for Amara this morning.

Still, here they sat, squished uncomfortably into one side of a booth that clearly hadn’t been designed to fit three adult-sized superheroes. 

Kara was wedged awkwardly in the middle, her slim hips pressed snugly against Nightwing—Dick, as he insisted they call him out of costume—on her right, and Raven—Rachel—on her left. Neither of them seemed comfortable with the arrangement, but nobody had wanted to move to sit beside Amara, the stunningly gorgeous but decidedly dangerous witch sitting alone on the opposite side of the table.

The silence had grown tense after Amara finally finished telling them her story. She’d shared everything—from the curse that had rendered her hideous and powerless for eighteen long, painful years, to the cruel abandonment she’d suffered at the hands of her birth parents. Kara hadn’t been sure what she’d expected to hear from the villainess who had caused so much death and destruction already, but it certainly wasn’t a story like that. 

She couldn’t help feeling deeply troubled by everything Amara had gone through.

Kara swallowed another overly large bite of her burger, chewing aggressively as she studied Amara across the table. The dark-haired girl was undeniably gorgeous. Kara felt a small blush forming on her cheeks as she admitted it silently to herself again. Even just sitting there in a simple black tank top and short denim shorts, casually swirling a fry through a puddle of ketchup with distracted disinterest, Amara somehow managed to radiate a dangerously seductive aura. Her black hair cascaded loosely around her shoulders, framing strikingly vivid emerald-green eyes that seemed to pierce straight through anyone she glanced at. Her perfectly shaped lips pouted slightly as she gazed at the table, lost in her own gloomy thoughts.

Damn it, Kara thought to herself irritably, why were so many female villains so freaking sexy? 

Was there some kind of evil villain dress code that required looking distractingly gorgeous? It was annoyingly unfair and incredibly distracting. And as much as Kara hated admitting it to herself, Amara was among the sexiest, most captivating girls she had ever encountered on Earth, villain or not. 

Every time Kara glanced at her, she felt her heart give a small, frustrating flutter inside her chest, despite her best attempts to suppress it.

Dick’s voice suddenly broke the silence, snapping Kara out of her irritated internal monologue.

“That’s... quite a story, Amara,” Dick finally admitted slowly, his tone carefully neutral. His voice sounded slightly strained, and Kara glanced sideways to see his handsome face looking conflicted. “I had no idea your childhood was so... challenging. I’m sorry… but that doesn’t change what you’ve done already and where you are headed if you stay on this dark path.”

Amara raised her head slightly, fixing him with an unreadable expression. Her vivid green eyes seemed to glow faintly in the diner’s bright fluorescent lighting. She tilted her head slightly to the side, causing a lock of silky black hair to fall softly across one perfectly sculpted cheekbone.

“I’m not asking for sympathy, Dick,” Amara said calmly, her voice steady and smooth. There was a faint hint of bitter sarcasm in her tone. “You all wanted me to talk. So I talked…”

Dick shifted awkwardly beside Kara, clearly uncertain of how to respond to the obvious disdain in Amara’s voice. “It’s not about sympathy,” he finally said. “It’s just… I understand you’ve been through a lot. But that doesn’t justify everything you’ve done. You and Morgana killed dozens of people yesterday.”

Kara watched Amara’s eyes narrow slightly at Dick’s words, her perfect lips curving into a faintly irritated frown. She set the fry down, folding her hands together on the table. 

“I never asked you to justify or forgive my actions, Dick,” Amara told him sharply, though she still kept her voice deceptively calm. “MACUSA was prepared to commit genocide, and they were working with one of my—personal enemies. I won’t pretend to regret destroying them.” Her tone shifted slightly, a bitter, sarcastic edge returning. “But feel free to hate me if it makes you feel morally superior.”

Kara felt Rachel stir slightly on her other side.

“Amara,” Rachel’s quiet voice interjected carefully, “no one here is trying to attack you. We’re trying to understand you better. We all understand your past now, but it’s clear there’s something else upsetting you, not just that letter from your deadbeat mother.”

Amara’s vivid eyes flickered briefly toward Rachel, her expression softening a fraction. “...Well, that’s good to know. But I don’t want to talk about the other thing that’s upsetting me right now,” Amara admitted to Rachel.

“That’s…perfectly fine. All of us have painful secrets that we don’t want other people to find out about. Maybe we can just talk about something else then. Why don’t you tell us about this secret magical world in Europe? I’m surprised I’ve never heard of the possibility that millions of wizards and witches existed in this world.”

“It’s shocking for me to hear as well,” Dick admitted. “Batman’s definitely never brought it up with me.

Kara imagined the shocked expressions on the dark knight’s face when he found out about all the magical people secretly hiding in this world. She wondered if her cousin knew due to his super senses but never bothered bringing it up with the rest of the league…?

– Amara –

I stood up slowly from the booth, stretching out the stiffness in my legs after sitting cramped up for so long. I had just opened my mouth to give some vague excuse about needing to head home when Kara’s voice unexpectedly cut through the awkward silence, interrupting me before I could leave. 

“Wait!” Kara called out quickly, her bright blue eyes suddenly shining with genuine enthusiasm. She leaned forward eagerly across the slightly sticky diner table. “Why don’t we all go do something fun instead? You know, something completely unrelated to hero or villain stuff for a change.” A playful grin appeared on her pretty face, making her look younger and infinitely more carefree. “Just us sexy young adults hanging out, blowing off steam, and getting up to whatever kind of crazy stuff passes for fun in this weird city!”

I paused mid-step, momentarily caught off guard by her suggestion. Truthfully, that actually sounded… kind of nice. I certainly hadn’t expected to spend my afternoon doing something so simple, mundane, and ordinary after what I’d done earlier today in Lucifer’s nightclub. Maybe this was exactly what I needed to distract myself from everything weighing heavily on my conscience.

Slowly, I turned around to face Kara directly again. A small, tentative smile formed on my lips as I gave a faint shrug. 

Dick immediately perked up beside Kara, a broad grin spreading across his handsome face. “Hey, I’ve got an idea!” he suggested enthusiastically. “Let’s head to Gotham Lanes. It’s a pretty decent bowling alley. Great for a little friendly competition, and it’ll definitely help us all unwind.”

I tilted my head curiously, feeling slightly embarrassed as I admitted, “Actually, I’ve never gone bowling before in my life.”

…

The bowling alley was noisy and brightly lit, the scent of greasy food and the faint odor of rental shoes lingering in the air. I stared down doubtfully at the heavy bowling ball in my hands, then turned to look at the slick wooden lanes in front of us. I felt genuinely uncertain about what I was supposed to do next.

Dick noticed my hesitant expression and moved toward me. “Here, let me help,” he offered warmly, positioning himself closely behind me. Without warning, he stepped right up against me, his muscular chest pressing lightly against my back. His arms reached forward, gently guiding my hands to hold the bowling ball properly.

I sucked in a sharp breath, surprised by the sudden intimacy of his closeness. His masculine scent washed over me, distracting me even further as he murmured instructions softly in my ear. “Just relax your shoulders, Amara. Keep your stance balanced, your knees slightly bent. When you’re ready, swing your arm back gently and then smoothly roll the ball down the lane.”

I could barely focus on his words, acutely aware of his warm breath tickling my skin, and his firm body pressed snugly against me from behind. 

I swallowed hard and forced myself to concentrate, following his advice carefully. My first bowling attempt wasn’t exactly graceful, but to my astonishment, I actually managed to knock down most of the pins.

Dick chuckled softly behind me, clearly pleased. “Hey, not bad at all for your first time,” he praised warmly, giving my waist a gentle, playful squeeze before stepping back.

…

Next, we found ourselves at Gotham’s downtown cinema. Rachel had shyly insisted we see a new horror film that had just been released, and none of us objected. As we settled into our comfortable theater seats, Rachel casually slid into the chair directly beside me. The lights slowly dimmed around us, plunging us into near darkness as the film began.

Just as the opening scene started, I felt a slender, warm hand suddenly slip gently into my own. I looked down in surprise, realizing it was Rachel’s hand clasping mine lightly but firmly. I glanced toward her, and with my night vision as a demoness I could see the blush on her normally very pale cheeks. 

Neither of us said anything else as we heard Dick and Kara both gasp as one of the characters on screen got murdered. 

…

Finally, we ended up at a popular nightclub—a different one than the place Maze had dragged me to before. I didn’t want any memories having to do with her right now…

It was loud, crowded, and vibrantly energetic, packed with people dancing enthusiastically beneath flashing neon lights. To my surprise, Kara immediately took the lead, guiding us through the throng of people directly to the center of the dance floor.

I'd never pegged Kara as the wild, party-girl type. But here, under the dizzying swirl of neon club lights, surrounded by pulsing bass and sweaty bodies, she was like a completely different person, replaced by this sexy, playful blonde who seemed determined to let loose without reservation.

Kara had thrown back at least half a dozen brightly-colored shots before we'd even hit the dance floor, and her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink—although I didn’t know how long booze would last in her Kryptonian system. 

She reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me close against her as she moved. Her dancing was carefree and wild, a fluid mix of bouncing steps and bold, teasing grinds against my body. Every so often, her hips or breasts would brush against me provocatively, as if entirely by accident, but the mischievous smirk on her full, pink lips told me otherwise. 

Then suddenly, Kara leaned forward, pressing her warm body snugly against mine. Her soft lips brushed teasingly against the sensitive skin near my ear, making me shiver slightly at the contact.

"Don't think I didn't notice how close you and Dick were getting at the bowling alley earlier," she whispered. She tilted her head slightly, blonde hair tickling against my cheek as she continued teasing me. "Or how you and Rachel were basically glued together, holding hands through the entire horror movie."

She pulled back slightly, still close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her flushed skin.

Damn, her body was incredibly warm. I wondered if that was also a Kryptonian thing. 

A smug, knowing smirk curved her lips upward as she stared at my slightly startled expression.

Before I could reply myself, Kara gave another playful laugh and stepped back, moving fluidly to the rhythm of the music once again. I blinked, trying to clear the startled surprise from my face, my heart suddenly hammering a bit faster in my chest.

My mind raced through the entire day—bowling with Dick pressing intimately behind me, Rachel gently slipping her hand into mine in the dimly lit theater, and now Kara grinding her body seductively against mine beneath the pulsing lights. 

A sudden, bewildering realization struck me, leaving me both astonished and slightly embarrassed that I was just figuring this shit out right now.

Had I unknowingly ended up going on three mini dates today? 

Feeling suddenly curious, I glanced over toward the far side of the club, towards Dick and Rachel. They were sitting at a booth against the wall, but even at this distance I could clearly make out the slight jealous frowns etched onto their faces as they watched me dance so closely with Kara.

Rachel’s usually calm, composed expression was replaced by an almost visible sulk, her lips pursed together in mild irritation. Dick, meanwhile, had folded his arms across his muscular chest, and though he tried to appear indifferent, the tight set of his jaw and narrowed eyes made it obvious he wasn’t exactly thrilled by Kara’s shameless dancing either.

I couldn’t help but giggle softly, shaking my head slightly as I watched their reactions. Their jealousy was undeniably adorable.

Still grinning, I turned my full attention back to the gorgeous blonde currently swaying and bouncing enthusiastically in front of me. Kara seemed entirely oblivious—or perhaps just completely unconcerned—with the jealous stares coming from our mutual friends.

I felt a surge of playful confidence fill me. Deciding to tease Kara back, I boldly reached forward with both hands, firmly grabbing her toned, perfectly-shaped ass. I squeezed slightly, pulling her hips even closer toward mine until there was hardly any distance left between us at all.

Kara let out a surprised, delighted little giggle at my unexpected move. Her bright eyes widened slightly, and a pleased, excited flush spread across her cheeks as she pressed even tighter against my body.

“Well, well,” Kara laughed breathlessly into my ear again, her lips brushing teasingly against my sensitive skin. “Someone’s feeling bold, huh? Oh no, the evil villainess has me in her clutches, whatever will I do…?” she trailed off playfully.

You have gained the Perk [Forbidden Darkness!] You are destined to live in the dark, and like the void itself you draw in all light around you. Those with hearts full of justice, those who live in the light will find themselves inexplicably drawn to you. They will find themselves hesitant to attack you. But only hesitating, if you cross their bottom lines this perk will not save you…

…

I sat back in the crowded nightclub booth, feeling my skin prickle slightly from the lingering heat in the air. Sweat glistened faintly along my collarbone and the base of my neck, making the thin fabric of my black tank top cling uncomfortably against my skin. I reached up absently and ran a hand through my black hair, trying to get a bit of cool air to touch my overheated scalp.

Dick, Rachel, and Kara sat across from me, each with a different expression of contentment on their faces. We'd been here for a couple of hours already, and though none of us were outright drunk, we had definitely reached the point where everything felt warm and pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. 

Dick leaned back casually, sipping on his cocktail slowly with a relaxed smile, his muscular arm resting easily across the back of the booth. 

Rachel sat quietly, her face slightly flushed, carefully nursing the same drink she'd started an hour ago, her shy eyes darting over to meet mine occasionally and then quickly away again.

Kara, however, was another story altogether. I couldn't help but grin at the blonde Kryptonian across from me. She had downed enough shots to get any normal person absolutely plastered—yet every time she drank one, within minutes, she was entirely sober again, her superhuman metabolism burning through alcohol at an insane pace. It was honestly impressive, if a bit ridiculous. Currently, Kara was gesturing enthusiastically toward the harried-looking bartender again, loudly requesting another round of shots for herself.

I leaned back with a soft chuckle, amused at how eagerly Kara seemed to embrace the human nightlife.

"I think you're seriously cutting into that bartender's sanity, Kara," I joked lightly, giving her a teasing smile. "He's probably wondering how the hell you're still standing upright, much less ordering more?"

Then again, he’d probably seen weirder things in Gotham…

Kara laughed brightly, tossing back her long blonde hair in a carefree gesture. "He'll survive!" she assured me cheerfully. "Besides, it's kind of hilarious watching the look on his face every time I ask for another shot."

Dick and Rachel both smiled faintly at Kara's comment, clearly entertained by her antics.

I sighed softly, my gaze sliding slowly toward the digital clock mounted near the back wall behind the bar. It was quickly approaching midnight. Not that I had an actual bedtime or anything silly like that, but I had been away for the entire day without even thinking to check in on any of my coven mates. 

Morgana had mentioned earlier that she'd be busy today meeting some mysterious ancient acquaintance of hers, but by now, surely she was home and possibly worrying about my unexplained absence.

My stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of Morgana. The memory of what I'd done earlier today came rushing back with nauseating force—the image of Mordred's arrogant, pleading face as I'd ruthlessly devoured his very soul flashed clearly in my mind. A wave of guilt rolled heavily through my gut, threatening to force the alcohol I'd consumed earlier right back up again! 

I clenched my fists beneath the table, fighting down the sudden urge to vomit all over the booth.

Suddenly, I felt Rachel’s soft gaze on me, a gentle pressure of warmth and concern radiating toward me. Oh, right—I remembered belatedly—Rachel was an empath. She probably sensed every dark, painful thought racing through my mind at that moment.

"Amara," Rachel murmured softly, leaning slightly forward with a cautious expression. "Is everything alright?"

I quickly forced a reassuring smile onto my face, though it felt weak and brittle. "I'm fine, Raven—sorry, I mean Rachel," I corrected myself hastily, attempting a casual tone that didn't quite match my racing pulse. "Just... got lost in my head there for a second, that's all."

Rachel didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded slowly, clearly choosing not to press further for now. I exhaled softly in relief, grateful she wasn't pushing me for an explanation I wasn't ready to share.

"Today was really nice, you three," I admitted quietly after a pause, glancing slowly between Dick, Rachel, and Kara, meaning every word I said. My voice came out softer than intended, almost wistful. "Honestly, thank you for helping me feel like a normal girl again—even if it was just for a few hours."

Dick smiled warmly, his handsome face softening visibly as he nodded in quiet acknowledgment. Rachel simply gave me a gentle smile, her eyes conveying understanding without needing words.

But it was Kara who spoke up next, her bright blue eyes shining earnestly as she leaned forward with sudden sincerity. "You know, Amara, you could feel like this all the time," she urged gently, her voice unexpectedly serious amid the noisy chaos of the club. "If you ever decide to quit being a villain and try being a hero instead, you might find that happiness isn't as rare as you think!"

Her words caught me entirely off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless. I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out at first. I was genuinely surprised at myself, because for a brief, fleeting moment, I actually found myself hesitating, uncertain of what to say. The idea of stepping away from my darker path—of giving up my pursuit of power and revenge—sent a confusing swirl of conflicting emotions rushing through me. 

But then my [Simmering Fury] began to stir, and I knew it was impossible for me…

The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat longer, however, before I shook my head firmly, pushing the thought away. "I'm sorry, Kara," I finally told her gently but resolutely, meeting her hopeful gaze evenly. "It's... complicated. I should really be getting home now."

Kara's face fell slightly in disappointment, but she gave me a small, understanding smile and nodded reluctantly. "I understand, Amara," she replied softly. "But just remember—if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

Dick and Rachel both stood up alongside Kara as I rose from my seat, the three of them watching me closely, as if half-expecting I'd reconsider leaving right then.

I hesitated briefly, looking at each of their faces in turn. An idea suddenly occurred to me, making a sly, playful smirk slowly form on my lips. Stepping forward quickly before any of them could react, I boldly leaned up toward Kara and pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly to her flushed cheek.

Kara instantly sputtered in surprise, eyes widening dramatically as a bright blush bloomed rapidly across her pretty face. She raised one hand to her cheek, clearly stunned and slightly embarrassed by my unexpected kiss.

I chuckled softly at her adorable reaction before swiftly turning my attention to Dick and Rachel next. Moving quickly, I leaned upward and lightly kissed Dick's rougher, more stubbled cheek next, causing him to blink rapidly in astonishment. A faint, almost boyish blush rose visibly beneath his tanned skin. Finally, I turned toward Rachel, who stared at me wide-eyed and utterly bewildered. Leaning close, I softly pressed my lips to her smooth, porcelain-pale cheek as well. Rachel's blush was immediate and vibrant against her pale skin, her usually calm expression replaced entirely by open-mouthed shock.

"There," I teased lightly, stepping back and giving them a mischievous smile, my own cheeks slightly flushed with amusement. "Now none of you have to feel jealous anymore. I've officially kissed all three of you equally."

Their expressions of stunned disbelief were absolutely priceless. I felt another soft giggle escape my lips as I turned to leave.

"I'll see you around, heroes," I called back warmly over my shoulder as I pushed my way gently through the crowded nightclub toward the exit, a satisfied smile lingering on my lips. Even with all my complicated emotions and the guilt that still lingered in my gut, I had to admit—today really had felt nice. 

Other than this morning of course… 

Now it was time to face reality once more—time to face Morgana, and hope desperately she would never learn the terrible truth of what I'd done to her son.

…

Maybe spending the day hanging out with three annoyingly noble heroes had rubbed off on me a little. It was either that or perhaps the accumulated alcohol was still clouding my judgment. Either way, as I wandered the gloomy, neon-lit streets of Gotham City alone at night, I found myself oddly reluctant to handle the criminal element with my usual lethal efficiency.

Like clockwork, multiple scruffy-looking men dressed in baggy hoodies and stained jeans jumped out from a darkened alleyway, clearly mistaking me for an easy target. I sighed inwardly; the repeated attacks were starting to feel like routine now, almost an irritating Gotham ritual. Normally, I'd have simply burned them alive and tossed their charred corpses into the nearest dumpster. 

Tonight, however, I decided to go a bit softer.

I quickly summoned my wand from my inventory, feeling its comforting weight appear smoothly in my right hand. Then, raising it without hesitation, I fired off rapid stunning charms at the charging group. Bright flashes of scarlet light shot out from the tip of my wand, and the thugs dropped limply to the cracked pavement with satisfying thuds. They laid sprawled awkwardly, mouths hanging open, eyes rolled back—completely knocked out but very much alive.

I paused for a moment, observing the mess I'd left in the middle of the street, wondering idly if Gotham's police would bother showing up to collect them. 

I seriously doubted it. Still, it was the thought that counted, right?

Sighing quietly, I slipped my wand back into my inventory with a flick of thought and resumed my walk back toward the warehouse. But I'd barely taken three steps forward when I suddenly heard the faint echo of footsteps approaching me from ahead.

Curious and wary, I turned my head up sharply, squinting slightly in the dim, flickering glow of the streetlights. My breath hitched slightly when my gaze landed on a strikingly beautiful goth girl approaching from the opposite direction. Even at first glance, something about her presence felt extremely out of place—and extremely familiar. I couldn't put my finger on why exactly, but it nagged persistently at the edge of my consciousness. Oddly enough, even with my normally reliable [Cursed Knowledge], I was inexplicably drawing a total blank on who this gorgeous goth stranger could be.

Her skin was even paler than Rachel's normally porcelain complexion, looking almost impossibly smooth and flawless in the low light. Her punk-styled black hair cascaded down in messy, wild layers over her shoulders and back, and framed her slender, almost delicate face. She was wearing a tight-fitting grey top that hugged her torso, emphasizing her slender waist and beautifully large, perky breasts. The shirt was paired with tight, form-fitting black skinny jeans that clung to her toned thighs and slender legs, accentuating her slender yet clearly fit figure.

She raised her head and our gazes met. My vibrant green eyes locked onto hers, which were impossibly pitch-black, like dark pools absorbing all surrounding light. I felt my whole body involuntarily freeze in place for a heartbeat, startled by the intensity of her gaze. Those dark eyes of hers seemed to see straight through me, peering directly into the very depths of my soul. The sensation made me shiver involuntarily.

Despite my confusion and uncertainty, I managed to give her my best friendly smile, forcing myself to relax a little as I greeted her warmly, "Hello there. I love your whole look, honestly."

She immediately returned the smile, and to my genuine surprise, she responded far more cheerfully and friendly than I'd anticipated from her intimidating appearance. "Thanks!" she said brightly, her voice carrying an oddly playful, melodic quality to it. "I like to think of myself as the pioneer of this look!"

I tilted my head slightly, a bit puzzled by her choice of words. The pioneer? But before I could ask what she meant by that, the girl stepped closer and continued speaking, her casual voice shifting into something a bit more serious, tinged with a faint hint of annoyance.

"You know, I just got back from a very far away trip," she began conversationally, narrowing her beautiful black eyes slightly in apparent irritation, "and I found out that arrogant Lucy didn't mind his own business and decided to do something very naughty while I was away." She paused briefly, shaking her head slightly with a sigh. "I'm definitely going to have to punish him later for this mess."

I blinked slowly, completely confused now. Lucy… Lucifer? Wait, was she referring to Lucifer Morningstar? Was she seriously talking about him in such a casual, dismissive manner?

The goth girl didn't seem bothered by my obvious confusion as she continued calmly, "But for now, I'll have to correct his mistake myself, because I don't like seeing you so sad and guilt-ridden." She smiled sympathetically at me, an oddly genuine and warm expression on her pale face. "I'm really sorry about this in advance, Amara."

Before I could process or even question what she meant by 'sorry', her slender fist slammed into my stomach with an utterly staggering force—more powerful than anything I'd ever experienced before. The brutal impact knocked all the air violently from my lungs in an instant, leaving me gasping helplessly for breath. My knees immediately buckled beneath me, and I doubled over, coughing uncontrollably as nausea rose rapidly inside my stomach.

Then, without warning, I gagged violently and vomited right onto the filthy Gotham sidewalk. The alcohol I'd consumed earlier spewed out messily—but to my stunned disbelief, it wasn't just booze escaping my mouth. Amidst the disgusting mess, a glowing white orb suddenly shot straight from my lips, hovering brightly in mid-air between us.

My mind raced in panic and disbelief. Wait a second—was that Mordred’s soul I'd devoured earlier at Lucifer's nightclub?!

Before I could react, the goth girl quickly grabbed the brightly glowing soul orb with an impressively casual ease, holding it gently but firmly between her fingertips. Then, to my bewilderment, she casually shoved the glowing sphere directly into the back pocket of her tight-fitting skinny jeans like it was nothing more than a spare coin or a piece of candy.

She smiled apologetically again. "Sorry again about that," she said gently, looking genuinely sympathetic. She then reached into the opposite pocket of her jeans and casually pulled out yet another glowing orb—this one a darker shade, swirling with faint shadowy energies. "Here," she explained conversationally, holding out the darkly shimmering orb toward me like she was offering me a casual snack. "This soul belonged to a completely unrepentant serial killer. Trust me, it's a much better match as your first 'meal.' I'm glad I got here in time before you fully digested Mordred's soul. It'll recover eventually, and now you don't have to feel guilty anymore!"

My knees shook as I slowly pushed myself back upright, wiping my lips shakily with the back of my hand. I tried to open my mouth, stammering hoarsely in bewilderment, "W-what the hell just—"

But before I could even finish my question, the girl swiftly stepped forward again and, without hesitation, shoved the second glowing soul orb straight down my throat. My eyes widened dramatically in shock, my voice cutting off instantly as the dark soul slipped effortlessly past my lips and settled deeply inside my chest.

I immediately gasped at the strange sensation—this new soul tasted darker, stronger, filled with sharp spikes of violence and twisted cruelty. A shiver of something almost pleasurable rippled down my spine, followed by a disturbing feeling of strength surging within my body! The power I lost after coughing up Mordred’s soul was immediately replaced.

Finally catching my breath again, I stared at the goth girl in stunned disbelief. "Who…who the hell are you exactly?"

The mysterious goth beauty simply gave me a gentle, knowing smile, her pitch-black eyes glittering faintly with amusement. "Oh, I'm just someone who cares very deeply about you, Amara Black," she replied cryptically, winking at me playfully. "But don’t worry about that right now. You'll find out soon enough. For now, go home and get some rest, alright? You've had quite the day…"

– Morgana –

Morgana paced slowly across the spacious, dimly-lit living room of the warehouse. She glanced irritably at the wall clock, sighing for what felt like the twentieth time in the last hour.

She’d arrived home hours ago, feeling drained and distinctly annoyed after her meeting with that frustratingly arrogant immortal man. Morgana rubbed the bridge of her nose in agitation. 

Honestly, dealing with him was always exhausting. No matter how carefully Morgana planned the encounter, the conversation never unfolded quite as she expected. HE had always been unpredictable, stubborn, and irritatingly cryptic—this time, of course, had been no exception.

Still, despite her irritation, Morgana couldn’t entirely dismiss the usefulness of what had come from their conversation. To her considerable surprise, he had actually invited both herself and her apprentice into some secret club he'd apparently been building quietly behind the scenes for years.

First the Court of Owls, and now this mysterious organization he'd dramatically named “The Light.” 

Morgana shook her head in mild disbelief, amusement pulling slightly at her dark red lips. Suddenly, everyone wanted a piece of her. Villains, secret societies, shadowy cabals—all of them seemed to regard her as some vital addition to their ranks, practically falling over themselves to court her favor. She supposed it should’ve been flattering, yet somehow it felt faintly absurd.

Morgana knew exactly why she was suddenly so popular again, too. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out. 

Without Mordred around, constantly undermining her with his arrogant and petulant demands, people were finally beginning to see Morgana herself as a genuinely competent, capable villainess and dark witch again. 

She paused thoughtfully, her brow creasing as a strange, disconcerting realization struck her. Had Mordred really been dragging her down all this time?

She considered the question carefully, startled by the clarity with which the answer came to her. Yes, Morgana realized, eyes widening slightly—he had. 

Mordred had indeed been holding her back for centuries, his selfish impulses and reckless tantrums constantly compromising her own plans, schemes, and goals.

And yet, despite everything, Morgana had never punished him for his behavior. Not truly. Her irritation had always melted away too quickly. Instead, she’d indulged and spoiled him, rationalizing away his mistakes and forgiving every insult he’d hurled her way. She’d enabled his worst tendencies again and again, allowing his selfish behavior to escalate unchecked. 

Had that been what the youth nowadays would call a toxic relationship?

Morgana sighed heavily, disturbed by her own revelation. She shook her head again, pushing those thoughts aside. There were far more pressing things to focus on now—like the fact that her beautiful apprentice Amara still wasn’t home.

Upon returning earlier that afternoon, Morgana had found Daphne and Astoria anxiously waiting for her in the living room. Both of the blonde sisters had jumped up immediately upon her entrance, relief visible in their bright blue eyes. But their hopeful expressions had quickly shifted into worry as they reported Amara had apparently disappeared early that morning and hadn’t come back since. Morgana had initially reassured the sisters, believing Amara probably just needed some space after getting that letter, but as the day wore on without any word, Morgana grew increasingly concerned.

To make matters worse, Daphne and Astoria had received no replies from their parents, despite multiple letters and attempts at communication. 

Seeing their shared anxiety, Morgana had briefly considered distracting herself and the girls by taking Daphne and Astoria back to bed again. After all, their earlier session had been frustratingly interrupted by that obnoxious little house elf barging rudely into the bedroom at the worst possible moment. But Morgana had quickly discarded the idea. Without Amara there as well the idea of steamy sex with the sisters just didn’t seem as appealing or complete.

So, instead, Morgana had resigned herself to passing the hours in a more mundane way, watching three different movies one after the other, barely paying attention to them, and ordering pizza for dinner when it became clear Amara wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

By the time they reached the end of the third film, Morgana’s nerves had become painfully frayed. 

She stood up restlessly from the couch, pacing again as she seriously debated whether or not she should leave the warehouse and go searching Gotham’s darkened streets herself for her beloved apprentice.

But just as she began moving toward the exit, a sudden noise snapped her attention to the side entrance door. Morgana halted instantly, breath catching in her throat as the door slowly creaked open. 

“I'm back!” Amara called out in a shaky voice. Morgana’s eyes instantly widened in shock and worry as she took in her apprentice’s messy appearance. The front of Amara’s tank top was stained with dried, foul-smelling vomit, and her raven-black hair was disheveled and messy, clinging to her sweaty forehead. Her vibrant green eyes looked strangely haunted, filled with a desperate weariness Morgana had never seen in them before.

Morgana forced herself to speak lightly, trying not to betray how deeply concerned she truly was. She managed a teasing smile, cocking her head gently to the side. “Well, you certainly look like you’ve had quite the eventful day, my apprentice,” she remarked dryly, raising one elegant eyebrow at Amara’s disheveled appearance.

But to Morgana’s astonishment, Amara didn’t respond to her playful tone at all. Instead, the beautiful young woman suddenly lifted her eyes, meeting Morgana’s gaze directly. Morgana felt a sharp jolt of alarm rush through her body when she saw the raw anguish and guilt visible on Amara’s face.

Amara’s knees buckled. She slumped heavily onto the carpet, collapsing to her knees. Morgana watched in shock as Amara’s shoulders began trembling violently, her apprentice breaking down completely into heartbreaking sobs!

“Amara?!” Morgana’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She instantly rushed forward across the room toward her fallen apprentice, heels clicking rapidly against the floor. Daphne and Astoria hurried alongside her, all three women reaching Amara almost simultaneously.

“What's wrong, Amara?” Daphne asked anxiously, kneeling beside Amara’s shaking figure and gently placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Astoria echoed her sister’s concern, touching Amara’s back reassuringly.

“Amara, please talk to us!” Morgana begged desperately, crouching directly in front of her weeping apprentice, trying to gently coax the girl’s face upward. Her own hands trembled slightly with worry as she carefully lifted Amara’s chin, gazing directly into those beautiful green eyes, now red and swollen with tears. “Talk to me, darling,” Morgana urged gently, her voice thick with genuine distress. “Please tell me what happened! Did someone hurt you? Are you injured?”

Amara’s sobbing slowly quieted, but tears continued to spill freely down her pale, tear-stained cheeks. She shook her head slightly, looking deeply ashamed…

Morgana glanced at Daphne and Astoria, noticing their worried, anxious expressions. She offered them a reassuring look, her voice calm but firm as she said clearly, "Girls, I appreciate your concern, but please, let me handle this. I'll take care of Amara myself. She needs me right now."

Daphne hesitated briefly, clearly wanting to argue, but Astoria gently placed a comforting hand on her sister's arm and gave Morgana an understanding nod. "Of course, Lady Morgana. If there's anything we can do later to help, please tell us."

Morgana gave them a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Astoria. I'll let you know if we need anything."

Turning her full attention back to Amara, Morgana felt her heart twist painfully at the sight of her apprentice still trembling slightly on the carpeted floor, head bowed low. Gently, with extreme care, Morgana bent down and slid her arms beneath Amara's slender knees and around her back, carefully scooping the younger woman into her embrace.

Amara made a faint, startled sound, clearly not expecting to be suddenly lifted off the ground. Her beautiful, tear-streaked face tilted upward, vivid emerald eyes wide and confused as they met Morgana's softer gaze. Morgana only smiled tenderly, cradling Amara securely against her chest as she turned toward their shared bedroom.

She carried Amara slowly down the hallway, quietly kicking the door shut behind them. Moving straight into the spacious, beautifully decorated private bathroom, Morgana glanced toward the ornate porcelain bathtub. With a casual, effortless wave of her hand, powerful magic flowed from her fingertips, instantly causing steaming hot water to pour directly from thin air into the large bathtub, filling it swiftly.

Still gently holding Amara in her arms, Morgana gazed downward again, noting with relief that her apprentice had stopped crying, although her breath still came in soft, uneven little gasps. Morgana softly murmured a second spell beneath her breath, one specifically created to magically strip clothing away in a heartbeat. Immediately, the garments covering both of their bodies vanished without a trace.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Morgana couldn't help but grin slightly in appreciation of the naked beauty in her arms. She admired Amara's flawless, smooth skin, her firm, perfectly shaped breasts, her toned stomach, and the beautiful curves of her hips and thighs. Even now, after so much intimate time together, the sight of Amara's bare form never failed to captivate Morgana. Holding her gorgeous apprentice close to her own naked body, Morgana stepped carefully into the tub, sinking down into the comforting heat of the water with a contented sigh.

She leaned back against the smooth edge of the large bathtub, pulling Amara carefully against her chest. The younger woman settled quietly into place between Morgana's thighs, her bare back pressing directly against Morgana's own large, sensitive breasts. Morgana felt a pleasant shiver ripple through her at the intimate contact of their bare skin meeting.

For several moments, the two identical-looking, raven-haired witches sat silently together, simply soaking peacefully in the warm water. Morgana's fingers slowly began tracing gentle, comforting patterns across Amara's stomach and ribs, carefully working to soothe away the lingering tension in her apprentice’s body. She could feel Amara gradually begin to relax against her, muscles loosening slightly beneath her tender touch.

Encouraged by Amara's quiet, gradual relaxation, Morgana moved her hands upward, gently cupping and massaging her apprentice’s full, round breasts. Amara’s breathing hitched softly, a delicate little gasp slipping from her parted lips as Morgana lightly rolled her fingertips across the sensitive peaks. Smiling in quiet satisfaction, Morgana leaned closer, pressing warm, tender kisses against the back of Amara’s slender neck.

Amara shivered slightly, her breath growing quicker, heavier. Morgana continued her gentle ministrations, feeling relieved and pleased as Amara finally let out a soft, breathy moan. Her apprentice’s hips moved slightly beneath the water, causing her firm, rounded ass cheeks to shift and bounce subtly against Morgana’s lap. Morgana felt her own desire quickly beginning to rise, but for now, she focused entirely on comforting Amara.

Now that Amara appeared calmer, Morgana leaned closer again, her lips brushing against the delicate shell of her apprentice’s ear as she whispered gently, "Amara, sweetheart… please talk to me. Tell me what upset you so deeply today. I've never seen you this shaken before."

Amara hesitated, letting out another quiet sigh before finally speaking softly, "I…I did something really bad earlier, Morgana. Something awful, something I never thought could be undone. I thought it would be permanent, and the guilt…it nearly destroyed me. But somehow, miraculously, it ended up getting fixed."

Morgana paused, absorbing Amara’s vague confession thoughtfully. She pressed another tender kiss to the nape of Amara’s neck, continuing to massage and tease her apprentice’s breasts, carefully maintaining the warm, pleasurable sensations between them. After a thoughtful moment, Morgana finally responded carefully, her tone soft and understanding, "Well, if whatever happened was fixed, and it upset you this deeply, it's obvious that you don't truly want to talk about it yet. Perhaps, at least for now, I'm better off not knowing exactly what you did, my darling apprentice." Morgana paused briefly, carefully gauging Amara’s reaction. When the younger witch didn’t immediately argue or protest, Morgana leaned forward again, pressing her lips warmly against the soft curve of Amara’s shoulder. "For now," she continued softly, whispering seductively in Amara’s ear, "why don’t you just tell me what else you did today. You were gone for a long time according to Daphne and Astoria…”

– Amara –

The next morning, I sat down heavily at the kitchen table with Daphne and Astoria, a guilty sigh escaping my lips as I caught sight of their anxious, concerned expressions. 

Daphne, always so dignified and calm, was nibbling nervously at her lower lip. Astoria was fiddling restlessly with a lock of her long blonde hair, shooting me quick, uncertain glances every few seconds.

“I’m really, truly sorry, girls,” I said quietly, looking each of them in the eye. “I didn’t mean to make either of you worry so much yesterday. That was honestly the last thing I wanted to do.”

Without waiting for a response, I stood and leaned forward, gently cupping Daphne’s soft cheek in my hand. I tilted her pretty face up and pressed a tender, lingering kiss against her lips. Daphne made a faint sound of surprise at first, but quickly melted into the kiss, her mouth moving gently against mine for several heartbeats before we reluctantly separated.

Next, I turned toward Astoria, whose cheeks flushed a deep pink the moment my eyes met hers. I smiled gently, stepping closer and cupping her delicate face as well, softly brushing my thumb along her smooth, warm skin before kissing her lips just as slowly and tenderly as I had Daphne’s. Astoria let out a tiny, adorable squeak, but she eagerly kissed me back, her lips soft and sweet against my own.

Pulling back slightly, I looked at both sisters carefully, relieved to see their expressions were now significantly less tense.

“Really,” I insisted again, squeezing each of their hands reassuringly. “I’ll make sure I don’t disappear on you two like that again. You deserve better than having to worry like that.”

Astoria nodded, giving me a hesitant but genuine smile, her pretty blue eyes still shyly lowered. “It’s alright, Amara. We’re just glad you’re safe.”

“Exactly,” Daphne added, gently reaching over to stroke my hand. “But seriously, just give us a heads-up next time you need some space. Our hearts can’t handle it.”

“Fair enough,” I chuckled, warmth flooding my chest. It felt good—truly good—to know these two cared about me so genuinely.

The previous night, I’d apologized thoroughly to Morgana as well—though admittedly, her approach to comforting me had been significantly more intense. After calming down in her arms in the bathtub, she’d driven me nearly mad with pleasure, patiently and skillfully teasing me until I lost track of how many orgasms she drew from my body. It was after she’d thoroughly satisfied me, while I was still trembling and breathless in her embrace, that I’d managed to give her an abridged version of my day.

Of course, I’d skipped the details about Lucifer and Mordred, but I’d confessed to absorbing the soul of a random serial killer I supposedly stumbled upon—a fact that had actually pleased Morgana immensely. I also mentioned the surprising mini-dates I’d unintentionally enjoyed with Kara, Dick, and Rachel. Morgana had only laughed softly, clearly amused rather than jealous. Then she’d leaned forward, tenderly brushing my brand new horns with her fingertips, whispering with deep sincerity that she found them incredibly beautiful.

Lost in those pleasant memories, I almost didn’t notice Morgana enter the kitchen until the delicious scent of freshly cooked breakfast hit my senses. Morgana placed large plates of perfectly crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, golden toast, and sliced fruits onto the table, settling herself gracefully into the chair directly across from me. Her eyes met mine, thoughtful and serious, as she spoke softly but clearly.

“Amara,” Morgana began gently, carefully buttering a slice of toast, “have you thought more about what you plan to do regarding that letter from your birth mother? Do you want to go back to London to confront your family?”

Daphne and Astoria immediately perked up, turning curious gazes toward me. Both girls exchanged a quick, hesitant glance before Astoria spoke up nervously. “We’ve been really worried too, actually. Our parents still haven’t answered any of our messages, and that’s just… it’s not like them at all.”

Daphne nodded seriously. “Father is usually annoyingly diligent about checking in on us. This silence has me extremely worried.”

I bit my lower lip, anxiety twisting uncomfortably in my gut. After another quiet moment of contemplation, I finally sighed and nodded slowly. “Yes. I think I need to go back to London. Just for a few days at most, though. And I need to go alone.”

Immediately, all three women around the table looked ready to protest, their mouths opening almost simultaneously in objection. I quickly held up my hand, firmly stopping them before the arguments could begin.

“Listen,” I explained earnestly, carefully keeping my tone calm and steady, “it’s genuinely safer if I handle this myself first. I’m a Metamorphmagus, remember? I can sneak around the wizarding world unnoticed using my old appearance—no one will suspect me, at least not right away. Morgana, you know you can’t come yet. You still don’t have your wand, and we both know Merlin would sense your return immediately if you entered magical Britain. It’s way too dangerous.”

Morgana sighed softly, clearly frustrated but unable to deny my reasoning. She grudgingly nodded, murmuring quietly, “I know you’re right, but I don’t like letting you go alone, especially after what happened yesterday.”

My heart twisted painfully with guilt, but I held her gaze steadily, determined. “I’ll be careful, Morgana. I promise.”

I then turned toward Daphne and Astoria, speaking softly yet firmly. “As for you two, if something bad really has happened to your family, you’ll be safer here. If there’s any danger at all, you could easily become targets if you return prematurely. I need to investigate this first, make sure things are safe before we all rush back together.”

Daphne looked deeply troubled but reluctantly agreed, sighing in resignation. Astoria just nodded slowly, visibly worried but understanding my logic.

“You all deserve to know exactly what’s happening, but I won’t risk your safety unnecessarily,” I concluded seriously, glancing around the table once more. “And honestly? I do need to see my family alone at least one last time. I have to find out once and for all if my birth mother is truly sorry, or if she’s still just a lying, manipulative bitch.”

I let out a bitter chuckle, remembering yesterday’s conversation clearly. Dick and Rachel both made it abundantly clear what they thought yesterday. According to them, my mother is definitely a lying bitch, but they also said I should still see her face-to-face to make certain of it for myself. 

And considering Dick’s parents were tragically killed when he was young, and Rachel’s parents are literally an evil interdimensional demon lord and the stupid human woman dumb enough to join a cult and fuck him… well, let’s just say they both probably know what they’re talking about when it comes to messed-up family situations.

A heavy silence settled briefly around the breakfast table as my words hung heavily in the air.

Finally, Morgana broke the quiet, giving me a gentle but supportive smile. “You’re right, my darling apprentice. You deserve answers and closure. But please promise us again that you’ll be safe and careful.”

I reached across the table, taking Morgana’s hand and squeezing reassuringly. “I promise. Trust me, Morgana—I’ll be careful and smart about this.”

Morgana’s eyes softened noticeably at my sincere declaration, and I saw similar expressions of relief pass across Daphne and Astoria’s pretty faces.

– Batman –

Batman sat at the head of the long conference table in the Watchtower meeting room. 

Sitting along either side of the polished steel and glass table was a small but formidable group of his fellow Justice League members. 

Superman sat directly to his left. Next to Superman was Wonder Woman, who sat upright and composed. Across from them, Martian Manhunter—J'onn J'onzz—sat silently, his expression thoughtful and unreadable, his bright red eyes calmly meeting Batman's gaze. Beside J'onn sat Hal Jordan—the Green Lantern. And finally, there was Barry Allen, The Flash.

This wasn’t the entire league, not even close, but it was who he could get under such short notice. Batman knew the entire League couldn’t always gather at once, each hero had their own battles, commitments, and responsibilities to attend to. But this matter was too important to postpone, even without a full roster present. 

He'd wasted no time scheduling this urgent meeting following the report he received from Nightwing, Raven, and Supergirl after the AMAZO incident two days ago in Metropolis.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the polished table surface, and began to explain clearly and concisely what had been uncovered.

"As you all know, Nightwing, Raven, and Supergirl discovered something troubling immediately after our encounter with AMAZO," Batman began gravely, his deep voice echoing slightly within the room. "It seems there's an entire hidden population of magic-using humans—wizards and witches—existing secretly among the rest of humanity. They had established, or attempted to establish, a secret magical government called MACUSA right here in America."

Superman's brow furrowed deeply at this revelation. "MACUSA? I've never heard of that. What exactly were they trying to accomplish?"

Batman met Superman's concerned gaze. "MACUSA stands for the 'Magical Congress of the United States of America,'" he clarified. "From what we know, this group intended to govern and regulate all magical activities secretly. More disturbingly, they had extensive knowledge about our real identities. Not only ours—but those of our close friends, families, and associates as well."

A shocked silence filled the meeting room at Batman's words. Superman visibly stiffened at the mention of their loved ones, a shadow passing briefly across his face. "You're telling me these magical lunatics knew everything about us?" Hal Jordan asked incredulously, leaning forward in alarm. "Exactly how much danger were we looking at here?"

Batman’s voice remained calm and steady as he continued. "Based on the information we have, MACUSA was prepared to hunt down and eliminate—or at best imprison indefinitely—anyone who posed even the smallest threat of exposing the existence of magic to the wider world. Our identities alone were enough justification for them. Simply because we knew about magic, they considered us targets."

Superman's usually calm demeanor cracked, his eyes flashing dangerously with an ominous red glow at the thought of someone potentially harming Lois. "That’s completely insane," Superman growled softly, his voice a menacing whisper. "Going after innocent people just because they might know something? Threatening our loved ones? They would have gone after Lois!?"

Batman nodded somberly, recognizing the intensity in Superman’s reaction. "We don’t know WHY yet, but Morgana and her new apprentice Amara Black, moved to eliminate them swiftly before they could fulfil any of their MANY plans. MACUSA no longer exists—everyone involved was killed."

Wonder Woman shifted uncomfortably, a troubled look crossing her features at the mention of Morgana's name. 

Batman noted her reaction clearly. He understood exactly why Diana felt guilt. After all, she had personally been the one to strike down Mordred, Morgana's son. 

Still, she spoke up with quiet authority. "Morgana and her apprentice did us a favor, removing that threat. Even so," Diana's voice grew heavier, tinged with regret, "the sheer ruthlessness displayed by those two…” she gestured to the pictures of the crime scene he’d placed on the table. “They didn't just eliminate the threat—they did so brutally, without hesitation or mercy..."

Batman inclined his head slowly, acknowledging her concerns. "Agreed. Their methods are troublingly extreme and we will need to capture both of them someday soon. But for now, their actions have revealed an even larger issue we must address."

Barry Allen leaned forward eagerly, clearly trying to push past the discomfort of the gruesome details. "You mean the existence of a 'secret magical world'? How deep does this actually run?"

Batman’s jaw tightened slightly, and he explained carefully, "Nightwing, Raven, and Supergirl managed to meet with Amara Black directly yesterday in Gotham City. They spoke with her at length—apparently, she's been fairly forthcoming." Batman hesitated for a brief moment, clearly uneasy even discussing a budding villain in cooperative terms, before continuing decisively. "She explained more clearly the true nature of the magical world—especially across Europe." Batman paused briefly, observing their concerned and shocked reactions before continuing. "According to her, many European countries are secretly controlled by hidden magical governments similar to MACUSA—Britain, France, Germany, and likely many others. These governments enforce strict secrecy through powerful mind-controlling and memory-altering magic."

J'onn spoke up calmly, his deep voice measured and thoughtful, but tinged with unmistakable concern. "Mind control and memory manipulation are grave violations of personal autonomy. To know entire populations could be subjected to this so casually is deeply disturbing."

Batman nodded firmly, appreciating J'onn’s clear understanding. "Exactly. They use these spells liberally on regular people—or as they dismissively call us, 'muggles.'" Batman's tone darkened significantly when he said the word. He felt an immediate and unmistakable distaste at using the term, recognizing clearly that it was derogatory—a term designed specifically to separate and demean ordinary humans.

"You're saying these magical governments are secretly controlling entire countries!?" Hal questioned sharply, disbelief and disgust evident in his voice. "And no one has noticed? This is so freaking illegal!"

Batman shook his head grimly. "Apparently, they've operated entirely unnoticed for centuries. Their magic isn’t necessarily powerful, but it is insidious and thorough."

"How did we miss this for so long?" Superman muttered in frustrated disbelief, eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m pretty sure Kara tried asking me about this yesterday but I had no idea what she was talking about… She seemed shocked that I never noticed, and now I am too,” he admitted.

Wonder Woman patted Superman’s arm saying he might hear the whole world, but they probably have magical wards that block his senses. “We know you have a minor weakness when it comes to magic,” she pointed out and superman nodded reluctantly.

"That's exactly what Nightwing and I intend to find out," Batman responded to Superman’s question. "We're planning a discreet investigative mission to London for the next few days. If Britain is truly home to one of these hidden magical governments, we'll confirm their presence and gather as much intelligence as possible…"

XXX

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 (~11k words):

– Mazikeen –

Mazikeen stood near the back office door, arms crossed over her chest, staring at Lucifer Morningstar sprawled out on the velvet sofa. He looked absolutely wrecked. That was saying something, because Maze had seen Lucifer in every kind of state—drunk, brooding, smug, bleeding, stabbed through the chest, literally set on fire. 

But this was different. This was… humiliating.

Lucifer’s face was a disaster. Both his eyes were ringed with purple bruises that wouldn’t heal, not even with all his usual supernatural perks. His bottom lip was split and swollen. There was a nasty, jagged scrape across his left cheekbone, dried blood crusting in a way that looked grotesquely human. The bridge of his nose was red and already ballooning with swelling. He pressed a melting bag of ice to his jaw with all the mournful dignity of a cat who’d fallen in the bathtub.

He winced every time he moved. It was almost funny. Almost.

The Lux wasn’t its usual glamorous self, either. Someone had left the lights on a little too bright, and the thumping base of the house mix seemed to vibrate straight through the walls. Every time a burst of laughter from the crowd drifted back to the office, Lucifer flinched like a jumpy dog.

Mazikeen didn’t bother hiding her disappointment—or her annoyance. She was still wearing her club gear, her black leather pants clinging to her hips, boots heavy on the floor. She felt more demon than human right now, and not in a good way.

She stalked across the room, arms swinging at her sides. She was pissed. She stopped only when she was standing right over Lucifer, looming. “Look at you,” she said flatly. “You look like you got thrown off a building and run over by a lorry. Didi really did a number on you.”

Lucifer made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. It came out lopsided and pathetic. “She does have a rather… forceful way of making her displeasure known.” He tried for a chuckle, but it broke off into a groan. He pressed the ice harder to his face.

Mazikeen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, you deserved every second of it, you moron.” She dropped down into the leather armchair across from him, legs spread wide, exuding a dangerous, pissed-off energy. “I told you, Lucifer. I told you not to fuck with Amara. You promised me you were just going to talk. Maybe flirt a little. NOT put her through some devil’s trial bullshit.”

Lucifer held up his free hand defensively. “I know, I know! I slipped, Maze. It was a mistake. Didi made that abundantly clear to me—believe me.” He gingerly poked at his nose, wincing again. “She’s got a right hook like an archangel.”

Mazikeen glared at him. “She’s not the only one who’s pissed off, you know. Amara trusted me—she liked me. Now she probably hates both of us. You broke your word, Lucifer. That wasn’t just cruel, it was fucking stupid.”

She could feel her own heart pounding in her chest, anger mingling with a much more vulnerable anxiety. It wasn’t just rage she felt. She was worried. Genuinely, pathetically worried that Amara might never talk to her again. Maze would have denied it if pressed, but the fear was gnawing at her insides.

Lucifer’s bravado slipped, just a little. He looked… tired. “I am sorry, Maze,” he said, softly. “I really am. I didn’t mean for things to go so far. It’s just… Sometimes I slip back into old habits. The devil makes cruel tests, that’s what he does. Sometimes, I forget that’s not who I’m supposed to be anymore. I was just so interested in this new demoness and wanted to see what she was capable of!”

Maze’s expression softened. Only a little. She looked away, jaw set tight. “You don’t need to apologize to me. I’m not the one who needs to hear it.” Her voice was blunt, no mercy in her tone.

Lucifer sighed. He slumped back into the couch, ice pack sliding off his jaw and thumping to the carpet. He looked every inch a man who’d been thoroughly beaten—body and ego both.

There was a heavy pause. Silence, except for the muffled bass and the clink of glass out in the club.

After a moment, Lucifer said quietly, “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me? I wasn’t lying when I said I’d be interested in getting to know her better…”

Mazikeen didn’t answer right away. She stared at her own hands, the black nail polish chipped from stress and too many fights. She wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t lie. Instead, she muttered, “It’s not really about you, is it? It’s about Amara. She doesn’t trust easily. She’ll need time. Maybe a lot of it.”

Lucifer was silent, brooding.

Maze felt her throat tighten. “If Didi hadn’t shown up when she did, you know… you might’ve ruined her forever. Amara almost digested Mordred’s soul completely. That would’ve fucked her up for life, you know that?”

She shook her head, running her hands through her hair, tugging sharply at the roots. “Didi said she fixed it. She pulled Mordred’s soul out before it was too late. Put some other monster’s soul in there instead so Amara wouldn’t feel guilty. She patched it all up for you, cleaned up your mess. If she hadn’t… well, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Lucifer winced. He looked genuinely remorseful, a rare thing. “I know, Maze. I really do.” His voice dropped. “I owe Amara an apology. And you…”

Maze glared at him again, but the anger had drained away. Now it was just exhaustion, disappointment, and a desperate little hope that maybe, somehow, Amara would give her another chance. She didn’t say it out loud, but it sat heavy in her chest, raw and open.

She finally stood up, boots thudding on the floor. “You’d better figure out what you’re going to say to her, Lucifer. Because I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to say anything at all.”

She left the office without looking back, leaving Lucifer to nurse his wounds—inside and out—in silence. Her thoughts drifted to Amara, wondering what she was doing right now?

– Amara –

I leaned back deeply into the plush, luxurious leather chair of the private jet, breathing in the comforting, faintly woody scent of expensive upholstery. The plane was exquisite, easily surpassing anything I'd ever imagined flying in—particularly since my previous experiences with muggle transportation usually involved cramped, uncomfortable seats surrounded by irritatingly loud strangers.

My gaze drifted lazily over the elegant interior. Polished wooden panels lined the walls, gleaming beneath the soft glow of tasteful, ambient lighting. There was a minibar fully stocked with various bottles of outrageously expensive alcohols I'd only vaguely heard of before. Several plush sofas were arranged carefully near the back of the plane, accompanied by crystal-topped tables.

Everything was spotless and expensive-looking, and I could hardly suppress the smug little smirk that tugged insistently at the corner of my lips.

This was absolutely fantastic. Being insanely wealthy in the muggle world genuinely was a completely new type of power—and one I was rapidly becoming addicted to.

The sound of high heels clicking gently on the plane's plush carpeting drew my attention forward. My eyes lifted, settling on the blonde stewardess as she approached me again. A warm flush rose immediately in my cheeks as my gaze roamed appreciatively down her body.

The stewardess's uniform hugged her figure almost obscenely—tight, dark navy fabric clinging to her slender waist, accentuating the generous curve of her hips and thighs. The crisp white blouse beneath her fitted blazer was buttoned dangerously low, leaving a tantalizing view of smooth, pale cleavage that nearly made me forget how to breathe properly. Her slim legs were encased in sheer dark stockings, feet perched gracefully in elegant black stilettos.

She stopped beside my seat and leaned down slightly, giving me an even clearer, closer view of her spectacular cleavage. The subtle scent of her perfume filled my nostrils.

"Miss Black," the stewardess said softly, her voice low and smoothly professional—though there was a clear, unmistakable undercurrent of flirtation in her tone. "Can I refill your drink again, or perhaps… is there anything else I could possibly do for you during our flight?" Her full, glossy lips curled into a faintly suggestive smile, bright blue eyes watching me through long, dark lashes.

She tilted her body subtly closer, clearly and deliberately pressing her chest forward a bit further.

I felt the blush deepen across my cheeks and down the back of my neck, but I didn't avert my eyes. Instead, I openly admired the soft swell of her breasts beneath her blouse for several long, lingering moments before finally, reluctantly, lifting my gaze back up to meet hers.

I returned her playful smile with one of my own, speaking softly, voice a little huskier than I'd intended. "Thank you, but I'm perfectly fine for now."

She pouted slightly, lips pursing into a tempting little moue, and straightened again with a small sigh, seemingly disappointed but not at all discouraged. "If you change your mind at all," she promised sweetly, her voice dipping into a lower, sultry register, "just let me know, Miss Black. Anything at all."

The implication in her words was blatantly obvious, and I had to bite down lightly on my bottom lip to keep from smiling too obviously at her. She gave me one more lingering, suggestive glance before turning gracefully, hips swaying provocatively beneath the tight skirt as she walked back toward the plane's galley.

I watched her go, enjoying the sight a bit too much, though honestly, who could possibly blame me?

Shaking my head softly at myself with an amused smirk, I turned to gaze thoughtfully out the window. 

I felt a strange heaviness settle over me again as I stared through the glass, suddenly reminded of why exactly I was taking this trip in the first place. London. The wizarding world. My birth family. The very same people who’d abandoned and betrayed me, who’d caused me nothing but pain and suffering throughout my childhood, and who’d indirectly gotten Sirius killed.

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply through my nose, fighting to push the painful memories away. Now wasn't the time to spiral into grief again. I had to remain composed, keep my wits about me. This wasn't a social visit—

Taking a long, steadying sip of my drink, I let my eyes drift closed again briefly. I needed to relax. I couldn't afford to arrive in London rattled or distracted. There was far too much at stake, especially since I was traveling alone.

A few minutes later, I calmed down and looked up again. The hostess was back. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you, Miss Black?” she purred, leaning down again so her perfume filled my head. “We’ll be descending soon. I could… show you the first-class restroom. Or maybe you’d like a massage to relax before landing?”

I smirked and met her eyes, letting my own emerald-green gaze glow just a little—succubus magic, just a flicker. She froze, pupils dilating, lips parting in unconscious anticipation. I grinned wider, not bothering to hide the heat in my voice.

“Maybe next time,” I whispered, deliberately brushing her hand as I took another sip of my drink. “But I promise, you’ll be the first to know if I change my mind.”

She practically shivered. She nodded, flustered, and hurried away, cheeks bright red. I shook my head in amusement. Being a succubus really did make life easier sometimes.

I turned back to the window, London’s sprawling city lights coming into view as we dipped lower through the clouds. The city looked different from the air—beautiful, glittering, almost inviting. But I knew better. There was nothing welcoming about this place. I was coming back on my own terms this time, and I’d burn the whole city down before I let it hurt me again.

“Welcome home, Amara Black,” I muttered to myself, watching the gray sky darken as we began our descent. “Let’s see what kind of hell you have waiting for me this time.”

….

I stepped off the private jet onto the tarmac, the sudden gust of crisp London air instantly chasing away the pleasant warmth of the cabin. A shiver slipped down my spine as I adjusted my jacket, tugging the soft leather closer to my body. The sky was a typical London gray, heavy clouds hanging above like an oppressive, wet blanket. The city hadn't changed a bit. It was still dreary and cold, exactly how I remembered it.

The stewardess from earlier gave me one last heated glance as she smiled warmly, leaning out of the plane doorway to wave me off. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "It was truly a pleasure having you on board, Miss Black," she called, her voice dripping with sultry suggestion. "Please fly with us again soon."

I gave her a sly, lingering smile, amused by how blatantly she'd flirted the entire trip. "Count on it," I replied smoothly, letting my gaze drift slowly down her curvy figure one final time before turning away.

Walking briskly toward the main terminal, I pulled my luggage behind me. It was just for appearances since everything I needed was in my [inventory.] As the automatic doors opened with a soft hiss, I stepped inside Heathrow’s private VIP section, immediately greeted by the overly bright fluorescent lighting and faint smell of antiseptic and freshly brewed coffee.

As expected, there was hardly anyone around in the VIP terminal. A tall, middle-aged security agent with a carefully trimmed beard and neatly pressed blue uniform stepped forward to meet me, extending one hand politely. "Passport or identification, please, Miss?" he asked professionally, voice crisp and neutral.

"Of course," I murmured smoothly, slipping my hand into my purse to retrieve the new ID card the Court of Owls had provided. It felt sleek and expensive beneath my fingertips,  depicting my full name and photograph. 

Without looking too closely at it, I casually handed it over, offering the man a polite but bored smile.

He took the ID card from me, glancing down to read it and immediately froze in place, eyes widening dramatically. His mouth opened and closed silently for several seconds, before he made an odd, choking sound in his throat. My brows furrowed slightly in confusion as I stared back at him. 

Had something gone wrong?

He snapped his gaze upward, meeting my eyes again with an almost frantic panic. "Oh my—oh, dear heavens, my sincerest apologies!" He suddenly bowed his head deeply, as if addressing royalty, his voice trembling anxiously. "Welcome back to London, milady Duchess Black! It is truly an honor to have you here! P-please forgive my earlier informality!"

I stared blankly, mouth slightly open, feeling distinctly dumbfounded for several long seconds. Duchess Black? Had I heard him correctly?

A duchess? Seriously? Me?

My heart did a funny little skip, disbelief mixing with surprised amusement. Were the Blacks somehow part of the British nobility? Had the Court of Owls genuinely managed to dig up some hidden hereditary title for me and officially register it without telling me, as some little surprise gift? 

That honestly sounded exactly like something they'd do. A way to get me indebted to them or something…

A small smile tugged insistently at the corner of my lips as the implications fully settled into my brain. I was a genuine duchess now, apparently. Rich, powerful, beautiful, and nobility—this just kept getting better and better.

As if suddenly snapping back to reality, I realized the security man's panicked reaction had attracted unwanted attention. Every single person in the VIP area had stopped in their tracks and was now staring at me openly, eyes wide with surprise and awe. Dozens of gazes, utterly fixated and openly curious, slid slowly down my body, taking in every curve, every feature, and I could hear them muttering quietly among themselves.

"That's a duchess?" whispered an older woman to her husband. "My God, she's absolutely stunning!"

A younger man with messy brown hair nudged his friend sharply, his eyes glued shamelessly to my hips and chest. "Mate, just look at her. Nobility and drop-dead gorgeous—bloody hell!"

Despite my brief initial surprise, their open appreciation of my beauty brought a smug little smirk back to my lips. I'd never once tired of being called beautiful. 

However, as amusing as this all was, I still needed to get out of here and on my way. 

Clearing my throat quietly to gather my wits, I spoke again to the security agent, voice smooth but polite. "Thank you for the warm welcome," I told him gently, offering a gracious smile. "If it isn't too much trouble, could you arrange a private car to pick me up from here?"

Technically, I knew very well that arranging personal transportation was definitely not part of the man's job. Airport security didn't typically deal with luxury travel arrangements. But, judging from the panicked way his eyes widened at my request, I highly doubted he'd object.

"Of course, milady Duchess! Right away, immediately!" he babbled frantically, practically falling over himself to accommodate me. He pulled a small radio from his belt with fumbling hands, urgently speaking into it. "Please inform the airport management immediately! The Duchess Black requires a private car, priority service! A limousine, yes, immediately!"

He looked back to me again, anxious and eager, as if desperate for approval. "Milady Duchess," he continued rapidly, gesturing politely toward a set of nearby double doors, "might I suggest waiting in our private lounge area until the limousine arrives? It's quiet, comfortable, fully stocked—of course, you deserve only the best accommodations. Would that be acceptable to you?"

I had to suppress a small laugh at his nervous enthusiasm. Instead, I merely nodded graciously, tilting my chin upward slightly in a manner I'd seen rich, entitled people do dozens of times before. "Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you."

"Wonderful, wonderful!" the man gushed happily, visibly relieved at my approval. He quickly stepped ahead to hold the door open for me, practically bowing again as I walked gracefully past him into the private lounge area.

Inside the room, plush velvet couches were arranged tastefully around polished mahogany coffee tables. A large flat-screen TV hung unobtrusively on one wall, and I spotted an expensive-looking espresso machine set into a polished marble counter alongside trays filled with gourmet snacks. Clearly, they reserved this room for only the most important VIP travelers. Or duchesses, apparently.

"Please," the security agent stammered politely from the doorway, voice still trembling slightly, "make yourself completely at home. I'll personally ensure your limo arrives within moments!"

He disappeared hurriedly out the door, closing it softly behind him, leaving me alone.

Shaking my head softly in amusement, I moved toward one of the plush velvet couches, sinking comfortably down onto the ridiculously soft cushions with a quiet sigh. My mind raced, still processing this bizarre yet undeniably pleasant development.

The Court of Owls really had managed to turn me into legitimate British nobility. I was now Duchess Black.

— Dick Grayson —

Dick Grayson stepped down carefully from the polished metal steps of the private jet, squinting slightly as the harsh, blinding glare of camera flashes immediately assaulted his vision. He blinked several times, barely resisting the urge to raise a hand and shield his eyes. The crisp, damp air of London brushed sharply against his cheeks, bringing with it the faint scent of rain and jet fuel.

Behind him, he heard his father, Bruce Wayne, sigh softly—an almost imperceptible sound of resigned irritation. Bruce stepped calmly to Dick's side, smoothing out invisible creases in his impeccably tailored dark charcoal suit jacket. Dick watched him silently from the corner of his eye, wondering—not for the first time—how Bruce always managed to look effortlessly poised and relaxed, even amid chaos.

Dick glanced down at himself, suddenly feeling self-conscious. His own suit, though obviously expensive and perfectly tailored to his lean, athletic body, felt somehow uncomfortable, almost suffocating. He subtly tugged at the dark blue jacket cuffs, shifting his shoulders slightly beneath the expensive fabric. He'd never quite managed to get comfortable with the extravagant and public-facing billionaire lifestyle that came so naturally to Bruce.

A small army of reporters surged eagerly forward from behind the roped-off security barrier, practically shoving microphones into their faces. Dick grimaced inwardly. He'd expected a bit of media attention, of course—this was a major public event, after all—but the sheer size of the eager, shouting crowd immediately put him on edge.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Grayson!" multiple reporters shouted simultaneously, each desperate to be heard above the others. "Tell us about Wayne Industries' newest division opening here in London!"

Bruce offered the crowd a calm, practiced smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We're very excited to expand our business and bring new employment opportunities to London," he said evenly, voice smooth and professional. "I’m sure we’ll have more to share with you at tomorrow's official opening ceremony."

Dick nodded politely along with his father’s diplomatic response, hoping desperately that would be enough to satisfy the eager reporters.

Of course, it wasn't.

Almost immediately, the questions devolved into familiar territory—personal gossip, romance rumors, and tabloid nonsense. Dick suppressed a weary groan. The reporters crowded closer, cameras clicking incessantly, blinding flashes of light assaulting him once more.

"Bruce! Any new romantic interests lately?" one older reporter demanded bluntly, his grin openly predatory, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Is there a lucky woman in your life right now?"

"Or perhaps several lucky women?" another younger female reporter added, voice playful and suggestive, causing a ripple of laughter from the crowd.

Bruce chuckled politely, smoothly brushing off the invasive questions with practiced ease. "Nothing to announce right now, I'm afraid," he said casually, giving them a charming, self-deprecating smile. "I'm just focused on business and spending time with family."

Dick watched Bruce expertly navigate the intrusive questioning, silently marveling at his father's flawless performance. Bruce always made it look effortless. But Dick knew himself too well—he wouldn't handle the next inevitable barrage of questions nearly as gracefully.

Sure enough, attention swung abruptly toward him next. A pushy young reporter with sharply gelled hair shoved forward, grinning widely. "And what about you, Dick? Gotham’s favorite bachelor heir! Any new love interests for you to share?"

Dick coughed awkwardly, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot, suddenly painfully aware of every reporter staring eagerly at him. He offered them a weak, slightly strained smile. "No, I’m—uh—not really dating anyone at the moment," he managed, inwardly cringing at how awkward and unconvincing he sounded.

A female reporter with thick-rimmed glasses elbowed her way closer, raising her voice pointedly above the crowd. "What about the mysterious duchess who arrived earlier today from America?" she called out loudly, eyes bright with curiosity. "Duchess Amara Black arrived in London from Gotham City, just hours ahead of you two! Are you all here for joint business? Or maybe something more personal?"

The moment Dick heard the words 'Duchess Amara Black,' his head snapped sharply toward the woman, eyes widening in shock. His pulse skyrocketed almost instantly, a wave of heat rushing to his cheeks, ears, and neck. Before he could even think clearly, he blurted out in a startled, stammering voice, "Amara is here?"

A stunned silence lasted barely a fraction of a second, followed immediately by an excited, chaotic eruption of voices from the assembled reporters. Dick felt a heavy sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he realized his slip. He could practically see the dollar signs appearing in their eyes.

"They do know each other!" someone shouted gleefully from the back of the crowd.

More questions surged forth in rapid-fire succession, each reporter eagerly competing to be the loudest.

"Are you and the Duchess romantically involved, Dick?"

"When did you first meet Duchess Amara Black?"

"How long have you two been dating?"

"Are you serious about her?"

Dick stammered helplessly, his mind completely blank. He felt the heat deepen painfully in his cheeks, burning bright red under the intense scrutiny. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, his throat closing up from embarrassment and panic. How had he managed to screw this up so badly in less than ten seconds?

Bruce smoothly stepped closer, a firm hand instantly gripping Dick’s shoulder, snapping him sharply back to reality. Dick glanced sideways at Bruce, seeing his father's face carefully neutral, though a small vein pulsed faintly at his temple—a clear indication of irritation.

"We really have no further comments right now," Bruce told the crowd firmly, voice hardening ever so slightly. He gently but insistently steered Dick forward, guiding him swiftly toward their waiting limousine. "We're very busy. Have a good day."

Dick stumbled slightly under his father's firm grip, feet awkwardly shuffling forward, cheeks still bright red. His embarrassment was painfully obvious to everyone watching. As they neared the polished black limousine parked several meters away, the barrage of questions continued relentlessly from behind.

"Mr. Grayson, what exactly is your relationship with Duchess Black?"

"Are the two of you getting serious?"

"Is this a new royal-blood billionaire romance?"

Dick groaned audibly this time, his entire body tensed with discomfort and frustration. "God, please just get me out of here," he muttered under his breath, face burning brighter. "This is a nightmare."

As the chauffeur hurriedly opened the limousine's rear passenger door, Bruce gently pushed Dick inside first, climbing in immediately afterward. The soundproof door clicked shut behind them, and everything went quiet.

Then Bruce turned his head slightly, giving Dick one of those sidelong looks. The kind that made Dick feel like he was fifteen again and had just crashed the Batmobile.

“You want to tell me,” Bruce asked calmly, “why you shouted ‘Amara is here’ in front of a dozen cameras?”

Dick ran a hand through his hair, feeling the embarrassment spike all over again. He groaned quietly and slumped deeper into the leather, staring at the car ceiling. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I really, really didn’t mean to do that.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change much, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth that might have been suppressed irritation. Or amusement. With Bruce, you could never tell.

“She’s here,” Dick said again, quieter this time. “In London. As a duchess now?” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Of course she is. She never stops surprising me…”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Then this trip just got more complicated,” he said bluntly. "So? What was that, Dick?" Bruce asked bluntly, arching one eyebrow slightly. "You completely lost your cool."

Dick sank deeper into the plush leather seats, groaning quietly and covering his burning face with both hands. "I have no idea," he muttered miserably, embarrassment radiating from him like heat waves. "It just slipped out. I didn't know she was coming to London so soon! I guess she’s choosing to take Raven’s advice and confront her parents that abandoned her directly,” he speculated. 

He noticed Bruce flinch at his words, just a tiny bit but it was there. His father Bruce Wayne—Batman—had a blind spot when it came to orphans or former abused kids. As soon as Dick had reported everything from his last—date?—with Amara, Kara, and Raven he had noticed something different whenever Bruce mentioned Amara Black. He was less harsh on her actions on Gotham. No doubt, he wanted her captured, but more so she could be rehabilitated and not locked up forever. 

Basically, he was more onboard with Dick’s original plan. Even if Dick knew he himself was already borderline on being emotionally compromised.

— Amara —

I stood in front of the mirror and actually scowled at myself.

I was wearing the worst outfit I’d put on in… honestly, maybe ever. An ancient pair of baggy blue jeans that hung off my hips weirdly, all warped and faded in patches, and a button-up flannel shirt with red and gray checks. Flannel. On me. It didn’t just clash with my usual vibe—it actively attacked it.

The jeans were too big, so I’d had to cinch them tight with some ugly brown belt I’d found in the back of my inventory. Even pulled in, they did that awful bunching thing around my waist and hips, like a wrinkled paper bag had decided to cosplay as trousers. They completely drowned out my curves, hiding my ass so thoroughly you’d think I was trying to smuggle two pillows out of a department store. The flannel shirt wasn’t any better. The cut was boxy and stiff, and when I looked at myself side-on, my boobs just made it puff out in this stupid triangle shape. No waist, no shape, just… lump.

And the worst part? I knew, objectively, that my body was ridiculous. I could make a potato sack look fuckable. But this? Somehow, these clothes were actually managing to fight back.

I let out a long, annoyed breath and dragged a hand down my face.

“Why the fuck am I dressed like a homeless lumberjack?” I muttered at my reflection. “I’m a goddamn duchess. I’m staying in a twenty-thousand-pound-a-night penthouse with gold taps and silk sheets. And I look like I should be asking myself if I can spare some change.”

I knew exactly why, of course.

Because I was going to see my “family” soon.

Because I didn’t want them to have the slightest clue who I’d become. No hint that their discarded squib daughter had turned into a rich-as-fuck, magically overpowered duchess-slash-succubus who could buy and sell their entire lives without blinking. No evidence that my life had become something huge and dangerous and actually mine.

So I’d done the most insulting thing I could think of.

I dressed like the version of me they expected. Poor. Forgettable. Background extra in my own story.

I forced my eyes back up to the mirror and just stared at my face.

The face was still my true one—raven-black hair, flawless skin, big emerald eyes, lips that looked like they’d been designed for sin. My horns were hidden for now. I hadn’t changed anything about my features yet.

That was the real problem.

All I had to do was focus and pull on my Metamorphmagus ability. I’d done it before without thinking: blonde hair, blue eyes, different jawline, different cheekbones. Easy. This should’ve been the same. Just… twist the magic the other way. Undo the binding that Dumbledore slapped on me. Recreate that old, fake face.

The Heather face.

The pug nose. The too-wide jaw. The blotchy skin. The shitty, limp brown hair. The girl the world tripped over without ever noticing.

My fingers tightened on the edge of the sink. I could feel my magic waiting for the command, ready to reshape my features at a thought. I could almost see the ghost of that old reflection in my head, layered over this one.

But my stomach knotted up instead.

Because as much as I knew that face had been a lie—some fucked-up side effect of Dumbledore sealing my succubus bloodline—those eighteen years had still been real. The loneliness, the bullying, the being invisible, the way people’s eyes slid right past me like I wasn’t worth looking at. All of that had happened to her. To Heather.

I had spent my entire life thinking that was me.

And now I was supposed to just… voluntarily put her back on like a costume.

I swallowed hard, jaw clenching. My magic twitched again, waiting for the order. I stared at my reflection for a long moment, waiting for myself to move.

I didn’t.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “It’s just a face. It’s not real. You’re not her anymore. You just need to fool them. That’s all.” 

Still nothing. I was still hesitating when someone knocked on the suite door.

The sound snapped through the silence of the penthouse—three sharp knocks.

For half a second, I seriously considered ignoring it. Pretend I wasn’t in. But whoever it was already knew this room was occupied, and the knock had that polite, confident rhythm that screamed staff or someone important, not some random cleaner.

“Great,” I muttered. “Guess I get a break from my own emotional breakdown.”

I let go of the sink and turned away from the mirror. My bare feet sank into the ridiculous plush carpet as I crossed the bedroom. I could feel the weight of the hotel around me—the high ceilings, the stupidly huge bed behind me, the floor-to-ceiling windows showing off London’s gray skyline. It should’ve felt impressive. Right now it just felt like a very expensive waiting room.

I ran a quick mental hand over my magic, making sure my horns were still hidden, my aura damped down. Last thing I needed was some poor human collapsing from sudden horny demon overload in the hallway.

Another knock came, a little more tentative this time.

“I’m coming, calm your tits,” I grumbled under my breath.

I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. And then I froze.

Standing awkwardly in the plush, carpeted hallway just outside my suite was Dick Grayson. Dick, with his annoyingly perfect jawline and ridiculously attractive face, looking entirely too handsome in an expensive navy-blue suit that hugged his toned body perfectly. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd nervously run his fingers through it multiple times before knocking. He stared back at me in obvious confusion, his dark eyes roaming down my ugly outfit and back up again, clearly baffled by what he saw.

For half a second, we just stared at each other like two idiots in a rom-com.

He blinked first. “Uh… hi there,” Dick finally greeted, flashing me a nervous, boyish smile that sent an irritating flutter racing through my chest despite myself. And there was this awkward little lilt on the word Duchess, like he was both teasing me and still not entirely over the shock of it.

Then his eyes dropped. And he took in my outfit. The baggy jeans. The belt. The ugly flannel. His brows shot up so fast I thought they might launch off his face. “What are you wearing?” he blurted, completely unfiltered. “You look like you mugged a 90s trucker on his smoke break.”

Despite everything going on in my head, a laugh just exploded out of me. It was short and sharp, but real. “Wow,” I said. “Hello to you too. Nice to see you’re still a smooth talker, Grayson.”

He realized what he’d just said and winced, dragging a hand over his face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean— I mean, you look— you always look good, it’s just— that shirt is a hate crime.”

I folded my arms across my chest, partly to cover how the stupid flannel puffed out and partly because it gave me something to do with my hands. I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, squinting at him. “What are you doing here?” I asked flatly. “Lose a bet with Batman? Did he make you come scold me for my fashion choices as punishment?”

He huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh and glanced down the hallway, like he was checking to make sure we were alone. There was nobody else in sight—this was the VIP floor, so it was quiet, just tasteful wall lights and thick carpet and a vase of flowers that probably cost more than my old rent.

Then he looked back at me, and the joking edge faded a bit. His expression turned more serious, but not in that judgy-hero way. More like… cautious.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “I promise I’m not here as Nightwing. No lecture. Just… Dick.”

I stared at him for a second, weighing that.

Every instinct I had screamed don’t let people into your territory without thinking it through. Especially people who half-work for a paranoid bat-themed control freak. But Dick had thanked me for saving Robin. He’d sat and listened to my trauma dump at a burger place. He’d spent the day bowling and movie-watching and clubbing with me like a normal person.

And, honestly? I didn’t want to be alone with my own brain right now.

I sighed, stepped back, and swung the door wider.

“Fine,” I said. “Get in here before a maid hears you calling me a duchess and has a stroke.”

He slipped past me into the room, shoulders brushing mine as he went by.

I closed the door quietly behind Dick, hearing the soft click echo strangely loud in the suite. Turning back around, I crossed my arms again, giving him a carefully blank look. 

My heart was doing this annoying little flutter inside my chest at having him here, in my room, alone with me again. I really needed to figure out why he had this stupid effect on me—probably the annoyingly charming smile.

“So,” I said, keeping my voice steady and calm, even if inside my nerves were twitching slightly. “Did you follow me all the way from Gotham or something? Because if you did, Dick, that's borderline stalker behavior. Like seriously, Batman-level creepy.”

Dick paused in the middle of the plush, expensive carpet, turning his head to glance back over his shoulder at me. He gave me an annoyingly unashamed, boyish grin that made his eyes crinkle at the edges, and shrugged casually. “Honestly? As the former partner of the Dark Knight, I'm completely used to being a stalker,” he admitted shamelessly, his grin widening further. “Sneaking around, following people without their knowledge… I practically majored in it.”

I snorted out a quiet laugh despite myself, unable to help the small smile that crept onto my face. “Wow. And you just admit it outright? That’s shameless, Grayson. Seriously shameless.”

He chuckled lightly, turning fully to face me now. His expression shifted, becoming just a bit more sincere. He looked into my eyes and spoke more gently, as if wanting me to understand he was being honest now. “That’s not actually why I'm here, though,” he assured me quietly.

I lifted one skeptical eyebrow, clearly indicating that I was waiting for his explanation. Instead of speaking immediately, he glanced briefly around the opulent suite, his gaze pausing on the large, expensive couch nearby. Without waiting for an invitation, he strode over and lowered himself smoothly down onto the plush, overstuffed cushions.

He stretched his arm along the backrest casually and gave me a gentle nod, indicating the empty space beside him. “Come sit?” he invited softly, his tone open and warm.

I hesitated briefly, unsure exactly why my heart gave another annoying little jump at the suggestion. With an exaggerated sigh of mock-reluctance—mostly to convince myself—I moved toward him and sank down onto the soft, comfortable couch cushion next to him, pointedly leaving a little space between us. Immediately, I was acutely aware of his closeness—the faint, appealing scent of his cologne, something subtle and clean that vaguely reminded me of warm spices and fresh air.

Then, before I could even process or mentally prepare myself, Dick reached out confidently and gently took my hand, closing his warm, calloused fingers comfortably around mine.

I froze in shock, feeling my cheeks instantly flare into a stupidly obvious blush at the unexpected, intimate gesture. My pulse raced in my chest, my breathing hitching embarrassingly. 

Damn it. I silently cursed my traitorous succubus instincts as I quickly glanced sideways at him, eyes wide and startled.

Dick noticed my blush immediately, and his lips curled into a slightly smug, entirely too pleased smirk. He squeezed my hand gently, his dark eyes twinkling with playful amusement. “Oh, you’re blushing,” he teased softly, voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Didn't expect that. The great villainess Amara Black embarrassed by just holding hands?”

I scowled lightly, trying to hide my flustered reaction behind a glare. “Shut up, Grayson,” I muttered unconvincingly, refusing to pull my hand away despite myself. His touch was… nice. Infuriatingly nice.

He laughed quietly again, clearly amused and pleased with himself, before finally getting more serious. He shifted slightly to face me more fully, leaning toward me earnestly. “Anyway,” he said gently, giving my fingers another reassuring squeeze, “I really didn't follow you here. Not intentionally, at least. I'm actually in London on League business.”

My embarrassment faded a little, replaced by mild surprise and genuine curiosity. “League business?” I echoed questioningly, tilting my head slightly. “Here? Why? I thought you weren’t even a full member?”

Dick’s face grew slightly more serious, his expression turning thoughtful and concerned. “I’m not a full member, but I still work with them all the time. I’m here to investigate the magical wizarding world that you told me about back in Gotham,” he explained clearly, voice low and grave. “After everything you revealed to us at Big Belly Burger, we couldn't just sit around doing nothing about it. Not after what you told us—that these magical governments secretly control large parts of Europe.”

I nodded slowly, considering his words carefully. “Yeah, and it’s not just Europe either,” I pointed out bluntly. “There are also hidden wizarding governments in Russia, India, and China too. Probably others we don’t even know about.”

Dick’s dark eyes widened noticeably at that revelation, clearly startled by the sheer scale of the situation. He pulled his free hand up to rub roughly down his face, groaning quietly in exasperation. “...This problem keeps getting bigger by the second. It’s genuinely insane that none of us knew anything about it before.”

I shrugged lightly, not really surprised by his reaction. “Honestly, I was pretty shocked myself when I realized the Justice League had absolutely no clue about any of this magical stuff. I mean, how the hell do you guys just miss something that huge?”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head slightly. “To be fair, America’s really one of the few countries actively welcoming a bunch of superheroes openly running around in spandex. And that's mostly because the Justice Society helped win World War II decades ago. They kinda earned goodwill and trust by literally fighting Nazis.”

I stared blankly at him for a few seconds, blinking slowly in confusion. History had never exactly been my strongest subject, and I really didn’t remember learning anything significant about the Justice Society or World War II superheroes at my shitty muggle school.

“Right, yeah,” I finally said vaguely, nodding slowly. “Sure. Makes sense.”

Dick gave me an amused look, clearly sensing I was completely lost, but mercifully didn’t comment on my obvious ignorance of world history. Instead, he smoothly changed the subject, tilting his head curiously toward me again, his expression shifting to one of gentle intrigue.

“Okay, enough about superhero politics. Seriously though, Amara—what’s the story with this duchess thing? I heard about your new fancy title as soon as I landed. You definitely weren’t a duchess back in Gotham,” he said teasingly, lifting one eyebrow slightly in playful suspicion.

I rolled my eyes lightly, sighing again. “Honestly, the duchess thing completely caught me off guard too. Sirius Black—my adopted father—never mentioned anything about us being British nobility, like ever. He either had no clue himself or just never bothered telling me about it.”

Dick nodded slowly in understanding. Then his expression softened, eyes filling with genuine concern. He squeezed my hand again, his voice becoming more careful, softer, gentler. “And… the reason you’re in London? Is it because of that letter your mother sent you? Are you really here to confront your birth family?”

My stomach tightened uncomfortably at his direct, painfully accurate question. It felt oddly vulnerable, admitting to him the truth of my reasons for coming here. But I took a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze honestly.

“Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “You guessed right. I’m here because of that stupid letter. I'm here to see my shitty birth family again.”

I gestured vaguely toward my hideous flannel shirt and baggy jeans with my free hand, grimacing slightly. “You kinda caught me at a bad time, actually. I was trying to make myself look like… well, like I used to look.”

Dick’s brows furrowed instantly in genuine confusion, clearly not understanding what I meant at all. He tilted his head, eyeing me up and down skeptically. “What exactly are you talking about? Look like you used to look?” he repeated, puzzled.

I swallowed awkwardly, my heart suddenly thudding heavily in my chest. Of course Dick wouldn’t know what I meant. Only Morgana knew that my beautiful face and perfect body were actually the result of finally unlocking my succubus bloodline. 

I opened my mouth slightly to respond, but nothing came out at first. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, pulse quickening to an almost dizzying pace. I felt my throat tighten uncomfortably, my stomach twisting into anxious knots. The truth about my appearance was something I'd kept closely guarded from almost everyone. Only Morgana really knew—only she knew the ugly, humiliating truth behind my transformation, and I desperately wanted to keep it that way.

I adored my new look. 

I loved being a succubus, loved the seductive power that now radiated naturally from me. I loved looking exactly like Morgana—beautiful, irresistible, and alluring. 

I couldn’t bear the thought of Dick seeing the pathetic, ugly Heather-face I'd been forced to endure my entire childhood. Even the idea felt humiliating and shameful, like admitting weakness or defeat.

I shook my head slightly, looking down toward my lap, my voice soft and evasive as I tried to dodge Dick's question. "Look, it's…complicated. Really complicated. Can we just—not talk about that right now?"

Dick watched me closely, concern flickering across his handsome face. He clearly wanted answers, but to my relief, he didn't push further. Instead, he gently reached out again, sliding his fingers under my chin, coaxing my face upward so our eyes met again.

"It's okay," he whispered softly, voice gentle and understanding, his eyes holding a genuine warmth that softened something deep within me. "You don’t have to tell me right now if you aren’t ready, Amara. We all have our secrets."

My chest tightened painfully at his gentle acceptance, my breath hitching softly in surprise. A sudden rush of warmth filled my cheeks and chest, completely unexpected, leaving me momentarily speechless and vulnerable.

Before I could fully recover, Dick suddenly moved, acting on an impulse that startled me completely. His arm swiftly wrapped around my back, strong hand gripping the fabric of my ugly, baggy flannel shirt, and he firmly tugged me forward toward him, closing the small space I'd purposefully left between us.

I let out a soft squeak of surprise at the sudden movement, my eyes widening dramatically as my chest was abruptly pressed firmly against his broad, muscular torso. Even through the thick layers of my horrendous shirt, I could clearly feel the firm, warm strength of his chest muscles beneath his thin suit jacket, the intimate contact sending an immediate rush of heat radiating through my entire body.

"Dick, wha—?" I began, voice startled and breathless, but I never got the chance to finish my surprised question.

He abruptly captured my lips in a deep, passionate kiss, instantly silencing me. His mouth moved confidently, his lips surprisingly soft but assertive, gently coaxing mine to respond. The sheer intensity of his kiss stunned me completely. His tongue traced insistently along the seam of my lips, teasing and urging me to open for him. It was heated, demanding, and sensual—a kiss that left absolutely no doubt about his attraction or intentions.

My succubus instincts purred loudly in pure delight and satisfaction. My body immediately reacted on instinct, my lips parting willingly beneath his, giving him full access. A low, helpless moan slipped unbidden from my throat into his mouth as our tongues met for the first time. He tasted incredible—like mint, faintly sweet but completely intoxicating.

My free hand instantly found its way onto his thigh almost unconsciously, sliding upward along the firm, muscular surface of his leg, driven by sudden overwhelming need and desire. My fingers brushed firmly over the distinct hardness pressing insistently upward through the fabric of his expensive pants. I gasped slightly against his mouth in surprise and excitement, my heart skipping a rapid beat of anticipation and desire as I felt the undeniable proof of how aroused Dick was for me already.

I stroked my hand slowly and deliberately upward along his cock, feeling its thick shape outlined clearly against my palm, reveling in his deep groan of pleasure into our kiss. He twitched slightly under my touch, his hips unconsciously shifting forward, pressing himself harder into my exploring fingers.

Breaking apart briefly from our heated kiss, he sucked in a deep, shaky breath. His dark eyes met mine intensely, lips still barely brushing against mine as he whispered breathlessly, “I thought you could use a small distraction, is it working?”

I stared directly into Dick’s warm, playful eyes as his lips hovered just a breath away from mine. My entire body felt charged, electricity sparking across my skin, heat flooding through my core. 

My succubus instincts screamed at me with overwhelming clarity to just let go, to push Dick flat onto his back on this ridiculously plush, expensive couch and ride him until neither of us could think straight anymore.

He was right. His little distraction was absolutely working.

My fingers curled more deliberately around the clear, thick outline of his cock pressing insistently up against my hand, and I shivered slightly at the feel of his arousal beneath my fingertips. My breath hitched softly as a vivid image flashed instantly through my mind. My hands rapidly undoing his suit trousers, pulling his erection free, and straddling his muscular thighs right here in the penthouse suite, my ugly flannel shirt quickly discarded on the floor…

Fuck. 

I clenched my teeth, fighting down that overpowering surge of desire. No matter how badly I wanted him—and right now, god, did I ever want him. I knew exactly what would happen if I let this continue. 

My day would spiral even further off course than it already had, and I’d never manage to focus on confronting my birth family if Dick Grayson fucked my brains out beforehand. Plus Morgana would be disappointed at me throwing away my virginity and not saving it for a useful ritual.

I summoned every ounce of self-control I had left and reluctantly pulled my lips away from Dick’s tantalizing mouth. With a small sound of genuine frustration, I pushed both hands firmly against his strong, broad chest, gently forcing distance between us.

Dick blinked rapidly, looking momentarily dazed, eyes still darkened with lust as he stared questioningly back at me. “Wait, Amara—?”

I exhaled sharply, forcing my voice steady and clear. “Dick, stop. We have to stop. We really can’t do this right now.”

He paused, clearly registering my words, and instantly pulled back, the haze of desire clearing noticeably from his expression. He immediately released his grip on me, shifting himself backward slightly on the couch cushion to give me space again. He ran a frustrated hand through his messy dark hair, breathing heavily and looking slightly embarrassed, though his arousal was still very obvious, bulging insistently against his trousers.

“Shit, you’re right,” Dick muttered breathlessly, shaking his head at himself. “I—god, sorry, Amara. That got way out of hand too fast. I just meant to… fuck. I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

I immediately gave him a wry, teasing smirk, despite how badly my own body still wanted him. “Pretty sure neither of us were thinking clearly at all, Dick. That’s part of the problem.”

He chuckled softly, glancing sheepishly down at his lap, shifting awkwardly as he clearly tried to subtly adjust the erection pressing painfully against his thigh. “Yeah, uh, you’re definitely right about that. Just give me a second to... compose myself.”

I couldn’t help laughing quietly, leaning away from him slightly on the couch, letting some of the heated tension between us slowly dissipate. “Seriously though,” I said with a small sigh, reaching up to brush some stray black hair away from my flushed cheek, “thanks for stopping by, Dick. But I really do have plans for today. Like… super serious, emotionally draining plans.”

Dick immediately looked up again, eyes filling with genuine concern as he studied my expression carefully. “Right, your family,” he murmured thoughtfully, nodding in clear understanding. “Of course. Yeah, Amara—I completely understand. Really. No pressure.”

Then his playful grin slowly returned, along with that infuriating, charming gleam in his eyes. He leaned forward again slightly, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth as he gently cupped my chin. “But, hey—thanks for letting me distract you a little, at least. You look a lot calmer now than when I first showed up at your door.”

I immediately pouted dramatically, folding my arms across my chest with a mock scowl. “Well, great job distracting me. Now I’m all worked up for nothing, you asshole.”

Dick laughed warmly, shaking his head in amusement, though his eyes still watched me closely with genuine warmth. He lifted one hand to brush his thumb affectionately along my jawline, speaking softly again. “Sorry about that. Honestly. But I’m glad I managed to make you feel better. Even if I got a little carried away.”

I snorted quietly in mock-annoyance, reluctantly smiling again despite myself. “Yeah, yeah. You can make it up to me another time,” I said without thinking, and then realized what I just said to him.

Dick raised one playful eyebrow, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Trust me—I definitely plan to.”

Rolling my eyes lightly again, I rose smoothly from the cushions, standing up straight and casually smoothing down my horrendous flannel shirt, trying and failing to make it look slightly less terrible.

Dick stood up a moment later, casually adjusting his suit jacket. His dark eyes suddenly turned thoughtful again, as if remembering something important.

“Actually, Amara. I did need something else,” he said slowly, looking somewhat awkward as he shifted his weight between his feet. “I actually wanted to ask you how to find Diagon Alley.”

I blinked at him in surprise, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Diagon Alley? Why do you need to go there?”

He shrugged sheepishly, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “Like I said, League business. Batman and I thought it’d be the best place to start our investigation into Britain’s magical world.”

I sighed, rubbing at my temples briefly. “Of course Batman’s in London too. Because why wouldn’t he be?”

Dick laughed softly at my obvious irritation, giving me an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head slightly. “Well, Diagon Alley’s entrance is located on Charing Cross Road. But, honestly, it’s pointless. You and Batman are both muggles. Non-magical humans can’t even see the entrance—there’s powerful illusion magic hiding it from view.”

Dick’s face instantly fell, clearly disappointed. “Oh. Seriously? Shit, that complicates things.”

I paused thoughtfully, chewing lightly on my lower lip as an idea slowly formed in my head. My eyes flicked toward the ornate coffee table nearby, focusing on the slender crystal vase containing a single, vividly red rose. “Unless…” I murmured softly, walking deliberately toward the table.

I reached down smoothly, gently plucking the delicate rose carefully from its vase. Closing my eyes briefly, I concentrated deeply, summoning forth the esoteric magical knowledge I’d learned directly from Morgana over the past few weeks. Dark, subtle magic pulsed softly beneath my skin, flowing gracefully down into my fingertips. The petals of the rose shimmered faintly for a moment, a subtle aura of magical energy now emanating gently from the flower.

Turning back toward Dick, I held the enchanted rose casually toward him with a faint, self-satisfied smirk. “Here. Take this with you. Keep it close.”

Dick chuckled warmly, eyes twinkling as he took the flower from my hand, studying it curiously. “Seriously? A magic rose? Didn’t peg you for the romantic type, Amara.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically, crossing my arms over my chest again. “Oh, shut up, Grayson. As long as you keep that rose close to you, you’ll be able to see through magical illusions—including Diagon Alley’s entrance. It’ll also provide basic protection against minor mind magics.”

He raised an eyebrow appreciatively, giving the rose a closer, impressed inspection before carefully slipping it securely into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “Wow. That’s actually incredibly useful. Thanks, Amara. Seriously.” He paused awkwardly again, shifting his weight slightly. “Uh… but, do you think maybe you could… make another one of those? For Batman?”

I groaned loudly, throwing my head back dramatically. “Fine. Of course. Can’t let Batman miss out on my generosity, can we?”

With another small sigh, I quickly repeated the magical enchantment on a second rose, passing it reluctantly to Dick. He tucked the second flower carefully beside the first, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Walking slowly toward the penthouse suite door now, Dick glanced briefly back at me over his shoulder, flashing me a teasing, boyish grin. “You know… Kara and Rachel are gonna be pretty jealous when I tell them I got to kiss you first.”

I scoffed loudly, rolling my eyes at his smug expression. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t let it go to your head…”

Dick closed the door behind him with a soft click, and the second it shut I let out a noise I didn’t know I was capable of.

I threw myself face-first into the couch and just screamed into my hands. It came out as this muffled, high-pitched squeal that probably would’ve gotten me killed on the streets of Gotham, but right now I didn’t care. My whole body felt like a live wire—my lips still tingled from his kiss, my hand still remembered the feel of his cock, and my brain was just looping one phrase on repeat.

What the actual fuck was that?

“Great,” I muttered into the throw pillow, voice all warped from being half-smothered. “Now I’ve got that to unpack later. Future me can deal with it. Present me has shit to do.”

I sucked in one more shaky breath, forced myself to stop flopping like a fish, and pushed upright. My heart was still thudding, but it wasn’t that panicky, tight feeling from earlier. The guilt and the dread about Mordred and Lily and everything else had been this huge, suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. 

Now it felt… lighter. Still there, still ugly, but not making it hard to breathe. I had to admit it, even if it made me want to punch myself. He’d helped.

“Fucking hero,” I grumbled, scrubbing my hands down my face. “Of course the boy scout shows up, makes out with me, and somehow fixes my anxiety. Figures.”

I pushed myself off the couch and padded back toward the bedroom. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant city noise filtered through the thick glass windows. The stupidly expensive carpet was so soft it was like walking on a cloud, but my brain was already shifting gears—away from Dick, away from the warmth still sitting low in my stomach, and back to the reason I was in this overpriced hotel at all.

Lily Potter.

The mirror over the dresser caught my reflection as I walked in, and I stopped dead in front of it again. I looked like I belonged draped over the hood of a sports car, not trudging into some shitty suburban sitting room to listen to my birth mother cry about how hard abandoning me was for her.

I stepped right up to the mirror until my toes nudged the skirting board. I stared at myself for a long, solid beat, forcing my breathing to even out. My cheeks were still a little pink, my pupils a bit blown, but the wild, brittle look from this morning was gone. I actually looked… calm. Not happy, exactly, but stable. That would have to do.

“Okay,” I told my reflection quietly. “Time to stop stalling.”

I closed my eyes and pulled on my magic. Not the flashy, burn-everything-to-the-ground kind. The other kind. The slippery, shifting current that sat under my skin ever since the succubus bloodline woke up—Metamorphmagus magic.

I pictured what I needed. Not this face. Not Amara. I pictured her.

Heather.

It was like remembering a nightmare. The image was fuzzy at first, like an old photograph, but then it sharpened: the too-wide jaw, the flat, tired brown eyes, the stupid little pug nose, the blotchy skin, the limp, mouse-brown hair that never did what I wanted. The girl who’d never been pretty enough to be seen, never important enough to be loved.

My stomach twisted, but I didn’t let go.

I pushed my magic into my skin, bone, cartilage. It felt gross and wrong, like forcing myself back into clothes three sizes too small. My nose tingled first—sharp, prickling heat as the bridge shortened and the tip rounded, nostrils spreading. My jaw burned dully, bones grinding and shifting under the skin, the elegant lines Morgana had admired blunting and squaring out. My cheekbones sank, my face flattening, losing all its sharpness and symmetry. The skin across my cheeks and forehead crawled, little pinpricks of heat popping up as old phantom blemishes “remembered” where to sit and bloomed back into existence.

I clenched my teeth and rode it out step by step.

I felt my lips thin slightly, losing that soft, natural fullness that made everything I said sound like an invitation. My hair was last. The silky weight of it seemed to die in my hands, the strands roughening under my fingers. The colour drained out of it like someone had pulled a plug, black bleeding into a dull, lifeless medium brown. It fell flatter, hanging around my face without shine or bounce.

When the magic settled, I opened my eyes. Heather Potter stared back at me from the mirror.

For a second, my whole body wanted to recoil. She looked exactly how I remembered. The cheap flannel shirt and baggy jeans suddenly made perfect sense on her. On me—on this version of me. The clothes and the face matched. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve believed this was the real version and the succubus face was the disguise.

My chest clenched, a sharp, ugly spike of old humiliation trying to push up my throat.

I leaned in until my nose almost touched the glass, studying every awful detail. The slightly crooked teeth. The way my eyes looked smaller without the frame of long dark lashes and sharp bone structure. The way my whole expression seemed to scream background character. 

I waited for the panic to hit, the choking rage, the urge to claw my own skin off.

It didn’t come.

Did it suck? Yeah. Did it still make me feel like shit? Also yeah. But it didn’t feel like I was about to implode. The breakdown that had been crouching in my chest all morning was… quiet. Maybe Dick knocking on my door and shoving his tongue down my throat had shaken it loose. Maybe talking to him like a person instead of a target had made something in my brain click.

Either way, I could look at Heather’s face and not completely shatter.

I straightened slowly, rolling my shoulders back. The flannel still hung off me like a crime against fashion. The jeans were still a disaster. But in this skin, in this face, it all served a purpose.

“With this face,” I said out loud, voice rough but steady, “I’m not Amara Black.” I stared at the girl in the mirror. “I’m Heather Potter again. The unwanted squib. The mistake they threw away.” The name tasted bitter, like ash on my tongue. I actually grimaced. “God, I fucking hate that name,” I muttered. “Heather Potter.” It felt like saying the name of a dead person. In a way, it was.

I tugged at the ugly belt, tightening it another notch, making sure nothing about the outfit hinted at the woman I’d become. No trace of duchess. No trace of a dark witch or a succubus. Just a girl who looked like she belonged in a council estate, not a pure-blood manor.

Memories flickered at the edges of my mind, uninvited but persistent. The last time I’d seen them. James had cursed me—literally. The way he didn’t hesitate to draw his wand on his own daughter. The flash of red light. The feeling of my body hitting the floor. Waking up in a freezing, piss-stinking alley with my memories half-torn up and thrown away.

They’d tried to steal my house. My name. My inheritance. Everything Sirius had left me. If Morgana hadn’t stepped in and ripped Grimmauld Place out of their grubby hands and shoved it behind wards even Dumbledore couldn’t sniff at, I’d have nothing.

And now Lily wanted to talk.

I snorted.

“Oh, I am absolutely dying to hear this,” I said, voice dripping sarcasm. “Can’t wait to hear what brand of bullshit you’ve cooked up, Mum. Was it all Dumbledore’s idea? Were you ‘young and scared’? Did you ‘have no choice’?”

I held Heather’s gaze in the mirror one more time. The fury was there, simmering low and steady like banked coals. Not the wild, out-of-control blaze from before. This was focused heat. Controlled. Dangerous in a different way.

“Fine,” I told my reflection. “You want Heather Potter? You can have her. For an afternoon.”

On the surface, I was just a plain girl in shitty clothes, coming to hear her birth mother out. Inside, I was still Amara Black. And I was very, very ready to hear whatever excuses Lily Potter thought would work on the daughter she’d thrown away.

XXX

Chapter Text

Chapter 13:

– Amara –

I got to the Leaky Cauldron about half an hour after Dick left my hotel room.

I still didn’t know how he had tracked down which hotel, which floor, and which room I was in, but I knew the answer anyway. Batman had trained him. That was all the explanation I needed.

I stood on the pavement across from the shabby little pub entrance and checked myself one more time in the reflection of the nearby window.

Heather Potter stared back at me.

Flat brown hair that hung around my face in a dull, limp curtain. Pale, uneven skin. A too-wide jaw. A short, rounded nose that pushed my whole face toward “pug” territory. My body was straight and narrow, chest small, hips narrow, shoulders a bit hunched. The baggy flannel and cheap jeans hid everything else and finished the effect. I looked forgettable. I looked poor. I looked exactly the way they had left me.

I pulled my shoulders back anyway and crossed the street.

The old sign of the Leaky Cauldron creaked in the faint breeze. The door stuck for a second when I pushed it, then gave way, and the smell hit me. Stale beer, frying fat, damp wood, too many bodies in one room, and the constant undertone of smoke that never fully left the walls.

No one saw a villainess, a duchess, and no one saw a succubus. They saw a short, slightly dumpy girl in ugly clothes. People noticed, heads turned when I stepped in, but not for the reasons I was used to. An older wizard near the bar glanced up, eyes skimmed over my face and shirt, then twisted into a faint grimace before he looked away. A middle-aged witch in a neat green robe wrinkled her nose when I passed her table. 

I heard a whispered “honestly” under her breath. It stung, and that annoyed me more than the looks.

On my left, a cluster of three girls around my age sat at a corner table, drinks in front of them. Their robes were new, modern cut, hair styled, nails painted. One had short black hair and sharp blue eyes, one was blonde with neat curls, and the third was a brunette with perfect makeup and a smug half-smile. All three of them went quiet when I walked past their table. The blonde leaned in and said something under her breath. I caught the word “mudblood.” The brunette snorted, then said louder, “Merlin, look at that shirt.” The black-haired one gave me a full once-over, slow and obvious, then laughed. “She must be half-troll,” the brunette added.

I stopped for half a second. Anger rose in my chest, a tight, familiar surge that started low in my gut and crawled up my spine. I pictured standing there, dropping the disguise, letting my true body and aura flood the room. I pictured their expressions when the “ugly mudblood” turned into a demoness with horns and wings and a wand that could boil their blood in their veins. I pictured them on their knees, screaming.

I forced air slowly in through my nose and out again. I unclenched my fist, rolled my shoulders once, and kept walking. I heard one of them giggle, sharp and mean, and I let it hit my back and bounce off. If I turned around, I wouldn’t stop at words.

The back corner of the pub was quieter. The light was dimmer there, candles doing most of the work. A single table sat pushed against the wall, half in shadow, and at that table was the person I actually came for.

Lily Potter was there. She was hard to miss. Her hair was vivid red, long and smooth, falling over one shoulder in an intentional way that said she had taken time to style it this morning. Her skin was pale and clear, the kind of clear you only got with magic and potions. Freckles dotted her cheeks in a deliberate pattern that looked charming instead of messy.

Her body was everything mine was not right now. Tall, slim, and shaped. Her blouse clung to a narrow waist and full perky breasts. Robes hung open over it, casual but not careless. She wore jeans too, but they looked new and fit perfectly, tucked into boots that cost more than my entire outfit combined back when I was actually Heather.

She had a cup of tea in front of her, half-full. Her fingers circled the rim in slow, nervous little movements. As I approached, she looked up. Her face lit up with a wide, bright smile.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said with a happy tone. “You made it.”

Sweetheart…?

The last time I had seen her, her husband had drawn his wand on me in my own house, cursed me, and helped Dumbledore throw me into an alley like trash. And I’m pretty sure they used the Cruciatus curse on me as well! 

They had stolen my home and everything Sirius left me. She had stood there and watched. 

I pulled the chair out opposite her and sat down. The wood scraped loudly on the floor. “Hello, Lily,” I said. My voice came out flat and cold. I made no effort to soften it.

Her smile faltered for one second. Then she pasted it back in place, a little tighter around the eyes. “Hello, Heather,” she answered, and now I heard the hesitation. Her gaze flicked over my face, taking in the pug nose, the dull hair, the old familiar ugliness. Her eyes moved to my clothes and lingered there for a fraction longer than they should have.

I absolutely hated hearing that name again. Heather. 

The sound of it crawled under my skin, tightening my muscles and making my jaw clench involuntarily. But I didn’t correct her. This was part of the act I had put on after all…

Lily lifted her teacup, and took a cautious sip. Her eyes never left me. Then she set the cup down gently, like she was afraid of making too much noise and startling me off. She gave me another forced smile, her bright eyes nervously shifting over my face as if searching for the right approach. "So..." She hesitated, brushing a strand of glossy red hair behind her ear with a practiced movement. "How have you been, sweetheart?"

My fingers curled into tight fists beneath the table, knuckles pressing painfully against the wood. I leaned forward, resting my elbows firmly on the tabletop, my voice low and sharp.

"How have I been? Really?" I said, slow and clear, each word dripping with venom. I stared directly into her perfectly crafted, wide-eyed look of innocence. "Oh, do you mean since your pathetic husband James attacked me in my own home? Since he cursed me, dumped me into a filthy alley, and stole everything Sirius left me? You mean since that lovely evening?" I paused, letting my words sink in. I saw exactly when they hit home. 

Lily visibly cringed, her carefully maintained smile cracking just a little at the corners, eyes fluttering down to her teacup, fingers trembling just enough to betray real discomfort. 

Good. At least I could still unsettle her.

"Heather," she began, voice gentle, carefully measured. She pursed her lips, expression shifting into a carefully contrived mask of sympathy. "That shouldn't have happened. It—it really shouldn't. And I'm truly sorry about it. James..." She took a breath, faltering slightly, eyes drifting aside, clearly rehearsing her next line. "James feels horrible, too. He regrets it terribly, I promise you."

I stared at her, unmoving. Silence stretched out, heavy and oppressive between us. I watched her eyes flicker nervously, waiting for my reaction, waiting for forgiveness or anger or tears—waiting for something predictable that I refused to give her.

I wasn't buying her bullshit. Not for one second. 

But I had to grudgingly admit, Lily Potter was putting on a decent show. Then again, maybe it wasn't acting. Maybe she genuinely thought I’d fall at her feet, helplessly charmed by her heart-shaped face, her creamy flawless skin, or those perfectly perky breasts she clearly liked displaying to her advantage. She was probably so used to being admired, so accustomed to men—and women—stumbling over themselves to give her exactly what she wanted.

Too bad for her, I was no longer the same insecure little girl she and James had tossed aside.

I exhaled slowly, loudly enough that it sounded bored, dismissive. Leaning back in my chair, arms folded tightly beneath the ugly, baggy flannel, I let my gaze drift blatantly over her body—her expensive clothes, the polished nails, the intentionally casual way she wore her robes. Everything calculated to perfection.

"What do you really want, Lily?" My voice was cold, biting, cutting straight through her carefully cultivated facade. "You don't honestly expect me to believe you want me to come live with you." I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, leaning closer again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who the fuck would ever buy that lie?"

Lily blinked rapidly, stunned into momentary silence, clearly not expecting me to be quite so blunt. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and closed it again.

"Heather," she finally said, leaning forward, eyes wide with an almost believable sincerity. "I understand you're angry. You have every right to be. But please, just hear me out." Her hand reached slowly across the table, tentative, almost timid, fingers hovering uncertainly in the air between us. "We're family. We—we made mistakes. Terrible ones, I'll admit it. But things have changed now. We've changed. We genuinely want you home with us. Please, sweetheart, we just want to fix things."

I stared down at her outstretched hand, disgusted. Did she really think a few sweet words and carefully timed apologies could erase the damage she'd done? She was either delusional, desperate, or both.

"Fix things," I echoed softly, dangerously. My eyes snapped back to hers, sharp and cutting. "Tell me, Lily, how exactly do you plan on fixing what you've broken?"

Her hand trembled slightly, still hovering awkwardly between us, then slowly retreated to rest limply on the table. She looked genuinely lost, her perfect mask cracking further with each passing second. 

Good. I wasn't about to make this easy for her.

I watched her quietly, giving her nothing, waiting for the next lie she would inevitably spin. 

….

A bit later…

I stepped through the enormous doors of Potter Manor for the first time in my life, into a home I was supposedly meant to grow up in, but instead I was seeing it all now for the very first time. 

Everything around me screamed wealth and comfort—from the thick, rich carpet beneath my feet to the polished marble floors beyond it. The place was huge, ornate, spotless. It made the ache in my chest twist tighter, a bitter reminder of everything they'd stolen from me.

Lily stood at my side, flashing me another one of her dazzling smiles. She looked genuinely pleased, and that just made me feel more nauseous. "Heather," she said, her voice bright and cheerful, "one of the house elves can take you up to your room. It’s already prepared—exactly as it should’ve been all along." Her eyes softened. "I’m just so glad you agreed to forgive us. This is where you've always belonged, sweetheart!"

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from openly scoffing. Forgiven them? When exactly had that happened? I sure as fuck hadn't said it out loud. 

Lily apparently heard whatever she wanted to hear, especially after that long, pathetic sob story she'd given me back at the Leaky Cauldron. 

In the end, I'd agreed to come here, but forgiveness was nowhere near the truth. Not even close.

Not that Lily needed to know my real plan. I'd come to Potter Manor with one goal in mind, and staying long wasn't part of it. Before I could respond, a loud pop startled me, and a tiny house elf appeared right in front of us, its large eyes blinking nervously as it stared up at Lily.

"Ah, there you are, Bitsy," Lily said smoothly. "Please take my daughter Heather to her room. Make sure she’s comfortable. And inform the kitchen elves to start preparing tonight’s feast. We're celebrating!" Lily turned to me with another syrupy smile. "My daughter is finally home, after all these years."

Before I could sidestep, she reached out and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. My whole body stiffened immediately, muscles locking as if readying to fight. Normally, when a beautiful woman pressed herself against me, my reactions were very different. I’d be savoring the feel of soft breasts pushing firmly against mine, the warmth of another woman's body, the curve of her hips beneath my palms. 

But right now, all I felt was disgust. 

Lily's embrace felt like a violation, her soft breasts pressed into mine only serving as an unwanted reminder of just how much this woman disgusted me. My stomach churned uneasily, a wave of revulsion rising in my throat.

She finally let go, stepping back with another smile, completely oblivious—or perhaps uncaring—of my obvious discomfort. With one last falsely sweet look, she turned around and sauntered elegantly down the corridor, her hips swaying lightly beneath her expensive robes. 

I stood frozen, glaring after her, forcing myself not to follow and do something I'd regret before I could find out the truth. My fists clenched tight at my sides, knuckles turning white as I forced myself to breathe evenly again.

The house elf’s squeaky voice finally pulled my attention back. "This way, Missy," it said, wide eyes nervous, voice trembling slightly. The poor creature looked up at me like it expected to be kicked.

I let out a breath, shaking off my rage and disgust enough to follow. "Fine," I said bluntly. "Just hurry up and show me where I'm supposed to stay."

Bitsy flinched at my sharp tone, before leading me down the long hall. 

I stepped through the doorway into the bedroom the Potters had prepared for me, and immediately my senses were assaulted by an overwhelming sea of vivid reds and blinding golds. The colors were everywhere—the heavy curtains, the thick, ornate carpet, the bedding, even the wallpaper—all screaming Gryffindor so loudly I felt a slight headache starting right behind my eyes.

I paused just inside the threshold, looking around in mild disbelief. Bitsy, the tiny house elf, hovered anxiously near my ankles, her eyes wide and round as she wrung her tiny hands nervously, waiting for my reaction.

They had seriously gone this overboard trying to convince me I belonged? Gryffindor colors covered every visible surface, as if they'd thought that drenching the room in obnoxious house pride would somehow ignite some dormant desire within me to become part of their precious family again. Did they honestly think I’d see this tacky tribute and suddenly forget how they'd tossed me aside and labeled me a worthless squib my entire life?

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to Bitsy, my voice dripping with disdain. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Bitsy squeaked softly in alarm, her large, watery eyes darting nervously around the room. She stepped cautiously forward, her little body trembling slightly as if bracing herself for my anger. "Is... is Miss Heather not liking the colors?" she squeaked timidly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "Mistress Lily says red and gold is being family colors, yes? Mistress Lily saying Miss Heather would like very, very much!"

I exhaled sharply. Taking another slow, calming breath, I forced myself to look away from the hideous decor, reminding myself of my real goal. 

"Never mind that," I said flatly, reaching into my pocket and calmly pulling out my wand. The cool, smooth black wood fit comfortably between my fingers, grounding me and immediately soothing my agitation. The house elf's huge eyes instantly widened further in surprise as her gaze locked onto the wand, her little body freezing as if she'd just seen a dragon standing casually in the bedroom with us.

"M-Missy Heather is having a wand?" Bitsy gasped, stumbling backward slightly in obvious shock. Her already squeaky voice rose several octaves higher with anxiety. "But... but Mistress Lily saying Missy Heather is a squib!"

My lips curled into a small, cruel smirk at her confusion. "Oh, Lily said that, did she?" I drawled sarcastically, tilting my head slightly as I studied the elf’s trembling form with mild amusement. "Well, Bitsy, Lily Potter says a lot of things. Doesn’t make any of them true, now does it?"

I ignored her terrified stare and casually raised my wand, murmuring the incantation for a detection charm under my breath. 

Immediately, I felt my magic ripple gently outwards, invisible waves of power washing through every corner and surface of the room, searching for any listening runes, magical devices, or hidden spells. 

Bitsy continued to stare up at me in petrified confusion, clearly unsure what to do or say in this unexpected situation.

I frowned deeply as the spell finished and the results instantly pinged in my mind, alerting me to three separate hidden listening charms scattered around the room. Two were subtle spells woven directly into the walls, while a third was cunningly hidden within an ornate, gold-framed mirror hung prominently near the bed. 

"Un-fucking-believable," I growled softly, irritation simmering steadily higher. With a quick, precise flick of my wand, I wordlessly cast another series of silent disabling charms in rapid succession, neutralizing all three eavesdropping spells. 

Turning abruptly back to Bitsy, who flinched slightly under my sudden attention, I stepped deliberately closer. She stared up at me, visibly trembling, her knobby knees knocking slightly together beneath her worn little dress.

I pointed my wand casually at her chest, looking down into her huge, anxious eyes with quiet menace. "Now, Bitsy," I murmured calmly, my voice low and dangerous, "you're going to answer a question for me, and you're going to tell me the truth. Understand?"

Her large ears flattened against her skull as she whimpered nervously, clearly sensing the shift in mood. "B-Bitsy understands," she stammered timidly, nodding frantically.

"Good girl," I purred mockingly, and then without hesitation whispered firmly, "Imperio."

I felt the spell take hold instantly, washing gently through Bitsy's mind and effortlessly overcoming her resistance. Her wide, frightened eyes slowly glazed over, becoming blank and expressionless as her trembling abruptly ceased. 

She stared vacantly upward at me, utterly compliant, awaiting my command.

"Bitsy," I commanded calmly, taking a small step closer. "Tell me the name of the house elf who delivered Lily Potter’s letter to me a few days ago in Gotham City."

Without hesitation, Bitsy replied flatly, voice entirely devoid of emotion or inflection. "The elf who is delivering Mistress Lily’s letter is being named Flipsy, Miss."

I nodded slowly, absorbing the name, recalling clearly how the pathetic creature had appeared uninvited in my bedroom back home—at precisely the worst possible moment when I was in the middle of sex with Morgana, Daphne, and Astoria. Flipsy had seen entirely too much. I'd been extremely lucky that Lily and James Potter still had no clue about my true appearance or my real capabilities. If Flipsy had blabbed about what he'd witnessed, this entire reunion would’ve unfolded very differently.

"Bitsy. Summon Flipsy here immediately."

Bitsy lifted her tiny hand, snapping her fingers sharply. 

A loud pop echoed immediately through the room, and Flipsy materialized directly in front of me, wearing a small, confused smile. "Hello! Does Missy Heather Potter be needing Flipsy for something—?"

Without allowing him to finish the sentence, I swiftly aimed my wand straight at his tiny chest. "Avada Kedavra," I said clearly and firmly, my voice utterly devoid of hesitation or remorse.

The green flash filled the room for a brief instant, and Flipsy's body crumpled instantly to the thick red and gold carpet. His blank, surprised eyes stared lifelessly upward at the ceiling, the small corpse utterly still.

I stepped calmly over to his unmoving body, looking down at it dispassionately. He'd seen things he had no right seeing, and now he could never spill my secrets.

"Sorry, Flipsy," I muttered coldly, nudging his limp body roughly with the toe of my shoe. "But you really shouldn't have interrupted me mid-sex. I don't exactly forgive things like that easily."

Turning back to Bitsy, still obediently standing motionless under the Imperius Curse, I issued another command without hesitation. "Bitsy. Get rid of Flipsy’s body immediately, and ensure that no one finds it. Understood? Afterwards, I want you to erase your own memories of what happened here…"

Bitsy nodded vacantly. "Bitsy is understanding. Bitsy will be disposing of Flipsy right away, Miss!"

I watched impassively as Bitsy snapped her fingers, causing both herself and Flipsy's corpse to disappear instantly with a sharp, echoing pop. Now, alone again, I exhaled softly, stepping slowly back toward the hideously decorated bed. 

I tucked my wand back safely away, slowly sitting down on the edge of the plush mattress, my fingers gripping the thick, obnoxiously bright gold duvet beneath me. 

Now, I just needed to survive the upcoming Potter family dinner without murdering anyone else. Or at least, not yet.

….

I sat down at the massive dinner table, my eyes immediately locked onto the literal feast piled high in front of me. Roasted meats dripping juices onto shining silver platters, thick creamy mashed potatoes topped with pools of golden melted butter, crisp fresh vegetables steamed to vibrant perfection, bread rolls still gently steaming, fluffy and hot. 

My mouth immediately watered. 

Yes, I might primarily be a sex demoness, thriving on lust and desire, but that didn’t mean I was immune to other vices. Gluttony? That was absolutely my second-favorite sin, a close second at that. After all, I'd spent most of my miserable childhood starving and neglected in that filthy orphanage.

Still, I knew better than to start grabbing food yet. 

Instead, my eyes drifted reluctantly around the table, taking in the others seated with me—my so-called "family." 

The tension in the air was so thick it practically felt solid, pressing uncomfortably against my chest, making breathing feel tight and restricted. 

Across from me sat James Potter Jr., my supposed twin brother, though I'd literally never met him in my entire life until just now. He had dark, messy hair just like James, and he had similar green eyes to my own. Except mine were of course more vivid and beautiful, even underneath this current ugly face. 

Objectively, I could admit he was handsome enough, in a generic pretty-boy kind of way. 

But compared to Dick Grayson? Please. He didn't even register. Dick was far more chiseled and muscular and just gave off an all around better vibe.

James Jr’s gaze drifted lazily over my face, down my worn-out flannel shirt, lingering pointedly at the baggy jeans that hid my true figure. His eyebrows lifted slowly in clear, mocking amusement. "Wow," he drawled slowly, lips curling into an obnoxious, arrogant smirk. "They weren't kidding. You really didn't inherit the good Potter or Evans genes at all, did you? Bloody hell—you're even uglier than Aunt Petunia, and she's a pug-faced giraffe." He let out a sharp, nasty laugh at his own joke, throwing a cocky grin sideways at James Potter, who seemed to be struggling very hard to maintain a neutral expression.

My fists clenched instinctively beneath the table, knuckles turning white from the effort of holding back my temper. I imagined launching across the table and strangling him until that stupid smug grin faded permanently. 

The urge was almost overwhelming.

"James Potter Junior!" Lily snapped sharply from beside her husband, eyes blazing fiercely as she glared warningly at my supposed twin. "That is absolutely unacceptable. Apologize to your sister right this instant!"

James Jr. rolled his eyes dramatically, sighing like he'd been grievously wronged. "Merlin, mum," he muttered, voice dripping irritation, though he did briefly glance my way with a fake, overly dramatic remorseful expression. "Fine, fine, sorry or whatever, Heather. Didn’t mean to hurt your precious feelings." The mocking tone made it abundantly clear he didn't mean a single word.

Lily shot him another sharp look, clearly displeased with his attitude, before turning her attention back toward me. She quickly smoothed her expression, forcing another syrupy-sweet, entirely fake smile onto her pretty face. "Heather, sweetheart, I'm so sorry about that," she said softly. "He didn't really mean it, I promise. He's just nervous, darling. We're all just so happy you're finally here." Her voice practically dripped with forced sincerity, and her green eyes widened hopefully, like she was waiting for me to nod and forgive everything instantly.

I gave her a flat stare, refusing to soften my cold, skeptical expression. I didn’t bother responding. We both knew James Jr. meant every single hateful word. She wasn't fooling me for one fucking second.

James Potter Senior cleared his throat roughly from his seat next to Lily, drawing my reluctant attention his way. He shifted awkwardly in his chair, jaw clenched tightly as if trying desperately to contain himself. His hazel eyes, so much like mine but hardened with contempt, narrowed ever so slightly as he gazed grudgingly in my direction. "Your… mother's right," he said stiffly, his voice tightly controlled, though a faint tremble of barely contained disgust slipped through. "With you here, Heather, perhaps our house has some slim chance of hope again."

He didn't even bother hiding the underlying disdain in his tone, each word dripping venom despite his attempt at diplomacy. It was obvious “father” James Potter despised me. 

Good. The feeling was entirely mutual.

I leaned back slowly in my chair, watching the entire scene unfold with quiet detachment. My fingers tapped rhythmically against my thigh beneath the table, nails clicking quietly against denim fabric. James Senior was glaring openly at his plate, visibly struggling not to explode into curses and insults. Lily’s face remained stiffly composed, but her eyes constantly flicked toward me, anxious and calculating.

My mind drifted briefly to the ridiculous excuse Lily had given me at the Leaky Cauldron. Her sob story about how James Potter and their son James Junior had been tragically cursed by a mysterious dark wizard, rendering both father and son sterile. Because of their inability to produce further heirs, Lily had claimed, the Potter lordship and family inheritance needed to pass to me, their previously discarded squib daughter. According to her carefully rehearsed explanation, they desperately needed me to become Lady Heather Potter, the future leader of their noble house, carrying all the wealth, prestige, and status that title held.

I hadn't believed a single word of her overly dramatic story, of course. Obviously, she was banking on me being desperate enough to fall instantly for promises of wealth and status after a life spent poor and abandoned. And sure, from her twisted perspective, offering a pathetic homeless orphan girl all that power and family recognition probably did seem like an irresistible bribe.

I was surprised however that Lily did add a bit of truth to the story—the fact that James and my twin were both rendered sterile. I couldn’t help but internally smirk at that fact, Morgana’s curse was more amazing and potent than I had thought possible!

"Thank you for the welcome," I finally said. "It's nice to finally be here with my family again..." I said, sounding sad but with a touch of hope and sincerity in my voice.

I didn’t miss the very tiny smirk James gave to Lily after I said that. Like they had a plan for me and I was falling right into it…

…Dinner dragged on longer than I’d expected, most of it was taken up by James Junior’s whining. Every few minutes he sighed loudly, just to make sure everyone at the table remembered how miserable he was.

He pretty much ignored me, and instead lamented over and over about the girl that dumped his ass. Good for her.

“I still can’t believe she dumped me over something I can’t control,” he muttered, stabbing a piece of beef so hard the gravy splashed. 

Lily leaned toward him immediately, the way she always did when he spoke. Her hand slid over his forearm, her voice soft and low. “James, darling, Ginny was emotional. She didn’t understand what you were going through...”

“She understood plenty,” he shot back. “She understood that I can’t give her what she wanted in bed,” He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “The second it didn’t work, she just stared at me like I was a disappointment.” He took a gulp of his drink then, grimacing as if the taste offended him.

“You’ll find someone better,” Lily said, smoothing his sleeve with her fingers. “You’re handsome, you’re talented, you’re the Boy Who Lived. Anyone would be lucky to have you!”

He snorted. “Doesn’t matter how handsome I am if I can’t get it up.” He said it loud enough that one of the portraits on the wall cleared his throat in shock. James Junior ignored it. “You know what Ron said? He said she cried into her pillow for an hour after she got back home and told him she ‘couldn’t see a future’ with me anymore. What does that even mean?”

“You should not be talking about your sex life at the dinner table,” James Senior muttered, his knife digging hard into the roast as he cut a slice. “And you need to stop bringing this up every night…”

Damn, EVERY night he whines about this? I REALLY need to reward Morgana when I get back home.

James Junior rolled his eyes. “I’m not giving you details, Dad, calm down. I’m just saying it is complete bullshit! I bet she never actually loved me, just my fame! I treated her like a queen. Then some curse screws with me, and I’m the one who pays for it.” He turned to me suddenly, his gaze sweeping down my flannel and jeans with obvious contempt. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Doubt anyone’s ever wanted to shag you badly enough for it to matter.”

A flicker of red moved at the edge of my vision. Lily slapped him lightly on the back of the hand with her napkin. “Enough,” she snapped in a tight whisper. “You will not talk to your sister like that.”

“It’s fine,” I said before she could launch into another fake lecture on kindness. My voice came out flat and cool. 

Lily hurried to change the subject. “How are things with Ron and Hermione?” she asked, her tone bright and forced. “You three were inseparable at Hogwarts. Are you still spending time together?”

He shrugged, slumping back in his chair. “Ron’s being weird. He keeps taking Ginny’s side. Says I’m not ‘handling it maturely.’” He raised his voice on the last words in a mocking tone. “Hermione won’t stop nagging me about ‘communication’ and ‘emotional honesty.’ I told her she should go write a book about it and leave me alone.”

I made sure to file those names away in my head in case they were important. I was observing and filing away anything I could to use against “my family.”

“You know we will fix this,” James Senior said after a while. He reached for his wine glass, holding it in a white-knuckled grip. “There is no curse that cannot be broken! It may take time, but we will find a way. Dumbledore is already looking into it, he’s just been a bit distracted because of the death of his friend Alastor Moody…”

I rolled my eyes at how dumb these people were. Lily had told me in the Leaky Cauldron that the curse was “ancient and unbreakable,” that nothing could be done. That was the entire foundation of the sob story she used to lure me back here. 

According to her, James and James Junior were doomed, and the only way to save the glorious Potter legacy was to hand it to me. If this curse could be broken, they wouldn't need me at all. They could just fix their dicks and get back to breeding more perfect little Potters.

Did they think “Heather the squib” wouldn’t be smart enough to notice their stories weren’t lining up at all? 

I cut my potatoes into neat squares and ate them slowly. The food was admittedly amazing, but  I forced myself to keep my pace measured.

“So, Heather,” Lily said after a few minutes, turning her chair slightly toward me. Her smile was back in place, soft and bright. “How are you finding everything so far? Is the room comfortable? If there’s anything you don’t like, we can change it. New colors, new furniture, whatever you want.”

“The room is fine,” I said. I kept my eyes on my plate. “Very… red.” I took a bite of beef. Chewed. Swallowed. “It’s a lot.”

Lily laughed, that tinkling little sound she probably practiced in front of a mirror. “Well, we can’t have a Potter room that isn’t a little Gryffindor, can we?” Her eyes searched my face. “You always were meant to be a lion. You just never got the chance…”

My fingers tightened around my knife. I resisted the urge to correct her and say I had never been “meant” to belong to them at all. Sirius’s house had felt more like home in a few weeks than anything with the name Potter on it ever would. And now my home was with Morgana.

We ate in an uneasy quiet after that. James Junior occasionally muttered something under his breath about Ginny, or about how unfair life was, or about how “bloody Hermione” didn’t understand. Lily tried to coax him into lighter topics. James Senior occasionally offered vague platitudes about “duty” and “responsibility.” They were so focused on him they barely noticed when I stopped responding entirely.

I answered when spoken to, but I did not offer anything. I gave Lily nothing to work with. She wanted an emotional scene. She wanted tears, hugs, dramatic reconciliations, some sign that her act was working.

I wasn’t going to give it to her.

When my plate was finally empty and the dessert appeared—a heavy, rich trifle in a crystal bowl—I took a few polite spoonfuls and then set my spoon down. “I’m tired,” I said, cutting across James Junior’s latest rant about “ungrateful girlfriends.” “It’s been a long day. I’d like to sleep.”

Lily immediately turned toward me. “Of course, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “You’ve had such a big day. Bitsy can take you back to your room. We’ll have breakfast together in the morning and make some plans, alright?”

Her eyes shone with hope again. She wanted me to say “I’d like that” or “That sounds wonderful.”

“Fine,” I said instead, standing up. “Goodnight.”

She hesitated for a second, then got to her feet as well and moved around the table toward me. “Goodnight, darling,” she said, leaning in to kiss my forehead.

I begrudgingly let her. Her lips pressed against my skin. My stomach tightened again, I kept my arms at my sides.

James Senior gave me a curt nod that could pass for politeness. “Goodnight,” he said. His eyes were cool. “We will speak more tomorrow! We have important topics to discuss!”

Bitsy appeared with a soft pop at my elbow. “Miss Heather,” she squeaked. “Bitsy is ready to takes Miss to her room.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

I followed her out of the dining room, my back straight, my steps measured. I could feel Lily’s gaze on me until we turned the corner.

The moment my bedroom door closed behind me, the false calm I’d been holding onto loosened. The room looked even worse now than it had before. Red curtains, red carpet, gold tassels on everything. The Hogwarts banners on the wall. Someone had even set a little lion plush toy on the pillow. It stared at me with embroidered eyes and a stitched smile. I crossed the room in three strides, picked it up between two fingers, and tossed it into the wardrobe.

“Bitsy,” I said forcefully.

The elf appeared again with a crack, her big eyes wide. “Yes, Miss Heather? Is Miss needing something?”

“I’m going to sleep,” I said. “No one is to come into this room until I say so. Not you, not any other elf, not Lily, not James, not anyone. If someone orders you to come in here, you ignore them. Understood?”

Bitsy wrung her hands nervously. “But—but if Mistress Lily—”

“Bitsy,” I said calmly. “I am giving you an order. You will obey me as the future Lady of this house!”

Her ears drooped. She swallowed hesitantly. “Bitsy will be doing as Miss says,” she whispered finally.

“Good,” I said. “Now go.”

She vanished with another pop.

I walked to the window and opened the heavy curtains. The glass reflected Heather’s face back at me for a moment before the view outside replaced it. The grounds of Potter Manor stretched out below—dark lawns, a line of trimmed hedges, a distant copse of trees. The sky above was clear enough to show a blanket of stars.

I checked the frame for alarms and detection spells with a few silent charms. Someone had bothered to put a basic ward on the window to alert the house if it opened after midnight. I dispelled it with a twist of my wrist. The magic snapped silently.

I pushed the window up. Cold night air rushed in, making the thin curtains flutter. I swung one leg over the sill, testing the ledge outside with my foot. It was narrow but solid. I climbed out carefully, gripping the frame with my hands until both my feet were secure.

Once I was fully outside, I drew in my darker magic.

My shoulders and lower back tingled. A familiar pressure built along my spine, just above my hips. I let it flow, no longer holding anything back. Two black, leathery wings unfurled from my lower back, pushing outward through skin and air. My succubus wings fanned out, and I let the Metamorphmagus magic keeping up my false appearance fade away. I willed away my gross oversized clothing, and instead a form fitting tight black dress that hugged my breasts tightly, and cut off at my upper thighs appeared over my once again flawless body.

I flew over the Potter grounds until I was past the ward line. Once I was sure no one could sense me, I apparated away, I wasn’t dumb enough to sleep inside “enemy territory.” I could come back early in the morning before anyone else woke up…

I didn't go straight back to the fancy penthouse suite waiting for me in central London. Not after the draining, frustratingly fake dinner with the Potters. No, I needed to blow off steam somewhere else first, somewhere that would remind me exactly who I really was now—Amara Black, succubus, duchess, and everything Heather Potter had never been allowed to be.

I apparated directly in front of the Leaky Cauldron, materializing on the pavement without the slightest whisper of displaced air.

I took a moment, smoothing my hands down the tight black dress. The fabric clung to every line and dip of my body, tightly framing my full, rounded breasts and accentuating the provocative swell of my hips. The neckline plunged daringly, showing just enough smooth, flawless cleavage to be scandalous but not quite obscene. The hem cut off at mid-thigh, leaving my long, toned legs exposed and my firm, rounded ass hugged perfectly by the form-fitting fabric. My true face was back—raven-black hair cascaded luxuriously down my shoulders in soft waves, emerald eyes glowed faintly, and plush, full lips curved slowly into a satisfied smile.

As soon as I stepped through the pub door this time, heads instantly swiveled toward me. Dozens of eyes followed my every movement hungrily, openly roaming over my body with pure, undisguised lust. 

It felt worlds apart from the earlier disdain I'd received as Heather. Now, as Amara, I walked slowly and confidently through the smoky, dimly lit interior, reveling in the heated gazes crawling over my chest, down the curve of my waist, and lingering greedily on my swaying hips and perfectly shaped ass.

It felt intoxicating.

My high heels clicked rhythmically against the worn wooden floorboards as I approached the bar counter. 

But my attention quickly locked onto a surprising yet familiar figure standing stiffly at the bar, clearly in the middle of interrogating Tom, the poor, overwhelmed bartender. 

Bruce Wayne, completely out of place and clearly agitated at the baffled bartender's inability to answer his pointed questions. “So this Ministry of Magic,” the man was saying, “how exactly is it structured? Who sits at the top? Is there a council? A single minister? Any oversight from the common people?”

Tom’s eyes slid over the man’s shoulder when he sensed me approaching. Relief flashed across his features so quickly he almost looked like someone had pulled a cork out of him. “Evenin’, miss,” he blurted. “What can I get yer?”

The man followed Tom’s line of sight and turned his head slightly.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips as I casually waved my wand, silently casting a thorough cleaning charm on the empty bar stool next to him. He watched the magic sweep over the surface, tense muscles coiled even tighter beneath his expensive suit jacket. 

I gracefully settled onto the newly sanitized seat, crossing my long legs elegantly, letting my dress slide further up my smooth thighs as I offered him a slow, teasing grin.

"We finally meet in person, Mr. Wayne," I purred softly, amusement dancing in my emerald eyes as they locked onto his guarded face. "How’s your little investigation into the magical world going?" I added lightly, glancing briefly at poor Tom, who immediately stepped further away down the bar, visibly relieved to be rid of Bruce's relentless questions.

Bruce turned his full attention toward me then, piercing blue eyes instantly narrowing in suspicion. "So," he said in a carefully controlled voice, deep and gravelly, the underlying Batman slipping clearly through the polished Bruce Wayne persona, "you know who I am." His gaze sharpened, a small glare aimed directly at me. "Did Dick tell you my identity?"

I laughed softly, a genuinely amused sound, my smile broadening further as I leaned casually against the polished wooden counter. "Dick didn’t need to tell me anything. Honestly, every single member of your precious Justice League is embarrassingly terrible at hiding their secret identities," I informed him bluntly, watching with quiet satisfaction as genuine surprise briefly flickered through his eyes. "I'd wager most villains know exactly who you all really are by now."

"That's...concerning," he muttered slowly, clearly filing away this new information, obviously displeased at hearing something he hadn't already known.

I gave a nonchalant shrug, idly running my fingertip slowly along the edge of the bar, intentionally drawing his eyes briefly downward. "Relax, Mr. Wayne. Villains knowing your identities isn’t as dangerous as you think," I explained smoothly. "There are rules—codes of conduct that all villains quietly agree to follow. Revealing your identities publicly or attacking you out of costume breaks those rules. And if someone tries it?" I leaned closer, my voice lowering intimately. "Other villains make sure that rule-breaker doesn't remain a problem for long. After all, if the villains break the rules first, your League gets free rein to retaliate."

Bruce studied me silently for a long moment. A tiny, grudging nod finally followed. "The League won't be happy to hear that our identities are compromised," he admitted reluctantly, his voice edged with frustration.

I shrugged lightly again. "I'm sure you'll manage," I said dryly. Then, deliberately letting my gaze roam slowly around the pub again, I returned my attention to Bruce, feigning mild confusion. "So? Where's Dick? Isn't your charming protégé supposed to be playing sidekick for your investigation into the magical world?"

Bruce explained to me, voice calm but touched with mild irritation, that Dick had gone ahead without him—straight into Diagon Alley to investigate its night club.

I paused abruptly at his words. My head tilted slightly to the side as I studied Bruce's face, attempting to decipher whether he was joking or entirely serious.

 "Hold on," I said slowly, disbelief clear in my tone, "There's actually a nightclub hidden somewhere in Diagon Alley?"

Really?

"Apparently so," he responded, voice low and dry. "Dick got some local wizard kid talking. Said there's a fairly popular magical club called the ‘Cauldron’s Kiss’. It caters exclusively to young witches and wizards, and is supposedly warded with magic to restrict entry to anyone older than thirty." He paused a moment, glancing down at the scarred surface of the bar counter, expression darkening noticeably. "Which, obviously, left me out here..."

Hehe, I wondered if he got tossed on his ass by a magical barrier? That would have been admittedly funny to see in person!

I couldn't help it. The image forming in my head was simply too entertaining to resist. 

And then, there was the thought of an entire establishment filled wall-to-wall with drunk, horny young adults, all brimming with magical and undoubtedly questionable impulse control. 

Oh, the absolute chaos!

I threw back my head and laughed aloud, unable to keep the amused delight from slipping out. 

Bruce’s gaze flicked down involuntarily at the sudden movement, clearly catching sight of the tantalizing swell of my partially exposed breasts as they rose and fell with my laughter. His piercing eyes lingered for just a heartbeat too long, before quickly darting upward again to meet my eyes. His expression instantly shifted into carefully controlled neutrality, but that brief momentary lapse hadn’t escaped my notice.

I leaned slightly forward toward him, lips curling slowly into a teasing, seductive smirk. "Careful there, Mr. Wayne," I purred, voice lowering into a playful murmur as I arched my eyebrow suggestively. "You wouldn’t want to be caught flirting with a girl roughly the same age as your daughter, would you?"

The instant the words left my lips, Bruce’s entire body visibly froze. His shoulders stiffened abruptly beneath the fabric of his expensive suit jacket, his back straightening as his eyes instantly widened in shock. Genuine confusion and alarm briefly shattered his carefully crafted Bruce Wayne persona, replaced momentarily by the hardened intensity of Batman himself!

"What? Daughter?" he repeated sharply, voice harsh and disbelieving, the tone dropping deeper, filled with immediate tension. "What are you talking about, Amara Black!?"

I tilted my head slightly, momentarily thrown off by the intensity of his reaction. Had he genuinely not known? That didn't seem possible, not with someone as obsessively meticulous as Batman.

"Helena?" I clarified carefully, studying his reaction closely. "You know, the daughter you had with Catwoman?" I paused briefly, gauging his expression before continuing cautiously. "She’s been patrolling around Gotham for several weeks now, calling herself Huntress. Morgana and I noticed her a while back, but since she's still a relatively inexperienced vigilante and hasn't caused any significant trouble, we decided she wasn’t worth interfering with. She's not exactly dangerous compared to either of her infamous parents—at least, not yet."

Bruce’s expression rapidly shifted through multiple emotions—confusion first, then shock, followed swiftly by obvious displeasure. His jaw clenched tightly, eyes narrowing as his gaze slid momentarily away from mine, clearly troubled and unsettled by my revelation.

"Damn it," he growled, more to himself than to me, voice rough and edged with frustration. His hand briefly clenched into a tight fist against the countertop. "How could Selina keep something like that from me?"

I understood firsthand the emotional pain and betrayal of family secrets. I reached out impulsively, gently placing my fingers against the solid warmth of his upper arm. His muscles immediately tightened slightly beneath my unexpected touch, body tensing with brief surprise.

"Hey," I said quietly, softening my voice to something gentler, more sincere. "I'm sorry, I honestly assumed you already knew…"

Bruce remained silent for a long moment, his gaze studying the countertop with quiet intensity. Finally, he nodded slowly, visibly forcing himself to regain his usual ironclad composure. 

"Maybe Dick was right about you… Thank you for telling me, Amara. I needed to know." He exhaled sharply, straightening up again and clearly forcing himself to put the shocking news temporarily aside, refocusing instead on the immediate situation. "I’ll deal with Selina and Helena when I'm back in Gotham. Right now, our priority remains investigating this magical community thoroughly."

I nodded slowly, giving his arm one final, comforting squeeze before letting go. I slowly rose from my stool, stretching my back sensuously, deliberately allowing my breasts to press forward beneath my tight dress. Bruce's eyes instinctively flickered down again briefly, before quickly jerking upward once more, visibly irritated at himself for the lapse once again that made me giggle!

"Well," I announced, "since you can't exactly follow Dick into the club, I suppose I'll go make sure he's not getting himself into too much trouble." I paused briefly, then added lightly, "Not that I'm particularly opposed to trouble."

Bruce's eyes immediately narrowed again in response, expression growing stern and serious once more. "Don't cause any unnecessary scandals tonight, Amara," he warned gruffly, voice slipping momentarily back into its deeper Batman register, filled with quiet authority. "We're here to investigate discreetly. The last thing we need is a known villain to draw unnecessary attention from the wizarding authorities."

I shrugged and told him I honestly doubted the magical authorities even knew about the concept of supervillains or superheroes…

“Hmm, You might sadly be right about that," he grumbled.

I gave him another playful, teasing smile over my shoulder, slowly moving toward the exit of the Leaky Cauldron. My hips swayed provocatively beneath the tight black dress with each measured step. "Well," I purred lightly, voice filled with amusement, casting a suggestive glance back at Bruce, "if trouble happens to find me tonight, Mr. Wayne, it'll be entirely your fault for jinxing it!"

Bruce exhaled sharply through his nose again, eyes narrowing further, but he didn't bother responding. Clearly, he understood perfectly well that cautioning someone like me about causing trouble was practically a guarantee that something eventful would happen.

XXX

Chapter Text

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

Chapter 14 (~16k Words):

– Amara –

I strutted confidently down Diagon Alley with my black 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 flaring slightly as he inhaled deeply, breathing in my scent. His lips curled slowly into a wolfish smirk, and his golden eyes flashed momentarily in the dim lamplight, 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 playfully, holding his gaze as I passed. “Careful,” I murmured teasingly, voice low and smooth. “I bite back.”

He laughed 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 flawless porcelain skin and stark, midnight-black 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 flare 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 glances 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 large 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 large, heavy features and towering stature made it blatantly 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 blatant 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 black 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 glance, 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. Platforms hovered magically above the crowd, supporting scantily clad 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 black 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 playful smirk spread across my lips as I made my way to the crowded bar, casually leaning against its polished marble surface. I flagged 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 particularly 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 lazily 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 eyelashes, 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 claw-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 black 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 placing a possessive, slender hand firmly against his chest, making it blatantly clear to everyone present exactly whom he belonged to. I stared directly into his eyes, blatantly 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, placing 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 lashes 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 black 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 blatant 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 place.

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, replaced with poorly concealed jealousy and obvious insecurity. Their eyes roamed quickly over my flawless 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 Black, current head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” 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, replaced by a mixture of stunned awe and genuine fear. They exchanged quick, nervous glances, whispering urgently amongst themselves.

“The new Lady Black?” 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 lady,” 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 Black. 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 collapsing into an expression of utter despair and deep humiliation. Her cheeks flamed 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 relaxing as they disappeared into the crowd. His warm hands tightened appreciatively around my waist, pulling me even closer against his firm, muscular chest.

“Well,” he teased playfully, 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 villainess in training…?” I responded playfully.

“Yep, that would be the reason,” he said and placed 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 place 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 plain 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 laughed 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 lavishly opulent Potter mansion flashed 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 placed. 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 playful, “this feels strangely familiar. Crowded club, loud music, flashing 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 similar night back in Gotham—one involving you, me, a very flirtatious Kryptonian blonde, and a brooding empath with purple highlights.”

I chuckled softly, glancing playfully upward through thick lashes. “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 laughed lightly. “You're quite a greedy girl, aren’t you, Duchess?”

A slow, lazy 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 lapel, 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 landed 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 flat 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 flame. 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 place 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 place like this.

“We saw you put that uppity bitch Pansy in her place,” 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, flashing 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 lawless? Do you all set up local councils or is it more of a clan 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 speculation 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 lashes. Ginny’s gaze flicked between me and Dick, curiosity and that innate Weasley mischief sparking under the surface.

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

“As fun as ‘lawless’ 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-regulate? That’s fascinating,” she breathed. “Do you have written law codes? Shared agreements? What about enforcement—”

Ginny elbowed her again, harder this time. “Hermione,” she said, laughing. “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 laughter 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 laugh. “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 lazily 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 flashy. It didn’t flare 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 dilated, and the flush that crept up her neck was too quick, too sudden to blame 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 place 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 chocolate 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 classrooms 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 place,” she admitted shyly, eyelashes 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 playfully, “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 vanilla 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 playful 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 glance, 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 place 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 glances 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 laced 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 playful 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 alarmed 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 planning? 

I just smiled slyly, meeting his gaze with a lazy confidence that said he could try to dig, but I wasn’t giving up my secrets tonight. Instead, I brushed a stray lock of black 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 lately.” I gave him a playful 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 last 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 syllables. The final spell shimmered around the windows and doors, snapping into place 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 last night. 

I’d apparated back before dawn, dropped the Heather face back into place. 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 flat 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 place 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 glance 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 later 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 label. The sound came from behind it, a muttered incantation, a flare of power, then another bang!

I pushed the door open. The room beyond was big and rectangular, 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 burlap and wood, some frozen in mid-pose, others slowly resetting after recent abuse. Several floating targets hovered lazily 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 flaring 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 overlapped perfectly. Same messy black 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 flare of sickly green, his stupid face going slack, 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 glanced 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 flare 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, clattering across the floor.

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

He summoned the wand back without an incantation—lazy little flick, the wand sailing back into the dummy’s grip. “Stupefy!” he followed up, firing again. Red slammed 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 large 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 inflated 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 last.

Perfect. He was tired, off-balance, 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 explained 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 layer of vulnerability to Heather’s façade. "Could you—could you please tell me what happened?"

James Junior's arrogant expression faltered briefly, a flicker of genuine conflict flashing behind his eyes. But it only lasted 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 glared 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 slap 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 clawed 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 Bellatrix 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 Black 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 laughed at the sheer stupidity and irony of his words. There was no secret daughter of Voldemort and Bellatrix—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 planned to sacrifice you to that dark bitch in some horrible ritual—after all, you're just a squib, completely useless. Honestly, you should be glad 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 Black 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 glance 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 last night. James Senior barely looked up from his plate 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 glance with Lily that immediately piqued my curiosity. They shared some unspoken secret, some knowledge hidden behind careful looks. "Our guest arrives later 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 glance.

Now it was just me and Lily, left sitting alone at the enormous table as multiple house elves scurried around us, clearing away plates, 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 explained why none of them had noticed yet that Flipsy had permanently vanished.

I pushed the half-eaten remains of my breakfast around my plate, 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 plate. "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 manipulate. 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 plants bloomed abundantly.

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

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

Next, we approached a large greenhouse constructed of polished glass. 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 plants 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 place before I leave? 

Morgana would appreciate magical ingredients.

Satisfied, Lily smiled brightly again, resuming her elegant stroll across the immaculate lawns toward a large, large 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 muscular 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 glanced 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, playing 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 laugh 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 relaxing 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 flattery.

"Oh, it certainly is," Lily continued enthusiastically, launching 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 façade 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, lavishly 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 large, 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 placing 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 collarbone. “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 flat, 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 laid 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, playing 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 later, 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 lavish 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 lavish 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 laid eyes upon, that’s for damned sure.” He chuckled roughly. “But I s’pose the lassie’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 planned 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 salacious 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 laugh, 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—isolated 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 reclaim 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 lay 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 claims, 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 planned.

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 Black 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 blatant depravity of his words snapped me abruptly back from my shocked stupor, cold fury replacing 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 last 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 glance back, slamming 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 lavish hallways, up flights of ornate stairs, and back into the lavish 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 blankly 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, large 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 Highlands," 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, glancing 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 places.

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 flames, an agonized shriek tearing painfully from her throat as she flailed wildly in panicked desperation. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air as the flames consumed her tiny form mercilessly, reducing her rapidly to ash upon the lavish bedroom carpet!

I didn’t feel even a flicker of remorse.

Two large, leathery black wings unfurled majestically behind my lower back, stretching luxuriously outward, while my sinuous tail flicked languidly behind me as well. Two white horns emerged smoothly from my raven-black 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 blackened 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 lay 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 glare. 

"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 ablaze. We've been working frantically to contain the flames, but…" Dawlish gestured helplessly to the devastation around them. "There was nothing we could do to save it. The place 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 villagers far away—they reported flashes of black 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, uncontrollable 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 fireplace, 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 claimed 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, glancing 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 flashed 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 glance across the charred landscape.

– Bellatrix –

Bellatrix Black 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 Alastor 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, Bellatrix. Someone sent him Moody’s head in a box. According to certain… discussions in the Order, the culprit calls herself Amara Black. 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, lazily 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-black 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 Bellatrix’s. No one else could raise such a creature.”

Bellatrix had burst out laughing 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, Bellatrix,” 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.

Bellatrix had spent the hours since oscillating 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 black robes swirling around her ankles. Family portraits watched her warily from the walls, Malfoy ancestors frowning down at her with tight-lipped disapproval.

“Bellatrix?”

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—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, quite,” Bellatrix 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 lady. 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,” Bellatrix 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 fireplace 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 lady. 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.

Bellatrix 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 Black. Her daughter. And the girl was in Diagon Alley last 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 Black. 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?

Bellatrix—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 Black’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 blamed HER for it…

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

– Amara –

Congratulations! You have exterminated an entire magical bloodline with fire! Your talent [Adept Flames] 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 flames 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 last 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 display 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 laughing 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 landed 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-Black,” 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 flashed him a lazy 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 place 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

Chapter Text

Chapter 15:

– Amara –

My head was still buzzing as I started threading my way through the club.

The Cauldron’s Kiss felt even louder tonight—like the music had crawled inside my bones and decided to set up shop there. Bass thumped up through the soles of my stilettos, rattling my ribs and humming along my spine. 

The dance floor was a writhing knot of bodies. I slipped into the flow of it, dodging between sweaty backs and flailing arms, the slick brush of bare skin and too-warm breath hitting me at every angle. A couple of idiots had their wands out, firing random sparks and low-grade charms into the air like fireworks.

A jet of blue stars shot past my head and burst somewhere near the ceiling. Someone shrieked in delight. Someone else started hurling glittering bubbles that floated down and popped on contact with skin, leaving behind a faint tingling sensation. At least half of them were too drunk to cast anything properly, thankfully.

One guy stumbled into my path, tall and broad-shouldered, his shirt half-unbuttoned and sweat sticking it to his chest. His hair was damp and curling at the edges, his pupils blown wide. He put a hand out to catch my arm

“Oi, gorgeous,” he shouted over the music, leaning in far too close. “Dance with me. Come on, just one song.”

I slid sideways. , “If I dance with you, you’re going to get ideas you can’t afford.” I let my eyes drag down his body and back up again, deliberately slow. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

He blinked, mouth opening and closing once like a confused fish. His brain tried to decide whether I’d just flirted with him or insulted him, and by the time he figured out it was mostly the second, I was already gone.

I pushed forward, narrowly avoiding a witch who spun blindly into my space, wand in hand, hair flying. She flung out an arm to steady herself, narrowly missing my chest. The spell that had been building at her wand tip went off in a burst of pink smoke.

“Watch it,” I said, stepping around her, batting away the drifting pink cloud with a swipe of my hand.

“Sorry!” she giggled, absolutely not sorry at all. Her eyes slid shamelessly down my dress. “Nice outfit.”

“Likewise,” I lied, and kept moving.

And then I finally found the people I came here to meet. Dick, Ginny, Hermione.

I slowed my pace just enough to take them in.

Dick looked good, he was wearing a blue Armani that fit him like it had been poured onto his frame. 

Ginny Weasley had clearly stepped up her daring as well. Tonight’s dress she was wearing was downright sinful—for a good little former-Gryffindor, anyway. Deep emerald green, cut low in the front to show off the soft swell of her breasts, the neckline held up mostly by ambition and good luck. The skirt hugged her hips and thighs, then flared out just enough to move when she did. 

And Hermione…

Gone was the conservative brown dress. Tonight, she’d shown up in something that made my eyebrows rise and my mouth go a little dry. It was dark purple, tight through the torso, the fabric clinging to her waist and the surprisingly generous curve of her chest. The neckline wasn’t exactly plunging, but it dipped low enough to draw the eye and then some. The hem stopped mid-thigh, exposing long, smooth legs I definitely hadn’t appreciated properly yesterday. She’d tamed her hair more tonight too, curls pulled back from her face just enough to show off her lovely face.

The fact that Hermione Granger had consciously picked out a dress like that to meet me again sent a hot little curl of satisfaction sliding straight down my spine. So did the way her eyes flicked to me the second she caught sight of my figure moving through the crowd.

She froze, just for a heartbeat—like a deer caught in the glow of a runaway broom. Her gaze travelled from my heels all the way up, slow and involuntary, lingering on every strategically exposed inch of skin. By the time her eyes reached my face, her cheeks were already pink, and she snatched her drink up, taking a long sip to hide it.

“You made it,” Ginny said, stepping forward eagerly to greet me. Her gaze trailed appreciatively down my revealing white dress, lingering openly on the generous curves of my hips and chest. “Merlin, Amara, you look absolutely incredible.”

“Speak for yourself,” I chuckled softly, allowing my fingers to lightly brush her shoulder in greeting. I enjoyed the slight shiver that passed through her at the casual contact. “You certainly decided to make a statement tonight.”

Ginny laughed, clearly delighted by the compliment. She spun playfully in place, causing her skirt to swirl enticingly around toned thighs. “I figured tonight was worth dressing up for,” she teased warmly, eyes sparkling with obvious mischief. “Who knows what trouble we might get into?”

My gaze shifted purposefully toward Hermione, who stood awkwardly, looking adorably self-conscious. I took a deliberate step closer, lowering my voice into a gentle, teasing purr. “And you, Hermione—I must say, I’m surprised. Pleasantly so, of course.” I let my eyes drift slowly down her slender frame, intentionally lingering in a way that made her blush even deeper. “I didn’t realize you had such a daring side.”

She bit her lip nervously, glancing away with embarrassment, but didn’t shrink from my nearness. Instead, her fingers twisted anxiously together as she struggled to find words. “Ginny convinced me to step outside my comfort zone,” she admitted shyly, voice barely audible over the music. “I'm still getting used to it.”

“Come on,” I said, letting a crooked little smile curl my lips, “let’s have some fun tonight.”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I laced my fingers through Hermione’s and hooked my other hand into Dick’s lapel, tugging all three of them with me toward the thumping heart of the dance floor.

The bass swallowed us as soon as we stepped back into the crowd. Bodies pressed around us. It was perfect. Chaotic enough that I could finally shove Potter Manor and Lily’s simpering voice out of my head for a while, and just drown in noise and touch.

Dick moved instinctively into position behind me, one hand settling at my waist like it belonged there. Ginny slid in on my left, Hermione on my right—both of them close enough that their bare shoulders brushed mine.

“Rule one! No thinking. Just dancing.”

Ginny laughed, already half-obeying, her hips rolling to the beat, red hair catching the light in flashes as she moved. Hermione looked… hesitant, but not reluctant. Her teeth worried at her lower lip as she glanced around the pulsing crowd, then back at me, cheeks flushed a soft pink.

She was so fucking adorable when she was out of her depth.

I stepped in close, my body brushing hers, my hand finding the small of her back. Her shiver went straight through both of us.

I let my magic slip with the touch—soft at first, a thin thread of dark warmth flowing from my fingertips into her skin. 

[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch!] 

I felt it take root in her instantly. Hermione’s breath hitched, her pupils blowing wide, her chest rising faster as I felt heat prick beneath her skin.

On my other side, Ginny leaned in, sliding an arm around my waist. “Merlin, I love this song,” she shouted, head thrown back for a second as the beat dropped. 

I let my free hand trail down the length of her spine. When I hit the exposed strip of skin at the small of her back, between the dip of the dress and the swell of her ass, I pushed a pulse of magic into her next.

Ginny gasped, the sound getting lost in the music, hips jerking forward. Her fingers dug into my hip, nails biting through the thin fabric of my dress. 

She shivered, her eyes going hazy for a second. 

The bass climbed, the tempo picking up, and I turned again, this time with purpose, backing into Dick. His hands came up automatically, catching my hips. I rolled my body back against him in a slow, deliberate grind, feeling the heat of him through his trousers, the strength in his fingers as they tightened reflexively.

“You sure this is just dancing?” he muttered into my hair, voice lower than normal, breath hot across the side of my neck.

“You complaining?” I glanced back at him over my shoulder, arching one brow.

His grip tightened. “Not even a little.”

I laughed and shifted again, bringing Ginny to the front and dragging Hermione with me so the four of us fell into an easy loop—my body brushing Dick’s as he moved behind me, Ginny pressed against my front, Hermione beside us, shoulders and hips and thighs connecting in shifting combinations.

….By the time the third song bled into the fourth, all three of us were sweating.

The music never really stopped, it just blurred from one pounding track into the next, like the club itself refused to let anyone pause long enough to think. I’d fallen into a rhythm without realizing—pressing my body between Ginny and Hermione, rolling my hips into Dick every time the beat dipped low, feeding little pulses of [Lewd Touch] into whichever hand or waist I happened to be touching.

It showed.

Hermione’s chest was heaving under that tight purple dress, each breath stretching the fabric over her breasts in a way that made it very hard not to stare. A fine sheen of sweat made her skin glow under the club lights—along her collarbones, at the hollow of her throat, at the edge of the cleavage she kept trying not to hunch over. Her curls, so carefully tamed at the start of the night, were rebelling again, clinging damply to her temples and the back of her neck.

Ginny wasn’t faring much better. Strands of red hair stuck to her forehead, her cheeks were flushed a deep, delicious pink, and her lips were parted as she sucked in breaths between laughs. The green dress hugged her like a spell gone too far—her nipples were visibly hard against the thin fabric now, and every time she shifted her weight, the skirt rode up higher on her thighs.

I saw it then, the proof of what my magic was doing to them.

Even in the dim, shifting light, both of them had a telltale shimmer along their inner thighs. Ginny’s dress clung just a little too tightly between her legs when she squeezed her thighs together. Hermione’s hand kept drifting toward the hem of her skirt as if she wanted to tug it down and then thought better of it.

“I—I need the loo,” Hermione blurted suddenly, voice pitched high.

Ginny laughed breathlessly. “Me too,” she admitted, pressing her thighs together.

They extricated themselves from the tangle of our bodies with all the grace of two people desperately trying to pretend nothing was wrong while absolutely everything was wrong. Hermione tried to sidestep without brushing her thighs together too much, Ginny kept tugging at her dress as they moved. They walked away quickly but not quickly enough to hide the stiffness in their gait or the way they kept glancing back over their shoulders at me and Dick.

I watched their backs until they disappeared into the crowd, my lips curved in a satisfied little smile. That was when I felt a familiar hand close firmly around my hip.

Dick didn’t give me a chance to turn. One moment I was watching the girls thread their way toward the bathrooms, and the next I was being tugged backwards, my spine pressing into something solid.

He pulled me flush against him, his palm splayed low over my stomach, just above the knot of fabric at my waist. My ass settled instinctively against his hips, my body recognizing the shape of him from this morning much faster than my brain did.

Heat rushed up my neck. I tilted my head to look up at him.

He was smiling, but it wasn’t the normal  grin I’d grown used to. It was softer, smaller… and didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a little furrow between his brows that hadn’t been there before.

The song shifted into something slower, easing into a deep, rolling beat that lent itself more to swaying than grinding. Around us, the crowd adapted automatically—bodies turning, hands sliding, couples folding into each other. The air felt hotter without actually getting any warmer.

We slipped into the slower rhythm without really thinking. My hands found his forearms where they circled me, his fingers flexing against the fabric of my dress. We swayed together in a small pocket of space, the storm of the club humming around us.

“What are you doing, Amara?” he asked quietly.

The question cut through the music more sharply than it had any right to. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it that set my nerves on edge.

I frowned automatically. I didn’t like that tone on him. I liked him smug or flustered or panting into my mouth, not… serious.

For one terrifying moment, my mind jumped straight to the worst possible conclusion.

Did he know?

Had he somehow found out? About McFinnegan’s estate. About the Fiendfyre I’d unleashed. About the dozens of lives I’d burned away without a second thought.

There’s no way he knows. No one should… right?

I swallowed, forcing my voice into something breezy. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Grayson,” I said, tilting my head back against his shoulder, trying to make it sound like a joke. “I do a lot of questionable things.”

His grip on my hips tightened just slightly—not painful, not even rough, just enough to tell me he wasn’t going to let me slip away with a sarcastic deflection. He exhaled slowly, the breath warm against my temple, and when he spoke again his voice was pitched low, for me alone. “What are you doing with Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley?”

Relief hit me so fast my knees almost buckled. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, my muscles loosening under his hands.

So it wasn’t about the estate. 

I schooled my face quickly, letting irritation creep into it instead. “What are you talking about?” I asked, twisting just enough in his arms to see his face better. “We’re just having fun. I thought that was the whole point of tonight!”

He didn’t smile. If anything, his frown deepened. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said quietly. “I’m not an idiot, Amara.” The way he said my name—flat and steady, no teasing—made something twist in my chest.

He shifted his hold so that one arm rested lightly against my middle, keeping me close as we continued to sway. His other hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, an almost tender gesture that made the disappointment in his eyes sting even more.

“Hermione doesn’t post much,” he went on. “She’s not exactly an influencer. But she does have social media…”

My brows rose slightly despite myself. “You’ve been stalking Hermione Granger online?”

“I call it recon,” he shot back dryly. “Batman’s paranoia rubbed off on me over the years…” His thumb brushed idly along my side as he talked, like he couldn’t decide whether he was trying to comfort me or keep me in place. “The point is,” he continued, “Hermione has photos. Not many, but enough. Her and Ginny. Her and that Ron guy she spoke about yesterday. Her and…” he paused, watching my face, “James Potter Junior.”

“...Oh? What a coincidence…” I said softly, obviously knowing I got caught.

“Was this the plan?” he asked. “From the second you realized who they were? Get close to them. Get them hot and bothered. Seduce them away from James. Corrupt them. Hurt him through them…?”

I bit my lower lip, hard enough to sting. The guilt that flickered up wasn’t about James—fuck James—but about the faint, disappointed edge in Dick’s voice. It scraped against something I didn’t want to name.

Yes, it was the plan. Or part of it, anyway.

Was I using them? Absolutely. Was I enjoying it? Also absolutely.

I forced a crooked little smile, even as my chest felt uncomfortably tight. “You make it sound so ugly,” I said lightly. “Corrupting is such a harsh word.”

He didn’t smile back.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” he asked. “Be honest with me, Amara. Just once. Are you doing this because you genuinely like them… or because you want to hurt him?”

I opened my mouth to say something flippant, something sharp. To toss the question aside like it didn’t matter.

Instead, the words stuck.

I looked up at him, at the serious lines on his face, at the concern and frustration and something annoyingly close to care in his eyes. The beat of the music slowed even more, the song fading into a sensual, thudding track that felt almost at odds with the conversation we were having.

My hand slipped from his lapel to his chest, resting over his heart. It was beating faster than usual. So was mine.

“…Can’t it be both?” I muttered finally, voice softer than I’d meant it to be.

His breath hitched just a little, his eyes narrowing in a way that said I’d hit the bullseye and he didn’t like the answer. “What happened with your family Amara? I can say that you're a beautiful and infuriating young woman, but I don’t think this is something you’d do unless you were really hurting…”

I didn’t want to tell him, tonight was just supposed to be my final distraction before I dealt with everything tomorrow. And then I’d go back home to Gotham where everything would return to normal. That’s how it was supposed to be anyway. Instead, I found the words spilling from my lips— 

I didn’t tell him everything, I didn’t tell him about me murdering the house elves or me extinguishing an entire magical bloodline with fiendfyre, but I told him the most important parts. I told him how my non-existent family thought they had tricked me into returning. How they lived in decadence and yet they were apparently hurting for money. How the solution for that was for them to try and sell me off like a slave wife to one of the most revolting old men I’d ever seen.

…At some point during the story Dick had steered us away from the crush of bodies and into an empty corner booth. I barely remembered moving. One second I’d been talking over the music on the dance floor, the next I was slumped sideways against the cool leather, Dick’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, his free hand drawing slow circles on my thigh like he was trying to massage the tension out of me.

I’d told him everything I could stand to say out loud.

By the time the words ran out of me, I was half-lying against Dick’s chest, my fingers fisted in his shirt like he was the only thing keeping me from flying apart. His other hand was a steady, grounding weight at my hip, thumb moving in slow, soothing strokes that did absolutely nothing to calm the boiling anger in my chest, but helped with everything else.

“That’s completely horrible! I cannot believe the Potters were that vile all along! I thought I knew my friend!” Hermione’s voice cut in.

I flinched, my head jerking up so fast I nearly cracked my chin on Dick’s shoulder. For a second I had no idea where the fuck I was. The club lights strobed across us, the booth, the people swaying just beyond, and then my gaze landed on the source of the voice.

Ginny and Hermione were back from the bathroom.

They were standing at the mouth of the booth, half-leaning against the padded edge like they’d been there long enough to get comfortable. 

My stomach dropped. “How long have you two been standing there?” I sat up a little straighter, pulling away from Dick without fully letting go.

Dick cleared his throat, his arm sliding off my shoulders but staying behind me on the backrest, his fingers brushing my neck from behind. “A while,” he admitted, wincing a little. “They came back from the bathroom and… well, you were kind of in the middle of something. I didn’t think interrupting would help.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. Of course I hadn’t noticed. I’d been so wrapped up in my own shit I hadn’t clocked two witches literally standing within arm’s reach.

“Oh,” I said lamely, then forced myself to look directly at them. “I’m… sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear all of that.” My fingers twisted in the hem of my dress unconsciously. “And I’m sorry about earlier, too. On the dance floor…”

Ginny’s eyebrow arched, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, about that,” she said, folding her arms loosely over her chest as she stepped closer. The club lights above slid along the curve of her cleavage, catching for a second before moving on. “Did you use some kind of sex magic on us, Amara?”

Hermione moved in beside her, cheeks flushing a slow, spreading pink. “Because we both… ah…” She trailed off, eyes flicking away in embarrassment before she forced herself to push through it. “We both accidentally orgasmed in the middle of the dance floor.”

I bit my lower lip hard enough to sting and nodded once. “Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “That was… me.” I gave a weak, sheepish laugh. “It doesn’t mess with your minds or your consent or anything like that, I swear. It doesn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. It just… makes everything you already feel a lot more intense…”

Then they both smirked—almost in sync.

“I actually figured it out yesterday,” Hermione said, surprising me. Her voice went a little wry. “I noticed something was off.” A small, self-satisfied glint lit her eyes. “Ginny and I are pretty smart witches, you know. We can count one and one.”

Ginny snorted. “Yeah,” she said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “We worked it out eventually.” Her smirk curved wider. “And honestly? It was fun. I’m not… upset. And Amara? I’m really sorry about… all of that.” She jerked her chin slightly, clearly referring to the story they’d overheard. “What your so-called parents did to you? Selling you off like property? That’s—” she exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “That’s beyond fucked.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes darker than before. “I can’t believe James would hide something like this,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I thought I knew him. I thought I knew his family. But this…” Her gaze flicked toward Dick briefly, then back to me. “This is monstrous.”

“They’ve always been a bit much,” Ginny added bluntly, “but this? I had no idea. And the fact that James Junior had a twin sister this whole time—a beautiful one—and no one ever knew? That’s going to cause a massive scandal when it comes out!”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about? The scandal?”

Hermione tapped her fingers absently against the table, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “You know,” she said slowly, “it does raise a question. If they lied about you, what else did they lie about?” Her gaze sharpened, focusing on me like she was solving a puzzle. “Is James even really the Boy Who Lived? Or… what if it was you?”

For a second I just stared at her. “What?” I asked, blinking.

“It’s not an unreasonable theory,” Hermione pressed, voice quickening with academic excitement. “If you were twins, both present the night of the attack, and one of you was discarded while the other was paraded as the savior of wizarding Britain—”

“I don’t care about the title,” I cut in automatically, more sharply than I’d intended. My nose wrinkled. “The ‘Boy Who Lived’ is a stupid name. I don’t want it.” 

The-Girl-Who-Lived wasn’t any better either.

I looked carefully at Ginny and Hermione, my expression growing serious. A sense of vulnerability and discomfort twisted uneasily in my stomach, but I forced the words out anyway.

“Look,” I said quietly, glancing around the crowded club to ensure no one else was within earshot, “everything I just told you—my birth name, my connection to the Potters—it’s supposed to stay under wraps for now, alright?”

Ginny reached out, her slender fingers gently brushing against my hand in silent reassurance. “Of course, Amara,” she promised softly. Her bright eyes held a sincerity that momentarily eased my tension. “Your secret is safe with us. Right, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded solemnly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she met my gaze. “Absolutely. Neither of us would betray your trust, especially not after everything you've shared tonight.”

I let out a breath, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

Ginny smiled gently. She stepped closer, voice dipping into a tender murmur. “I really hope you find some peace, Amara. Merlin knows you deserve it after everything.”

Before I could respond, she leaned in, her lips softly pressing against my left cheek. Her mouth lingered for just a heartbeat, warm and gentle, sending a faint tingle sliding beneath my skin. My lips parted in surprise, a blush rising involuntarily to my cheeks.

When Ginny pulled back, Hermione was watching carefully, clearly gathering her own nerve. I barely had time to recover before she stepped forward, tentative and blushing fiercely, and pressed a shy, feather-light kiss to my other cheek. Her breath brushed my ear, soft and warm, before she quickly retreated, face redder than I’d ever seen.

I stared at them both, genuinely caught off-guard by their sweet affection. My chest felt tight in a way I didn’t entirely understand, but I managed to offer a small, crooked smile.

“You two are far too sweet for someone like me,” I teased softly. “But thank you.”

Hermione smiled shyly. Ginny smirked slightly wider. They glanced at each other, some silent understanding passing between them before they turned and slowly began weaving their way out through the club's growing crowd. 

I watched their backs until they vanished into the sea of bodies, my fingertips lightly touching the spots where their lips had just been.

The club was far from empty. In fact, it seemed to be growing even more packed as midnight approached. Bodies filled every available space, dancing and writhing, the air thick with heat and perfume and barely restrained desire.

Dick shifted closer beside me, his shoulder brushing mine softly. He gently touched my wrist, drawing my attention away from the girls’ retreating figures. 

I glanced up, meeting his clear, calm eyes.

“I’m proud of you, Amara,” he said gently, his voice warm and sincere. “What you just did, being open and honest… it took courage. Kara and Rachel would be proud too.”

My cheeks warmed. I ducked my head briefly, feeling an awkward vulnerability settle over me. “You think so?” I murmured softly.

His lips curved into a gentle, encouraging smile. “Definitely. Should I tell them about this when we get home? Or would you prefer I keep it to myself?”

I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment before nodding quietly. “You can tell them. It's fine. Actually, I'd like that. It's good knowing they’re there for me.”

Dick squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Always, Amara.”

I sighed softly, then deliberately changed the subject, turning slightly in my seat to better face him. “Speaking of sharing things—what about you and Batman? Any progress on your little investigation into the wizarding government?”

His eyes immediately lit up, expression sharpening into the intense, focused look he always got when talking about his investigations. “Actually, yes,” he admitted, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “We made a breakthrough. Turns out the goblins—Gringotts, specifically—have secret tunnels. Leftover from some rebellion back in the late 1800s. We managed to negotiate access for a generous enough bribe.”

I raised my eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Impressive. So, what’s the hold-up?”

He grimaced slightly, running a hand through his dark hair. “That’s the tricky part. We’re waiting for an opportunity—a distraction big enough that most of the Ministry’s Aurors will be pulled away. Otherwise, sneaking around would be nearly impossible.”

I tilted my head thoughtfully. “And what exactly would count as a big enough distraction for you two?”

Before he could answer, a booming voice echoed sharply from just outside the club! 

It was magically amplified, powerful enough to cut cleanly through the heavy bass of the music and bring the entire room to an instant halt. The music abruptly died mid-note, leaving deafening silence and a sudden oppressive tension in its wake.

“This is Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! To the criminal responsible for burning down the McFinnegan estate—we have tracked you to this location. Exit the building immediately and surrender yourself!”

Every head in the club swiveled instantly toward the entrance, faces wide-eyed and frozen in shock. Whispers began erupting all around, panicked murmurs and fearful glances exchanged throughout the crowd.

Dick turned his head toward me slowly, his expression completely deadpan. “Really, Amara?” he asked quietly, eyebrows climbing high on his forehead. “You neglected to mention the whole murder-and-arson part of the story..”

I stared at him blankly for a moment. 

I’d been nervous about him finding out earlier, worried about his reaction—but the timing was so ridiculously comedic I couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the entire situation slammed into me all at once, and a sudden, helpless laugh escaped my lips!

“Woops?” I said, trying—and failing—to keep the playful innocence from my voice. “Would you believe I honestly just… forgot to mention that part?”

Dick sighed, eyes briefly squeezing shut in mild exasperation. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I expected anything different from you.”

I grinned mischievously, my hand slipping softly onto his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my fingertips. “Well, you said you and Batman needed a distraction, right?” I murmured teasingly. “This seems perfect, don’t you think?”

Before he could respond, I leaned upward, rising slightly off the seat and capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He stiffened in surprise for only a second before melting into it, one hand sliding instinctively into my hair as his mouth moved against mine. His pulse quickened, thudding fast and hard beneath my touch, as I let myself enjoy the sweet heat of his lips for several long moments.

When we finally broke apart, I smirked up at him, breathless and flushed. “Don’t worry,” I whispered playfully, brushing my thumb gently across his jaw. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll make sure to be a very loud, very entertaining distraction for the two of you. Consider it my thank-you gift, Dick—for keeping me from doing something with Hermione and Ginny I might actually have regretted.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head fondly even as a small, worried crease appeared between his brows. “Just try not to kill anyone, alright?” he pleaded gently. “These are just magic cops.”

My lips twisted in a cynical half-smile. “Magic cops who casually erase the memories of innocent people on a daily basis just to hide their own existence,” I pointed out dryly, arching one eyebrow.

Dick rolled his eyes. But before I could sass him further, his hand gently cupped my cheek, pulling me back in for another kiss—slower this time, tender and lingering, making my heart flutter traitorously beneath my ribs.

When he finally pulled back, his thumb stroked my flushed cheek softly. “I should go. Need to put on my other suit and let Batman know the distraction we’ve been waiting for is finally here.”

“Good luck, Nightwing,” I whispered teasingly.

He smiled crookedly, eyes warm and affectionate. “You too, Amara. Try to behave yourself.”

“Absolutely no promises,” I shot back playfully, watching him slip away through the rapidly panicking crowd toward the exit.

I stood up from the booth and prepared myself to face the chaos I’d unleashed.I let out a slow breath and summoned my wand.

It slid into my palm in an instant, black and warm and familiar, the soul-bond between us humming faintly under my skin. Just feeling it there steadied me. Whatever was waiting outside, I wasn’t going out there in a tiny white scrap of a dress and heels like a drunk extra in some cheap porn parody.

Right. Time to switch from “fuck-me” to “fuck-around-and-find-out.”

With a thought and a flick of my wand, the tight white dress melted away from my skin like spilled milk, reforming in a rush of cool fabric—black denim wrapped snug around my legs, clinging to my thighs and ass like a second skin, and a black tank top hugged my tits and stomach, giving me full range of motion while still showing plenty of skin. My stilettos softened and thickened, reshaping into simple black sneakers. 

Not glamorous, or my best transfiguration work, but a hell of a lot easier to fight in.

The club was dead quiet now, the music cut off mid-beat, leaving only the sound of pounding hearts and nervous whispers. Color-changing lights still pulsed overhead, but without the soundtrack they just made everything feel strangely distant, like a party someone had hit pause on.

Everyone was staring at everyone else, trying to figure out who the Ministry was here for.

They didn’t have to wonder for long.

I rolled my shoulders back, slid my wand down to hang casually at my side, and put on my best budding Dark Lady face—chin high, lips relaxed into a faint, amused curve, eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. Then I started walking. As I moved through the crowd, people shrank back instinctively, parting around me like water. They all knew. You could see it in their faces—the way they tried so fucking hard not to look right at me.

The club doors were still shut. When I pushed the doors open, cold night air slapped me in the face and the alley outside exploded into view.

At least twenty wands snapped up in my direction at once!

And there were all the Aurors. Green-robed witch-coppers, some in standard Ministry uniforms, some in more practical dueling gear. Every single one of them looked tense, faces hard and pale in the flickering lamplight. 

The alley behind the club was wider than most—enough room to herd people out if they had to evacuate. Right now, it was just me, a wall of Ministry muscle, and the distant muffled thudding of panicked witches and wizards still trapped inside.

The nearest Auror—a jittery-looking bloke with thinning hair and a nasty scar along his jawline—stabbed his wand toward me. “There she is!” he shouted, voice cracking with a mixture of fear and triumph. “It’s her! Magical signature’s a perfect match!”

Standing slightly behind him was a woman I recognised vaguely from my [cursed knowledge.] Although she was never a very big character.

It was Amelia Bones herself.

She was older than the others, but not fragile. Her hair was short and iron-grey, cut in a no-nonsense bob that framed a strong, square jaw. A monocle glinted in her right eye, and the magical glass shimmered faintly with enchantments. Her DMLE robes were tailored to her figure, and fuck me, she filled them out. The fabric pulled tight across her chest, straining faintly over a pair of absolutely massive tits that even my current crisis couldn’t stop me from noticing. A silver badge glimmered on her left breast—Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Her wand was already in her hand, pointed straight at my heart.

“You!” she called, voice magically amplified, cutting clean through the murmurs of the Auror line. “You are under arrest for the murder of twenty-three people at the McFinnegan estate and the use of illegal cursed flames. Surrender your wand and come quietly, or we will use force.”

They miscounted, I thought, a hysterical little giggle threatening to bubble up. It was more than that…

Instead, I let my lips curl into a slow, lazy smirk and stepped forward until I was clear of the doorway. “I think,” I said, my voice smooth and light, “there’s been some kind of mistake, officers.”

A ripple of disbelief ran through the line. My tone alone had at least three wands twitching higher.

I tipped my head to one side, letting my hair slide over my shoulder, and continued, “I am Lady Amara Black of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. I am also a duly recognised Duchess of the State of Britannia. Do you understand what it means to try detaining me without proper evidence?” I dripped as much entitled aristocratic bitch into my voice as I could manage. Let them choke on it.

One of the younger Aurors—freckles, hair sticking out at odd angles, absolutely not ready for this job—blurted out, “We’ve got plenty of evidence! We have your magical signature on the Fiendfyre! You murdered twenty-three people!”

“Did she say her last name was Black?” another Auror muttered loudly enough for half the alley to hear. He was a big bloke, thick-necked and red-faced, the type who definitely punched down whenever he could. “Dark witch for sure. Just like that scum Sirius Black!”

My vision went red at the edges. My wand was up before my brain caught up with my body.

“Sanguinem Ebullio,” I hissed, flicking my wrist sharply. A lance of sickly crimson shot from my wand tip, streaking toward his chest with vicious speed.

He had just enough time for his eyes to widen in shock. But Amelia Bones moved faster.

“Protego!”

Her shield erupted from nowhere—huge, solid, shimmering like translucent glass. My curse slammed into it with a wet, ugly hiss, the air suddenly raining a fine spray of red steam where the spells collided. The shield held. The Auror stumbled back, yelping as his life was barely saved.

All twenty wands in the alley snapped up another inch. The temperature in the air seemed to drop ten degrees.

I blinked once, then smiled sweetly, tilting my head like I hadn’t just committed attempted murder in front of all of them. “Oops,” I said brightly. “Sorry about that—my hand slipped. I don’t like people insulting him.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“‘Him’?” someone behind Amelia echoed, voice shaking. “She means Black—Sirius Black. She must know him!”

“Could she be his secret daughter?” another Auror muttered, this one a woman with braided dark hair and pinched lips. “He never had any legitimate heirs on record, but with that surname—”

I snorted softly. Secret daughter. Sirius would have howled laughing to hear that. Blood adoption wasn’t biology, but in every way that mattered, they weren’t wrong. Yes, I was his daughter!

“As if she is!” A woman’s voice yelled out above us!

A surge of dense black smoke poured downward, swirling and coiling like a living shadow. The Aurors immediately recoiled, half of them raising shields, others barking half-panicked incantations that fizzled uselessly against the sheer raw power riding the smoke. 

The magic was dark and made my skin prickle deliciously. 

Flying around in an intimidating black smoke form? That’s some pretty badass magic. 

I also knew it was a spell only known by Death Eaters. 

The smoke slammed into the cobblestones beside me with enough force to rattle the ground and then it started to condense. The coils of darkness folded inward, shrinking, twisting, until they were wrapping themselves around a humanoid shape—the outline of windswept hair, a narrow waist, the flare of a long robe. With a final crackle, the last of the smoke bled away.

A woman stood there. 

Her hair was a wild, tangled mass of inky black curls tumbling past her shoulders. Heavy black-rimmed eyes, wide and fever-bright, burned with a mad gleam that made my succubus instincts sit up and take notice. Her lips were full and stained dark red, stretched into a feral grin that was far too sharp to be kind. Her body was lean but curved in all the right places, encased in black, figure-hugging robes that looked more like a cross between mourning wear and evening wear—torn at the edges, sleeves hanging ragged around her wrists.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange? 

I wondered what she was doing here?

Her mad, glittering eyes locked directly onto the Auror line and she bared her teeth. “Get away from her, you worthless Auror scum!” she screamed at them all hatefully!

For a heartbeat, all I could do was stare.

Every wand in the alley swung toward her now.

Amelia’s eyes went huge behind her monocle. “Lestrange,” she breathed, horror and fury twisting her mouth. “Why are you here?”

“Aw, Bonesy,” Bellatrix cooed, tilting her head to one side, curls bouncing. “Still playing police in that ugly little office of yours?” Her eyes slid sideways to me, and when they met mine there was a flash of something sharp and assessing there. Pride. Possessiveness. “Don’t you know it’s very rude to gang up on a young lady before she’s had a proper introduction to her mummy?”

…The fuck did she just say?

Bellatrix fucking Lestrange just called herself my mother.

For a second, I honestly thought I’d misheard her. But nope. I’d heard that right.

What. The. Fuck.

Of all the insane ways tonight could have escalated, Bellatrix Lestrange arriving and then announcing to a street full of Aurors that I was her and Voldemort’s love child was nowhere on the list.

My brain did that useless thing where it tried to make sense of it in real time.

Why is she saying that? She can’t seriously believe—

And then it clicked.

I’d sent Dumbledore Moody’s head in a box, under the fake little persona that stubborn old bastard had cooked up in his own mind—Voldemort’s hidden daughter. He’d believed it so hard he’d probably told half his little Order of the Phoenix. Word got out—proably from that spy Severous Snape... 

Now here was Bellatrix, Lady of Knifeplay and Bad Decisions, hearing there was a girl running around Britain calling herself Amara Black and being credited as Voldemort and Bellatrix’s daughter.

And she’d believed it…?

Wouldn’t she know if she ever gave birth to me or not? 

Then I remembered—she’d been in Azkaban for years, fucked in the head long before that, and knew full well her mind had holes carved into it at the Dark Lord’s command. 

So yeah, I could see her being told, “Oh, by the way, you had a kid and forgot,” and going, “Yes, that tracks!”

She was crazy. She was also hot. A combination I unfortunately had a real weakness for.

I couldn’t help it, my eyes slid over her almost on their own. Wild black curls, eyes like a storm of madness and eyeliner, slim waist, dangerous hips, and a chest that filled out those ripped, morbidly sexy robes in exactly the right way. 

She stepped slightly in front of me, like she was staking a claim, her wand twirling between her fingers as she laughed in Amelia Bones’ face. “Did you not hear me, you dim, ugly cows?” she shouted, her voice ricocheting down the alley. “Step away from my daughter before I start redecorating this street with your organs!”

One of the younger Aurors flinched so hard he nearly shot himself in the foot with his own wand. Bones herself did not flinch, but I saw the slight tightening around her mouth, the way her knuckles whitened around the grip of her wand.

Bellatrix tilted her head, curls falling, grin going even wider. “Oh, that’s adorable,” she crooned. “She’s trying to be brave.” And then she moved. Her wand snapped up with a speed that almost blurred, arm flicking forward in that vicious little stabbing motion she was infamous for. “Avada Kedavra!” The words rolled off her tongue. Sickly green light exploded from the tip of her wand, a beam of pure, humming death slicing through the air toward Amelia Bones.

Bones was good. I’ll give her that. She didn’t try to block it. She threw herself sideways instead, her shoulder slamming into the ground as the Killing Curse missed her by inches and smashed into the brick wall behind her. 

The Auror line broke.

“Engage! Take them both down!” someone shouted—Dawlish, maybe?

It didn’t matter. More than a dozen wands whipped up in unison, tips blazing with light. A heartbeat later the alley exploded into a storm of spells—red, blue, white, sickly yellow, jagged streaks of violet electricity, bolts that looked like compressed chunks of pure force.

“Fuck,” I hissed.

Bellatrix just laughed. Full, wild, absolutely delighted laughter, like this was the best show she’d seen in years.

I snapped my wand up, instinct taking over. “Protego Maxima!” I snarled. A massive, translucent barrier of shimmering black energy roared into existence in front of us—wide enough to cover both me and Bellatrix shoulder to shoulder. The first spells hit it almost immediately.

The shield flared under the impact—red hexes splashing across its surface like hot oil, blue bolts skidding along it in hissing arcs, the force spells slamming into it with concussive thuds. 

I had to admit it and give grudging respect. These British Aurors were actually competent. Way better than those MACUSA clowns Morgana and I had wiped off the map. These bastards could coordinate, and their spells packed real punch. But there was still no way they were going to win.

Bellatrix’s delighted cackle cut through the roar of spellfire. She half-turned, enough that I could see her profile, eyes wide and shining with manic pride—even as curses continued slamming into the shield in front of us.

“Ohhh, look at that,” she cooed, voice practically vibrating with excitement. “What a beautiful shield. As expected of my daughter!” She sounded like a proud mum at a school recital. A really fucked-up one. She stepped in closer, shoulder brushing mine, her own wand flicking lazily as she sent a random curse back through a gap in the barrage, not even bothering to take cover. “Don’t you worry, little Amara,” she sang happily, over the sound of another explosion against my shield. “Mummy’s here now. We’re going to wipe out all these disgusting Aurors together, yes? We’ll make such a lovely mess of them!”

I actually found myself getting swept up more and more in her enthusiasm. Dick had asked me not to kill all of these aurors—and maybe before coming out here and facing them I would have agreed just to make him happy. 

But as I saw all the expressions of pure hatred on their faces—as I blocked lethal curse after lethal curse, I realized I could never be the perfect hero girl he would want me to be. 

And that was because I didn’t want to be like that. 

““DIE!”” Bellaxtrix and I shouted at the exact same time. She fired off a curse that was sickly orange and mine was dark purple. Hers hit a female Auror that started screaming in agony as blisters formed all over her skin and then popped with acid that started melting her even further. Now that was a dark spell! 

If not a bit redundant…

My spell hit a slightly pudgy Auror who clearly was now regretting not working more on his cardio as he failed to dodge. He was especially regretting it as he dropped to the ground and screamed himself hoarse as all the blood in his veins began to boil before he gave one last twitch and stopped moving.

The fighting came to a slight pause as the other Aurors all realized they were now genuinely in a fight for their very lives, although Bellatrix was still cackling happily. 

“That’s my girl! The way you made him writhe and scream was so beautiful!”

XXX

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 (~10k words):

– Amara –

Diagon Alley had descended into absolute, beautiful chaos.

The air itself seemed to scream as the cobblestones beneath my boots cracked and liquified under the sheer intensity of the magical onslaught. It wasn’t just a battle anymore, it was a slaughter, a masterclass in devastation that I was orchestrating alongside the maddest witch in Britain. The darkness of the night was torn apart by blinding flashes of violet, sickly green, and the roaring, consuming orange of the black-tinged fire I was pouring from my wand.

I didn't just cast the fire; I felt it. Thanks to my new talent, the flames sang to me, vibrating through the wood of my [soul-bound wand]. 

I whipped my arm in a wide, vicious arc, and a torrent of pitch-black fire surged forward like a living tidal wave. It crashed into the hasty shield charms raised by three terrified Aurors, shattering their defenses with the sound of breaking glass.

Their screams were music—high, desperate, and cut short as the fire engulfed them. I watched with a dark, heated thrill coiling in my belly as their robes ignited, the magical protection melting into slag against their skin. The smell of ozone and sulfur mixed heavily with the undeniable, copper-and-roast-meat stench of burning bodies. It was gruesome, it was horrific, and god help me, it felt intoxicating.

To my left, Bellatrix was a blur of manic motion. She didn't fight like a duelist; she fought like a dancer possessed by a demon. Her wild black curls whipped around her face as she pirouetted through a hail of stunning spells, cackling with a glee that sent shivers down my spine.

"Is that the best you can do?" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the roar of the flames. She flicked her wand with a nasty, stabbing motion. "Crucio!"

A heavyset wizard fell to the ground, thrashing violently, his limbs jerking at unnatural angles as he screamed until his voice cracked. Bellatrix didn't even stop to watch him suffer; she was already moving to the next target, firing a purple curse that caused a witch’s skin to turn necrotic and grey in seconds.

"Filth! Traitors! You dare raise your wands against my blood?" Bellatrix roared, her eyes wide and shining with feverish delight.

I ducked instinctively as a jet of red light sizzled past my ear, singing the ends of my hair. I spun on my heel, locking eyes with the Auror who had fired it—a young man, shaking, sweat pouring down his pale face.

"Bad move," I purred, though he couldn't hear me over the din. I thrust my wand forward. “Confringo!”

The blasting curse hit him square in the chest. There was a wet, heavy thud as his ribcage collapsed inward, and he was thrown backward through the display window of Flourish and Blotts. Glass shattered outward in a glittering rain, and books caught fire as his body landed in a crumpled heap among the displays.

The alley was emptying rapidly. The smarter civilians had vanished the moment the first Killing Curse was thrown. The foolish ones were probably dead or hiding behind overturned cauldron stacks.

But not everyone had fled.

Out of the corner of my eye, amidst the swirling smoke and flashing lights, I saw movement in the shadows near the entrance to Knockturn Alley. It was the vampire leader I had seen earlier—the blonde woman with the predatory smile. She hadn’t run. In fact, she looked like she was shopping at a buffet. With supernatural speed and grace, she darted out from the darkness, her pale hand shooting out to grab the ankle of a fallen Auror who was trying to crawl away, clutching a bleeding stomach wound. 

He yelped as she dragged him effortlessly back into the shadows. 

I caught a glimpse of her fangs descending, her eyes glowing crimson with hunger, before she vanished into the dark with her prize.

I smirked. Waste not, want not.

"Hold the line!" Amelia Bones screamed, her voice magically amplified, though I could hear the tremor of desperation threading through her command. She stood near the entrance to Gringotts, her monocle cracked, her grey hair wild and singed. "Form a phalanx! We have to contain them!"

"Contain us?" I laughed. I channeled my magic, feeling the reserves of my mana surge. I didn't use a spell this time—I just let the raw, destructive intent flow. I slashed my wand diagonally. A wave of concussive force ripped up the cobblestones, flipping them and hurling them at the remaining line of Aurors.

They scrambled, their formation breaking instantly. 

It was over. They knew it. Amelia knew it. She looked around at her decimated force—more than half of them were on the ground, dead, dying, or writhing in the aftermath of Bellatrix's torture curses.

Amelia’s face twisted in pure, unadulterated fury, but she was a pragmatist. She grabbed the shoulder of the Auror nearest to her.

"Retreat!" she bellowed, her voice cracking with the weight of the defeat. "Emergency Portkeys! Now! Get out!"

One by one, the surviving Aurors grabbed at medallions, rings, or torn strips of cloth hanging from their belts. The air warped and twisted around them. With a series of loud cracks and swirling distortions of space, they vanished, spinning away into the safety of the Ministry, leaving their dead and dying comrades behind in the smoking ruins of the alley.

Silence slammed back into the street.

The only sounds left were the crackle of fires eating away at shop fronts, the groans of the maimed, and the heavy, ragged breathing of two victorious witches.

I lowered my wand, my chest heaving as the adrenaline began to recede, leaving my skin tingling and sensitive. I looked around at the devastation. Scorch marks scarred the brickwork of every building. Smoke billowed into the night sky, blotting out the stars. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

It was beautiful.

"Amara!"

The voice was breathless, high with excitement. I turned just in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange rushing toward me over the rubble. Her robes were torn in places, revealing flashes of pale skin, and there was a cut on her cheek that bled slowly, but she looked radiant. Her eyes were wide, blown pupils swallowing the irises, shining with a terrifying kind of pride.

She didn't stop. She slammed into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me into a fierce, crushing hug.

"You were amazing!" she squealed, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Her hair was a wild, ticklish mess against my skin, smelling of ozone and dark magic. "Did you see them run? Did you see them break? Oh, my wicked, beautiful girl! You destroyed them!"

I stiffened automatically.

My body was used to Morgana’s touch—touches that were calculated, seductive, always leading to pleasure or power. Morgana hugged me to possess me, to turn me on, to mold me. Her hands would have been sliding down to my ass by now.

This... this was different.

Bellatrix held me tightly, her grip almost painful, but there was no sexual heat in it. Her hands were pressed flat against my back, clutching the fabric of my dress as if she were afraid I might disappear if she let go. She was shaking slightly, vibrating with the aftershocks of the battle and a manic joy that seemed entirely focused on me.

"Look at you," she murmured into my skin, pulling back just enough to frame my face with her blood-flecked hands. Her thumbs rubbed over my cheekbones, smearing a little soot there. Her gaze was intense, searching, and completely unhinged. "You have so much power. And it looks like you inherited my fire! You’re perfect. You’re absolutely perfect."

My [Cursed Knowledge] was screaming at me. This is Bellatrix Lestrange. She tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. She is Voldemort's most loyal fanatic. She is a monster.

But as I looked into those manic, dark eyes, I felt a strange, twisting sensation in my gut.

Wasn't I a monster too?

I had just boiled men alive in their own skin. I had slaughtered a magical bloodline and laughed about it. Standing here in the wreckage of Diagon Alley, covered in sweat and ash, with the most feared witch in Britain looking at me like I was the sun and the moon... 

I felt a bizarre sense of belonging. And I guess she was technically my auntie or something… wasn’t she?

Slowly, hesitantly, I lifted my own arms and returned the embrace, wrapping them around her slender frame. I felt the heat radiating off her, smelled the scent of dark magic, ozone, and expensive perfume that clung to her. Even though I knew, logically, that I wasn't her daughter—that this was all a misunderstanding born of Dumbledore's paranoia—it felt oddly right.

I rested my chin on her shoulder, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Um," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended, stripping away the bravado. "Thanks for coming to help me…?" What else really was I supposed to say to her? 

Bellatrix pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands moving up to cup my face. Her long, black fingernails grazed my cheeks gently, her thumbs wiping away a smudge of soot from my skin. Her expression was fiercely affectionate, a twisted kind of maternal love shining in her mad eyes.

"Of course!" she replied breathlessly, breathless with delight. "Mummy will always come when you call! We showed them, didn't we? We showed them all exactly what happens when they mess with the House of Black!"

The Aurors were gone, fled like rats, but that didn't mean we were safe. The Ministry no doubt had reinforcements. And we were standing in the middle of a smoking crater that used to be a shopping district.

"We should probably get out of here," I suggested, my voice rasping slightly from the smoke and the screaming.

I tried to pull away from the embrace, gently disengaging from the fierce, desperate grip Bellatrix had on me. It wasn't easy. She clung to me like a drowning woman, her fingers digging into the fabric of my black tank top, her nails scraping lightly against the skin of my back. When I finally managed to step back, putting a foot of distance between us, her expression crumbled instantly.

She pouted—actually pouted—her full, dark-red lips jutting out like a petulant child who had just been told playtime was over. Her big, dark eyes went wide and glassy, shimmering with a sudden, alarming vulnerability that was completely at odds with the carnage surrounding us.

"Leaving so soon?" she whined, her voice high and breathy. "But we were having so much fun! Did you see how they ran? Did you see the fear in their little piggy eyes?"

"I saw," I assured her, reaching out to brush a speck of ash from her shoulder. My touch seemed to soothe her instantly, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into my hand. "And it was beautiful. But the fun is over for now. If we stay, they'll bring more numbers than even we can handle right now. I'm good, Bellatrix, but I'm not stupid."

She opened her eyes, and the childish petulance vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp, predatory gleam. She looked around the ruined alley, her nostrils flaring as she scented the air.

"You're right," she conceded, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "Smart girl. Clever girl." She turned her gaze back to me, and her expression darkened, twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated loathing. "Besides... Dumbledore will be gunning for you now. He won't let this slide. Not after what you did to his precious old friend." She took a step closer, her boots crunching loudly on shards of broken glass. "That bastard, Mad-Eye Moody," she spat the name like it was a curse, venom dripping from every syllable. "I heard what you did, my darling. I heard about the gift you sent to the old fool. Severing that scarred, ugly head and boxing it up like a birthday present?" 

Suddenly, her mood flipped again, snapping from hateful rage to ecstatic joy so fast it was almost dizzying to watch.

"OH, I WAS SO PROUD!" she shrieked, lunging forward and slamming into me again.

This time, I didn't have time to brace myself. 

She glomped onto me, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body pressing flush against mine. She was surprisingly strong, her slender frame vibrating with manic energy. She buried her face in my neck, inhaling deeply, her hair tickling my jaw. "My daughter!" she crooned into my skin, her voice muffled and wet. "My wicked, wonderful daughter! To kill a famous Auror like that... to butcher Alastor Moody before you've even graduated from Hogwarts! It's legendary!"

I stood there, slightly stiff in her embrace, my hands hovering uncertainly over her back before settling there. The heat radiating off her was immense.

"I never went to Hogwarts," I said, my voice muffled against her wild curls.

Bellatrix pulled back abruptly, holding me at arm's length. Her eyes searched my face, confusion warring with curiosity. "What? Never? But... your power. Your dark repertoire of spells! Who taught you all that?"

I reached up and gently pried her fingers off my shoulders, stepping back to hop over a pile of smoking rubble that had once been a display of cauldrons. "I have a teacher. I'm the apprentice of a powerful dark witch."

Bellatrix scrambled over the debris after me, moving with a lithe, spider-like grace that was unsettling to watch. She landed lightly beside me, her eyes wide and glittering with renewed excitement. "Ooh?" she breathed, leaning in close. "A dark witch? A proper one? Is she famous? Do I know her? Is she one of the old families?" She grabbed my arm, her grip tight and eager. "Tell me! I want to know everything about you. I want to know every second of the life I missed. Who dared to raise my daughter when I couldn't?"

I glanced at her, noting the genuine hunger in her expression. It wasn't just curiosity—it was a desperate need to consume every detail of my existence.

"You probably do know her," I admitted, keeping my voice low as we hurried toward the edge of the Anti-Apparition wards the aurors had set up when they initially surrounded the night club. "In fact, I'm almost certain you do. But I'm not going to risk saying her name out loud here. Not with the Ministry dogs still lurking about."

Bellatrix nodded sagely, tapping the side of her nose. "Secrets. I like secrets. We can whisper them in the dark later."

We reached the boundary of the wards. "We should leave," I said. "My place is safer. We can talk there." I held out my hand.

Bellatrix looked at my open palm, then up at my face. A soft, fiercely affectionate smile transformed her features, making her look almost... sane. Almost. "Lead the way, my love," she whispered. She took my hand without a second of hesitation. 

I turned on my heel, focusing on the destination—the penthouse suite in central London. The world twisted and compressed, squeezing the air from my lungs as darkness swallowed us whole. The sensation of Apparition was instant and jarring, a hook behind the navel jerking us through space.

With a loud crack, we materialized in the center of my temporary living room.

The transition was jarring. One second we were standing in a smoke-choked, rubble-strewn alleyway reeking of ozone and death, the next, we were surrounded by opulence. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Muggle London skyline, glittering with artificial electric lights. 

Bellatrix stumbled slightly as we landed, releasing my hand. She spun around, her wand instantly in her hand, her eyes darting wildly around the room as if expecting an ambush. She took in the massive flat-screen television, the glass coffee table, the leather sectional, and the electric lamps. Her nose wrinkled, her upper lip curling back in a snarl of instinctive disgust.

"Ugh," she groaned, the sound vibrating in her throat. She lowered her wand but didn't put it away. She walked over to a lamp, poking it suspiciously with the tip of her wand. "Muggle filth...” She turned to me, her expression pained. "Why are we here, Amara? Why are we in a... a Muggle box in the sky?"

"This is where I've been staying," I explained, leaning back against the bar and crossing my arms loosely. "I decided to visit London for... personal reasons."

Bellatrix’s ears perked up at that, her head tilting sharply to the side. "Personal reasons?" she repeated, her tone thick with curiosity. "Like what? Hunting? Torture? Did you come to kill someone special?"

"Something like that," I said vaguely, not elaborating. I wasn't about to tell her about the Potters. 

Bellatrix was volatile enough without adding the fact that I was actively plotting the downfall of the Boy Who Lived's family into the mix. 

Bellatrix pouted, her lower lip jutting out again. She slumped dramatically onto the fancy Italian leather sofa, crossing her legs at the ankles and dropping her heavy combat boots right onto the pristine beige upholstery. She didn't seem to care—or maybe didn't even notice—that she was tracking blood, soot, and who knew what else all over the expensive material.

"Secrets again," she grumbled, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Mummy doesn't like secrets she isn't part of."

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. The adrenaline crash was starting to hit me now, leaving me feeling heavy and drained. My muscles ached, and my brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Dealing with a homicidal, pure-blood supremacist witch who hated Muggles with a burning passion was definitely above my pay grade right now.

I didn't want to argue about politics or blood purity. I didn't want to explain why I was living in a Muggle penthouse. I just wanted to sleep.

"Right," I muttered, pushing off the bar. I kicked off my sneakers, wincing slightly as my feet hit the cool floor. "Look, Bellatrix, it's been a long night. I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."

I turned and started walking toward the bedroom, not waiting for a response. Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow I could figure out what to do with the Potters, how to handle the Ministry, and how to explain to Morgana that I'd accidentally adopted a Death Eater.

"Oh!" Bellatrix's voice piped up from behind me, bright and cheerful. "Me too! I'm absolutely knackered after all that lovely magic!"

I heard the distinctive thud of her boots hitting the floor, followed by the soft padding of bare feet. I glanced over my shoulder to see her skipping off the couch, following me like an eager puppy.

I stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, turning to face her. "Bellatrix," I said slowly, gesturing around the expansive suite. "This is a twenty-thousand-pound-a-night penthouse. It has three bedrooms. You can take any of the other ones. They're all made up."

She stopped in front of me, blinking those big, dark eyes. "Is that a lot?" she asked, genuinely perplexed. "Twenty thousand... pounds?" She said the word 'pounds' like it was a foreign concept she found distasteful. "I don't care about silly things like worthless Muggle paper money. It's all just kindling, isn't it?"

I suppressed a groan. "The point is," I tried again, "there's plenty of space. You don't have to—"

"I don't want space!" she interrupted, stepping closer until she was almost crowding me against the doorframe. Her intensity was back, that manic, desperate need shining in her eyes. "I just want to sleep with you tonight. I need to make sure you're real. I need to make sure I'm not dreaming again. If I wake up alone..." Her voice cracked, a flicker of genuine terror crossing her face. "If I wake up alone, I might burn this whole building down just to feel something."

I stared at her, feeling a pang of sympathy despite myself. Azkaban did things to people. Solitary confinement, Dementors... it broke minds in ways that couldn't be fixed with a potion. 

She was clinging to me because I was the only solid thing in her world right now. But sharing a bed with Bellatrix Lestrange? That felt... complicated.

"We can't do that," I said quickly, grasping for an excuse. "I... I sleep naked. It's a habit. I can't sleep with clothes on." It wasn't a lie, exactly. I did prefer sleeping nude. But I hoped the nudity aspect might deter her, or at least make her uncomfortable enough to retreat to a guest room.

Bellatrix’s face lit up. She clapped her hands together, looking delighted. "Me too!" she exclaimed happily. "See? Another coincidence! It must be in the blood!"

Before I could process that, her hands flew to the fastenings of her tattered black dress. Her fingers, nimble and quick, undid the buttons and clasps. The heavy fabric slid off her shoulders, pooling around her feet in a dark puddle of silk and velvet.

I felt heat rush into my cheeks as I stared.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood before me, completely naked.

Her body was... incredible. I had expected her to be emaciated, ruined by her time in prison, but she was lean and toned, every muscle defined under pale skin. There was a thinness to her, yes—her ribs were faintly visible, and her hip bones jutted out slightly. But it wasn’t as bad as I figured it would have been. And despite everything—despite the madness, the cruelty, the years of torment—she was beautiful. Powerful witches aged differently, I knew that, but Bellatrix barely looked thirty. Her breasts were small but shapely, her waist narrow, her legs long and elegant. She stood there unabashedly, comfortable in her own skin, staring at me with an expectant smile.

"Well?" she asked, tilting her head. "Aren't you going to join me?"

My mouth went dry. My own [Major Sin of Lust] was humming in the back of my mind, appreciating the view despite the utter absurdity of the situation.

"Right," I squeaked. "Yeah. Okay." Feeling suddenly shy, I reached for the hem of my tank top. I pulled it over my head, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Then I shimmied out of my jeans and kicked off my panties.

Bellatrix watched me the entire time, her eyes roving over my body with a hunger that wasn't sexual, but was somehow even more intense. It was pride.

"Oh," she breathed, her voice dropping to a whisper. She reached out, her fingertips ghosting over the curve of my hip, then trailing up to cup my breast lightly. 

It took everything I had to suppress the moan that almost slipped out, due to my insanely sensitive body.

"You are magnificent, Amara. Look at you. So perfect. You have my figure, you know? But better. So much better!" She stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me against her. Her skin was cool against mine, a stark contrast to the heat I felt radiating from my own body. "Come on," she murmured, guiding me toward the massive king-sized bed. "Let's rest. We have a big day tomorrow. So many people to kill, so little time."

What was even her life?

She pulled back the covers and we climbed in. The sheets were cool and crisp, smelling of expensive detergent. Bellatrix immediately curled herself around me, her back pressing against my chest, pulling my arm over her waist so I was spooning her. She let out a long, contented sigh, nuzzling her face into the pillow.

"Goodnight, my dark little star," she whispered.

I lay there in the dark, the city lights filtering through the curtains, holding the most dangerous witch in Britain in my arms. Her breathing evened out almost instantly, slipping into a deep sleep.

"Goodnight," I whispered back to the silence. And against all odds, I felt my own eyelids growing heavy, the tension of the day finally bleeding away as I drifted off, wrapped around a woman who thought she was my mother, and whom I was starting to realize I didn't mind being close to at all.

– Amelia Bones –

Amelia Bones was not merely the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was, for all intents and purposes, the sole pillar holding up the crumbling edifice of the Ministry of Magic.

Ever since Cornelius Fudge had tucked his tail between his legs and vanished into the ether—his incompetence laid bare, his denial of Voldemort's return exposed as the catastrophic lie it was—the mantle of power had fallen squarely onto Amelia's shoulders. She was the Acting Minister of Magic, a title that felt less like an honor and more like a yoke of lead around her neck.

Tonight, that yoke felt heavier than ever.

The air in the Muggle Prime Minister’s office was stale, thick with the scent of old leather, polished mahogany, and something far more base—sweat and cheap perfume. Amelia materialized in the center of the room with a sharp crack that echoed like a gunshot, her grey robes settling around her with an ominous swish.

The Prime Minister jolted in his high-backed leather chair, his hands spasming on the desk surface. He was a portly man, his face flushed and glistening, his tie loosened around a thick neck.

"What in God's name—!" he spluttered, his voice cracking. "Who are you? How did you get in here? This is a private office!"

Amelia stared at him down the length of her nose, her monocle glinting in the low light of the desk lamp. She didn't miss the way he remained seated, his posture rigid and unnatural, his hands planted firmly on the desk as if to anchor himself. Nor did she miss the subtle, rhythmic thump-thump coming from beneath the heavy oak desk, or the way the Prime Minister's breathing was hitched and shallow.

There was a woman under there. Amelia didn't need Legilimency to know that. The man was likely midway through being pleasured when she arrived. Disgust curled in her stomach, cold and hard. The Muggle leader was indulging in base appetites while her world burned.

"My name is Amelia Bones," she announced, her voice clipped and devoid of patience. "I am the Acting Minister of Magic."

The Prime Minister blinked, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He glanced nervously around the room as if expecting Fudge to pop out from behind the curtains. "Acting Minister? What happened to Mr. Fudge? He was... well, he was certainly less abrupt. And far less rude."

Amelia let out a short, harsh scoff. "That worthless fool abandoned his post the moment reality became too inconvenient for him. He ran away like a coward. I am in charge now." She took a step forward, her wand held loosely at her side but clearly visible. "And I require your immediate cooperation."

The Prime Minister's eyes darted to the wand, fear flickering behind his bluster. He swallowed hard. "Cooperation? What sort of cooperation? And put that stick away, madam. You're making me nervous."

"I need every Muggle authority in this country on high alert," Amelia said, ignoring his request. "I want a nationwide manhunt initiated immediately for a young woman named Amara Black. She is dangerous, highly volatile, and a criminal of the highest order. Much like her relative, Sirius Black was when we asked you to do the same thing a few years ago."

The Prime Minister's face went from flushed to pale in an instant. He leaned back in his chair, a flicker of defiance entering his eyes. "Now hold on just a minute," he argued, his voice gaining a shred of authority. "First of all, my predecessor faced a hellstorm of criticism for authorizing a manhunt like that years ago over an alleged mass murderer that half the country had never even heard of. It was a PR disaster." He shook his head vehemently. "And secondly, there is absolutely no way I am authorizing a witch-hunt—pun intended—against this country's newest Duchess! Do you have any idea what kind of scandal that would cause for my administration? The press would eat me alive!"

Amelia froze. "Duchess?" she repeated, her voice rising in incredulity. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"Duchess Amara Black," the Prime Minister said, looking at her as if she were the slow one. "She arrived from America just yesterday. Her title was ratified and recognized by the Crown immediately. She's nobility, madam. High-ranking, untouchable nobility. You can't just go arresting Duchesses willy-nilly!"

The absurdity of it threatened to make Amelia laugh, a hysterical, bubbling sound she ruthlessly suppressed. Amara Black—a Duchess? The audacity was staggering.

"That woman," Amelia hissed, leaning over the desk until she was inches from the Prime Minister's sweating face, "is the daughter of the Dark Lord himself! She is the spawn of the most evil wizard to ever walk the earth! Her blood alone condemns her. She should be executed for her lineage, let alone her crimes!"

The Prime Minister recoiled, but his defiance hardened into something stubborn and distinctly Muggle. He looked at her with open disdain. "You witches and wizards are truly barbaric," he sneered. "In the civilized world, madam, we do not execute people based on who their parents are. We believe in the rule of law. Innocence until proven guilty." He slammed a hand onto the desk. "I will not do it! I will not ruin my reputation and my career chasing after a Duchess on trumped-up charges drummed up by you wand-waving fools. We are not going to be threatened or bullied by your lot anymore—"

Something inside Amelia snapped.

The exhaustion, the fear, the endless nights spent holding the Ministry together with nothing but grit and duct tape—it all boiled over. She was done asking. She was done negotiating with lesser men who couldn't see the monster standing at their gates.

She raised her wand, the movement sharp and decisive.

"Imperio!"

The spell washed over the Prime Minister instantly. His eyes glazed over, the defiance draining out of them like water from a cracked cup. His expression went slack, his mouth hanging slightly open in a vacant, blissful smile. The tension left his shoulders, and he slumped back into his chair, utterly docile.

Amelia lowered her wand, breathing hard. "You will issue the order," she commanded, her voice cold and absolute. "You will mobilize every police force, every intelligence agency, every resource you have. You will hunt Amara Black to the ends of the earth, and you will not stop until she is in custody. Do you understand?"

"I understand," the Prime Minister droned, his voice flat and monotonous. "I will issue the order immediately."

Amelia stared at him for a moment, feeling a flicker of self-loathing that she quickly stamped out. It was necessary. It was for the greater good.

Then, a sound broke the silence.

A soft, terrified whimper from beneath the desk.

Amelia’s gaze snapped downward. The heavy oak desk was trembling slightly. The woman hiding there—the witness to everything that had just transpired—was terrified.

She had been careless. In her anger, she had forgotten the other person in the room. She rounded the desk slowly, her boots heavy on the plush carpet. She peered into the kneehole.

Crouched there, clutching her knees to her chest, was a young woman. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, with disheveled blonde hair and smeared lipstick. She was wearing a secretary's skirt and blouse, both rumpled and disarrayed. 

Her eyes were wide with terror, fixed on Amelia's wand. "P-please," the woman whispered, tears tracking through her makeup. "I won't say anything. I swear. Please don't hurt me."

Amelia looked down at her, mind racing. She could modify the woman's memory. A simple Obliviate would do the trick. She could erase the last ten minutes.

But Amelia hesitated.

Memory charms were delicate work. They required finesse, a gentle touch that Amelia, with her combat-honed magic, had never truly mastered. She was a hammer, not a scalpel. She was never very good at those kinds of charms, not that anyone working under her in the DMLE knew that…

And even if she did it perfectly, memory charms could be broken. They could be fought. If someone dug deep enough, the truth could be uncovered. This woman knew too much. She had seen the Acting Minister of Magic use an Unforgivable Curse on the Muggle Prime Minister. She was a liability.

And Amelia Bones could not afford liabilities. Not now. Not with Voldemort back and his daughter tearing London apart. The war had begun. And in war, there were casualties.

Amelia raised her wand again. Her hand didn't shake. Her face was a mask of grim, terrible resolve. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

And then, the green light filled the room.

– Nightwing –

"...We're too late," Batman said as they examined the Prime Minister's office.

Dick Grayson, clad in his Nightwing armor, grimaced beneath his domino mask. In the center of the room, sprawled awkwardly on the expensive rug, lay the body of a young woman. She was half-naked, her blouse torn open, her skirt hiked up around her hips. Her eyes were wide and glassy, staring up at the ceiling with an expression of frozen terror. There was no blood, no sign of violence, just the lifeless stillness of death.

And behind the massive oak desk sat the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

He wasn't dead, but he wasn't exactly alive either. He was staring blankly at the far wall, his eyes unfocused and swimming. A thin line of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his silk tie. He was muttering to himself, a constant, feverish stream of words that made no sense.

"Capture her... Amara Black... at all costs... she will not get away... mobilize the army... mobilize the navy... hunt her down... hunt her down..."

Dick felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The man's mind was gone, broken and enslaved by magic.

"I will have every force in the country searching for her," the Prime Minister mumbled, his hands twitching spasmodically on the desktop. "She is a menace... a threat to the Crown... capture her... kill her..."

Batman moved past Dick, his cape swishing silently. He approached the desk with purposeful strides, pulling a small canister from his utility belt. "He's under the Imperius Curse," Batman stated, his voice flat. "His will has been completely subsumed."

Dick watched as Batman triggered the canister, releasing a hiss of odorless gas directly into the Prime Minister's face. The man's mumbling cut off abruptly. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward onto the desk with a heavy thud, unconscious.

"Poor bastard," Dick murmured, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man who had been reduced to a puppet in his own office.

Batman didn't waste time on sentiment. He was already moving to the computer terminal on the desk, his gloved fingers flying over the keyboard. "I'm accessing the security feed," he said. "We need to know exactly what happened here."

Dick joined him, leaning over Batman's shoulder as the screen flickered to life. The footage was grainy, but clear enough. They watched in silence as Amelia Bones appeared out of thin air. They watched as she terrified the Prime Minister, as she cast the Imperius Curse on him without hesitation. They watched as she discovered the woman hiding under the desk. And they watched as she murdered her in cold blood.

Dick flinched as the green light filled the screen, snuffing out the woman's life instantly. He looked away, jaw clenched tight.

"Disgusting," Batman growled, his voice thick with revulsion. "It's true. The magical government of this country is using mind control on the Muggle leadership to enforce their will. They operate outside the law, outside morality." He turned away from the screen, his expression grim beneath the cowl. "This doesn't make what your girlfriend did right, Dick," Batman said, his gaze piercing. "Amara Black killed people tonight. A lot of people from what we overheard when we were making our escape. That’s why we had to cut out of the ministry before we could fully finish our investigation into all of their crimes."

Dick nodded. Yeah, that had certainly been a surprise, but they did get a LOT of incriminating evidence the rest of the League would want to see. Also, before they left, they overheard a woman declaring she was going to pay a visit to the Prime Minister. They followed after her, but it's not like they could keep up with literal teleportation and got here to late.

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair as he thought about Amara again. "I know, Batman. She killed Aurors tonight." He paused, looking back at the dead woman on the floor. "But at least... at least the people she kills aren't innocent. They're murderers themselves. Look at this." He gestured to the corpse. "Amelia Bones is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. She's supposed to be the good guy. And she just executed a witness because it was inconvenient."

"That's a slippery slope, Dick," Batman warned. "Justification is the first step toward becoming what you fight."

"I know," Dick repeated, feeling weary. "I'm not saying she's right. I'm just saying... it's complicated. More complicated than we thought. What do we do now?" Dick asked, looking from the unconscious Prime Minister to the dead woman. "We can't leave him here like this. If he wakes up, he'll start a nationwide manhunt for Amara."

Batman turned to face the unconscious man, his expression calculating. "We can't break the curse ourselves, we don't have the magical expertise. But I know people who might." He paused, then made a decision. "We're going to extract him," Batman said. "We're taking the Prime Minister back to Gotham."

Dick blinked, surprised. "You want to kidnap a world leader? Bruce, that's... that's insane. Even for us."

"It's the only way to save him," Batman countered. "Zatanna can undo this mind control properly without scrambling his brain permanently. We can't trust anyone here." He moved to the desk, hoisting the heavy, unconscious man over his shoulder with effortless strength. The Prime Minister's head lolled limply. "We need to leave this country as soon as possible," Batman continued. “But make no mistake, this is not over. We will be back and put a stop to all of this madness now that we have all the proof we need.

Dick nodded slowly. He wished he could see Amara one last time before leaving, but he realized she’d probably not be sticking around much longer either. He’d see her again in Gotham soon enough.

– Amara –

I woke slowly, drifting up from the depths of a surprisingly dreamless sleep into a world of warmth and heavy, suffocating comfort.

The first thing I registered was the bright light, because I was too tired to remember to shut the curtains last night. The second thing I registered was a body pressed flush against my back, an arm draped heavily over my waist, and a rhythmic, hot breath puffing against the nape of my neck.

Bellatrix Lestrange was naked. And so was I.

Her body was pressed seamlessly against mine, spooning me with a possessiveness that apparently didn't sleep even when she did. I could feel the soft small swell of her breasts crushed against my shoulder blades, the nipples hard and pressing into my skin. Her stomach was flat and warm against my lower back, and her legs were tangled with mine beneath the high-thread-count sheets, her knee wedged intimately between my thighs.

My breath hitched. My succubus instincts, never one to let a sleeping dog—or Dark Witch—lie, woke up instantly. A hum of arousal started low in my belly, a traitorous, automatic response to the skin-on-skin contact.

It didn't matter that she was insane. It didn't matter that she was technically my "aunt" or that she thought she was my mother. My body just registered—naked body touching yours…

‘Okay, Amara. Don’t make it weird,’ I told myself, biting the inside of my cheek to ground myself.

I needed to get up.

I reached down, I lifted her wrist by fractions of an inch, holding my breath as she stirred. She let out a soft, murmuring sound—something that sounded disturbingly like "my star"—and nuzzled her face deeper into the pillow, her grip relaxing just enough.

I took the opening. I slid out from under the covers, shivering as the cool air of the penthouse hit my skin.

I padded silently across the carpet toward the bathroom.

I grabbed a bar of expensive, sandalwood-scented soap and began to scrub.

I rinsed off, watching the suds swirl down the drain, taking the last of the night’s chaos with them. I turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rack. I dried myself vigorously, rubbing life back into my limbs, then wrapped the towel around my body, tucking it securely over my large chest.

Leaving the bathroom, I moved into the kitchenette area of the suite.

I found the coffee machine and fumbled with the pods until I got it working.

I took a sip of the coffee, the bitter heat scalding my tongue pleasantly, and let my mind drift to the inevitable.

The Potters.

I had to go back. I had left in a spectacularly dramatic fashion—blowing a hole in their wall. They knew I had magic now. There was no hiding that. I had decimated their house elf and blasted my way to freedom.

So, the question was—Who goes back?

Do I return as Amara Black? Do I storm in there in my true form, horns out, wings spread, radiating dark power and sex appeal, and demand they kneel before me? It was tempting. God, it was tempting. I imagined the look on James Potter’s face if he saw what his "squib" daughter had actually become. I imagined Lily’s envy, James Junior’s lust and fear.

But then I shook my head, taking another long drag of coffee. No. That was sloppy. That was emotional. If I showed up as Amara, they would know everything. They would know I was a succubus. They would know I was powerful enough to be a threat, which would make them defensive, maybe even desperate enough to call Dumbledore immediately. And while I had enjoyed messing with Dumbledore by sending him a head in a box, I wasn't ready for a full-scale war with the Order of the Phoenix just yet.

Not while I was alone in London without Morgana.

Plus, there was something delicious about the continued deception I had been putting on for them.

They knew "Heather" had magic now, yes. But they didn't know what she was. They didn’t know I was the one who had burned Diagon Alley to the ground last night alongside Bellatrix. Ignorance was a weapon, and I intended to keep them unarmed.

"Heather it is, then," I muttered to the empty room, my voice flat. "Back to being the ugly duckling."

I finished the coffee in one long gulp, setting the mug down on the glass table with a sharp clink. I dropped the towel, letting it fall to the floor, and stood naked in the center of the living room.

I closed my eyes and reached inward, finding that slippery, fluid sensation of my Metamorphmagus bloodline.

I hated this part. I focused on the image of Heather Potter. The girl I used to be. The girl I despised.

I opened my eyes and looked at my reflection in the darkened window. A stranger stared back. A plain, emaciated, slightly awkward girl with dull eyes and bad posture. "God, you're hideous," I whispered to my reflection. The voice was thinner, too—lacking the sultry, husky depth of Amara’s voice.

I went to my inventory, rummaging through the extradimensional space until I found the pile of "Heather clothes" I kept for these masquerades.

I pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants that were too short at the ankles and sagged in the crotch. I pulled them on, hating the cheap, scratchy fabric against my skin. Next came a faded, oversized t-shirt that had once been yellow but was now a depressing shade of beige. It hung off my diminished frame like a sack, hiding what little shape I had left.

I slipped my feet into a pair of worn-out sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces properly.

I walked to the center of the room, taking a moment to center myself. I pictured the wards around Potter Manor. I knew where the boundary line was now—I’d crossed it violently enough last night.

"Time to go home," I sneered.

I turned on my heel, focusing on the destination. The world twisted, compressing into a tight tube of darkness and pressure.

CRACK!

The world snapped back into focus, depositing me on the manicured grass just beyond the perimeter of the Potter estate.

I stood there for a moment, letting the nausea of magical travel settle, adjusting the oversized, scratchy t-shirt that hung off my frame like a shroud. It was humiliating to be back in this skin—this small, weak, forgettable vessel of Heather Potter—but the wand hidden up my sleeve, humming with a dark, predatory warmth against my forearm, was a grounding reminder of the truth.

I wasn't weak. And I certainly wasn't forgettable. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and stepped forward.

Passing through the wards felt like walking through a curtain of cold, electrified slime. I felt the magic ripple over my skin. I knew exactly what that sensation meant. Inside the manor, alarms were likely chiming, alerting James and Lily that their prodigal, disappointment of a daughter had returned from her little tantrum.

I crested the small rise in the lawn, the massive, sprawling structure of Potter Manor coming into view. It stood like a monument to arrogance. My eyes were drawn instantly to the side of the house, to the second floor.

A dark, jagged snort escaped me.

There, marred into the pristine stonework, was a gaping, ugly hole. The edges were blackened and crumbled, the result of my explosive exit yesterday. They hadn't fixed it yet. Maybe the magic I’d used—raw, angry, and tinged with my demonic heritage—was resisting their standard repair charms. Or maybe they just hadn't had the time. 

I intended to walk straight to the front door, to march in there and finally teach them all a painful lesson, but first my eyes were drawn towards another nearby building.

I was looking at the barn. It sat a hundred yards away. I paused, my sneakers sinking into the dewy grass. That was where Lily had taken me yesterday. That was where she had preened and gloated, showing off her "pride and joy." 

The Potter Hippogriffs. International award winners. 

A slow, cruel smile stretched across my plain face. My revenge didn't have to wait until I was inside the house. It could start right here, right now.

Why should the Potters get to keep such magnificent creatures? 

They treated everything living as property—me included. They saw a daughter and saw a broodmare to be sold to a decrepit old man. They saw a majestic magical beast and saw a trophy to be bragged about at dinner parties.

They didn't deserve them. I jogged toward the barn. The closer I got, the more the anticipation built in my chest, a hot, bubbling pressure that demanded release. I reached the massive double doors. They were heavy oak, reinforced with iron bands, likely locked with a dozen charms to keep thieves out and the "assets" in.

Yesterday, Heather had stood here meekly while Lily unlatched them. Today, Amara wasn't in the mood for keys.

I flicked my wrist, snapping my wand into my hand. "Alohomora Maxima," I whispered, but I pushed a surge of raw magic behind the words.

The sound was like a gunshot. The heavy iron lock mechanism didn't just click open—it shattered. The internal bolts were ripped violently from the wood, metal screeching against metal, and the massive doors groaned before swinging outward with a heavy, dramatic thud, bouncing against the exterior walls.

Inside, the stalls were lined up like prison cells.

Dozens of golden and orange eyes snapped toward me instantly. The hippogriffs were agitated, sensing the sudden violence of my entry, sensing the dark magic that clung to me like perfume.

I walked down the center aisle, my head held high, making no attempt to make myself small or non-threatening. I wasn't Heather the Squib here. I was the apex predator in the room.

At the far end of the barn, in the largest stall, stood the leader. Silverwing. She was breathtaking, just like she was yesterday. Her feathers were sleek and groomed to perfection, her eagle head regal and proud. She watched me approach, her large eyes unblinking, intelligent, and wary. She let out a low, chirping sound, shifting her weight. Her massive front talons dug into the straw.

I stopped ten feet from her. I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. I held her gaze, pouring my intent into the air between us—not dominance, not ownership, but recognition. I see you, I projected. 

Slowly, gracefully, the great beast bent her front knees. Her head lowered, the dangerous beak tucking toward her chest in a deep bow.

A thrill of delight shot through me. I dipped my own head in return, keeping my eyes locked on hers, mirroring the respect. "Hello, beautiful," I murmured, my voice echoing in the rafters. It was only as I straightened up that the glint of metal caught my eye.

I stepped closer, my brow furrowing. I hadn't noticed it yesterday—I had been too busy playing the part of the awestruck idiot, and Lily had been too busy blocking my view with her preening. But now, in the stark light of morning, it was undeniable.

Around Silverwing's neck was a collar. It was a thick, heavy band of cold steel, etched with glowing suppression runes. A heavy chain was welded to the front of it, running down to a reinforced iron ring bolted directly into the stone floor of the stall.

I looked around, checking the other stalls. They were all the same. Every single one of these magnificent, proud creatures was shackled. They were chained to the floor like common dogs, restricted to a few feet of movement, unable to stretch their wings, unable to fly unless their "masters" deigned to take them out for a show.

"Disgusting," I hissed, the word tasting like bile.

My grip on my wand tightened until my knuckles turned white. Of course. Of fucking course. The Potters didn't raise these animals—they imprisoned them. They broke them. They kept them on leashes so they could parade them around for status, stealing their freedom just like they had tried to steal mine.

I looked back at Silverwing. She was watching me, waiting. There was a heaviness in her eyes, a dull resignation that I recognized intimately. It was the look of someone who knew they were trapped.

"You hate it, don't you?" I whispered, stepping right up to the edge of her stall. I reached out, ignoring the danger, and ran my hand along the sleek feathers of her neck, just above the cold metal of the collar. She leaned into my touch, letting out a soft, trilling sound that vibrated against my palm. "You hate being chained up in the dark while they sleep in their silk sheets." I pulled my hand back and raised my wand. "Well," I said, my voice rising, sharp and clear in the silence of the barn. "I have some bad news for the Potters." I turned slowly, addressing the entire barn, looking into the eyes of every trapped beast. "How would you all like to be free?" I asked them, a savage grin spreading across my face.

Silverwing squawked, snapping her beak and tossing her head, the chain rattling violently. The other hippogriffs joined in, a chorus of screeches and the thudding of hooves against wood. 

They understood. 

"I thought so," I purred. I aimed my wand at the heavy steel collar around Silverwing's neck. "Diffindo!" I slashed my wand through the air with a vicious, cutting motion. The spell hit the steel collar with a shower of white-hot sparks. There was a screech of tearing metal, a loud PING, and the collar split in two. The heavy steel fell away, clattering loudly onto the stone floor.

Silverwing reared back, shaking her head wildly, her feathers fluffing out as she realized the weight was gone. She let out a piercing, triumphant shriek that made my ears ring, spreading her massive wings as far as the cramped stall would allow, buffeting me with a gust of wind that smelled of freedom.

I didn't stop there. I spun, firing spell after spell, moving down the line of stalls with manic speed.

One by one, the hippogriffs surged out of their prisons. They flooded into the main aisle, a chaotic, squawking river of feathers, talons, and muscle. They snapped at the air, stretching wings, testing their newfound liberty.

I stood in the center of the storm, laughing. It was pure chaos, and it was glorious.

Silverwing trotted out of her stall, shaking her mane. She came right up to me, towering over my smaller body. She lowered her head again, nudging my chest with her beak, hard enough to bruise, gentle enough to be a thank you.

"Go," I told her, pointing toward the open double doors where the sunlight was pouring in. "Fly. Get out of here before they come. And if you see any of them..." My grin widened, showing teeth. "Feel free to shit on their heads."

She let out a loud, barking cry and broke into a gallop.

I watched them go, feeling a vicarious lightness in my own chest.

I had just cost my "parents" a fortune in purebred magical livestock. I had destroyed their property. And I hadn't even stepped inside the house yet.

"Alright," I whispered to myself, turning my back on the empty barn and facing the manor again. "Round one to the squib..."

I stepped out of the barn with a wide, unhinged grin stretching across my face. It felt like my skin was too tight to contain the sheer, manic satisfaction bubbling in my chest. I watched the last hippogriff bank sharply against the wind and disappear over the line of trees, heading for the mountains.

Gone. All of them. Every single feathered, award-winning, galleon-generating asset of the Potter family was now free to shit on someone else’s lawn.

I let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, twirling my black wand between my fingers. But the moment was shattered before I could fully savor it.

"Stop right there, Heather!" The shout was raw, cracked with sleep and panic, tearing through the quiet morning air.

My grin dropped instantly, twisting into a scowl of pure irritation. I stopped walking and turned slowly, deliberately, not bothering to hide the wand in my hand.

James Potter Junior stood about twenty yards away, panting heavily. He must have sprinted from the manor the second the alarms triggered. He was still in his pajamas—silk, obviously, probably worth more than everything I’d owned in the orphanage combined—but he’d thrown a robe on haphazardly over them. His hair was a mess, his chest heaving, and his face was a portrait of shock and incoherent rage.

But his eyes weren't on my face. They were locked on my right hand.

He stared at my wand like it was a venomous snake coiled around my fingers. His own wand was gripped so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were white, shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

"You..." He choked on the word, his eyes snapping up to meet mine. The betrayal in them was comical. "You fucking liar!"

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Good morning to you too, brother. Sleep well?" I surprisingly did last night…

"Shut up!" he screamed, taking a threatening step forward, though he stopped dead when I didn't flinch. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you tricked us all! You let us think you were a squib! You ruined all our plans for you!" His voice climbed an octave, trembling with indignation. "I let you watch me train yesterday! I let you stand there in my dueling room and watch me cast spells, and you just... you stood there and pretended to be impressed? You were laughing at me the whole time, weren't you?"

I almost snorted. That was what he was upset about? That I had bruised his fragile, overinflated ego by witnessing his mediocre spellwork under false pretenses? "James," I said, my voice dripping with bored condescension. "Watching you flail around with a wand wasn't exactly the highlight of my day. I was mostly trying not to fall asleep from second-hand embarrassment."

His face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. "You bitch! You think you're clever? Coming back here, playing the victim!?" He gestured wildly toward the empty, gaping barn doors behind me. "What did you do? Where are all the Hippogriffs?"

I glanced back over my shoulder at the empty barn, then turned back to him with a shrug. "Gone," I said simply. "I let them go."

"You... you what?" He looked like I had just spoken in a foreign language. "You let them go?"

"I set them free," I corrected, my voice hardening, losing its mocking lilt. I took a step toward him, and he instinctively took a step back. I felt the memory of my own childhood rise up—the small rooms, the feeling of being trapped in a life that didn't fit, waiting for someone to come and save me who never showed up. "I know what it's like to be trapped," I hissed. "I decided they didn't deserve that. And I decided you didn't deserve them."

James Junior stared at me, his mouth working silently for a moment. Then, the reality of the situation seemed to crash down on him. The color drained from his face, replaced by a look of sheer, panicked horror. "You... you have no idea what you've done," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Do you have any idea how much those hippogriffs were worth? Do you?"

"I'm sure they fetched a pretty penny," I said dryly.

"They were our best source of income!" he shouted, the panic turning back into rage. "Dad bet everything on this breeding season! We needed that gold! We're leveraging everything to keep the manor running, you stupid, selfish cow! You've ruined us!"

So it was true. The mighty Potter fortune was drying up. No wonder they were so desperate to sell me off to McFinnegan. I had just kicked the last crutch out from under them.

"Good," I said coldly. "Maybe now you'll have to get a real job."

That broke him. A guttural snarl ripped from his throat. He didn't think; he didn't warn me. He just lashed out. "Confringo!" He whipped his wand forward in a vicious motion.

My eyes widened slightly—not in fear, but in surprise. That wasn't a stunner. That wasn't a disarming charm. The Blasting Curse was dangerous—at this range, if it hit me in the chest, it could shatter ribs, rupture organs, maybe even kill me if he put enough hate behind it. 

He wasn't trying to subdue his wayward sister. He was trying to hurt me.

Time seemed to slow down. I saw the spell leave the tip of his wand, a jagged bolt of orange, superheated light streaking through the air toward me. It was fast, fueled by genuine fury, but to my enhanced senses—sharpened by the ritual, honed by Morgana—it looked pathetic. It was sloppy. 

I flicked my wrist, a sharp, precise backhand motion with my soul-bound wand.

Clang.

My wand connected with the bolt of the Blasting Curse mid-flight. I batted it aside like an annoying insect. The orange bolt careened wildly off course, slamming into the ground five feet to my left.

BOOM!

Dirt and grass exploded into the air. 

James Junior stood frozen. His eyes were wide, staring at the crater, then slowly, terrifiedly, tracking back to me. 

He looked at my wand, then at his own, as if he couldn't comprehend the magical physics of what had just happened. "H-how..." he stammered. "You... you just... that's an advanced deflection. That's Auror-level parrying. You were just supposed to be a squib!"

I lowered my wand slowly to my side, dusting a speck of dirt off the hem of my oversized, ugly t-shirt. I tilted my head, looking at him with a mixture of pity and predatory amusement.

"I told you, James," I said softly, my voice carrying easily across the distance between us. "You assumed a lot of things. You assumed I was weak. You assumed I was stupid." I stepped forward, closing the distance. He scrambled back, his wand shaking violently in his hand now. "You've been training in magic your whole life, 'brother,'" I mocked, spitting the word like poison. "You went to Hogwarts. You had the best tutors. You had Mommy and Daddy holding your hand every step of the way." I stopped ten feet from him, squaring my shoulders. I raised my wand, pointing it casually at his chest. The black wood hummed, hungry for more. "So come on then," I challenged him, my grin widening, showing too many teeth. "Let's see how good you really are compared to me…" 

XXX

Chapter Text

Chapter 17:

– Amara –

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. 

It stretched wide and feral across the plain, unremarkable features of Heather Potter which was a sharp contrast to the dull, timid girl I was supposed to be. 

My black wand was steady in my hand, pointing directly at the center of James Potter Junior’s chest, humming with a dark, eager energy that begged to be released.

Opposite me, my so-called twin brother mirrored my stance, his own wand raised, but the difference in our posture was laughable. He was shaking like a leaf in a gale. His knuckles were white, the blood drained from them as he gripped the wood so tight I thought it might snap. 

He was terrified. And he should be.

"Come on, James," I taunted softly. I took a slow, deliberate step forward, enjoying the way he flinched back instinctively. "Show me what you're actually made of. Aren't you the Boy-Who-Lived? The magical world's golden boy?" I tilted my head, letting the dull brown hair of my disguise fall over one shoulder. I looked at him with mock pity, widening my eyes. "You were tutored for years by the best duelists money could buy," I reminded him, my tone dripping with poison. "You had private lessons. You had Dumbledore's guidance. You had Mommy and Daddy cheering you on while I rotted in an orphanage. So go on then. Prove it was worth the investment."

His face twisted, flushing a blotchy, ugly red. The shame was warring with the fear, and I could see the exact moment his pride snapped. "Shut up!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You're nothing! You're just a squib! You're a mistake!"

"Attack me again, you coward," I hissed, dropping the facade entirely. My eyes narrowed, cold and hard. "Do it!"

That seemed to set him off.

With a guttural roar of frustration, James whipped his wand in a jagged, violent slash. "Reducto!"

The spell tore through the air, a bolt of vibrant, crackling blue light aimed straight for my head. It was a nasty curse, one meant to pulverize solid objects into dust. If it hit a human skull, there wouldn't be enough left to identify. He wasn't trying to disarm me anymore. He was trying to erase me.

My body moved on instinct, honed by Morgana's training sessions and the bloody reality of the battles I'd fought in the last week. I stepped to the left. The blue bolt hissed past my ear, the heat of it prickling against my skin, and slammed into the stone wall of the barn behind me. Rock exploded into dust, showering the grass with debris.

It was a good thing I let all the Hippogriffs out earlier…

"Missed," I said dryly.

"Confringo! Stupefy! Expulso!"

The spells came in a short barrage. I danced through them. I batted a Stunner aside with a lazy flick of my wrist, sending the red jet of light careening into the grass where it scorched a black mark into the earth. I ducked under a Blasting Curse, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle my hair.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Is that it?" I mocked him, twirling my wand between my fingers. "Is that really the best you can do?"

He was panting heavily now. His eyes were wild, darting back and forth, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. 

In his mind, I was Heather—weak, useless, broken. The cognitive dissonance was tearing him apart. He couldn't reconcile the sister he despised with the witch who was effortlessly humiliating him.

"DIFFINDO!" he shrieked, slashing his wand horizontally.

The Severing Charm was a blade of compressed air meant to slice through flesh and bone. It was a dark choice. A vicious choice.

I stopped laughing.

I watched the hatred in his eyes as he cast it. There was no hesitation there. No brotherly reluctance. He looked at me with the same loathing James Senior had shown when he pointed his wand at me in Sirius's house…

In that moment, something inside me finally settled.

Whatever tiny, lingering part of me that had wondered—just wondered—if maybe there was a chance for a connection, if maybe my twin wasn't entirely lost to his parents' toxicity... it died. Right there on the lawn.

He wasn't a confused boy. He wasn't a victim of his upbringing. He was nineteen years old. He was a man. And he was just as messed up, just as twisted, and just as cruel as Lily and James were.

I flicked my wand upward, a sharp, vertical slash. "Protego."

The invisible blade of his curse slammed into my shield with a ringing clang like a hammer hitting an anvil. My barrier didn't even shimmer. It held firm, solid as a rock.

"My turn," I whispered.

I stopped dodging. I planted my feet, squared my shoulders, and let my magic flow. I didn't reach for the killing curses or the black fire I'd used in Diagon Alley. I didn't need them for him. 

He wasn't worth the mana cost…

"Flipendo!"

I put real power behind the Knockback Jinx. A pulse of blue light erupted from my wand, moving faster than he could react.

It caught him square in the chest.

James let out a breathless whoof of air as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backward. He flew ten feet through the air, his limbs flailing helplessly, before crashing hard onto the grass. He rolled, groaning, his expensive silk robe stained with dirt and grass.

"Get up," I ordered, my voice cold.

He scrambled to his feet, spitting out a blade of grass, his face contorted with rage. "You bitch!" he screamed, raising his wand again. 

"You need to clean out that filthy mouth… Aguamenti," I cast, but I made sure that I focused the spell, I pressurized it more than normal. A jet of water slammed into his face like a fire hose, knocking his head back and choking off his scream. 

He sputtered, blinding him momentarily, staggering back as he tried to wipe the water from his eyes.

"Furnunculus!"

I hit him with the Pimple Jinx before he could recover. He yelped as large, angry boils began to erupt instantly across his nose and cheeks, distorting his handsome face into something lumpy and grotesque.

"Locomotor Mortis!"

His legs snapped together, bound by the Leg-Locker Curse. He teetered for a second, arms windmilling wildly, before toppling over sideways like a felled tree. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, his wand flying from his hand and landing a few feet away.

I walked toward him slowly, savoring the sound of his panicked breathing.

"What's the matter, James?" I asked, looking down at him. He was struggling to reach his wand, his fingers clawing at the grass, dragging his bound body forward inch by inch. "I thought you were supposed to be this amazing talented wizard? You can’t even block such basic spells?"

He glared up at me, his face red and lumpy, water dripping from his nose. "Let me up!" he snarled. "You're cheating! You're using dark magic!"

"I'm using first-year spells, you idiot," I scoffed. "You should recognize them considering you were lucky enough to go to magic school!" With a lazy flick of my wand, I released the bind on his legs.

"Pick it up," I told him, nodding toward his fallen wand. "Pick it up and try again."

He scrambled for it, clutching the wood like a lifeline. He scrambled to his feet, backing away from me, his chest heaving. 

"Protego Totalum!" he shouted, thrusting his wand forward. A shimmering, translucent dome of magical energy sprang up around him. It was a strong shield, I had to admit. He poured everything he had into it, his face straining with effort, sweat dripping down his temples. He hunkered down behind it, eyeing me warily, thinking he was safe.

I smiled. "Let's test that defensive magic, shall we?" I laughed. I began to cast. I didn't use incantations. I just threw raw bolts of magical force, one after another, hammering against his shield.

Bang.

The first impact made his shield shudder violently. James flinched, his knees bending under the strain.

Bang.

The second bolt hit the exact same spot. A spiderweb fracture appeared in the magical barrier. James let out a low grunt of exertion, reinforcing the shield with a desperate infusion of his own magic.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I increased the tempo. I wasn't even trying. My arm moved back and forth in a steady rhythm, firing spell after spell. Each one carried slightly more weight, slightly more of my magical strength behind it.

I watched his face as he struggled. His teeth were gritted so hard I thought they might shatter. He was pouring every ounce of his mana into holding that shield, draining his magical core dry just to stay standing.

I loved it. I loved watching the realization dawn on him—that he was completely, utterly outmatched. "Is that it?" I taunted, firing another bolt that made his shield flare dangerously bright. "Is that all the power the great Potter line has to offer?!"

He groaned, his arms shaking. He dropped to one knee, unable to support the weight of the magical assault.

"Stop!" he gasped, sweat stinging his eyes. "Stop it!"

"Why?" I asked, firing again. Crack. The fracture in his shield widened. "You wanted to see what I could do. You wanted to know how a 'squib' could defy you. Are you not entertained?"

He wasn't even close to my level. It was laughable. Last night, I had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bellatrix Lestrange. I had fought the head of the DMLE Amelia Bones. I had slaughtered trained Aurors, boiling their blood and burning some of them to ash!

I raised my wand high, gathering a larger ball of kinetic energy at the tip. It glowed with a deep, purple hue.

James looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. His shield was flickering, guttering like a candle in a gale. "Please," he whimpered.

I brought my wand down.

The spell slammed into his shield with the force of a cannonball. The barrier didn't just break; it shattered. It exploded outward in a shower of magical sparks. The backlash hit James hard, lifting him off his knees and throwing him backward through the air. He flew ten, fifteen feet, tumbling ragdoll-limp across the lawn before skidding to a halt near the rose bushes.

My mind raced as I stood over the broken form of James Potter Junior.

He was curled into a fetal ball in the mud, his expensive silk pajamas stained green and brown, clutching his ribs as he wheezed for air. The Pimple Jinx had done its work thoroughly; his face was a grotesque landscape of angry, pulsating boils that distorted his features into something unrecognizable. He looked pathetic. He looked weak.

My wand tip hovered inches from his face, humming with a dark, expectant energy. It would be so easy. A single word. A flick of the wrist. Avada Kedavra. Or maybe something slower, something that would let him feel the life leaching out of him, payback for every year I spent rotting in that orphanage while he grew up in the lap of luxury.

The bond that was supposed to exist between magical twins—that unbreakable connection the storybooks lied about—was no longer in existence. In truth, it had never existed. It had been strangled in the crib the moment my parents chose him over me.

I stared down at him, watching a tear leak from his eye and track through the pus and inflammation on his cheek. I wondered, with a cold, detached curiosity, if I would be doing him a favor by finishing him off. What kind of man was he going to grow up to be? He was nineteen, impotent, bitter, entitled, and cruel. Maybe reincarnation would give him a better roll of the dice. Maybe in his next life, he wouldn't be such a colossal asshole.

My fingers tightened on the black wood of my wand. 

But then an image flashed through my mind. Ginny Weasley’s laugh, bright and uninhibited on the dance floor. Hermione Granger’s shy, flushed smile as she pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I hesitated. I only knew the both of them for two days, but I knew if we ever met again in the future they would be very disappointed if I actually killed him here and now. No, I’d let him live in pathetic disgrace for now. Knowing his stupid arrogance, someone else would do the job for me.

I let out a sharp, frustrated breath and began to lower my wand. "You're not worth the trouble," I muttered.

"HEATHER!" The scream came from nearby, filled with pure hatred. James Potter Senior was storming out of the mansion’s rear conservatory doors. He looked deranged. His robes were flying behind him, his face twisted into a rictus of panic and murderous rage. He wasn't looking at his son. He was looking at me. "What are you doing, you evil little bitch?!" he roared. He stopped twenty yards away, chest heaving, his wand raised high. "I knew it!" he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "I knew something was wrong with you! I felt it the moment you stepped back into this house!" He took a stumbling step forward. "The prophecy! It's coming true right before our eyes, Lily! The dark child rises to consume the light! I won't let it happen! I won't let her destroy us!"

My eyes narrowed. The prophecy? 

"I'll stop it right now!" James bellowed. There was no fatherly reluctance, no hesitation in his soul. He wanted me dead. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The green light erupted from his wand, a jagged bolt of death hurtling across the lawn.

I simply took a step to the right.

It was almost insulting how easy it was. The jet of green light hissed past my left shoulder, the wind of its passage ruffling the dull brown hair of my disguise. It slammed into the mud ten feet behind me with a wet, heavy thud, scorching the earth and leaving a smoking crater where the grass had instantly died.

I looked back at James, my expression unimpressed. "You missed," I said coldly.

But my mind snagged on something he had screamed.

“...coming true right before our eyes, Lily!”

Lily?

I frowned, scanning the area quickly. James was alone on the lawn. The patio doors were open, but empty. There was no sign of my “mother” anywhere. Why would he be shouting to her if she wasn't—

Crack.

The sound was subtle, the snap of a dry twig, but it came from behind me.

My instincts, sharpened by paranoia and dark magic, screamed a warning! I didn't think. I dropped.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" The incantation was shrieked, high and vindictive, from thin air directly behind where I had been standing a split second ago.

I felt the air tear above my head. The invisible blade of the curse sliced through the space my neck had occupied, carrying so much force I heard the whoosh of it passing. It struck the stone fountain in the center of the garden, cleaving the marble statue of a griffin cleanly in half with a deafening crack.

I rolled across the grass, coming up into a crouch, my wand snapping toward the source of the voice. The air shimmered. It was a watery, distorting ripple, like heat rising off asphalt, before settling back into perfect transparency.

Lily Potter was there. I couldn't see her, but I knew she was there. She was under an Invisibility Cloak.

"Trying to hide and sneak attack me, Lily Potter?" I called out—not even calling her “mother” anymore out loud—my voice was dripping with scorn. "Cowardice really does run in the family, doesn't it? First your husband tries to sell me, now you try to stab me in the back?"

"Die!" her disembodied voice screamed, moving to my left. "Just die, you monster!"

I tracked the sound of her footsteps in the grass—the slight depression of the blades, the rustle of movement. She was trying to flank me.

"Think again," I snarled. I thrust my soul-bound wand forward, tapping into [Daughter of the Eternal Fire]. I didn't need an incantation. I just needed the intent. Burn.

A torrent of liquid, roaring orange fire exploded from my wand. It wasn't a jet, it was a wave, a cone of destruction that washed over the entire left side of the garden.

The fire hit something solid in the empty air.

"AAAAHHH!" Lily’s scream was high and shrill, a sound of pure agony.

The invisibility cloak was tossed off of her body.

Lily Potter stumbled backward, frantically batting at herself. The fire had caught the edge of the cloak and the sleeve of her expensive robes. She was flailing, dropping to the grass and rolling desperately to smother the flames licking at her arm and side. The smell of singed fabric and burnt hair filled the air.

"LILY!" James Senior roared from across the lawn. He was running toward me now, firing spells as he came—launching a barrage of angry magic.

I didn't even move my feet. I stood my ground, feeling the hum of the wand in my hand. I swatted his spells aside like annoying insects. A Reductor curse hit my shield and bounced harmlessly into the sky. A Stunner fizzled out against the raw aura of my power.

"Is that it?" I taunted him. "Is that the best the great Auror Captain can do?"

He fired another dark Curse, aiming for my head.

I didn't block it. I caught it.

With a precise, fluid motion of my wand, I snagged the energy of his spell mid-air, spun it around with a twist of my wrist, and hurled it back at him with double the velocity. "Return to sender!"

James’s eyes widened. He tried to dive, but he was too slow, too old, too out of practice.

The spell slammed into his left arm.

There was a sickening crunch, followed by the wet sizzle of boiling flesh.

"GAAAH!"

James spun around from the impact, clutching his arm as he fell to his knees. The sleeve of his robe was smoking, the fabric melted into the blistering, red ruin of his skin. He howled, curling in on himself, the fight draining out of him as the pain took over.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Pathetic. Both of you."

I turned my back on James, dismissing him as a threat. He was broken, weeping over his burnt arm. My attention was fixed on Lily. She had managed to put out the fire on her clothes, but she was lying on the grass, gasping for breath, her face streaked with soot and tears. Her wand lay a few feet away.

I walked over to her, my steps slow and deliberate. The "Heather" disguise felt tight on my skin, but the power flowing through me was all Amara.

I stopped over her. She looked up at me, her green eyes—my eyes—wide with terror. She scrambled backward, pushing herself along the ground with her heels, trying to get away from the daughter she had thrown away.

"Stay back," she whimpered. "Heather, please..."

I reached out with my foot and kicked her wand. It skittered across the grass, spinning away into the bushes.

"No!" she gasped, reaching for it uselessly.

I ignored her. My eyes were drawn to the pile of silvery, fluid fabric she had discarded in her panic. The Invisibility Cloak she used to try and kill me.

Even sitting there, inert, it radiated a power that made the hair on my arms stand up. I could feel it vibrating against my senses—a deep, resonant hum of PURE DARK MAGIC. It felt cold, like the space between stars, but also alluring, like a whisper promising secrets. It felt ancient.

It called to me! It felt… delicious. I reached down and touched it.

"Don't touch that!" James hissed from across the lawn. He was struggling to stand, cradling his ruined arm, his face pale and sweaty. "Put that down! That is a precious Potter family heirloom! It has been in my family for generations! It is not meant for the likes of you!"

"Not meant for me?" I repeated, my fingers brushing the silk-like material.

A shockwave of cold energy rushed up my arm as I grabbed the cloak. It didn't reject me. It didn't fight. It settled into my grip like it had been waiting for me. It felt heavy and light at the same time, a paradox of magic. I lifted it, letting the fabric flow through my fingers. It was so soft, cold and warm at the same time.

I whipped the cloak around my shoulders. It settled instantly, draping over me like a second skin. I felt hidden. I felt like death itself was wrapping its arms around me in a lover's embrace. "It's mine now," I declared, knowing they could no longer see me as James and Lily’s heads snapped in all directions.

"You thief!" Lily shrieked from the ground, finding her voice. "Give it back! That belongs to James Junior, not you! Give it back!" Lily screamed, her voice shrill and breaking with hysteria. She was scrambling to her feet, her hands blackened with soot, her expensive robes ruined. Her eyes were wild, darting frantically around the spot where I had been standing just a second ago. "That cloak belongs to my son! It belongs to James! You have no right—"

I stood perfectly still, not three feet away from her, and watched her scream at a patch of empty grass.

It was objectively hilarious.

"Heather!" she shrieked, lunging forward and grabbing at the empty air, her fingers closing on nothing but smoke and morning mist. "Don't you dare walk away with that! That is a Potter heirloom! It is priceless!"

James Senior was still on his knees, clutching his ruined, blistering arm, his face a mask of grey agony, but he added his voice to the chorus. "You thief! You ungrateful little gutter rat! Bring it back!"

James Junior was still moaning in the dirt, too broken to say much of anything.

I didn't say a word. I simply sidestepped Lily’s frantic, flailing grasp. She stumbled past me, nearly tripping over the hem of her own scorched robes. The sheer incompetence was staggering. These were the people who had held my fate in their hands for most of my life? 

I turned my back on them. Their screams of outrage and pain faded into background noise, the buzzing of angry, toothless insects.

I walked toward the manor.

The house loomed ahead, a massive, stone testament to generational wealth and unearned arrogance. It stood there, solid and imposing, a fortress of legacy that had shut its doors to me for eighteen years.

I pulled my wand from my sleeve. It wasn't invisible beneath the cloak, but it didn't matter. To them, it would just look like a floating stick, a harbinger of the doom I was about to rain down on their heads.

"Let's give them something to finally remember me by," I whispered to myself.

I thought of every cold night in the orphanage. I thought of every time I had been hungry. I thought of the look on James’s face when he tried to sell me to McFinnegan.

"Fiendfyre." 

A torrent of fire erupted from my wand, so massive and intense that the recoil nearly knocked me off my feet. It wasn't just orange—it was a swirling, chaotic mix of crimson, gold, and a terrifying, abyssal black. It roared like a living thing, a dragon made of pure thermal energy, expanding instantly as it rushed toward the house.

The fire slammed into the front of Potter Manor with the force of a bomb.

The heavy oak front doors didn't just burn, they vaporized instantly! The stone archway around them exploded outward in a shower of superheated shrapnel. The flames poured into the foyer, hungry and sentient, seeking out every tapestry, every portrait, every piece of antique furniture.

Windows blew out across the entire front of the house, glass shattering outward as the pressure inside skyrocketed. Tongues of black fire licked up the ivy, consuming it in seconds, turning the green facade into a wall of ash.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

The scream came from behind me—a raw, tearing sound of absolute despair. I glanced back over my shoulder.

Lily had fallen to her knees again, her hands clutching her hair, staring at the inferno with wide, horrified eyes. James Senior was trying to stand, shouting incoherent spells at the flames, but it was useless. You couldn't fight this kind of fire with a water charm. 

It was cursed. It was mine.

A massive section of the slate roof collapsed inward, sending a plume of sparks and smoke high into the sky. I watched for another moment, savoring the heat on my face, the beautiful destruction of the cage I was never meant to live in.

"Burn," I whispered in glee. "Burn it all down…"

I turned away from the heat and began to walk.

I moved casually across the lawn, heading for the edge of the property line where the anti-Apparition wards ended. I could hear them screaming behind me—screaming for their house, for their legacy, for their lost fortune—but I didn't look back. 

Cool guys don't look at explosions, and apparently, neither do vengeful succubus witches.

I reached the stone wall that marked the boundary of the estate. I hopped over it easily. I reached up and pulled the Invisibility Cloak off, the fabric pooling in my hands like liquid mercury.

"Inventory," I murmured. The cloak vanished from my hands, stored safely away in the pocket dimension of my system.

Congratulations on acquiring your first deathly Hallow! Only two more required to complete the set!

I took a deep breath of the air outside the wards. It tasted sweet. It tasted like victory.

Now, to get rid of this skin!

I closed my eyes and pushed my magic outward. I felt the familiar, sickening crunch of bone and the slide of muscle as I released the Heather Potter disguise. My jaw sharpened, my nose straightened, my cheekbones rising high and elegant. My hair darkened, the dull brown bleeding into a rich, glossy raven black that spilled over my shoulders like silk. My body stretched and filled out, curves blossoming where there had been angles, breasts swelling and firming, hips widening into the luscious, dangerous shape of Amara Black.

I opened my eyes. I looked down at my hands—long fingers, perfect nails, skin glowing with supernatural health.

Heather was gone. Good riddance.

I supposed I should get back now before Bellatrix wakes up! I pictured the penthouse suite in London. I turned on my heel. Crack.

The sensation of Apparition squeezed me tight, darkness pressing in on all sides, and then—

Huh? 

Why was everything on fire? 

"What the fuck?" I gasped, waving my hand in front of my face. I was completely immune to fire and smoke at this point, so I wasn’t panicking, but I was very confused as to WHY my 20,000 pound a night hotel suite was burning…

I was in an inferno.

I stood there in the center of the room, blinking in total confusion. Had my fire followed me? No, that was impossible. I could sense that this fire was caused by a different magical signature than my own.

"Is this a joke?" I muttered, shielding my eyes from the glare. 

Before I could even reach for my wand to extinguish the flames, the front door of the suite was kicked open with a tremendous crash.

"FIRE DEPARTMENT! CALL OUT IF ANYONE IS IN HERE!"

A massive figure in heavy turnout gear barged through the smoke, a flashlight beam cutting through the haze. He was wearing a helmet and a breathing apparatus, looking like a knight in modern, reflective armor.

The beam of his flashlight swung around the room and landed squarely on me.

I must have been a sight. A stunningly beautiful woman with wild black hair, wearing a torn, oversized, dirty t-shirt and grey sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to hide the sudden, voluptuous curves of my true form, standing calmly in the middle of a raging fire.

The firefighter froze for a split second. "Ma'am! Don't move! I've got you!" He roared the words, dropping his axe and sprinting toward me.

"Huh? Wait, I can—" I started to say, reaching for my wand again.

I didn't get the chance. He closed the distance in three giant strides. Before I could even protest, he swept me up off my feet.

I let out a completely undignified squeak as I was hoisted into the air. One of his arms hooked firmly behind my knees, the other wrapping securely around my back. He lifted me effortlessly, like I weighed nothing more than a feather pillow.

"Hold on tight!" he yelled over the roar of the fire. "I'm getting you out of here!"

I stared up at him, bewildered. My wand was still in my hand, pressed uselessly against his thick, fire-retardant coat. I could have snapped my fingers and put out the entire fire. I could have levitated us both out the window. I could have turned into smoke and flown away.

Instead, I was being carried bridal-style by a mortal man named... I squinted at the nameplate on his chest. Miller.

Miller turned and ran. He didn't stumble, didn't hesitate. He charged back through the door he had kicked in, shielding my body with his own bulky frame as we passed a wall of flames licking at the doorframe.

"Stay low, keep your face against my coat!" he ordered, his voice muffled by the mask but vibrating through his chest against my side.

I found myself obeying simply because I was too taken aback for anything else.

He hit the stairwell at a run, his boots thudding heavily on the concrete steps. "I've got a survivor!" he shouted into his radio. "Female, conscious, bringing her down now!"

I was jostled rhythmically against him as he descended flight after flight of stairs. My body was pressed tight against his. I could feel the hard muscles of his arms beneath the heavy gear, holding me with a grip that was iron-solid but surprisingly gentle.

It was... weird.

Usually, when men grabbed me, there was a layer of lust to it. Even when they didn't mean to, my succubus nature drew it out of them. Their hands would wander, their breathing would change, their thoughts would twist toward desire.

But this guy? 

There was nothing. No wandering hands. No squeezing my ass under the pretense of a better grip. He was just... saving me. He was genuinely, purely focused on getting me out of the fire safely.

"You're doing great, miss," he panted as we hit the tenth-floor landing. "Almost there. Just hang on!"

"...Thank you," I said, forcing my voice to tremble just enough to sell the performance of a traumatized civilian. I looked up at Miller, the soot-stained firefighter who had hauled me out of the inferno, and let my eyes go wide and grateful. "Thank you so much for saving my life. I don't know what I would have done without you!"

I would have been fine—fire couldn't hurt me anymore, but he didn’t know that.

He adjusted his helmet, looking embarrassed by the praise. "Just doing my job, miss. You're safe now, that's what matters." His head snapped back toward the hotel, where orange flames were still licking greedily at the upper windows, black smoke billowing into the grey London sky like a signal flare. "I gotta go back in there," he said, his voice tightening with urgency. "We haven't cleared the fifth floor yet. There might still be people trapped."

And then, without a second thought for his own safety, he turned and sprinted back toward the burning building. 

He just ran straight back into hell because he thought someone might need him.

I sat there on the bumper of the ambulance, watching his retreating figure disappear into the swirling smoke.

I felt a strange, heavy sensation in my chest—something like awe, mixed with a profound sense of confusion. 

That, I realized with a jolt of clarity, is a genuine hero. Even with everything I was, I still found myself deeply respecting genuine heroes. I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses. 

I visualized the heat being sucked out of the air. I imagined the oxygen vanishing, the fuel turning to stone. I exerted my dominance over the element, forcing the wild, roaring beast to heel.

High above, the flames faltered. The roaring inferno that had been threatening to consume the entire roof suddenly dimmed, the orange glare turning to a dull, sputtering red. The smoke thinned. The aggressive, leaping tongues of fire shrank back as if afraid, dying down into harmless embers. It would look like a miracle to the firefighters—a sudden shift in wind, a burst of luck. But I knew better. I held the fire in a chokehold until I was certain it wouldn't flare up again, until I was sure Miller and his team would be walking into a dying embers rather than a death trap.

"You're welcome," I muttered to the empty air.

Satisfied, I turned away from the ambulance. The paramedics were busy with a coughing elderly couple, so I slipped away unnoticed, merging into the crowd of gawkers and evacuees.

I walked through the chaos, clutching my ruined, oversized t-shirt around me. My thoughts cut off abruptly. Standing at the edge of the police cordon, looking completely out of place among the worried civilians, was a woman.

She was wearing a long, tattered black dress that looked like it had been stolen from a Victorian funeral. Her hair was a wild, frizzy halo of black curls that whipped around her face in the wind. Her posture was rigid, vibrating with a manic energy that made the people standing near her instinctively edge away.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

She was scanning the crowd, her dark, heavy-lidded eyes darting frantically from face to face. She looked desperate. 

And then she saw me. Her face transformed instantly. Her eyes lit up, and a wide, beaming smile stretched across her face, showing teeth.

"Amara!" she shrieked, ignoring the police officer who tried to tell her to stay back. She ducked under the yellow tape and sprinted toward me. She hit me with the force of a cannonball, wrapping her arms around me and lifting me off my feet in a crushing embrace. "You're here! You came back to me!"

I stood there, stiff in her grip, feeling the eyes of half of London on us. "Bellatrix," I hissed, trying to pry her arms off my ribs before she cracked one. "What are you doing here? And... wait." A cold realization washed over me. I looked over her shoulder at the smoking ruin of the hotel. I looked back at Bellatrix, who was nuzzling my cheek affectionately. "Bellatrix," I said slowly, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What the fuck did you do?"

She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her expression was innocent—grotesquely so. She pouted, her lower lip jutting out, her eyes big and watery. "I woke up," she said, her voice trembling with hurt. "I woke up, and the bed was cold. You were gone. You left me!"

"I went to get coffee!" I snapped out a lie. "I was gone for, like, a half hour tops!"

"It felt like forever!" she wailed, clutching my shoulders. "I thought you abandoned me! I thought maybe the Aurors took you! I didn't know where you went!" She gestured vaguely at the smoldering skyscraper behind us. "So I thought... if I made a big enough fire... a really big, bright signal... maybe you'd see it? Maybe you'd come back to see what was burning?" She smiled then, a proud, beaming grin that chilled my blood. "And it worked! You're here! I told you, sweetie! I told you last night—if I woke up alone, I'd burn this whole building down!"

I stared at her. My mouth opened, then closed.

Holy fuck. She was serious! 

I had thought it was just the dramatic rambling of an insane woman. But no. She had literally woken up, found me missing, and decided the most logical course of action was to commit grand arson on a luxury hotel in central London just to get my attention.

I raised her craziness level in my mind a whole other notch!

I struggled against her grip, managing to push her back a step. "Bellatrix," I said, keeping my voice deadpan, though inside I was screaming. "Please. I am begging you. Do not burn down any more buildings just because I step out for coffee or a bagel. I was coming right back. My stuff was in there!"

"I saved your stuff!" she interrupted happily, patting the pocket of her dress. "I shrunk your trunk. It's right here. See? Mummy takes care of you!" she whined, stepping closer again and wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. "That thirty minutes of loneliness after getting you back felt like a lifetime, Amara! I couldn't bear it! The silence was so loud!"

I looked at the firefighters battling the remnants of the blaze she had started. I looked at the displaced hotel guests huddled in blankets, crying over their lost possessions. I looked at the paramedics treating smoke inhalation.

All of this... because she missed me?

It was horrifying. It was disastrous. And in a very twisted, fucked-up way that I hated myself for acknowledging... It was almost flattering. No one had ever burned down a building for me before! 

I sighed, a long, heavy exhale that rattled in my chest. There was no point arguing with her. Her logic didn't operate on the same plane of existence as reality. "Okay," I said, surrendering to the madness. "Okay. You found me. I'm here. We're together."

She beamed, squeezing me tighter. "Yes! Together!"

"Now," I said, gently trying to steer her away from the police officers who were starting to look at us with suspicion. "Let's just figure out what we should do now. We can't stay here. They're going to start asking questions, and I don't think 'my mother burned down the hotel because she missed me' is going to hold up in court."

Bellatrix’s expression darkened instantly. The joy vanished, replaced by a sharp, paranoid intensity. She grabbed my hand, her nails digging into my palm.

"You're right," she whispered, her eyes darting around the crowd, scanning faces for threats. "We're exposed here. Too many Muggles. Too many eyes." She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "We should flee the country!"

I blinked at her. "Flee the country? Why? Did the ministry find us?" I mean I was planning on leaving soon, but I didn’t think I needed to “flee.”

Bellatrix shook her head violently, her curls whipping around. "No, no, not the Ministry! Them we can kill. I'm talking about Him." She looked over her shoulder. "We don't want your Daddy to find us, do we?" she whispered, her eyes wide with genuine fear. "If he finds out you exist... if he finds out I kept you from him... he'll come for us. And he'll kill you, Amara. He won't share power. He won't want an heir he didn't raise. He'll kill you to secure his throne!"

I stared at her. "Huh?" was all I could manage.

….And that was exactly how I found myself stranded in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, trapped on a slow-moving floating city instead of relaxing in a first-class seat at thirty thousand feet.

I would have vastly preferred a plane ride. A nice, private jet could have whisked us back to America in a matter of hours. But Bellatrix had absolutely refused. The moment I mentioned an airplane, she had gone pale, her eyes widening with a terror I hadn't even seen when she was facing down an entire squad of Aurors.

"I will not!" she had shrieked, clutching my arm so hard her nails nearly drew blood. "I will not step foot inside a disgusting, metal Muggle death trap! They fall out of the sky, Amara! They have no magic to hold them up! It is unnatural!"

No amount of logic or explanation of aerodynamics could sway her. The most feared witch in Britain, the woman who had tortured people into insanity without blinking, was terrified of business class.

So, we compromised. Or rather, I surrendered to her madness because I was too exhausted to argue, and we booked the Royal Penthouse Suite on a luxury cruise liner departing Southampton for New York.

It wasn’t the worst fate in the world.

She had  further explained her belief that the Dark Lord would kill me, even if he accepted me as his daughter, because he would never tolerate sharing power. Bellatrix's decision to betray him and choose me instead was incredibly flattering.

I also learned what happened to Daphne and Astoria's parents. Bellatrix revealed that they had been pressured to join the Dark Lord's service and, to spare their daughters the same fate, they likely cut off all contact. 

Daphne and Astoria would be relieved to know they are at least alive, though not truly safe as long as Voldemort is still a threat.

I was powerful now, I knew that, but I didn’t think I could take on him or Dumbledore just yet. Both of them were masters of magic, Light and Dark, I had only just begun learning from Morgana.

I stretched out languidly on the padded lounge chair, arching my back like a contented cat soaking up the heat. The sun beat down on the top deck, shimmering off the turquoise water of the enormous swimming pool nearby. The air smelled of salt, expensive sunscreen, and the mixed cocktails being ferried around by servers in crisp white uniforms.

I took a deep breath, letting the solar energy seep into my skin.

I was wearing a black bikini I’d purchased in the ship’s overpriced boutique. It was a scandalous little thing—barely more than a few triangles of fabric held together by thin, precarious strings. The top struggled to contain my breasts, pushing them up and together, leaving the creamy swells of my cleavage fully exposed to the sun and the wandering eyes of every passenger on deck. The bottoms were high-cut, sitting above my hip bones to elongate my legs, the back a thong that left my perfectly round, firm ass completely bare to the elements.

I knew, instinctively, that my supernatural skin would never burn. I didn’t need to worry about UV rays or peeling skin. My complexion would remain flawless, porcelain-smooth and unblemished, forever.

But the act of sunbathing wasn't really about the sun. It was about the audience.

I adjusted my sunglasses, peering over the rim to survey my kingdom for the afternoon.

The deck was crowded. And almost everyone was looking at me.

To my left, a middle-aged man with a potbelly and a gold chain was staring so hard at my chest that he was pouring his suntan lotion directly onto the deck instead of his wife’s back. To my right, a young couple was having a whispered argument, the woman glaring daggers at me while her boyfriend tried and failed to pretend he wasn't mentally undressing me.

I smirked, a little thrill of vanity warming my blood. My [Major Sin of Lust] purred in the back of my mind, feeding on the attention. I shifted my legs, bending one knee to accentuate the curve of my thigh and the dip of my waist. I saw three heads turn in unison.

It was shallow. It was vain. And it made me incredibly happy.

"This is ridiculous," a voice hissed from the lounger next to me. "It is undignified. It is improper. We are surrounded by filth."

I turned my head to look at Bellatrix.

She was also wearing a black bikini—I had insisted we match—but she looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

She was squirming on the lounger, trying to pull her knees up to her chest to hide herself, then stretching back out, then tugging at the strings of her top.

"Stop fidgeting, Bella," I said lazily, reaching out to pat her arm. "You look hot."

And she did. Despite her years in Azkaban, despite the madness, Bellatrix Lestrange had a body and face that women half her age would kill for. She was lean and wiry, with a pale, aristocratically thin elegance. Her breasts were smaller than mine, perky and pressed visibly against the fabric of her bikini. Her stomach was flat, her hips narrow but shapely.

But she looked miserable.

"I look like a harlot," she muttered, glaring at a passing waiter who lingered a second too long on her figure. Her hand twitched, and I knew she was reaching for the wand she had disillusioned and stuck to her thigh with a sticking charm. "A common street walker. Pureblood witches do not expose their flesh to Muggles like livestock at an auction!"

"We're blending in," I reminded her, soothingly. "If we were wearing black robes in the middle of the Atlantic, people would ask questions. Besides..." I let my eyes drag over her body, deliberate and slow. "I like seeing you like this. You have a beautiful body. Why hide it?"

Bellatrix froze. Her cheeks, usually so pale, flushed a sudden, vivid pink. She looked at me, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable, the murderous rage instantly replaced by that desperate, puppy-dog devotion she reserved solely for me. "You... you think I am beautiful?" she whispered, her voice cracking. “I know I was a lot better looking before losing almost 20 years in Azkaban…”

"I think you're stunning," I said honestly. "Now lie back and relax. Let them look. Let them envy what they can't touch."

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she forced herself to relax against the cushioned lounger. Slowly, hesitantly, Bellatrix lowered her legs and laid back, though the tension in her frame remained palpable—she was as stiff as a board, her muscles coiled tight as if she expected the Muggle tourists to attack at any moment.

"If you say so, my star," she murmured, her voice tight but obedient. She turned her head slightly, shielding her eyes from the glare with a slender hand. "If it pleases you."

"It does," I assured her, reaching out to rest my hand soothingly over hers. Her skin was cool despite the sun, her fingers twitching beneath my palm. "I’m sure we’ll both enjoy this. It’s a nice, peaceful cruise. And who knows? Maybe we can even get you to let go of your hatred of Muggles a little bit. Look at this luxury, Bella. Magic didn't build this ship."

I said it only half-jokingly, knowing full well that changing Bellatrix Lestrange’s worldview was about as likely as teaching a Dementor to tap dance. 

Bellatrix let out a scoff. "That will never happen," she hissed, glaring at a passing waiter carrying a tray of daiquiris. "They are cattle, Amara. Dressed-up, noisy, pointless cattle. The fact that they can build a floating palace doesn't change the fact that they are beneath us."

I just rolled my eyes, leaning back and adjusting my sunglasses. But then my eyes shifted to the side, toward the main staircase leading down to the pool, and my breath caught violently in my throat.

The world seemed to slow down. The noise of the crowd faded into a dull roar, the splashing of the pool receding into the background.

Strutting toward the water was a woman who didn't just demand attention—she commanded it by existing.

She was tall—Amazonian tall—with legs that seemed to go on for miles, smooth and toned and glowing with a vibrant, unearthly orange hue. Her skin was flawless, a deep, rich tangerine shade that looked like it had been kissed by the sun of a different solar system. But it was her body that made my mouth go dry.

She had massive, gravity-defying breasts that bounced gently with every confident step, barely contained by the fabric of her swimsuit. Her waist was impossibly narrow, flaring out into hips that were wide, fertile, and devastatingly curvy.

And the swimsuit... if you could even call it that. It was a one-piece in a metallic, shimmering purple that clashed beautifully with her orange skin. It was cut high on the thighs, exposing everything up to her hip bones, and featured a deep, plunging slit down the front that showcased the heavy swell of her cleavage and her toned stomach. It barely hid her most private areas, clinging to her thighs ass with a tenacity that defied physics.

She tossed her head, and a cascade of fiery, floor-length red-orange hair whipped around her shoulders like a living flame. 

I watched as men and women alike practically broke their necks turning to stare. Jaws dropped. Drinks were spilled. A silence seemed to ripple outward from her as she passed, followed immediately by a wave of whispers.

"What the fuck is Starfire doing here?" I whispered to myself, lowering my sunglasses to get a better look. Starfire. Koriand'r of Tamaran. And, more importantly to me right now... the woman who had broken Dick Grayson's heart.

I stared at her, feeling a complicated mix of emotions bubbling up in my chest. Jealousy? Maybe a little... Indignation on Dick's behalf? Definitely. But mostly, it was just raw, unadulterated lust.

She wasn't the cute, naive teenage girl from the cartoons I vaguely remembered. This was the full-grown alien babe from the comics, realized in high-definition flesh and blood. She was sex on legs. She radiated a kind of primal, joyful sensuality that made my own succubus instincts sit up and purr.

She reached the edge of the pool and paused.

"Boo-yah, baby! This ship is awesome!" The shout shattered the spell over everyone.

I tore my eyes away from Starfire just in time to see a massive, hulking figure cannonballing through the air.

"Slow down, Cyborg! You're gonna empty the pool!"

Two more figures burst onto the scene, bringing a vibe that totally disrupted the sophisticated atmosphere of the luxury deck.

The first was Cyborg—Victor Stone. He was huge, a towering wall of polished chrome and dark skin. Half his face was metal, a glowing red cybernetic eye whirring as he grinned. His body was a marvel of technology, massive robotic shoulders and limbs gleaming in the sunlight. He was wearing... god, was he wearing swim trunks over his robotic chassis? Yes, he was. Bright red board shorts.

The second was a green-skinned boy with pointed ears and a mischievous grin—Beast Boy. He was lean and wiry.

They hit the water almost simultaneously.

SPLASH!

A massive wave erupted from the pool, drenching the sunbathers in the front row. Starfire squealed as the water hit her. She wasn't annoyed, though. She laughed, wiping water from her face, and pouted playfully at the two heroes surfacing in the pool. "Friends!" she called out, her voice musical and strange. "You have made the wetness upon my person before I was ready for the swimming!"

"That's the point, Star!" Beast Boy yelled, morphing instantly into a green dolphin and swimming around in circles.

Beside me, Bellatrix had gone rigid. Her hand was diving for the wand she had concealed. "Amara," she hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of revulsion and horror. "What in the name of Merlin's sagging balls is that?" She pointed a shaking finger at Cyborg. "Is that a golem? A construct? Why is it wearing trousers? And the green one—it's a changeling! A filth-ridden half-breed!"

I reached out and clamped my hand over her wrist, stopping her from drawing her wand. "Calm down, Bella," I whispered urgently. "They're... they're Meta-humans. American superheroes. You can't hex them!"

"Superheroes?" she spat the word like it was a slur. "They look like abominations against nature!"

"Just ignore them," I advised, though I couldn't take my eyes off Starfire, who was now wading into the water, the purple fabric of her suit turning dark and clinging even tighter to her incredible curves. "They're just having fun."

"Hello, Amara." The voice was calm, monotone, and came from directly beside my left ear.

I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I whipped my head around.

Raven was right there. I hadn't heard her approach. I hadn't sensed her magic. She had simply materialized out of the ether, or maybe she had been there the whole time.

She was taking a seat on the empty lounger next to mine, moving with a fluid, silent grace. She wasn't wearing her usual dark blue cloak or the leotard. Instead, she was dressed in a modest, dark purple one-piece swimsuit.

Compared to Starfire's exhibitionist outfit, it was downright conservative. But on Raven? It was stunning.

"Raven," I breathed, recovering my composure. I flashed her a smile, leaning back on my elbows to give her a better view of my own bikini-clad body. "Fancy seeing you here. I didn't take the Titans for the cruise ship type."

“Usually not, except the last cruise ship that arrived off the East Coast crashed on shore with not a single living person on board…” she said, sounding concerned as she glanced around at all the people. “We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen again and find out where all those abducted people ended up…”

Welp, I’m pretty sure the relaxing cruise wasn’t going to be so relaxing after that ominous warning! 

But in the meantime—

“You seem a bit tense, Raven? Obviously nothing is happening right now. Why don’t you relax with me for a while. I can rub some oil on you if you want?” I suggested and loved the way her cheeks blushed purple.

XXX

Chapter Text

Here’s a long chapter, it has a long and lewd R-18 part...

Also, I changed the way the skill Mana Siphon works.

[Mana Siphon!] You can now steal mana from people you have sex with for the first time. Stolen mana will be used to increase the size of your magical core. Theoretically, it can grow to infinite capacity!

Chapter 18 (~14k words):

– Amara –

Raven’s skin was impossibly soft, yielding gently under the pressure of my palms as I worked the coconut-scented suntan oil into her back. I knelt beside her lounger, taking my time, savoring the contrast of my pale hands against the white-grey toned expanse of her shoulders.

She lay face down, her breathing already hitching in that shallow, tell-tale way that let me know she wasn’t nearly as relaxed as she was pretending to be. The dark purple one-piece she wore was a conservative choice compared to Starfire’s, but right now, it was serving my purposes beautifully. 

I had hooked my fingers into the back of the fabric and slowly, deliberately peeled it down to her waist, leaving her smooth, pale back entirely exposed to the air—and to me.

"You're so tense, Raven," I murmured, my voice dropping to a husky purr that only she could hear. I poured a little more oil into my palm, letting it warm against my skin before sliding my hands down the length of her spine again. "You need to relax. We're on vacation, aren't we? At least for the next few hours we have nothing better to do…"

"I... I am relaxed," she stammered into her folded arms, her voice muffled and tight.

"Liar," I teased gently. My hands glided lower, reaching the dip of her lower back just above the bunched fabric of her swimsuit at her waist. I pressed my thumbs into the muscles there, kneading in slow, rhythmic circles. 

Raven let out a soft, involuntary gasp, her hips twitching against the cushion.

The only thing stopping me from seeing the full, heavy swell of her breasts was the fact that she was lying flat on her stomach, gravity pressing her assets against the lounger. But from my vantage point, looking down the curve of her ribs, I could see the delicious side-profile of her chest, the pale flesh spilling just slightly over the edge of the chair. It was a tantalizing view, made all the better by the knowledge that she was completely at my mercy.

I glanced up briefly, checking the shimmering distortion in the air around us. I had cast a subtle but powerful privacy barrier around our three loungers—myself, Raven, and Bellatrix. To anyone looking in from the outside, we were just a boring blur, easily ignored and instantly forgotten. It was a neat piece of magic, allowing us to be as improper as we wanted in the middle of a crowded deck.

Of course, I wasn't entirely sure if the illusion would hold up against high-tech sensors. 

I cast a wary glance toward the pool, where a massive, metallic figure was currently doing a cannonball. Cyborg was busy splashing around with Beast Boy—who had morphed into a seal—and Starfire, their laughter ringing out over the water.

"Your robotic friend," I whispered, leaning down so my lips brushed the shell of Raven's ear. "Do you think he's scanning us right now? Watching a gorgeous girl like me rub oil all over his teammate's bare skin?"

Raven shuddered, a flush of pink spreading rapidly across her neck. "Victor... respects privacy," she managed to choke out, though the embarrassed moan that followed my thumbs digging into her shoulder blades told a different story.

"Mmm, I certainly hope not," I laughed softly. "I do love an audience." My hands slid up her sides again, slick with oil, my fingers dancing dangerously close to the sensitive skin of her underarms. 

She squirmed, a small, high-pitched noise escaping her throat. I grinned, feeding off her embarrassment, my succubus instincts humming with satisfaction at how easily I could unravel the stoic half-demon.

Suddenly, the lounger next to us creaked as Bellatrix sat up abruptly, pulling her sunglasses down her nose to peer at us with intense, dark eyes. She watched my hands moving over Raven’s skin for a moment, her expression unreadable, before a slow, shark-like grin spread across her face.

"Amara, darling," Bellatrix said, her voice sharp with interest. She swung her legs over the side of her chair, leaning closer. "You haven't introduced me properly to your little plaything."

Raven stiffened under my hands, lifting her head slightly to look at the wild-haired witch.

"She's not a plaything, Bella. Well, not entirely," I said with a wink.

Bellatrix ignored my jest, her gaze locking onto Raven with a predatory intensity. She inhaled deeply, as if scenting the air. "I can feel it," Bellatrix murmured, her eyes widening with approval. "She reeks of power. Dark power." She nodded decisively. "I approve. She is a very powerful dark witch."

Raven blinked, clearly taken aback by the assessment. I decided it was time to bridge the gap before Bellatrix decided to hex her just to see what would happen.

"Bellatrix," I said smoothly, keeping one hand resting possessively on the small of Raven's back. "This is Raven. She's a very good friend of mine from America. She's... unique." I turned my gaze to Raven, my expression softening. "And Raven, this is Bellatrix... my mother." I paused for effect, letting the weight of the lie settle. "She was lost to me for a long time, but we've finally been reunited."

Raven’s violet eyes went wide, her head whipping around to stare at me in utter confusion. I could practically see the gears turning in her head. She knew my story—or at least, the version I had told her, Kara, and Dick at the diner. She knew Lily Evans Potter was my birth mother, the woman who had abandoned me.

"Your... mother?" Raven repeated, her voice laced with skepticism and bewilderment. "But I thought—"

I leaned in quickly, pressing a finger to her lips to silence her. "Shh," I whispered, my face inches from hers. "It's a very long, very complicated story. I promise I'll explain everything about Bellatrix later. Just... roll with it for now, okay?".

Raven hesitated, looking from me to the beaming, manic woman next to us, and then slowly nodded. She laid her head back down on her arms, though I could tell she was still tense.

I resumed my massage, pouring a fresh dollop of oil onto her skin. "So," I said, keeping my tone casual as my hands resumed their long, sweeping strokes up and down her spine. "While I have you captive... tell me more about this 'cruise ship problem' you mentioned earlier."

Raven sighed, her body relaxing slightly as my thumbs worked out a knot near her shoulder blade. "It's bad, Amara," she mumbled into her forearm. "The last ship that came into New York... It was a ghost ship. It drifted into port with the engines dead and the lights out.".

"No passengers?" I asked, sliding my hands down her sides, gripping her waist firmly.

"None," she confirmed grimly. "No captain, no crew, no passengers. It was completely empty."

"Just empty?" I pressed, letting my fingers trail dangerously forward, grazing the soft swell of her side-boob. "Or was there something else?"

Raven gasped, arching her back as my fingers teased the outer curve of her breast, circling agonizingly close to her nipple without quite touching it. She turned her head, pouting at me with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. "Amara... you're distracting me."

I pouted back, feigning innocence. "I'm just trying to help you relax while we discuss serious business. Continue, please."

She let out a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure. "There were... signs of a struggle," she said, her voice trembling slightly as I repeated the caress, my thumb brushing the underside of her breast. "Bloodstains on the decks. Claw marks on the hull. We're assuming the worst. Some kind of sea monster—or a pack of them—attacked the ship in open water and took everyone."

"Took them?" I asked, my voice darkening. "To eat them?"

"Or worse," Raven whispered.

Bellatrix let out a screech of laughter that sounded like breaking glass. "Monsters?" she cried, clapping her hands together. Her eyes flashed with a dangerous, protective light. "Let them come! If any filthy beasts try to board this vessel and touch a single hair on my precious daughter's head, I will slaughter them all!" She whipped out her wand—which she had somehow concealed in her bikini—and slashed it through the air. "I'll flay them alive! I'll boil the seas until they float belly-up! No one touches my Amara!"

I smiled at her, genuinely touched by her psychotic devotion. "Thanks, Mom," I said sweetly.

Raven lifted her head again, glancing between Bellatrix and me with a complicated expression. "The Justice League... they usually have strict rules about engagement," she said quietly, watching my hands moving over her skin. "They don't like to kill. It's a line they don't cross easily."

"Boring," Bellatrix sneered.

"But," Raven continued, her gaze locking onto mine, "whatever did this... it caused a massacre. Hundreds—thousands—of people are gone. We discussed it with the League. Given the nature of the threat and the potential for massive loss of life..." She paused, swallowing hard as my hand slipped lower, resting just above the curve of her buttocks. "The Titans have been authorized to use lethal force if necessary."

My eyes lit up. A thrill of excitement shot through me, hot and sharp. "Yay," I breathed, grinning wickedly. I leaned forward, my bikini clad large chest pressing against Raven’s oiled back, my lips hovering right next to her ear. "That means I can actually help you, Raven. I can protect my friend without having to hold myself back or worry about your little rules."

I felt her shiver beneath me. "You... you'd do that?"

"Of course," I purred. "Who said the villainess couldn't be the good girl once in a while?"

Overcome by the moment—the heat of the sun, the scent of the oil, the promise of violence, and the undeniable cuteness of Raven's flustered state—I couldn't help myself. I leaned down and pressed a slow, wet kiss to the sensitive nape of her neck, sucking lightly on the soft skin there.

Raven sputtered, her whole body jerking in surprise. "A-Amara!" she squeaked, her face turning a deep, violent shade of red that clashed horribly with her purple swimsuit.

I pulled back, laughing softly, my hands giving her waist one last squeeze.

Bellatrix watched us with a wide, feral grin, crossing her long, pale legs at the ankle. She looked delighted. "Oho," she crooned, her eyes dancing between us. "I didn't know you two were those kinds of friends." She leaned back on her elbows, arching her back to thrust her chest out, looking like a cat that had just eaten the canary. "I'm jealous, daughter," Bellatrix whined playfully, though there was a hungry edge to her voice. "It's been far too long since I've had a good fuck from a proper pureblood witch or wizard. These Muggles are so... disappointing.".

I rolled my eyes at her, though I couldn't suppress a smirk. "If we find the sea monsters, you can take out your frustrations on them, mother."

"Oh, I intend to," she promised. 

Hours later…

The sun was beginning its slow, dramatic descent toward the horizon, painting the vast Atlantic sky in bruising shades of violet, burnt orange, and deep crimson. The heat of the day was fading, replaced by a cooling ocean breeze that danced over my skin, but I felt warmer than ever.

I lay sprawled on my back across the cushioned lounger, my bikini top untied and discarded carelessly on the small table beside me. My arms were thrown back behind my head, exposing my body completely to the dying light. My large, heavy breasts settled naturally against my chest, the pale, flawless skin glowing softly in the twilight. I knew, logically, that neither Raven nor I would ever actually tan—my succubus physiology kept me eternally pale and perfect, and Raven’s half-demon heritage seemed to do the same for her—but the sensation of the warm air ghosting over my sensitive nipples was too delicious to pass up.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of the salty air. I wasn’t asleep, though. I was hyper-aware of the woman lying on the lounger next to me.

For the past two hours, I had felt the weight of Raven’s gaze on me. Every time I shifted my legs, or arched my back to stretch, or let out a soft, contented sigh, I felt her eyes snap toward me. She tried to be subtle about it, pretending to read her book, or adjusting her sunglasses, but I was a succubus. I could taste the lust radiating off her. It was sweet and nervous.

It was exciting me more than I cared to admit. My own [Major Sin of Lust] was purring in the back of my mind, urging me to tease her, to push her, to see just how flustered I could make the stoic empath before she finally snapped.

"You're staring again, Raven," I murmured, keeping my eyes closed, a lazy smirk curving my lips.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by the rustle of movement. "I... I wasn't," Raven lied, her voice pitching slightly higher than usual. "I was just... checking the position of the sun."

I opened one eye, turning my head on the cushion to look at her. She was lying on her stomach, her face turned toward me, cheeks dusted with a faint, tell-tale flush.

"The sun is over there," I pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon with a limp hand. "My tits are over here. Easy mistake to make, I suppose."

Raven choked on air, burying her face in her arms.

Bellatrix had left us about an hour ago, claiming the "Muggle chatter" was giving her a migraine and that she needed to go back to our suite to "prepare for the slaughter" of the sea monsters. I hadn't asked what preparing entailed, mostly because I didn't want to know if it involved sharpening knives or brewing poisons in the hotel sink. Her absence left me alone with Raven, wrapped in the privacy bubble I’d cast, isolated from the rest of the ship in our own little world of tension and desire.

"I think I'm done baking," Raven mumbled into her towel. She pushed herself up, sitting on her knees for a moment before turning over.

I watched her.

Raven flipped onto her back. Raven’s body was a work of art—her breasts were large, heavy, and perky, settling beautifully against her chest. I could clearly see the outline of her nipples. They weren't pink or brown like a human's. They were a deep, vivid violet—a physical mark of her interdimensional heritage that matched her eyes perfectly.

"Wow," I whispered, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

Raven froze, her hands hovering over her chest. She looked at me, seeing exactly where my gaze was fixated. A blush exploded across her face, turning her greyish skin a distinct lavender hue.

"Amara!" she hissed, scrambling to grab her towel and pull it over her chest. "Stop looking!"

"Why?" I asked, propping myself up on one elbow, letting my own bare breasts sway with the movement. "You've been looking at mine all afternoon. It's only fair if I get a turn." I lowered my voice, letting a thread of magic lace through the words. "Besides... they're beautiful, Raven. You shouldn't hide them."

She stared at me, her lips parted, conflict warring in her eyes. The desire was there, swimming in the violet depths, but so was the lifetime of repression she’d built around herself. "We... we should get going," she stammered, deflecting desperately. "The sun is setting. And... and I wanted to introduce you to the rest of the team. If you're really serious about helping us fight whatever is out there. I wanted you to meet Starfire first since she’s the least judgemental. Her own sister Blackfire is a villain, you know…"

I sighed, disappointed but willing to let her off the hook—for now. "Fine," I said, sitting up and stretching my arms over my head, thrusting my chest out one last time for good measure. "Business before pleasure, I suppose." I reached for my black bikini top, tying the strings behind my neck with only a bit of difficulty since I never wore one of these before. "So, introductions," I said, smoothing the fabric over my skin. "Where's the alien princess?"

Raven frowned, looking around the emptying deck. The pool was quiet now, the crowds thinning out as people headed below for dinner. "Starfire?" she asked, scanning the area. "She was right there a while ago..."

"Oh," I said, suddenly remembering. "I think I saw her leave about an hour ago? She was talking to a couple by the pool bar. A handsome guy with dark hair and a really pretty blonde woman. They looked... friendly."

Raven blinked. "Friendly?"

"Very friendly," I clarified with a grin. "Lots of touching. Lots of whispering. Then the three of them wandered off toward the elevators together."

Raven sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course she did," she muttered, sounding resigned. "Starfire's... cultural norms regarding intimacy are very different from Earth's. She doesn't really do 'subtle.'"

"I noticed," I said dryly, remembering the metallic purple swimsuit that had barely covered her labia. Also, she had broken Dick’s heart, and I wasn’t happy about that. Or maybe some twisted part of me WAS happy about that because otherwise I never would have met him. I chose to ignore those dark thoughts for now and spoke again. "So, where do you think she went?"

"My room," Raven said instantly. "We're sharing a suite, and she probably just went back to get changed." She stood up, wrapping a sarong around her waist, though it did little to hide the generous curve of her hips. "We should go check."

I dissolved the privacy barrier with a flick of my wand, the shimmering air fading away to reveal the mundane world of the cruise ship. "Lead the way," I said. "Let's go retrieve your wayward alien."

We walked through the ship's corridors, the artificial lights humming overhead. The carpet was thick and plush under my sandals, the walls lined with tacky nautical art. Even here, in the mundane hallway, I drew eyes. Men in evening wear paused to stare as I walked by; women narrowed their eyes in envy or bit their lips in appreciation. My [Daughter of a Succubus] perk ensured I was a magnet for attention, and tonight, I reveled in it.

I walked close to Raven, our arms brushing with every step. I could smell her scent—ozone, old books, and a faint, underlying musk of arousal that she hadn't quite managed to suppress.

"You know," I murmured, leaning in close as we waited for the elevator. "You never told me if you liked the massage."

Raven stiffened, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor numbers. "It was... effective," she replied stiffly. "My muscles are less tense."

"Is that all?" I teased, reaching out to trail a finger down her bare arm. The elevator dinged, saving her from having to answer. The doors slid open, and we stepped inside, thankfully alone. We reached the deck housing the VIP suites, not quite as nice as the penthouse Bellatrix and I occupied, but close. Raven led me down the long, silent hallway until we stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.

"This is it," she said, reaching into her bag for the keycard.

I didn't need the card to know we were in the right place.

My succubus senses flared the moment we stopped. The air around the door was thick, heavy with a scent that made my mouth water and my pussy throb a sudden, needy rhythm between my legs. It leaked through the cracks in the doorframe, invisible to anyone else but hitting me like a physical wave. Pheromones, sweat, and the distinct scent of lust.

"Oh my," I purred, my nostrils flaring as I inhaled deeply. "I think we might be interrupting something fun."

Raven paused, card hovering over the reader. She sniffed the air tentatively but clearly didn't pick up on what I was sensing. "What do you mean?"

"Just open the door, Raven," I whispered, a wicked smile playing on my lips. "You'll see."

She swiped the card. The light turned green with a cheerful beep. The lock clicked.

Raven pushed the door open and stepped inside, with me right on her heels.

The suite was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the twilight. But there was enough light spilling from the bathroom and the hallway to illuminate the scene in the center of the room perfectly.

"Starfire, we need to—" Raven began, her voice professional and firm.

The words died in her throat. She stopped dead, sputtering incoherently as her brain tried to process the visual information in front of her.

I gasped softly, my eyes going wide, a rush of heat flooding my system so fast it made me dizzy.

"Hot damn," I breathed.

On the massive king-sized bed, Starfire was completely naked.

Her metallic purple swimsuit was nowhere to be seen—likely discarded on the floor somewhere in a fit of passion. Her orange skin seemed to glow in the dim light. She was on her hands and knees, her back arched deeply, presenting her magnificent, round ass to the room. Her head was thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, her green eyes glazed and half-lidded.

And she was absolutely, thoroughly occupied.

The handsome man I had seen earlier—a tall, fit human with tanned skin and dark hair—was kneeling behind her. He was naked too, his body glistening with sweat. His hands were gripping Starfire’s wide hips, his fingers digging into her orange flesh as he anchored her in place.

We had walked in at the perfect moment to see him driving into her.

His cock was thick and hard, burying itself deep inside Starfire’s wet, welcoming pussy with a wet, slapping sound that echoed in the quiet room. He wasn't being gentle. He was pounding into her with a rhythmic, animalistic intensity, his hips snapping forward, making her entire body jerk with the force of it.

"More!" Starfire moaned, her voice a husky, musical plea that filled the suite. "Pound me harder! Yes! Do not stop the mating!"

As he thrust into her, I watched mesmerized as her ass cheeks clapped against his thighs, the flesh rippling with the impact. Her pussy was glistening, juices coating his length every time he pulled back before slamming home again.

But he wasn't the only one attending to the alien princess.

The beautiful blonde woman—his wife, presumably, or perhaps just a very lucky partner—was there too. She was kneeling on the bed in front of Starfire, right between the alien’s arms. She was naked as well, her pale skin a stark contrast to Starfire’s vibrant orange.

The blonde woman’s face was buried in Starfire’s cleavage. She was suckling hungrily on one of Starfire’s massive, heavy breasts, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the nipple into her mouth. Her hand was busy elsewhere, reaching down between Starfire’s legs from the front, her fingers working frantically against Starfire’s clit, rubbing and circling in time with the man’s thrusts.

It was a tableau of pure, unadulterated hedonism.

Starfire was being ravaged from both ends, surrounded by pleasure, completely lost in the sensation. She tossed her head, a low, guttural growl vibrating in her throat.

"Yes! Oh, glorious!" she cried out. "Touch the clitoris more! Harder! It is the most pleasing sensation!"

The man grunted, leaning forward to bite down on Starfire’s shoulder, his pace quickening. "You like that, baby? You like how I fuck you?"

"I enjoy the fucking immensely!" Starfire shouted back, unashamed.

I stood there in the doorway, my hand gripping the frame, unable to look away. My own body was responding violently to the sight. My nipples were hard against the fabric of my bikini, and a distinct, heavy dampness was soaking my bottoms. The smell of their sex was overwhelming now, a thick, musky perfume that made my head spin.

Raven made a strangled noise, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Her face was a mask of shock and mortification, her violet eyes wide as saucers. "Starfire!" she squeaked, her voice cracking. "Oh my god—I—we—"

Neither the man nor the woman seemed to notice us. They were too lost in the act, too focused on the alien goddess they were worshipping.

Starfire, however, cracked one eye open at the sound of Raven’s voice. She looked right at us. For a second, I thought she might be embarrassed. I thought she might stop, or cover herself, or ask us to leave. I should have known better. Starfire’s face split into a wide, delirious grin, even as the man thrust into her so hard her head rocked back.

Raven made a small, squeaking noise in the back of her throat. She took a half-step back, looking like she wanted to teleport through the floor.

But I... I didn't step back.

I took a step forward.

The sight was overwhelming. The sheer, unapologetic hedonism of it called to every dark, hungry part of my soul. I looked at Starfire, glowing and gorgeous and filled to the brim. I looked at the couple, ordinary humans elevated by the act of pleasuring a goddess.

"Raven," I said, not looking back at her. I reached behind me, finding the door handle. "Lock the door."

"What?" Raven squeaked.

"Lock. The. Door," I commanded softly, my eyes fixed on the way the man’s hand smacked against Starfire’s ass cheek, leaving a red print on the orange skin. I turned to look at Raven then. Her face was flushed, her eyes darting between me and the spare bed. She looked terrified. She looked aroused.

Raven swallowed hard. She looked at the bed again. Then she looked at me—at my bikini top, at the hunger in my eyes.

Slowly, shakily, Raven reached out.

Click.

She locked the deadbolt.

I grinned, a slow, predatory expression that felt entirely too comfortable on my face. "Good girl," I whispered.

Raven stood there, her hand still hovering over the lock, her chest heaving as she stared at the door. I could see the tremor in her shoulders, the way her breath hitched in her throat. She was terrified, yes, but beneath that fear was a current of arousal so potent I could practically taste it on the air.

I didn't give her a moment to think. I didn't give her a second to second-guess what we were about to do, or to retreat back into that shell of stoic repression she wore like armor.

I stepped into her space, crowding her against the wood of the door.

"You wanted this," I whispered, my voice rough, dropping into a register that vibrated through my own chest. "Don't lie to me, Raven. I felt you trembling under my hands all afternoon."

She turned slowly, her violet eyes wide and blown with lust, reflecting the dim light of the room. "Amara, we... they're right there," she breathed, her voice cracking. "We can't just—"

"We can," I cut her off, my hands snapping out to grip her waist. "And we will."

I pushed her backward. She stumbled, her legs hitting the edge of the spare bed, and she collapsed onto the mattress with a soft bounce. I followed her down instantly, crawling over her like the predator I was born to be. The scent of the room—the pheromones pouring off Starfire and her lovers, the sweat, the sex—was driving my [Major Sin of Lust] into a frenzy. It was a physical ache in my blood, a demand that screamed to be satisfied.

I caged her in with my arms, looming over her. "You like watching," I murmured, glancing briefly over my shoulder at the writhing shapes on the other bed before locking my gaze back onto hers. "But you want to touch even more."

"Amara..." she whimpered, her hands coming up to rest tentatively on my shoulders.

I crushed my mouth to hers.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. I devoured her, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting the shock and the sweetness of her surrender. She tasted like suppressed desire. For a second, she was stiff beneath me, but then a moan vibrated in her throat, and she melted. Her arms wound around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, harder.

The kiss deepened, turning sloppy and wet, a desperate clash of teeth and tongues. I ground my hips down against hers, the friction of my bikini bottoms against her swimsuit sending a jolt of electricity straight to my clit. It wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed everything.

My control snapped.

I let go.

My succubus nature surged to the surface.

My large, leathery wings burst from my lower back, unfurling with a snap of power that sent a small gust of wind through the room. At the same time, my tail—my sensitive, slender, velvety tail—uncoiled from between my ass cheeks and lashed the air with eager anticipation. I felt my ivory horns pushing up through my hair, curving elegantly from my skull.

Raven broke the kiss with a gasp, her eyes flying open. She stared up at me, taking in the wings, the horns, the tail swishing behind me. I was a bit nervous since I knew how much she liked to reject her own demonic nature. But she didn’t reject me!

Instead, her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost black. "You're..." she whispered, reaching up with a trembling hand to trace the curve of one of my horns. "You're magnificent."

A flush of vanity warmed me, nearly as hot as the lust. I preened under her gaze, leaning into her touch. "And you," I purred, leaning down to nip at her jawline, "are wearing far too many clothes."

"I—I can take it off," she stammered, her hands fumbling for the straps of her purple swimsuit.

"No," I growled, my voice dropping an octave. "Let me."

I didn't bother with straps or finesse. I hooked my fingers into the neckline of her swimsuit. The fabric was sturdy, high-quality material designed for swimming, but it was nothing compared to the enhanced strength Morgana’s ritual had gifted me.

I pulled.

RIIIIIP.

The sound was loud, violent, and incredibly satisfying. The purple fabric shredded like wet paper, tearing straight down the middle. Raven cried out in shock, her hands flying up instinctively, but I caught her wrists and pinned them to the pillows above her head.

I pulled the ruined fabric away, tossing the scraps to the floor, leaving her completely bare beneath me.

"Oh, gods," I breathed, my gaze raking over her.

I had seen her in the swimsuit, but this... this was art.

Raven’s skin was a pale, moonlit grey, smooth and flawless. Her stomach was flat and toned, the muscles shifting as she breathed. But it was the color that captivated me. Her nipples weren't pink or brown. They were a deep, vivid violet, stiff peaks that seemed to beg for attention against the pale curve of her heavy breasts.

And lower...

My eyes traveled down the soft line of her belly to the apex of her thighs. Her pussy lips were plump and slightly parted, the same stunning shade of violet as her nipples, framed by a neat, trimmed patch of soft purple hair. She was glistening, her arousal already soaking her thighs, a clear nectar that smelled so sweet!

"You are..." I shook my head, overwhelmed. "Raven, you are one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen." 

She whined, twisting her hips, trying to close her legs, but I settled my weight between her thighs, forcing them apart. 

"Don't hide," I commanded softly. "Let me look at you. Let me drink you in." I sat back on my heels, hovering over her, letting her see me in return. I could feel her gaze devouring me—my wings, my horns, the way my breasts heaved with my rapid breathing. "Now," I whispered, a wicked smile curling my lips. "My turn."

I didn't use my hands. I reached back with my mind, controlling the extra limb I had been gifted. My tail snaked around my body, the spade-shaped tip slipping dexterously into the knot of my bikini top. With a single, fluid tug, the strings came loose. The black fabric fell away, landing softly on Raven’s chest.

I shook my long black hair out, letting my breasts spill free, heavy and aching. I saw Raven’s eyes lock onto them, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

My tail moved lower, hooking into the side of my bikini bottoms. I shimmied my hips, and with a little help from the tail peeling the fabric down, I kicked them off, leaving me naked, glorious, and undeniably a demoness.

I hovered over her for a moment longer, letting the tension build, letting the sounds of Starfire’s pleasure in the background whip us into a frenzy.

"Amara, please," Raven begged, her hips bucking up, seeking contact. "Please touch me."

"As you wish, little bird," I murmured.

I collapsed forward. But instead of kissing her lips, I buried my face in her chest.

My mouth clamped onto her left nipple. I sucked hard, drawing the sensitive violet bud deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. Raven screamed, a high, broken sound that she tried to stifle with a hand over her mouth.

"Don't cover your mouth," I mumbled against her skin, the vibration sending shivers through her. "I want to hear you beg and moan. I want Starfire to hear you."

I bit down lightly, teasing the nipple with my teeth, and Raven arched off the mattress, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

While my mouth feasted on her breasts, moving from one violet nipple to the other, suckling and licking until they were slick and swollen, I lowered my hips.

I pressed my pussy against her thigh. The friction was incredible—her skin was so soft, so warm. I began to grind, a slow, rolling rhythm that smeared my own slickness against her leg. The sensation made my eyes roll back in my head, a moan tearing from my throat.

But I wasn't the only one who needed attention.

My tail, acting on pure, unadulterated instinct, slithered down between our bodies. It was an extension of my desire, sensitive and seeking. The velvety tip brushed against Raven’s wet entrance, and she jolted as if she’d been shocked.

"What is—oh!" she gasped.

I grinned against her breast. I guided my tail lower, pressing the smooth, firm length of it against her slit. I rubbed it up and down, coating it in her juices, spreading the slickness over her clit.

"Do you like that?" I whispered, lifting my head to look at her. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth hanging open. "My tail... it wants to taste you too."

I began to rub the tip of my tail in tight, fast circles right over her clit. It was a unique sensation, controlled by my mind, but feeling everything as if I were touching her with my own fingers. 

Raven threw her head back, her neck arching like a swan’s. "Amara! It feels—it feels so weird, but so good!"

"I know," I purred. "Let it happen, Raven. Let go."

I kept grinding my own pussy against her thigh, using the friction to edge myself closer to the precipice, while my mouth returned to her neck, sucking a bruise onto the pale skin, and my tail worked her clit into a frenzy.

I refused to let up, my lust for her insatiable. My mouth was a relentless engine of suction and licking, moving from the tender, bruised skin of her neck back down to her chest. I captured one of those stunning violet nipples between my lips again, swirling my tongue rapidly around the sensitive, pebbled bud before clamping down with just enough pressure to make her cry out.

“Amara… oh god, Amara!” Raven gasped, her hands fumbling blindly to grip my hair, her fingers tangling in the black strands to anchor herself against the onslaught.

While my mouth busied itself with tasting every inch of her pale grey skin, my hips were locked in a desperate, grinding rhythm against her upper thigh. Her leg was solid and thick, the muscle firm beneath the softness of her skin, and it provided the perfect friction for my aching, dripping center. I rubbed my swollen clit against her thigh, smearing my own slick arousal all over her skin, chasing the friction that sent sparks dancing behind my eyelids.

But it was what was happening between her legs that stole my breath away.

My tail, that slender appendage that acted on the darkest whims of my subconscious, was no longer content with just teasing her clit. It had a mind of its own, driven by my lust and the intoxicating scent of her desire. I felt it coil tighter, the spade-shaped tip twitching eagerly as it sought out the source of that warmth.

I lifted my head from her breast, my lips wet and swollen, just in time to watch Raven’s violet eyes fly wide open. Her pupils were blown so large they nearly swallowed the iris, staring up at the ceiling in sudden, bewildered shock.

“Amara?” she choked out, her voice trembling. “What is… oh! Oh my god, what are you doing?”

I looked down, my own eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated delight.

The tip of my tail had found her entrance. It pressed insistently against her pussy lips, parting the violet folds with a slick, wet slide. It didn’t hesitate. It didn’t ask for permission. Driven by pure instinct, the spade tip pushed forward, sinking into the tightness of her.

“Just relax, Raven,” I purred, my voice dropping into a husky whisper as I watched the black, sinuous limb vanish inch by inch inside her. “Don’t fight it. Let me in.”

“It feels… it feels alive!” she cried out, her hips bucking up off the mattress in a reflex of surprise.

“It is,” I murmured, leaning down to brush my lips against her ear. “It’s part of me, Raven. It wants you just as badly as I do.” A gasp tore from my own throat then, a sharp, ragged intake of air that rattled in my chest.

I had known my tail was sensitive. I knew it responded to touch, that stroking it could bring me to my knees and make me cum hard. But I had never used it for this. I had never used it to penetrate someone.

The sensation was overwhelming!

As my tail pushed deeper, sliding past her tight ring of muscle, my brain was flooded with sensory information so acute it made my toes curl. I could feel everything. It wasn't like using a finger, where the sensation was dull and distant. This was visceral. I could feel the incredible, wet tightness of her insides wrapping around the limb. I could feel the slick, velvet texture of her inner walls, the way they fluttered and pulsed around the intrusion.

It was the most sensitive part of my entire body, a raw nerve ending shaped into a tool of pleasure, and right now, it was buried deep inside a superheroine.

“Fuck,” I hissed through clenched teeth, my forehead resting against her shoulder as I shuddered. “Raven… you are so tight. You feel incredible.”

Raven let out a long, broken whine, her head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. “It’s so deep,” she panted, her hands sliding down to clutch at my waist, her nails digging into my skin. “It’s… oh, it’s filling me up. It feels… weird. Good, but weird.”

I chuckled darkly. “Weird is good, darling. Weird is what we demons do.” I focused my will, testing the connection. I didn't need to move my hips to fuck her. I just had to want it. And god, did I want it.

Slowly, deliberately, I commanded the tail to withdraw. I felt the friction of her tight pussy walls dragging against me, a sensation that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core, mirroring the stimulation I was getting from grinding against her thigh. I pulled it back until just the tip remained inside, teasing her entrance.

Raven whimpered at the loss of fullness, her hips jerking upward, chasing the sensation.

“Please,” she begged, her voice raw. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing,” I promised. “I’m savoring.”

I pushed back in. This time, I went faster. My tail surged forward, burying itself to the hilt in a single smooth motion. Raven cried out, her back arching off the bed, her breasts heaving against my chest. I felt her internal muscles clamp down hard around the intruder, squeezing my tail with a rhythmic, milking pressure that nearly made me cross my eyes.

“That’s it,” I groaned, losing myself in the dual sensations. “Clamp down on me. Squeeze it.”

I began to fuck her in earnest. My tail moved with a fluidity that no phallus could match, twisting and curling inside her, exploring the contours of her body from the inside out. I could feel the ridges of her walls, the feeling of her core, the way she grew wetter and looser with every thrust.

“Amara!” Raven sobbed, her hands finding my hips and pulling me down harder against her. “It’s hitting… oh god, it’s hitting something deep inside! Right there! Don’t stop!”

“I’m not stopping,” I growled, kissing the pulse point at her throat, tasting the salt of her sweat. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

I established a rhythm, a relentless, punishing pace. Thrust. Twist. Pull. Thrust. The wet, slapping sounds of our bodies colliding mixed with the squelching noise of my tail working inside her, creating a symphony of filth that filled the room.

Through the haze of lust, a thought struck me with the force of a physical blow.

Holy fuck, I thought, my mind reeling. This feels better than anything I’ve ever felt. How have I never done this before?

“Look at me,” I commanded, lifting my head.

Raven struggled to open her eyes, her lids heavy with pleasure. Her violet irises were swirling with a dark, smoky haze. She looked wrecked. Beautifully, perfectly wrecked.

“Tell me what it feels like,” I demanded, needing to hear it. I kept the rhythm steady, my tail pistoning in and out of her, rubbing against her g-spot with unerring accuracy.

“It feels…” She gasped, biting her lip as I hit a particularly sensitive spot. “It feels like you’re everywhere. Like you’re inside my head and inside my body at the same time. It’s… it’s magic. It’s burning me up.”

“Good,” I whispered. 

I shifted my weight, pressing my hips down harder. The friction against my own clit was becoming unbearable, the pressure building toward an inevitable explosion. My hips moved with a mechanical, relentless precision, driven by a want for pleasure that felt bottomless. I was grinding down hard against Raven’s thigh, the solid muscle of her leg providing the perfect anchor for my swollen, aching pussy. Every roll of my hips smeared my slick arousal further across her grey skin, the friction sparking white-hot jolts of electricity that zipped straight from my clit to the base of my spine.

My tail was buried to the hilt within Raven’s tight, wet folds. I could feel every ridge of her internal walls as if I were running my fingertips over them. I could feel the way her pussy clamped down, milking the length of my tail with a desperate, fluttering rhythm.

“Oh gods, Amara,” Raven choked out, her head thrashing against the pillow. Her violet hair was damp around her flushed face. Her hands scrabbled at my shoulders, nails digging into my skin, anchoring me to her. “It’s... it’s moving so fast. It feels like it’s everywhere!”

“It is everywhere,” I growled, leaning down to nip at the sensitive cord of muscle in her neck. My voice sounded wrecked, rough with the same desire that was making my vision swim. 

I focused my will, and my tail obeyed instantly. It twisted inside her, the spade-shaped tip curling upward to scrape relentlessly against her g-spot. The sensation transferred directly to my brain, a vivid, tactile map of her pleasure. It was intoxicating. It was like I was fucking her and being fucked at the same time, a feedback loop of sensation that threatened to burn my nervous system out.

“Fuck!” Raven screamed, her hips bucking wildly, trying to escape the intensity even as she clamped her legs tighter around me, trapping me there. “Too much! It’s too much!”

“Take it,” I commanded, breathless. I picked up the pace of my grinding, my clit rubbing raw and hard against her thigh. 

“I am!” she sobbed, tears of pure overstimulation leaking from the corners of her violet eyes. “I’m taking it! Please, Amara, harder! Don’t stop!”

Hearing her beg for me was so sexy!

My tail began to piston in and out of her again with a force that shook the bedframe. Thwack. Squelch. Thwack. The wet, visceral sounds of our coupling filled the small spaces between our heavy breathing. I was battering her walls, stretching her, claiming her from the inside out.

And then, the sensation changed.

It started as a low, heavy pressure at the very base of my spine, right where my tail connected to my body. Like something was building inside of me. It was alien and familiar all at once, a biological imperative I hadn't known I possessed until this very second.

“What...” I gasped, freezing for a fraction of a second as the pressure intensified.

It was traveling. I could feel it moving, a hot pressurized surge of something from my lower back and funneling down the length of my tail. The sensation rushed through the sinew and muscle of the limb, expanding it, making the flesh feel tight and engorged.

Below me, Raven’s eyes flew open, wide and panicked and hazy with lust. Her breath hitched in a sharp, strangled squeak.

“Amara?” she whimpered, her hands flying down to clutch at her stomach. “What’s happening? It’s... oh god, it’s getting bigger! It’s swelling!”

I looked down, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn't see inside her, obviously, but I could feel it. The velvety tip of my tail, buried deep within her pussy, was expanding. It pressed outward against her vaginal walls, stretching her beyond what should have been possible, filling every single millimeter of empty space inside her.

“I... I don't know,” I panted, my voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and a sudden, overwhelming need. “Raven, I can’t stop it. It feels... fuck, it feels like I need to release something.”

“It’s so big,” she cried out, her back arching off the mattress, her toes curling. “It’s stretching me!”

The pressure hit a critical point. My tail felt tight, hot, and throbbing. The sensation mirrored the ache in my clit, but it was magnified, a heavy, driving urge to empty myself into her. “I’m gonna...” The words tore out of my throat, guttural and raw. “Raven, I’m gonna—” My hips snapped forward, driving my clit hard against her thigh one last time, and my world shattered.

My vaginal orgasm hit first, a blinding white-hot contraction that seized my entire core. I cried out, my head thrown back, as my pussy clamped down, spasming violently. I felt my own juices gushing out of me, soaking her thigh, hot and slick and endless.

But that was just the prelude.

A split second later, the pressure in my tail exploded.

“AAAAGH!” I roared, my body going rigid as a sensation I had never experienced ripped through me.

Deep inside Raven, the swollen tip of my tail opened just a tiny bit. Hot, viscous liquid erupted from the end of my tail in powerful, rhythmic spurts! It wasn't a trickle. It was a whole lot. It felt exactly like I imagined a cock would feel, only more intense, more magical, more wrong and right at the same time. It felt like ejaculating.

Raven shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and ecstasy. Her body convulsed violently beneath me, her inner muscles clamping down on my swelling tail as she was flooded.

“Hot! It’s so hot!” she wailed, her head thrashing from side to side. “You’re filling me up!”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I was just a conduit for pleasure. I rode the waves of the double orgasm, my pussy throbbing and soaking her leg while my tail continued to pump spurt after spurt of thick, scalding seed into her deep.

Spurt.

Raven gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Spurt.

She arched high, her body bowing like a drawn string, her own orgasm crashing over her in a violent, shuddering wave. I felt her walls flutter and spasm around my knot, milking me, drawing every last drop of fluid from my tail.

Spurt.

“Yes! Yes!” I groaned, my forehead dropping to rest against her shoulder, my sweat mingling with hers. “Take it all, Raven. Take every fucking drop.”

The release went on for what felt like an eternity. I was emptying myself out, pouring my lust and my magic into her. The sensation of the liquid leaving my tail was exquisitely relieving, a release of pressure that left me feeling lightheaded and boneless.

Finally, the spurts slowed to a trickle. The intense throbbing in my tail began to subside, though the tip remained swollen inside her, plugging her tight to keep the fluid from escaping. I collapsed on top of her, my breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. My limbs felt heavy, my heart thudding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

For a long time, the only sound in the room was our breathing and the wet, slick noises of our bodies settling. Even the couple and Starfire on the other bed seemed to have quieted down, or maybe I had just gone deaf to the world.

Slowly, the fog in my brain began to clear.

I lifted my head, blinking sweat out of my eyes. Raven was limp beneath me, her skin flushed a deep lavender, her chest heaving. Her eyes were half-open, glazed and unfocused, staring at nothing.

I looked down at our joined bodies. My hips were slick with my own fluids where I had ground against her thigh. But my mind was focused entirely on what was happening behind me.

I could still feel my tail inside her. I could feel the slowly receding swelling of the tip. I could feel the pool of warm liquid that now filled her up.

My eyes widened. A shock, cold and sharp, cut through the afterglow.

“Holy fuck,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

Raven blinked, her gaze slowly tracking to my face. She looked dazed, like she’d been hit by a truck made of feathers. “Amara?” she croaked. “What... what was that?”

I swallowed hard, shifting my weight. I could feel the fluid sloshing slightly inside her as I moved.

“I...” I started, then stopped. I laughed, a breathless, incredulous sound. “I think I just came inside you, Raven.”

She stared at me, her brow furrowing in confusion. “But... you’re a girl. You don’t have...” Her voice trailed off as the realization hit her. Her eyes widened, darting down to where my tail disappeared between her legs.

“I guess it's because I’m a succubus. My tail,” I murmured, a mixture of awe and horror swirling in my gut. “It... it acted like a cock. It... ejaculated.”

Congratulations on seducing your first heroine! 

[Mana Siphen!] has been activated, and due to how powerful Raven is, the size of your magical core has now doubled!

Congratulations on taking Raven’s first time! You have been granted the teleportation skill: [Shadow Travel!] You can now travel short distances through the realm of shadows.

Before Raven could even formulate a coherent response to my bewildered confession, the heavy silence of the room was shattered by a musical, vibrant voice drifting from the other bed.

"Friend Raven! That was… oh, that was the most incredibly erotic thing I have ever witnessed!"

I stiffened slightly, my head snapping up. I saw Starfire sitting up amidst the tangled ruin of her own sheets. She looked like a goddess of fertility and chaos, her long, fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders in wild, sweaty waves that glowed faintly in the dim light. 

"I have never seen your face twisted so deeply with the pleasure!" Starfire continued, her green eyes wide and sparkling with genuine, unashamed delight. She leaned forward, her hands bracing her weight on the mattress, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. "It was lovely and amazing to witness! The way you cried out… it was like the song of a dying star!"

My gaze traveled down her body, unable to help myself. She was utterly naked, her generous curves slick with sweat. Her large, heavy breasts swayed slightly with her movements, the nipples hard and dark. But it was lower down that caught my attention. Between her parted thighs, her smooth, hairless pussy was swollen and red from use, the lips slightly parted. A thick, pearlescent stream of white cum was leaking slowly from her, trailing down her inner thigh in a stark, contrasting line against her orange skin.

It was a lewd, messy sight, and it made my own core throb in sympathetic response.

But Starfire wasn’t the only one watching.

My eyes flicked to the side, landing on the human couple. They were huddled together at the foot of Starfire’s bed.

They were staring at me. Specifically, they were staring at the large, leathery wings that twitched behind my lower back, the ivory horns curling from my forehead, and the thick, black tail that snaked out from the base of my spine and disappeared intimately between Raven’s legs.

"What… what is she?" the man whispered. 

The woman couldn’t even speak. She just shook her head, her gaze locked on the point where my body connected with Raven’s, revulsion and fascination warring in her eyes.

A sudden flush of heat rose in my cheeks, not from arousal this time, but from a flicker of genuine embarrassment. It was one thing to be a succubus among super-powered beings who understood the bizarre nature of our lives, it was another to be gawked at by mundane humans like I was a circus freak.

"Right," I muttered. "Show's over." The air shimmered beside my hand, and my Soul-Bound Wand snapped into my palm, the black wood warm and humming with familiar power.

The humans flinched at the sight of the weapon, the man throwing a protective arm over the woman.

I didn't give them time to panic further. I leveled the wand at them, the tip glowing with a soft, pale light. 

"Obliviate," I intoned, my voice steady and commanding.

A wash of misty white magic erupted from the wand, washing over the couple like a fog. Their expressions went slack instantly, the fear draining out of their eyes to be replaced by a vacant, glassy stare. Their muscles relaxed, and they swayed slightly, caught in the spell's hold.

"You two will forget everything that happened in the past few hours," I ordered, weaving the compulsion into their blank minds. "You will forget Starfire, you will forget Raven, and you will certainly forget me and my… accessories. You are tired. You want to go back to your own cabin and sleep." I paused, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "And you don't need your clothes," I added. "Just go. Walk back to your room. Ignore anyone you see."

The man and woman nodded slowly, moving in unison like puppets on strings. They stood up, dropping the sheets they had been using to cover themselves, revealing their naked bodies without a shred of shame. They didn't even glance at their pile of discarded clothes on the floor. They simply turned and walked toward the door I had unlocked with a flick of my wand, stepping out into the hallway completely nude.

I watched them go, chuckling softly. "Meh," I murmured, lowering my wand. "It’s a cruise ship. I’m sure people have seen weirder things in the buffet line."

"That was rude!" Starfire called out, her voice dropping into a dramatic, exaggerated pout. She crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them up even higher. "That was very rude! I was hoping to enjoy at least another few rounds with the couple before dismissing them. The male had excellent stamina for a human!"

I turned back to face her, raising an eyebrow. 

"Hmph," Starfire grumbled, though her eyes were still dancing with amusement. She shifted on the bed, spreading her legs carelessly, not bothering to hide the mess between her thighs. "Well, since she has chased away my playthings, you must properly introduce me to your friend now, Friend Raven! She is very interesting!"

I looked down at Raven. She was still lying beneath me, her face flushed a deep, beautiful lavender, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looked wrecked in the best possible way—hair damp with sweat, lips swollen, eyes hazy.

"Raven?" I whispered, brushing a stray lock of violet hair from her forehead. "You okay?"

Raven let out a long, shaky sigh, her hands coming up to cover her face for a moment. "I… I think my brain has melted," she mumbled. Then, she seemed to realize our position. "Amara… you need to… move."

"Oh. Right."

I shifted my weight, preparing to withdraw. This was the part I was dreading, not because I wanted to leave, but because the sensitivity of my tail was still off the charts.

"Brace yourself," I warned softly.

I began to pull back. It was an exquisite, agonizing friction. My tail, still slightly swollen from the release, dragged along the tight, slick walls of her internal muscles. I felt every ridge, every flutter of her pussy gripping me, trying to keep me inside. A shiver racked my entire body, starting at the base of my spine and shooting out to my fingertips.

Raven gasped, her hips jerking instinctively as the sensation hit her too. "Oh… god…"

With a wet, squelching pop, the spade-shaped tip of my tail finally slipped free of her entrance.

"Ahhh..." I groaned, a shudder rocking through me as the cool air hit the hyper-sensitive flesh of my tail. It curled reflexively against my thigh, coated in a mixture of her clear fluids and the strange, white warm liquid I had released inside her.

Raven squeezed her eyes shut, a tremor running through her legs as she lay there, empty and aching. A small pool of fluids began to leak from her, staining the white sheets beneath her hips.

I climbed off her carefully, my legs feeling a little like jelly, and sat on the edge of the bed. I willed my demonic features away and sighed in relief as I became less sensitive without them.

Raven sat up slowly, wincing slightly as she adjusted her position. She grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest as if it could shield her from the alien princess’s intense curiosity.

"Starfire," Raven said, her voice raspy and rough. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of her usual monotone dignity, though it was impossible given the circumstances. "This is… Amara Black. She is my… friend."

I smirked, glancing over my shoulder at Raven. "Friend?" I teased softly. "I think we were a little more than friends about five minutes ago, don't you?"

Raven glared at me, her cheeks burning. "Amara."

"But yes," I said, turning to Starfire and giving her a little wave. "I'm Amara. Nice to officially meet you, Starfire. I've heard… a lot about you…"

Starfire’s face lit up like a supernova. "Oh! It is so wonderful!" 

Without warning, she launched herself off her bed.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, but it was too late.

Starfire flew across the small gap between the beds with effortless grace, her naked, sweat-slicked body soaring through the air. She landed on us—literally on us—crashing into the mattress with a force that made the bed frame groan in protest.

"Oof!" Raven grunted as Starfire sprawled over her, pinning her back down.

"Hello!" Starfire chirped, her face inches from mine. She smelled of sex. Her skin was incredibly hot to the touch, radiating a dry, intense heat. "It is so wonderful to meet one of Raven's friends! I did not think she had any outside of us Titans! She is usually so… how do you say… solitary! To see her engaging in the mating rituals with such passion is a delight!"

She wrapped her arms around both of us, pulling us into a crushing, slippery hug. Her large breasts pressed against my arm, soft and heavy, and her leg threw itself over Raven’s waist.

"Rude!" Raven grumbled from beneath the pile of limbs, her voice muffled by Starfire’s hair. "Starfire, get off! You’re heavy, and you’re covered in… fluids!"

"It is the fluids of bonding!" Starfire declared happily, nuzzling her cheek against mine. "Do not be shy, Friend Raven! Amara is clearly a skilled lover! I saw how her tail made you scream! It was most impressive!"

I couldn't help it. I started to chuckle, the sound bubbling up in my chest until I was laughing openly! The absurdity of it—it was too much!

"She's got you there, Raven," I laughed, reaching out to pat Starfire’s bare back. "I am pretty skilled. You’re not quite what I expected, Starfire."

Or maybe she was exactly what I was expecting and that was throwing me off. I could see it was very hard not to like her even with everything she’d done in the past. 

…The steam in the bathroom was thick. 

I stood under the spray of the rainfall showerhead, letting the scalding water cascade over my shoulders, washing away the sweat, the slick fluids, and the last tremors of adrenaline that were still vibrating through my limbs.

Behind me, Raven’s hands were buried deep in my wet, raven-black hair, her fingers working a coconut-scented shampoo into my scalp with a firm, rhythmic tenderness that made my eyes roll back in my head. It was such a domestic, intimate gesture, but I found myself leaning back into her touch, utterly boneless.

"So," Raven’s voice cut through the sound of the rushing water, though I could hear the faint rasp of exhaustion in her tone. "Let me make sure I have this entirely straight." Her thumbs dug into the tension knots at the base of my skull, and I let out a soft, appreciative hum. "You went to London," she continued, her fingers sliding down to massage the back of my neck. "You found out you've been granted a title of nobility, making you an actual, legal Duchess. Then, you went to your birth parents' estate—the people who abandoned you—and instead of reconciling, you burned their ancestral manor to the ground because they tried to sell you off like cattle to some geriatric wizard."

I wiped water from my eyes and turned my head slightly to glance at her over my shoulder. "That sums up the Tuesday portion of the trip, yes," I admitted, reaching up to squeeze her forearm as her hand moved to soap my shoulders. "They tried to marry me off to a man old enough to be a corpse. Burning the place down felt like the only reasonable response. It was… cathartic."

Raven paused for a beat, her hands resting on my collarbones. "And then," she pressed, her voice dropping a register, "you’re telling me that the witch I met earlier, Bellatrix Lestrange, has latched onto some insane conspiracy theory that she is your biological mother?"

I winced, turning fully around to face her. "Yeah," I sighed, running a hand through my wet hair, slicking it back from my forehead. "That’s the complicated part. She’s… unhinged, Raven. Completely broken by prison. But she convinced herself that I’m her secret daughter with the Dark Lord that’s terrorizing magical Britain. And when she looked at me with that desperate, manic hope in her eyes… I couldn’t tell her the truth. I just couldn’t." I bit my lip, looking down at the tiled floor as the water swirled around our feet. "I know how it sounds. I know I have deeply rooted mommy issues for letting a psychopath adopt me just because she showed me a shred of affection. I know I should have sent her away."

Raven reached out, her hand cupping my chin and tilting my head up until I was forced to look at her again. Her expression wasn't judgmental. It was wry, a little sad, but deeply understanding. "Amara," she said softly, a small, dry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Trust me. Your mommy issues might be bad, but they can't possibly be worse than mine…” she didn’t elaborate further.

“One day you’ll have to tell me more about yourself,” I told her. Although I already knew most of it.

“Maybe one day…” she trailed off, clearly wanting to change the subject. "You got closure, Amara. Violent, fiery closure, but closure nonetheless. Now you know for a fact that your former family are pieces of shit. You don't need them anymore." She hesitated then, her thumbs rubbing circles into my skin. I could feel the tension return to her a bit. "Ideally," she said, her voice quiet, almost hopeful, "I'd prefer it if you left Morgana, too. You could come to Jump City. You could join the Titans. We could… help you."

My heart gave a painful squeeze. I knew she meant it. I knew she wanted to save me. But the image of Morgana flashed in my mind—the way she had taught me to harness my power when everyone else wanted to bind it, the way she looked at me like I was a masterpiece she had helped create.

"Raven," I said gently, reaching up to trace the line of her jaw with my wet fingertips. "Morgana saved me when I was at my absolute lowest. When I was nothing but a squib in a gutter, she gave me a wand. She gave me a purpose. She didn't care that I was broken, she helped me forge myself into something sharp." I shook my head slowly. "I can't leave her. I won't. And honestly? I don't think the ancient witch who wears my face would let me go, either. We’re bound together, in more ways than one."

Raven stared at me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she sighed, a sound of resignation mixed with acceptance. "I can't have everything, I suppose," she muttered, though there was no heat in it. She reached for the bar of soap again. "Turn around. You missed a spot on your back."

We finished cleaning up in a comfortable silence, the tension of the conversation washing away with the suds. Once the water was shut off, we stepped out onto the bathmat, toweling off our damp skin.

I stood before the large vanity mirror, my skin flushed pink from the hot steam. With a thought, I accessed my inventory. A ripple of magic distorted the air near my hand, and I pulled out a fresh set of clothes. I slid into a pair of tight, dark-wash jeans that hugged my hips perfectly, and pulled a simple, fitted black t-shirt over my head.

Beside me, Raven was pulling on her leotard. She fastened her blue cloak around her shoulders, the brooch clasping with a soft click, and pulled her hood up, instantly transforming from the vulnerable lover I had just held into the mysterious Titan the world knew.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice back to its usual monotone calm, though her eyes were still soft when they met mine in the reflection.

"Ready," I confirmed.

We opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the suite's main room.

Starfire was waiting for us.

She was hovering a few inches off the carpet, fully dressed in her own purple two-piece uniform, her long, fiery hair floating around her as if she were underwater. Her green eyes lit up the moment she saw us, glowing with an irrepressible energy. "Friends!" she chirped, clapping her hands together. She zipped over to us, beaming. "You are both looking most refreshed! The cleansing ritual was successful?"

Raven groaned, pulling her hood down further to hide her face. "Starfire, please."

Starfire ignored her embarrassment entirely, grabbing Raven’s hand and then mine, beaming at us with a blinding smile. "We should proceed immediately to meet Friend Cyborg and Friend Beast Boy in the dining hall! They have been messaging the communicators incessantly. They will be so filled with the joy to meet your new friend, Raven!" She started towing us toward the door, her strength surprising despite her slender frame. "And besides," she added, throwing a wink over her shoulder that was about as subtle as a brick, "I am certain we are all very famished. Engaging in such vigorous fucking builds quite the appetite, does it not? I could eat an entire glorg!"

"Starfire!" Raven choked out, her face turning a deep crimson in the shadow of her hood. "You can't just say things like that!"

We reached the hallway, the heavy door clicking shut behind us. The corridor was empty, stretching out in long lines of beige carpet and sconce lighting.

I gently pulled my hand from Starfire’s grip, stopping them both.

"As much as I'd love to go straight to dinner," I said, a flicker of guilt pricking at my conscience. "I actually have to go collect my… mom. Bellatrix."

Raven and Starfire paused, looking back at me.

"She's been alone in our suite for hours," I explained, running a hand through my damp hair. "And knowing her, if I leave her alone much longer, she might start hexing the cabin crew just to alleviate her boredom. Or worse, she might come looking for me and burn down the buffet."

Starfire tilted her head, looking confused. "Your mother is prone to the arson?"

"You have no idea," I sighed.

"Go," Raven said. "We'll save you a seat. Just… try to keep her from murdering anyone on the way to the dining hall?"

"I'll do my best," I promised with a smirk. "I'll grab her and meet you guys there in a few minutes."

…

The walk from the VIP suites to the room I shared with Bellatrix was short.

I fished the keycard from my pocket. I slid the card into the slot. The light turned green with a cheerful little beep. I pushed the handle down and swung the door open.

Immediately, the scent hit me.

It was a thick, cloying stench that assaulted my nostrils—a mix of low-tide rot, stagnant pond water, and the unmistakably sharp, coppery tang of fresh blood.

"TAKE THAT, YOU DISGUSTING, FILTHY CREATURE!" Bellatrix’s voice rang out from the center of the room, high and shrill with manic delight. It was followed by a wet, sickening thud, like a butcher slamming a slab of meat onto a cutting board. "Trying to sneak up on a superior witch like me?" she shrieked, her voice vibrating with adrenaline. "Know your place and rot in whatever made-up watery hell your filthy race believes in!"

I stepped fully into the room, the door clicking shut behind me, and stared.

The suite was a wreck. The heavy curtains billowed wildly in a gust of wind coming from the balcony doors, which had been smashed inward, glass glittering across the carpet like diamonds. A heavy, rusted iron trident lay abandoned near the foot of the bed, dripping dark water onto the pristine duvet.

But my eyes were drawn to the center of the room.

Bellatrix stood there, her chest heaving. She was still wearing the black bikini I’d bought her, her pale skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat.

And at her feet lay a monster.

It wasn’t a mermaid in the way I’d come to expect from this universe. It wasn’t human-like, like Aquaman’s people, with human faces and bodies. No, this was something pulled straight from the Black Lake at Hogwarts of Harry Potter.

It was hideous. Its skin was a mottled, sickly grey, slimy and rough looking. Its hair was a tangle of dark green, stringy weeds that matted against its skull. Its face was fish-like and distorted, with a mouth full of jagged, yellow needle-teeth and yellow eyes that stared vacantly at the ceiling. A gaping wound had been blasted through its chest, oozing a thick, dark purple blood that was pooling rapidly on the expensive rug.

My nose twitched again at the smell. It was revolting. I never was a big fan of the smell of fish…

"Are you okay, Bella—" I started, instinct taking over, before I caught myself. I swallowed the slip and corrected my tone, softening it into something more concerned. "I mean... Mom? Are you hurt?"

Bellatrix whipped around at the sound of my voice. For a split second, her eyes were wild, dilated with the thrill of the kill, before they focused on me. A wide, beaming grin split her face, showcasing her teeth. She looked ecstatic. "Amara!" she crowed, stepping over the corpse as if it were nothing more than a pile of laundry. She threw her arms out, gesturing grandly to the carnage. "Look! Look what tried to crawl into our room!" She marched over to me, grabbing my shoulders with hands that trembled slightly from excitement. "I was just getting ready to change for dinner, minding my own business, when the wards I set on the balcony tripped. I turned around, and this... this thing was climbing over the railing with that rusty fork in its hand!" She released me to whirl back toward the dead creature, pointing her wand at it accusingly. "It tried to stab me!" she said, sounding deeply offended by the audacity of it. "Me! A daughter of the House of Black! As if I would be bested by a fish with legs!" She let out a sharp, barking laugh. "I blasted it backward before it could even hiss at me. Filthy beast."

I looked from her to the dead creature, then back to the smashed balcony doors. We were on one of the upper decks. That thing had climbed a long way to get here!

"I think..." I murmured, staring at the purple blood soaking into the carpet. "I think we found the 'sea monsters' Raven was worried about."

Bellatrix scoffed, folding her arms over her bikini top. "Monsters? Please. It's a Grindylow's ugly cousin. A Merperson. And an exceptionally ugly one at that." She sneered down at the corpse. "And to think, your little witch friend wants to protect the Muggles from this? Let the beasts eat them, I say."

I opened my mouth to reply, to maybe gently suggest that letting thousands of people get eaten was too much even for me, but the words died in my throat.

A scream tore through the air.

It wasn't coming from inside our room. It was muffled, distant but piercing, coming through the walls. It was a high, terrified shriek of absolute agony.

Then another scream joined it, this one coming from the hallway outside our door. Then the heavy sound of running feet, followed by a crash and the distinct, wet sound of tearing flesh.

"Fuck," I hissed, my hand instinctively dropping to my side, summoning my wand from my inventory. "It wasn't just one. They're swarming the ship."

Bellatrix didn't look worried. She nudged the dead merperson with her bare toe. "I'm not surprised," she said. "Everyone knows Merpeople have a taste for human flesh when they can get it. Especially the wild colonies. They teach that in first-year Care of Magical Creatures, darling. I’m still upset you were never able to go to Hogwarts. Damn that piece of shit Dumbledore!"

I stared at her blankly. "The merpeople eat WHAT?"

"They eat people," she clarified, speaking slowly like this was a teaching moment. 

My mind reeled. I thought back to the descriptions in the books from my past life—the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. "Wait," I said, my voice rising in disbelief. "There is an entire colony of these things living in the Black Lake. Right next to Hogwarts!"

Bellatrix shrugged, completely unbothered by the concept. "Oh, yes. Allegedly, the beasts signed a treaty promising not to eat any students who fell in during boating lessons. Though personally, I think that's just because wizard children taste of magic, and they prefer the bland texture of Muggles."

I shook my head, unable to find a word strong enough for the sheer negligence of it. Once again I was reminded that old man was an incompetent moron not worthy of any of his accolades, but I needed to focus back on the present.

Another scream echoed from the hallway, closer this time. A heavy body slammed against our door, followed by a gurgling cry and the sound of scratching claws.

"The ship is under attack. We need to help fight them off!”

Bellatrix sighed, a long, dramatic exhale of air. She slumped her shoulders, looking put upon. "Must we?" she whined. "I really don't care if the Muggles get eaten, Amara. Why should we intervene?"

I walked over to the door, my grip tightening on my wand. I looked back at her, my green eyes meeting her dark ones. "Because," I said, pointing at the dead creature on our rug. "That thing broke into our room. It ruined our carpet. And it tried to kill you. A daughter of House Black…"

Bellatrix’s expression shifted instantly. The boredom vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp flash of fury. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and her lips curled back from her teeth in a snarl. "You make a compelling point, daughter," she hissed. She raised her wand, the wood cracking with dark sparks. "It dared to raise a weapon against a Black. Against me." She stalked toward me, her bare feet silent on the floor, radiating a aura of menace. "Very well," she declared, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "I suppose I can make a violent exception this one time. Not for the Muggles. But to teach these wet, slimy abominations exactly where they stand on the food chain." She waved her wand, summoning her usual outfit from the bed. The clothes proceeded to magically dress themselves over her body. 

I grabbed the door handle and ripped it open.

The hallway was chaos.

Three more of the hideous mer-creatures were crouching over a body a few doors down—a crew member in a white uniform. 

At the sound of our door opening, their heads snapped toward us. Three pairs of yellow eyes locked onto me. They hissed, a wet, rattling sound, and raised their rusty spears.

"Reducto!" Bellatrix screamed from behind me, not hesitating for a second.

A bolt of blue light shot past my ear. It hit the lead creature square in the face. Its head didn't just explode, it vaporized, turning into a fine mist of purple blood and bone fragments. The body collapsed instantly.

The other two creatures screeched, recoiling from the blast.

I stepped out into the hall, raising my own wand. I felt the warmth of my fire magic coiling in my chest, eager to be let loose.

"Let's clear this deck," I said. Fire erupted from the tip of my wand. The filthy creatures screeched in agony as they boiled and melted under my intense flames.

As we proceeded down the hallway, killing the creatures and saving any shocked passenger or crew member we came across, I wondered how the titans were currently fairing?

XXX

Name: Amara Black / Formerly Heather Potter-Black

Age: 19

Race: Succubus-Witch

Magical Power: Low-Arch Witch

System Spells, Talents and Magic Powers:

[Ritual Magic: Peak Performance!] You have performed an incredibly dark blood ritual—sacrificing the lives of three mortals to grant yourself the three boons of enhanced strength, enhanced senses, and enhanced recovery.

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

[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch!] By making direct skin-to-skin contact with another being, you can channel dark mana into their body, gradually increasing their sexual arousal. Prolonged, continuous contact can even drive them to orgasm.

[Penguin Speech!] You can now talk to penguins!

[Metamorphmagus!] You now possess the power to alter your physical traits at will, although doing so will steadily drain your magical reserves. Transformations cannot be held indefinitely without sufficient magic.

[Shadow Travel!] You can now travel short distances through the realm of shadows.

Perks:

[Forbidden Darkness!] You are destined to live in the dark, and like the void itself you draw in all light around you. Those with hearts full of justice, those who live in the light will find themselves inexplicably drawn to you. They will find themselves hesitant to attack you. But only hesitating, if you cross their bottom lines this perk will not save you…

[Disciple of Dark Magic!] You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!

[Passionate Teacher!] Your teaching skills are automatically twice as effective, and their effectiveness increases exponentially the less clothing you wear when teaching someone magic!

[Mana Siphon!] You can now steal mana from people you have sex with for the first time. Stolen mana will be used to increase the size of your magical core. Theoretically, it can grow to infinite capacity!

[Daughter of a Succubus!] Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.

[Blessed by Fire!] Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.

[Soul-Bound Wand!] When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!

Drawbacks:

[Major Sin of Lust!] You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.

[Cursed Knowledge!] You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.

[Simmering Fury!] Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.

Inventory: 

[Familiar Egg] - Currently in incubation. Will hatch as the host's most compatible familiar.

[Spare Clothes] - You have so many spare clothes! I think you are a hoarder… Or you just like fashion.

[Money!] - $14,870,578 in American Currency. 

[Minor health potion!] - A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.

[Soul Bound Wand!] - A wand that cannot be destroyed and can be summoned to your hand instantly even if you lose it.

[Basic Handgun x4…] - 10 shots each. Do you really need this?

[Basic Assault Rifle x5…] - 30 shots each. Now I know you’re just a hoarder…

[Frag Grenades x6!] - At least these are fun. These go boom when you pull the pin!

Chapter Text

Chapter 19:

– Raven –

The buffet hall of the cruise liner was a large space of polished brass fixtures and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the darkening Atlantic. Crystal chandeliers swayed gently with the motion of the ship, casting warm pools of light across the long tables laden with food from a dozen different cuisines. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of roasted meats, fresh bread, and something cloyingly sweet from the dessert station.

Raven sat rigidly in a velvet-upholstered chair, her blue cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders like armor. Her hood was up, casting her face in familiar shadow, though she suspected even that couldn't hide the persistent flush that had taken up residence in her cheeks ever since... since.

Across the small table, Starfire was practically glowing. And not in the metaphorical sense. The Tamaranean's orange skin genuinely seemed to emit a faint, warm luminescence when she was in a particularly good mood. Her green eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that Raven found deeply, profoundly unsettling given the context. 

"Friend Raven," Starfire began, leaning forward on her elbows with her chin propped in her hands. The posture pushed her generous cleavage together in a way that drew glances from three separate tables. She seemed entirely oblivious. "I must ask you something of the personal nature."

Raven's stomach clenched. "Starfire, I really don't think—"

"Was that the first time?" Starfire interrupted, her voice carrying that musical, lilting quality that made even the most mortifying questions sound innocent. "The mating ritual with Friend Amara. Was it your first experience of the sexual intimacy?"

A waiter passing by with a tray of champagne flutes stumbled, nearly sending crystal flying across the carpet. Raven wished desperately that she could sink through the floor and into whatever maintenance deck lay beneath them.

"Starfire," she hissed, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "We are in public."

"I am being quiet!" Starfire protested, though her version of quiet was still approximately three times louder than Raven's normal speaking voice. "I am simply curious! You were making such wonderful sounds of the pleasure, and your face was doing the expressions I have never seen you make before!" She clasped her hands together, pressing them against her chest in a gesture of sincere delight. "It was truly an honor and a privilege to witness my best friend lose her virginity in such a passionate manner!"

The words hit Raven.

Best friend.

She stared at Starfire, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment in the face of genuine confusion. "Your... best friend?" she repeated slowly, as if testing foreign words on her tongue. "Starfire, we've barely spent time together outside of missions. We don't... we've never really..." She trailed off, uncertain how to articulate the distance that had always existed between them. 

Starfire was sunshine and enthusiasm and tactile affection that made Raven's skin crawl. Raven was shadows and solitude and a desperate need for personal space that Starfire seemed constitutionally incapable of understanding. They were teammates, certainly. They had fought side by side, bled together, saved each other's lives more times than Raven could count.

But best friends?

Starfire's expression softened, some of the manic energy draining away to reveal something more vulnerable beneath. "I know that we have not done the hanging out as much as I would have liked," she admitted, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the tablecloth. "Especially after... after what happened with Dick." She paused, and for just a moment, a shadow passed across her luminous features. "I know that many of our friends have chosen sides. I know that you have been spending more time with him, helping him heal from me ruining our relationship."

Raven opened her mouth to say something, she wasn't sure what, but Starfire continued before she could form words.

"But you have never treated me with the coldness, Friend Raven. You have never looked at me with the judgment in your eyes, even when others did. You have always been... fair." Starfire's smile returned, though it was gentler now, tinged with a gratitude that made Raven's chest feel tight. "On Tamaran, that kind of loyalty is the foundation of the deepest friendships. You may not realize it, but you have always been my best friend. Even when we were not doing the hanging out!"

Raven didn't know what to say to that. 

Before she could formulate a response, Starfire's expression shifted back to that familiar, teasing brightness. "But we are straying from the topic of importance!" she declared, slapping her palms on the table with enough force to rattle the silverware. "You have not answered my question! Was Friend Amara a talented lover? I must know the details!"

"Oh my god," Raven muttered, burying her face in her hands.

"The sounds you were making suggested she was very skilled with the tail," Starfire pressed on, utterly relentless. "It looked like you enjoyed yourself very much! Would you be open to sharing Amara with me? I would like to experience pleasure like that too!"

"Starfire, please."

"And when you both climaxed at the same time it was so beautiful!" Starfire's eyes went wide with remembered wonder.

"Can we talk about literally anything else?" Raven's voice came out strangled, her face burning so hot she was genuinely concerned she might spontaneously combust.

Across the buffet hall, she could see Beast Boy and Cyborg at the food stations. Beast Boy had shifted into a gorilla form and was using the extra strength while piling an improbable amount of tofu dishes onto his plate while simultaneously arguing with Cyborg about something, probably meat, knowing those two. 

They were blissfully unaware of the mortifying interrogation happening at the corner table. Raven envied them with every fiber of her being.

"I am simply trying to understand!" Starfire protested, though her grin suggested she was enjoying Raven's discomfort far more than a true innocent would. "On Tamaran, it is customary to discuss sexual encounters in great detail with one's closest companions. It is how we learn and grow as lovers! I am only trying to help you process the experience!"

"I don't need help processing," Raven ground out through clenched teeth. "I need help forgetting that you watched the entire thing while covered in someone else's—" She cut herself off, unable to finish the sentence.

Starfire laughed, a bright, ringing sound that turned heads throughout the buffet. "You are so adorable when you are embarrassed, Friend Raven! Your grey skin turns the most lovely shade of purple! It matches your—" she dropped her voice to what she clearly thought was a conspiratorial whisper, "—your special intimate areas, yes?"

Raven seriously considered teleporting herself into the Atlantic Ocean. The worst part, Raven realized with mounting dread, was that this conversation was far from over.

She watched Beast Boy and Cyborg making their way back from the food stations, their plates piled high with competing philosophies of cuisine. Beast Boy had shifted back to his human form, though he was still gesturing emphatically with a fork loaded with something that looked like seasoned tofu. Cyborg was shaking his head, clearly in the middle of their eternal carnivore-versus-herbivore debate, a massive rack of barbecued ribs balanced precariously on his own plate.

They were heading straight for the table.

Starfire noticed them too, and her face lit up with an enthusiasm that made Raven's blood run cold. She knew that expression. That was the expression Starfire wore right before she shared information that absolutely should not be shared.

"Oh wonderful!" Starfire exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Friends Cyborg and Beast Boy are returning! I cannot wait to tell them about Friend Raven's sexual awakening!"

"Starfire, I swear to Azar, if you say one word—" Raven was cut off.

"They will be so happy for you! Beast Boy has been saying for years that you needed to get the laid!"

Raven's eye twitched. She was going to murder Beast Boy. She was going to murder Starfire. She was going to teleport this entire cruise ship into a dimension of eternal silence where no one could ever speak again.

And then, of course, there was the other problem.

Amara and Bellatrix were supposed to be joining them any minute now. Raven had agreed to introduce Amara to the rest of the team, to try to build some kind of bridge between the beautiful chaos witch and the heroes who would normally be trying to arrest her. It had seemed like a reasonable idea at the time hours ago back when Raven's brain had been functioning properly, before Amara had done... things to her. Things that had apparently short-circuited whatever part of her mind was responsible for good decision-making.

Now she was going to have to sit at a table with her teammates, the woman she'd just lost her virginity to, and said woman's psychotic fake mother, while Starfire loudly narrated every detail of their encounter to anyone within earshot.

This was going to be a disaster of unprecedented proportions.

Beast Boy was almost at the table now, his green face split in a wide grin as he said something that made Cyborg laugh. Starfire was practically vibrating with barely contained gossip. Raven braced herself, already preparing the most withering glare in her arsenal—

The windows exploded!

The massive floor-to-ceiling panels that had offered such a beautiful view of the Atlantic shattered inward. Every single one of them. Simultaneously.

She threw up a shield instinctively, dark energy coalescing around herself and Starfire in a dome of black light. Shards of glass pinged harmlessly off the barrier, but beyond its protection, chaos was already erupting.

They came through the shattered windows in a tide of scales and fury.

The creatures were hideous. They were vaguely humanoid, but only in the loosest sense, their bodies twisted amalgamations of fish and nightmare. Their skin was a mottled grey-green, slick with seawater and what looked disturbingly like old blood. Webbed hands ended in claws that gleamed like dirty bone. Their faces were fish-like and distorted, with bulging yellow eyes and mouths crammed full of needle-sharp teeth that jutted at impossible angles.

They carried weapons. Rusty tridents, barnacle-encrusted spears, crude blades that looked like they'd been forged from shipwreck debris.

And there were dozens of them. They poured through the broken windows in an endless stream, their webbed feet slapping against the glass-strewn carpet, their mouths opening to release wet, rattling shrieks that sounded like drowning men screaming underwater.

Fuck, Raven thought, the word crystallizing in her mind with perfect clarity. These are the things that emptied that cruise ship.

The buffet hall had been packed with passengers enjoying their evening meal. Families with children. Elderly couples. Young honeymooners feeding each other dessert. All of them were now screaming, scrambling, trampling each other in their desperate attempts to reach the exits!

The creatures didn't discriminate.

The first kill happened before Raven could even drop her shield. One of the monsters—faster than its shambling gait suggested—lunged at a man in a Hawaiian shirt who had frozen in shock near the seafood station. Its claws raked across his throat in a spray of arterial crimson, and before his body had even hit the ground, the creature's mouth was on him, those needle teeth tearing into flesh with a wet, ripping sound that Raven knew would add to all the bad memories that haunted her nightmares.

It was eating him. Right there, in the middle of the buffet hall, surrounded by screaming humans and shattered glass, the creature was eating him.

"Titans, GO!" The words tore out of Raven's throat before she consciously decided to speak them.

Beast Boy’s half-finished plate of tofu clattered to the floor as his body rippled and expanded, green skin sprouting fur and muscle in a transformation so fast it was almost instantaneous. Where a lanky teenager had stood a moment before, now there was a massive green gorilla, eight hundred pounds of primate fury that roared with enough force to rattle the remaining glass in the window frames.

He launched himself at the nearest cluster of creatures, massive fists swinging. The first punch connected with a creature's skull and caved it in like a rotten melon, spraying purple-black ichor across the white tablecloths. The second punch sent another monster flying backward through the air to slam into the dessert station, its body crumpling around the impact point with a sound like snapping celery.

Cyborg was right behind him. His arm had already reconfigured into its cannon form, the sonic emitter humming with building charge. 

"Booyah!" The blast caught three of the creatures in a line, the concentrated sound waves hitting them with enough force to liquify their internal organs. They dropped like marionettes with cut strings, purple blood leaking from their eyes and ears and the corners of their too-wide mouths.

Starfire rose into the air to get a better vantage, her eyes and hands blazing with crackling green energy. Then she opened fire. Starbolt after starbolt rained down into the buffet hall, each impact detonating with enough force to scatter creatures and furniture alike. The bolts punched through scaled bodies like they were made of wet paper, leaving smoking holes the size of dinner plates. Where groups of creatures clustered together, Starfire's attacks turned them into abstract paintings of viscera and flame.

"These are the monsters that devoured the people on the empty ship!" Starfire shouted, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Do not hold back! They are the enemies who must be destroyed!"

Raven immediately threw herself into the fight. A creature had cornered a woman near the salad bar—a middle-aged passenger in a floral sundress, her face a mask of terror as the monster advanced on her with its rusty trident raised. Raven reached out with her power, dark energy wrapping around the creature like tentacles of living shadow, and pulled.

The monster came apart.

It wasn't a clean death. Raven's magic tore it in half at the waist, the two pieces separating with a wet, sucking sound. The creature's yellow eyes went wide with what might have been surprise before the light faded from them, and both halves of its body collapsed to the floor in a spreading pool of purple-black blood.

The woman in the sundress stared at Raven with an expression that wasn't quite gratitude—more like she wasn't sure if she'd been saved or if she should be afraid of her savior too. But she was alive. That was what mattered.

"Run," Raven told her, her voice flat and cold. "Get to the interior of the ship. Now."

The woman ran.

Raven turned back to the chaos. The buffet hall had become a slaughterhouse. Bodies lay scattered among the overturned tables and shattered china—some of them passengers who hadn't been fast enough, others the twisted corpses of the sea creatures. The carpet squelched underfoot, saturated with blood both red and purple. The air stank of copper and brine and something else, something rotten and oceanic that made Raven's stomach turn.

More creatures were still pouring through the windows. For every one the Titans killed, two more seemed to take its place.

Where are they all coming from? Raven thought grimly, lashing out with another tendril of dark energy to catch a creature that had been about to sink its teeth into a screaming child's arm. She pulled the monster away and slammed it into the ceiling hard enough to crack the plaster, then let it drop. It didn't get back up.

The child's mother scooped her up and fled toward the exits, adding her screams to the cacophony.

Across the hall, Beast Boy had shifted again—now he was a massive green tiger, powerful muscle and claw and fang, tearing through the creatures with savage efficiency. Purple blood matted his fur, but he didn't slow down, didn't hesitate. He pounced on a creature that had been dragging a wounded man toward the windows, jaws closing around its throat with a crunch of cartilage.

Cyborg had switched to his arm-mounted laser, the red beam cutting through creatures like a hot knife through butter. "There's too many of them!" he shouted, firing again and again. "We need to—"

A creature lunged at him from behind. Before it could reach him, a starbolt vaporized its head, Starfire swooping down from above with murder in her glowing green eyes.

"We need to protect the civilians first!" Raven shouted back, catching another creature with her powers and crushing it against the wall. The purple-black splatter it left behind was almost artistic. "Get them out of here! Seal the exits once they're clear!"

She couldn't heal anyone. Not yet. Not with these monsters still flooding through the windows, still tearing into anyone too slow to escape. The injured would have to wait.

Amara, Raven thought suddenly, a spike of concern cutting through her battle focus. She and Bellatrix are supposed to be coming here.

She reached out with her empathic senses, searching for that familiar dark signature, and found it. Two floors up. And leaving a trail of death in its wake.

Well—

At least that was some good news…?

– Amara –

The corridor was a mess of violence and blood.

Bodies littered the carpet, some of them passengers who hadn't been fast enough, their vacation clothes soaked through with spreading crimson, their faces frozen in expressions of terminal surprise. But most of the corpses were the creatures. They lay in twisted heaps against the walls, draped over overturned luggage carts, crumpled in doorways they'd been trying to breach. Purple-black blood painted the walls in abstract patterns, pooling in the carpet until my boots squelched with every step.

"Reducto!" Bellatrix's curse caught a creature mid-lunge, the spell hitting it square in the chest. The thing didn't just die—it detonated, chunks of grey-green flesh and shattered bone spraying across the corridor in a wet explosion that painted the brass light fixtures purple. She laughed and spun to face another monster that had been trying to flank us. "Avada Kedavra!" The green light flashed. The creature dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, dead before it hit the ground.

I raised my own wand, feeling the familiar warmth of my soul-bound weapon humming against my palm. Two more of the things were shambling toward us from a maintenance corridor, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger, their mouths hanging open to reveal those rows of needle teeth.

"Burn," I commanded, and my fire answered.

They shrieked, their bodies thrashing as the flames consumed them from the outside in. I watched their scales blister and split, watched the flesh beneath bubble and char, watched their yellow eyes burst from the heat before they finally, mercifully, collapsed into smoking ruins on the carpet. 

"Oh, this is cathartic," Bellatrix crooned, stepping over the still-smoldering corpses with the casual grace of a woman who was long used to scenes like this. "I do so love a good massacre, daughter. It's been far too long since I've had the opportunity to truly let loose." She punctuated the statement by flicking her wand at a creature that had been lurking behind an ice machine. The Cruciatus Curse hit it, and the thing writhed on the floor, keening in agony, before she ended its suffering with a casual Killing Curse. "But," she continued, her nose wrinkling in distaste as we rounded another corner, "I must admit, this feels rather... goody-goody for my tastes." She said the words like they were something foul she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. "Playing hero. Saving MUGGLE lives...Ugh…"

As if to illustrate her point, a cabin door burst open just ahead of us, and a family of four came tumbling out—a father in a bathrobe, a mother clutching a toddler to her chest, and a boy of maybe eight or nine with tears streaming down his face. They'd clearly been hiding, and just as clearly, they'd chosen the wrong moment to make a break for it.

A creature was right behind them, its webbed claws reaching for the mother's back.

"Confringo!" I shouted, and the Blasting Curse caught the monster in the side of the head. The explosion of bone and brain matter sprayed across the corridor wall, and the headless body crumpled sideways.

The family stared at me—at my wand, at the dead creature, at the destruction surrounding us. The mother's face cycled through shock, terror, and something that might have been gratitude before settling on a kind of primal, animal fear that had nothing to do with the monsters and everything to do with me.

"Run," I told them, my voice flat. 

They ran. 

The father grabbed his son's hand and practically dragged the family down the corridor, not looking back, not saying thank you. Just fleeing, like I was every bit as dangerous as the things that had been trying to eat them.

Which, to be fair, I was worse.

Bellatrix watched them go with undisguised contempt. "Muggles," she spat, like the word itself was an insult. "Ungrateful, worthless creatures. We save their pathetic lives and they look at us like we're the monsters." She snorted, flicking a glob of purple blood off her wand. 

I didn't respond. I was too busy wrestling with the complicated knot of emotions tangling in my chest.

Part of me agreed with her. The dark, hungry part that fed on lust and reveled in violence and didn't give a single fuck about the lives of strangers. That part looked at the fleeing family and felt nothing but cold indifference. 

Why should I care?

But there was another part of me too. Smaller now, quieter, but still there—buried beneath the demonic blood and the dark magic. The part that remembered being Heather Potter, unwanted and alone, desperately hoping someone would save her from the endless grey misery of her existence. The part that remembered what it felt like to be helpless, to be prey, to know that no one was coming to rescue you.

That part felt something when I saved those people. Not satisfaction, exactly. Not the warm glow of righteousness that heroes probably felt. But... something. A faint echo of the person I used to be, still trying to claw her way to the surface.

I was broken. I knew that. The combination of succubus blood and dark magic and trauma had twisted me into something that would never fit neatly into categories like "hero" or "villain." I didn't save people because it was the right thing to do. I didn't feel joy when innocents escaped harm. The moral compass that should have guided me had been shattered somewhere along the way, and I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to piece it back together.

‘...Sirius would have been proud of me.’ The thought surfaced, and I grabbed onto it like a lifeline.

And Raven.

And Kara.

And Dick.

And maybe Daphne and Astoria?

I wasn't doing this to be a hero. I would never be a hero. The concept felt foreign to me now, like a language I'd once spoken fluently but had since forgotten. But I could do this to make them happy. I could hold onto that feeling. Hold on to the knowledge that the people I cared about would be proud of me, and use it to fuel my actions. It wasn't noble. It wasn't selfless. It was entirely, pathetically about my own emotional needs.

But it was something I could work with.

"Come on," I said to Bellatrix, pushing the complicated feelings down into the pit of my stomach where they couldn't distract me. "We need to find Raven and the others…"

We fought our way through two more corridors, leaving a trail of charred and cursed corpses in our wake. The creatures kept coming—through doorways, around corners, occasionally bursting through walls with enough force to shower us with splinters of wood and plaster. Bellatrix killed with gleeful abandon, her repertoire of dark curses seemingly endless. I killed with cold efficiency, my fire burning hot and hungry, consuming everything it touched.

Finally, we burst through a set of double doors and emerged onto the open deck.

The night air hit me, cold and salt-laden, whipping my hair around my face. I walked to the railing and looked over the side of the ship.

The ocean was wrong. It should have been dark water stretching to the horizon, maybe some whitecaps from the ship's passage, nothing more. Instead, the surface churned and roiled like a pot of water coming to a boil. Shapes moved beneath the waves—hundreds of them, thousands of them, a writhing mass of grey-green bodies that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction.

And they were climbing.

The hull of the cruise ship was covered in them. They scaled the metal surface like insects, their webbed claws finding purchase in every seam and rivet, their yellow eyes gleaming in the reflected light from the ship's windows. For every one we'd killed inside, there were dozens more ascending from the depths. Hundreds more. An army pulling themselves out of the black water to feast on the floating buffet of human flesh above.

"Mother of Merlin," Bellatrix breathed beside me, and for the first time since I'd met her, I heard something other than manic confidence in her voice.

I turned to look at her. Her pale face had gone even paler, her dark eyes wide as they tracked the endless tide of creatures swarming up the ship's hull. Her wand hand trembled almost imperceptibly before she steadied it through sheer force of will.

"I..." She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "I don't know if I have enough magic to kill that many, Amara. Even at my peak, even before Azkaban..." She shook her head, a laugh escaping her that was more hysteria than humor. "There are limits. Even for me."

I stared back out at the churning ocean, at the thousands of monsters that wanted to tear everyone on this ship apart and devour them piece by piece.

My magical core felt strong. Stronger than it ever had, actually, thanks to sleeping with Raven. I could feel the expanded capacity humming through my veins like liquid fire. But even so, even with my enhanced power...

That was a lot of fucking fish people.

"Yeah," I agreed quietly, watching another wave of creatures crest the railing fifty feet down the deck. "That's going to be a problem…"

…We picked up the pace, jogging through corridors that grew progressively more destroyed the closer we got to the main dining area. Scorch marks on the walls—Starfire's work, probably. Claw gouges in the metal fixtures. A section of ceiling that had collapsed entirely, forcing us to climb over debris that shifted treacherously underfoot.

Finally, we reached the massive double doors that led to the buffet hall.

"Ready?" I asked Bellatrix.

She flashed me a feral grin. "Always."

I raised my boot and kicked the doors open. They swung inward with a dramatic bang that turned every head in the room toward us. It was, admittedly, a bit theatrical, but I'd learned from Morgana that entrances mattered. The way you presented yourself in the first three seconds shaped how people perceived you for the rest of the encounter. Of course, Morgana's lesson hadn't accounted for the possibility that I'd be walking into a room full of traumatized superheroes who already had reasons to associate my face with villainy.

The buffet hall was devastated.

Overturned tables lay scattered like fallen dominoes, their white tablecloths stained with food and blood in equal measure. Shattered china crunched underfoot. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows that had once offered a panoramic view of the Atlantic were simply gone, nothing but jagged glass teeth remaining in the frames. Salt wind howled through the openings, carrying the stench of the ocean and something worse—the coppery-sweet smell of mass death.

Bodies of the creatures littered every surface. They draped over buffet stations, crumpled against walls, lay in heaps near the broken windows where they'd fallen trying to breach the room. Purple-black blood painted everything, pooling between tiles, dripping from light fixtures, splattered across the ceiling in patterns that suggested explosive violence.

But there were human casualties too. Passengers who hadn't been fast enough, crew members who'd tried to help. Some were clearly dead, their bodies torn and savaged. Others were injured, clustered in groups around the perimeter of the room, being tended to by Raven.

She knelt beside a man whose arm had been nearly severed at the elbow, her hands glowing with soft dark energy as she worked to knit flesh and bone back together. Her blue cloak was splattered with gore—both colors—and her hood had fallen back to reveal her face, tight with concentration.

As if sensing my presence, she lifted her head.

Our eyes met across the ruined hall. Something passed between us in that moment, recognition, relief, and beneath it all, the memory of what we'd done together just hours ago. Her violet eyes widened slightly, her pale cheeks flushing with color that had nothing to do with exertion.

I felt my own lips curl into a small, private smile. Hello again, little bird.

"MORGANA!" The shout shattered the moment like a brick through glass.

My head snapped toward the source—a massive figure of gleaming metal and dark skin, his human eye blazing with fury while his mechanical one flashed an aggressive red. Cyborg. I'd seen him at the pool earlier, doing cannonballs with Beast Boy, laughing like he didn't have a care in the world.

He wasn't laughing now. "It's the witch!" he roared, his arm already reconfiguring with a whir of servos and clicking of metal plates. The limb elongated, components shifting and locking into place until a cannon barrel emerged where his hand had been. "She's behind this attack! She led them here!"

"Wait—" Raven started, her healing magic flickering as her concentration broke. She scrambled to her feet, one hand outstretched. "Cyborg, stop! That's not—"

But he wasn't listening. His targeting system had already locked on, the cannon humming with building charge, and I could see from the look in his human eye that he'd already made his decision. In his mind, Morgana le Fay had somehow orchestrated an army of sea monsters to attack a cruise ship, and now she was standing in the doorway surveying the carnage she'd caused.

To be fair, it wasn't an unreasonable conclusion.

To be less fair, he was about to shoot me in the face.

The cannon fired. Blue-white energy screamed toward us, a beam of concentrated sonic force that would have punched a hole through a tank. I had maybe half a second to react.

My hand shot out, grabbing Bellatrix's arm in a grip tight enough to bruise. At the same time, I reached for the new ability coiled in my core, the gift I'd received from my System after taking Raven's virginity. Shadow Travel. I'd never used it before. I didn't even know exactly how it worked.

But apparently, my body did.

The shadows beneath our feet reached up.

It was the only way I could describe it. One moment we were standing in the doorway with a deadly energy beam milliseconds from impact. The next, darkness surged up around us like we were sinking into black water, swallowing us whole just as the blast screamed through the space where we'd been standing.

And then I was somewhere else.

The Shadow Realm.

It was... nothing like I'd expected.

Cold. That was the first thing I registered. A bone-deep, soul-penetrating cold that had nothing to do with temperature. It was the cold of empty spaces, of voids between stars, of the darkness that existed before light was ever conceived. It wrapped around me like a living thing, pressing against my skin, seeping into my lungs with every breath.

But it didn't hurt. If anything, it felt... welcoming. The darkness recognized something in me. My demonic heritage, maybe, or the corruption that had seeped into my soul from months of dark magic. It didn't fight my presence. It embraced it, curling around me like a cat greeting its owner.

You belong here, the shadows seemed to whisper. You are one of us.

I could see, somehow, despite the absolute absence of light. The space around me was vast and empty, an infinite expanse of shifting darkness that moved with its own alien purpose. Far in the distance—or maybe very close, distance was meaningless here—I could see shapes. Doorways. Exit points back to the mortal world, each one a thin sliver of light cutting through the void.

I picked one on the far side of the buffet hall and pushed.

We erupted from the shadows on the opposite end of the room, stumbling slightly as reality reasserted itself around us. The transition was jarring, one moment surrounded by welcoming darkness, the next standing on blood-slicked tile with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

Beside me, Bellatrix gasped like someone who'd been held underwater finally breaking the surface. She doubled over, one hand clutching her chest, her face gone from pale to actually grey. Her other hand squeezed mine so hard I felt bones grind together.

"Bella—Mother!" I corrected myself hastily, crouching beside her. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Couldn't—" She sucked in another wheezing breath, her dark eyes wild. "Couldn't breathe in there. Like the air itself had been removed. Like something was crushing my chest from the inside out."

My eyes widened. I hadn't experienced anything like that. The Shadow Realm had been cold and strange, yes, but I'd been able to breathe just fine. The darkness had welcomed me, not tried to suffocate me.

Because you're half demon, I realized with a chill that had nothing to do with the lingering cold. Because the shadows recognize you as kin. But for a normal human—even a powerful witch—that place is poison.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, helping her straighten up. "I didn't know it would affect you like that. I've never used that ability before, I didn't think—"

Bellatrix cut me off with a laugh—still slightly breathless, but genuinely amused. She straightened her spine with visible effort, smoothing down her robes and tossing her wild dark hair over one shoulder. "Don't apologize, daughter," she said, and there was pride in her voice, her dark eyes gleaming with something like wonder. "That was magnificent. A realm of pure, concentrated darkness. I could feel the power in that place, even as it crushed the life from my lungs. Such glorious dark magic!" She reached up to cup my cheek, her palm still trembling slightly. "Mummy was simply overwhelmed, that's all. My little girl, commanding shadows like a queen of the night..."

I didn't have time to process her disturbing enthusiasm, because the Titans had found us again.

"What the—" Beast Boy's voice cracked with disbelief. He'd shifted back to his human form at some point, though his green skin was matted with drying purple blood. "How did she do that? She just—she copied Raven's power! That's Raven's thing!"

Cyborg had already retrained his cannon on us, the barrel tracking our new position with mechanical precision. His human eye was narrowed with suspicion. "Don't move, Morgana. I don't know what game you're playing, but—"

"Cyborg." Raven's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. She'd crossed the room while everyone was distracted, and now she stood between us and her teammates, her cloak spread slightly like she was shielding me from their aggression. "Stand down. Now."

"Raven, what are you doing?" Beast Boy demanded. "That's Morgana le Fay! She's a wanted criminal! She—"

"Is not Morgana." Starfire's voice floated down from above. She'd been hovering near the ceiling, probably keeping watch for more creatures, but now she descended gracefully to land beside Raven. Her expression was one of genuine puzzlement, her head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. "I am most confused," she announced, looking between the tense standoff with those large, guileless green eyes. "Why are our friends attacking Raven's lover?"

The silence that followed was so absolute I could hear the wind whistling through the shattered windows.

Cyborg's cannon arm actually lowered slightly, the targeting light flickering. His human eye went very, very wide.

Beast Boy made a sound like a cat being stepped on. "Her—her what?"

"Raven's lover," Starfire repeated helpfully, apparently oblivious to the bomb she'd just detonated. "Friend Amara. They engaged in the mating ritual earlier this evening. It was most beautiful to witness! Raven made such wonderful sounds of the pleasure—"

"STARFIRE." Raven's voice came out strangled, her face flooding with color so intense her grey skin turned a vivid shade of purple. She yanked her hood back up, but it was far too late. I could see the blush spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her leotard.

"What?" Starfire blinked innocently. "Was I not supposed to mention the sexual encounter? On Tamaran, it is customary to celebrate such—"

"Oh my god." Beast Boy's voice had gone very high. His green face was doing something complicated, cycling through shock, betrayal, confusion, and what might have been reluctant intrigue. "Raven? You—with her? The villain? The one who—" He gestured wildly at me, apparently unable to find words for exactly what I was supposed to have done.

Cyborg's cannon had fully retracted now, his arm reforming into its standard configuration. He looked like someone had hit him over the head with a very large fish. "I... what... Raven, is this true?"

Raven made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a whimper. She pressed both hands over her face, her shoulders hunching with mortification.

"She's not Morgana," she said, her voice muffled by her palms. "Her name is Amara Black. She's Morgana's apprentice. They look similar because—because they just do, I don't know why, probably some dark magic thing." She dropped her hands, glaring at her teammates with eyes that promised violence. "And my personal life is none of your business."

"You slept with the apprentice of a supervillain!" Beast Boy's voice cracked again. "That's—that's definitely team business! There are protocols! Background checks!"

I started laughing! The laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest, dark and genuine, completely inappropriate for our current situation. I couldn't help it. Here we were—standing in the ruins of a buffet hall that looked like a slaughterhouse had mated with a seafood restaurant, surrounded by the corpses of nightmare fish-people, with thousands more of the things climbing the hull outside, and these heroes were losing their minds over the fact that their teammate had gotten laid.

"As hilarious as this is," I managed, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, "and believe me, watching you all short-circuit over Raven's sex life is genuinely the funniest thing I've seen all week—we have a slightly more pressing problem."

Beast Boy's green face scrunched in indignation. "More pressing than—"

"Thousands of those creatures are swarming the ship right now," I cut him off, my voice going flat and serious. The laughter died in my throat as the reality of our situation reasserted itself. "Bellatrix and I saw them from the upper deck. The ocean is crawling with them. They're scaling the hull like insects, pouring out of the water in waves. For every one we killed getting here, there are hundreds more climbing up to take their place."

The color drained from Beast Boy's face, an impressive feat given that his skin was already green. "Wait. Wait wait wait." He held up both hands, shaking his head rapidly. "These things are merpeople? Like, actual merpeople? That's impossible. Atlantis would never—" He looked to Cyborg for support, his expression desperate. "Dude, tell her. Atlantis wouldn't do this. Kaldur'ahm is our friend. He's a cool guy! He brought that amazing seaweed dip to the Tower Christmas party!"

"BB's right," Cyborg said, though his voice carried less conviction than his words. His mechanical eye whirred as it scanned me, probably running some kind of threat assessment. "The Atlanteans are allies. Their king is a member of the Justice League! There's no way they'd sanction an attack on a civilian vessel."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Raven beat me to it.

"They're not from Atlantis." Her voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of certainty. She'd pushed her hood back again, apparently giving up on hiding her still-flushed cheeks, and her violet eyes were distant, remembering something. "Kaldur'ahm told me about a place once," she continued, her brow furrowing. "When we were discussing the geography of the ocean kingdoms. He called it the Trench."

The name hung in the air, somehow ominous despite being just a word.

"The Trench?" Beast Boy repeated uncertainly.

Raven nodded slowly. "He said it was... a wound in the ocean floor. A chasm so deep that no one in Atlantis has ever seen the bottom. They don't know how far down it goes—tens of miles, maybe. Hundreds of miles? The pressure at those depths should be enough to crush anything living into paste except the creatures born there for some reason. Kaldur called them 'the monsters of the deep.' Creatures so savage, so endless in number, that Atlantis has to station soldiers at the Trench's edge around the clock, every hour of every day, just to keep them from spilling out into the ocean."

Way to go Dumbledore, letting creatures like that live near Hogwarts… I thought to myself sarcastically. 

"Holy shit," Beast Boy breathed.

"These things must have escaped somehow," Raven concluded. "Broken through the Atlantean guard line, or found another way up. Which raises the question of why Atlantis hasn't already responded. They should have noticed a breach this massive. They should be here."

"Unless they're dealing with something worse down below," Cyborg muttered, his expression grim. "If these things got out in enough numbers to attack a cruise ship and overwhelm the Atlantean defenses..."

"We can speculate about Atlantean border security later," I said, bringing the conversation back to the immediate crisis. "Right now, I need to know the plan." I gestured at the shattered windows, beyond which I could hear the wet slapping sounds of webbed feet on metal, the rattling shrieks of creatures finding new points of entry. "I have a lot of fire magic at my disposal, but I can't burn all of these things without torching half the ship in the process. And somehow I don't think 'accidentally incinerating three thousand civilians while saving them from fish monsters' is the most productive way of helping."

Raven's lips twitched, almost a smile, quickly suppressed. She turned in a slow circle, surveying the devastated buffet hall with calculating eyes. The survivors were huddled in clusters throughout the room, maybe sixty or seventy people, mostly passengers but a few crew members mixed in. Some were injured, clutching wounds that Raven hadn't had time to fully heal. Others were simply shell-shocked, staring at nothing with the glassy expressions of people whose minds had temporarily checked out to avoid processing trauma.

"A lot of people ran when the attack started," Raven said slowly, thinking out loud. "Hopefully most of them went toward the center of the ship. The casino level, the interior corridors—anywhere far from the windows and the water."

I snorted. "People don't exactly make rational choices while they're panicking. Half of them probably ran straight into dead ends or locked themselves in bathrooms."

"Maybe," Raven acknowledged, "but it's our best hope. The ship's interior is more defensible than these open spaces. Fewer access points, narrower corridors that limit how many creatures can attack at once. If we can evacuate these survivors to a central location and establish a perimeter..."

"We hold position and wait for backup," Cyborg finished, nodding along with her reasoning. His cannon arm had fully retracted, replaced by what looked like a sophisticated communications array. "The League should have already been here, actually. I sent out a distress signal the second those things came through the windows." He frowned, tapping at a holographic keyboard that materialized above his forearm. Lines of code scrolled past, interspersed with error messages that made his frown deepen. "Something's jamming my long-range comms," he said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I'm getting interference on every frequency. Can't reach the Watchtower, can't reach the League's emergency channels, can't even ping Titans Tower." More typing, more error messages. "But I should be able to punch through eventually. The jamming's strong, but it's not sophisticated. More like brute-force static than targeted disruption. Give me 15 minutes and I'll have a signal out."

"15 minutes," I repeated flatly. "While thousands of monsters continue to board the ship."

"You got a better idea, witch?" Cyborg shot back at me, his human eye narrowing.

“This witch didn’t have to stick around and help save people,” I pointed out. “I could have just left with Bellatrix!”

“We still could!” Bellatrix agreed with me.

Cyborg grimaced for a second before nodding his head. “...You’re right. I’m sorry for attacking you out of nowhere and treating you like the enemy. It’s not like we haven’t worked with villains in the past. It’s just—” he hesitated for a second and looked around at all the bodies. “We’ve never been on a mission that went this bad with this much death.”

“This is fucked up,” Beast Boy added.

“Well, put on your fucking big boy pants—and yes I know you don’t where pants,” I said with a snort to Cyborg. “...because this shit is just getting started!”

"She's right," Raven cut in before the tension could escalate further. "We need to move. Now. Every second we spend arguing is another second those things have to spread through the ship."

She turned to address the huddled survivors, her voice shifting into something more commanding, more authoritative. It seemed that without Nightwing with them she was the second in command. It was hot to see her take charge!

"Everyone who can walk, get up. We're moving to the ship's interior—the casino level. Stay together, stay quiet, and do exactly what we tell you. Anyone who's too injured to move on their own, call out now and we'll carry you."

A few weak voices responded. Starfire was already moving among the survivors, her natural warmth and gentle strength somehow reassuring despite the gore splattered across her costume. She helped an elderly man to his feet, supporting his weight with effortless grace.

"Friend Beast Boy," she called out, "perhaps you could become a creature of burden? Some of these people cannot walk."

Beast Boy nodded, his earlier shock about Raven's love life apparently shelved in favor of the crisis at hand. His body rippled and expanded, green fur sprouting as he transformed into something that looked like a cross between a horse and a very large dog—sturdy enough to carry passengers, but compact enough to fit through ship corridors.

"Climb on," he said, his voice coming out slightly distorted through his animal mouth. "I can take three or four at a time."

Cyborg was already moving toward the main doors, his cannon arm reforming as he took point. "I'll clear the path and make sure we're not walking into an ambush.” He was basically the walking tank out of everyone.

I caught Raven's eye as we prepared to move out. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read, gratitude, maybe, mixed with something more complicated. Something that made my chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with the situation.

Later, I promised silently. We'll figure out whatever this is later.

She nodded slightly, as if she'd heard me, and pulled her hood back up.

XXX

Chapter Text

Chapter 20:

– Dick Grayson –

Gotham's skyline cut a familiar silhouette against the smog-choked night, gothic spires and gargoyles and the distant amber glow of streetlights struggling against the dark. Dick had missed it, in a strange way. London had been cobblestones and hidden magic and a beautiful witch who made his chest ache in ways he wasn't ready to examine fully. 

But Gotham was home. Gotham made sense, even when it didn't.

Batman was occupied. The discovery they'd brought back from London—rescuing the British Prime Minister, that an entire shadow government of wizards had been pulling strings for decades, that the implications stretched across every major nation—had necessitated an emergency League summit. 

The kind of meeting that happened in the Watchtower's most secure chambers.

It was going to be an international catastrophe when it finally broke. The kind of scandal that toppled governments and shattered public trust in institutions. It would need to be handled with surgical precision, disclosed in careful stages, managed with the kind of delicacy that made Dick's head hurt just thinking about it.

But that was above his pay grade. For now, anyway.

In the meantime, with Bruce locked in deliberations that could stretch for days, Gotham's streets fell to Dick. He'd taken the responsibility without complaint. 

Patrol was simple. Patrol was clean. Bad guys did bad things, he stopped them, everyone went home with the correct number of limbs. After the moral complexity of London he craved simplicity. He also craved Amara but knew she was currently on a cruise ship with Raven and they wouldn’t arrive in port for days.

Damn, Raven was so lucky…

He fired his grappling hook at a water tower three buildings over, felt the familiar kick of the line going taut, and launched himself into the void between rooftops. Wind whipped past his face, cold and gritty with Gotham's particular blend of industrial pollution. 

For a moment, suspended between earth and sky, he felt almost peaceful. His feet never touched the next rooftop he was aiming for.

"What the—fuck—" 

The word punched out of him as gravity simply... stopped. One second he was descending toward grimy concrete, the next he was floating, suspended in midair like a marionette whose strings had been seized by an invisible hand. 

He twisted, reaching for his escrima sticks on instinct, scanning the shadows for the threat he could feel but couldn't see.

"Hello, apprentice of Batman." The voice slithered through the darkness, feminine and cold, carrying an accent that spoke of centuries rather than geography. It made the hair on the back of Dick's neck stand at rigid attention.

He knew that voice. 

A figure emerged from the shadows pooling near an air conditioning unit, and Dick's breath caught despite himself.

She was stunning. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful in a way that transcended human aesthetics and veered into something almost frightening. A black dress clung to generous curves—large breasts, narrow waist, hips that swayed with predatory grace as she approached. Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders like spilled ink, and her eyes were a vivid, piercing green that seemed to glow faintly in the darkness.

She was Amara's face. Amara's features that were refined, a bit sharpened, and somehow made more dangerous by the weight of centuries behind them. The resemblance was uncanny enough to make Dick's heart stutter, and then clench with wariness when he remembered exactly who he was looking at.

"Morgana," he grumbled, forcing his voice flat despite the fear coiling in his gut. This woman had destroyed empires. Had dueled gods and demons and walked away. Had spent a thousand years perfecting magics that made the darkest corners of his rogues gallery look like amateur hour. "What do you want?" 

Oh—and she also HATED heroes after what happened with her son…

The ancient witch tutted, a sound of theatrical disappointment that somehow conveyed both condescension and genuine amusement. She circled him slowly, her heels clicking against nothing—she was walking on air as casually as he might walk on carpet.

"Now, now," she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp, assessing. "You needn't look so frightened, my handsome hero. I wouldn't dare harm someone my dearest apprentice has developed feelings for." She said the word hero like it tasted of spoiled milk, her lip curling with undisguised contempt. 

But beneath the disdain, Dick caught something else. A grudging acknowledgment, perhaps. A recognition that, for whatever incomprehensible reason, Amara had chosen to care about him.

Some of the tension bled from his shoulders. If Morgana was here to kill him, she wouldn't be making small talk.

Dick allowed himself a small smirk. "Feelings, huh? Good to know."

Morgana's expression flickered—annoyance, maybe, or something closer to reluctant respect for his nerve. "Don't get cocky, boy. I said I wouldn't dare harm you. I didn't say I wouldn't hurt you a little if you annoy me overmuch." Her smile sharpened, showing too many teeth. "Amara would forgive me for a few broken bones. Eventually."

"Noted." Dick forced his body to relax in the magical grip, conserving energy rather than fighting the inevitable. "So what do you want? I'm assuming you didn't track me down just to threaten me."

"Information," Morgana said simply. She stopped circling, coming to rest directly in front of him. "Amara sent me a message from London. She mentioned running into you, among other things. But I haven't heard from her since."

Dick had been trained by Batman to read microexpressions.

Morgana was worried. The realization hit him strangely. This woman, this monster, she was worried about Amara. 

It should have been absurd. It was absurd. But Dick had seen the way Amara talked about Morgana, had heard the complicated love tangled up in every story. And Dick, despite every instinct screaming that he shouldn't help a supervillain with anything, found that he didn't want to lie.

"She went to confront her birth family," he said slowly, watching Morgana's face for reactions. "The Potters as I’m sure you know."

Morgana's expression didn't change, but the air around her seemed to grow heavier, thicker, charged with something that made Dick's skin prickle. "And?" The single word was ice. “What happened after that?”

Dick took a breath. "It was a trap. Her mother, Lily—she wrote Amara a letter claiming she wanted to reconcile. Make amends for abandoning her. Amara went to hear her out, even though she suspected it was bullshit." He paused, struggling to keep his voice neutral as the anger he'd felt for Amara surfaced. "Turns out they never wanted a rekindled relationship. They wanted to use her. They wanted to sell her for money and to use her forced children to continue the Potter line if they couldn’t break the curse YOU put on them…" Dick said and narrowed his eyes because this situation was partially Morgana’s fault since she cursed the Potters.

Not that they didn’t have it coming…

Morgana's eyes had gone very, very cold. Dick couldn't see magic. He wasn't sensitive to it. But in that moment, suspended in Morgana's grip above a Gotham rooftop, he didn't need magical senses to feel what was happening.

The darkness around them deepened, shadows stretching and writhing like living things. The temperature plummeted so sharply that Dick's breath misted in front of his face. The ambient sounds of the city—distant traffic, a car alarm somewhere, the ever-present hum of urban life—seemed to muffle and fade, as if reality itself was holding its breath.

And Morgana...

Her beautiful face had gone utterly still, a marble mask that somehow conveyed more fury than any snarl could have. The air around her rippled and distorted, heat-shimmer without heat, and Dick could have sworn he saw shapes moving in that distortion—faces, claws, things with too many teeth that existed only in the corner of his vision.

"They tried," Morgana said, and her voice was no longer a single voice but a chorus, layered with echoes that came from nowhere and everywhere, "to sell my apprentice. Like cattle. I will punish them all!"

"She already handled it!" The words came out faster than Dick intended, self-preservation overriding caution. Morgana's power was still pressing against reality like a thumb against a bruise, and he had the distinct impression that if he didn't redirect that fury somewhere else, he was going to find out exactly what those shadow-shapes with too many teeth felt like up close.

"Amara burned the Potter ancestral home to the ground," he continued, watching Morgana's face for any sign that the information was landing. “The whole estate. And the old man they were trying to sell her to—" He paused, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. "She killed him too. Him and everyone on his property."

The words tasted strange in his mouth. Not wrong, exactly. Just... complicated.

Because Dick was acutely aware that what he was describing was murder. Multiple murders. Premeditated, deliberate, and utterly without remorse. Amara had burned people alive, had reduced an ancient family estate to ash and cinder, and he was standing here recounting it like a mission report rather than a confession of war crimes.

He should be disgusted. He should be planning her arrest, coordinating with authorities, doing all the things that heroes were supposed to do when villains committed atrocities.

Instead, he found himself thinking about justifying her crimes.

Is this what Bruce feels like? The thought surfaced unbidden, and Dick almost laughed at the bitter irony of it. 

How many times had he watched Batman let Catwoman slip away? How many times had he seen the complicated dance between Bruce and Talia al Ghul, a woman who had done terrible things and would do terrible things again?

Dick knew Bruce was sleeping with both of them. Had known for years. And Bruce knew that he knew, which was probably why his mentor had been remarkably restrained in his judgment about Dick's growing... whatever this was... with Amara.

Glass houses. Thrown stones. The whole bit.

Morgana was taking deep breaths now, her large chest rising and falling beneath that clinging black dress. The shadows had stopped writhing. The temperature was slowly climbing back toward something resembling normal Gotham autumn. The pressure against reality eased, degree by careful degree, like a fist slowly unclenching.

And then, without warning, the invisible grip holding Dick suspended in midair simply released.

He dropped. Training kicked in before panic could. He tucked, rolled with the momentum, and came up in a crouch on the grimy rooftop. His heart hammered against his ribs, adrenaline spiking belatedly now that the immediate danger had passed.

"Thanks," he managed, straightening up and brushing grit from his suit.

Morgana didn't acknowledge the word. She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to him, her green eyes distant, her lips curved in a smile that was equal parts pride and hunger. "She did well to see through the deception and punish them! ...It's not enough, of course," Morgana continued, her tone shifting to something more contemplative. "The Potters still breathe. The parents who discarded her, the brother who grew fat on the love she was denied—they still exist in this world." Her smile sharpened, showing teeth. "But drawing out punishment has its own pleasures. Let them live in the ashes of everything they built. Let them wake each morning knowing their daughter did this to them, and that worse is yet to come."

A shudder ran down Dick's spine that had nothing to do with the lingering cold. "Can I go now?" The question came out more weak than he'd intended.

Morgana's gaze snapped back to him. "One more thing, hero." She said the word with slightly less venom than before—still contemptuous, but tempered now by something that might have been grudging tolerance. "Where is Amara now? Why is she not back home yet? Back with ME?"

Dick hesitated. Every instinct screamed that giving a supervillain information about another person's location was a catastrophically bad idea. But this was Morgana asking about her own apprentice. Her own... whatever Amara was to her. 

"She’s on a cruise ship with a mutual friend of ours," he said finally. "She's taking the slow route back from London. Should be arriving in Gotham in a few days, assuming nothing goes wrong."

Morgana's expression underwent a transformation so rapid and so ridiculous that Dick almost forgot who he was talking to. 

The beautiful witch's face crumpled into a pout. An actual, genuine pout, her lower lip pushing out, her brows drawing together in theatrical indignation. She looked, for one absurd moment, like a jealous girlfriend who'd just learned her partner went to the beach without her!

"A cruise ship," Morgana repeated, her voice climbing with outrage. "She's on a cruise ship. In the ocean. Which means swimming. Which means—" Her green eyes went wide with horrified realization. "Other people are seeing her in a swimsuit before I have!?"

Dick opened his mouth. No words came out. What possible response was there to that? He was also kind of jealous as well…

"This is unacceptable," Morgana declared, drawing herself up to her full height, ancient dignity warring with petty jealousy in a combination that should not have been as entertaining as it was. "Absolutely unacceptable. I am her mentor. I have rights."

And then, between one blink and the next, she simply wasn't there anymore. No flash of light. No dramatic gesture. One moment Morgana le Fay was standing on a Gotham rooftop complaining about swimsuit privileges, the next moment Dick was alone with nothing but the distant wail of sirens and the lingering scent of ozone.

He didn't try to stop her. Partly because trying to stop Morgana le Fay was roughly equivalent to trying to stop a hurricane by asking it nicely. Partly because she hadn't actually committed any crimes tonight—being terrifying wasn't illegal, no matter how much Dick wished it were. And partly because, if he was being honest with himself, he was just grateful to have survived the encounter with all his limbs attached.

"What the hell is my life," he muttered to no one, running a hand through his hair.

His communicator chose that exact moment to shriek.

Not the normal alert tone—the emergency one. The one reserved for situations so catastrophic that protocol demanded immediate response regardless of current assignment. The one that made Dick's blood run cold before he even looked at the display.

SOS - PRIORITY ALPHA SOURCE: CYBORG - MASS CASUALTY EVENT IN PROGRESS!

– Amara –

The evacuation was controlled chaos.

Cyborg took point, his cannon arm sweeping left and right as he cleared corridor after corridor. The blue-white flash of his sonic blasts had become almost rhythmic—charge, fire, splatter, advance. Behind him, Starfire zipped ahead and back like a glowing orange hummingbird, scouting for ambushes and incinerating any creatures that tried to flank us with precise starbolt strikes.

Beast Boy, still in his strange horse-dog hybrid form, carried the most severely wounded survivors on his broad green back. An elderly woman with a gash across her forehead clung to his fur with white-knuckled fingers, her eyes squeezed shut, clearly trying to pretend she was anywhere else. A teenager with a broken arm sat behind her, his face grey with shock.

The rest of the survivors stumbled along in the middle of our formation—a ragged cluster of maybe fifty people in various states of terror, injury, and disbelief. Some of them were crying. Some were praying. One man kept muttering "this isn't real, this isn't real" under his breath like a mantra that might actually make it true.

Everyone was doing their best.

Well. Almost everyone.

"I cannot believe I am wasting my talents protecting Muggles," Bellatrix grumbled from somewhere ahead of me, her voice carrying that particular tone of aristocratic disgust she reserved for anything beneath her station. Which, in her mind, was most things. "This is humiliating. When I tell the Dark Lord about this—" She cut herself off, her expression flickering with something complicated before she smoothed it away. "Oh yeah, I betrayed him—nevermind—When I tell people about this, I will be a laughingstock!"

I wondered if she even knew… people?

But for all her complaining, she wasn't actually hindering anyone. And every time one of the creatures got too close to the group—lunging from a side corridor, dropping from a ceiling vent, bursting through a cabin door—Bellatrix was invariably the first to respond. Her wand moved in vicious arcs, dark curses flying from her lips with the ease of long practice.

"Reducto!"

A creature's head exploded in a spray of purple-black ichor.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Another dropped dead mid-lunge, its yellow eyes going dark before it hit the carpet.

"Crucio!"

That one was unnecessary, the creature was already dying from a starbolt wound, but Bellatrix seemed to enjoy watching it writhe in its final moments. Her laughter echoed off the corridor walls, high and wild and deeply unsettling to the civilians we were supposed to be protecting.

Several of the survivors were giving her looks that suggested they weren't entirely sure she was on their side. To be fair, I wasn't entirely sure either. But she was killing the right things, so I decided not to question it.

Raven and I brought up the rear.

It was the natural position for us. We walked a few paces behind the last stragglers, our eyes constantly scanning the corridor behind us for any sign of pursuit.

The ship groaned around us, metal protesting against the thousands of creatures still scaling its hull. Somewhere distant, I could hear screaming—other passengers, other parts of the vessel, places we couldn't reach in time. The sound made something twist in my gut. Not guilt, exactly. I didn't have enough emotional capacity to feel intense emotions for people that didn't matter to me. 

But... awareness. The knowledge that people were dying while we shepherded our little flock to safety.

"You're staring." Raven's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked, realizing that yes, I had in fact been staring at her—at the way her cloak billowed slightly with each step, at the curve of her jaw beneath her hood, at the violet eyes that were currently fixed on me with an expression somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.

"You have really pretty eyes," I told her honestly.

The blush that spread across her grey cheeks was immediate and deeply satisfying. She ducked her head, her hood shifting to hide the color, but I'd already seen it. A laugh bubbled up in my chest, warm and genuine despite our circumstances.

"That's—" She cleared her throat, struggling to regain her composure. "That's not why I was staring at you."

"No?" I tilted my head, letting my smile turn playful. "Then why were you staring, little bird? See something you like?"

Her blush deepened. I could see it spreading down her neck now, disappearing beneath her leotard. "I was trying to figure out," she said, her voice strained with the effort of maintaining dignity, "how you suddenly acquired my ability to travel through shadows."

Ah. That was a much more complicated question.

I kept my expression neutral, still looking at her face, watching the way she squirmed slightly under my attention. She was so easy to fluster, this powerful half-demon who could tear reality apart with a thought. Give her a bad guy to fight and she was all cold efficiency. Give her a compliment and she turned into a blushing mess.

It was adorable.

But her question was dangerous. How had I acquired Shadow Travel? The truth was simple. My System had given it to me as a reward for taking her virginity. A neat little notification that had popped up in my mind right after I'd pumped her full of whatever strange substance my tail had produced.

Congratulations on taking Raven's first time! You have been granted the teleportation skill: [Shadow Travel!]

Somehow, I didn't think "my video game power-up system gave me your abilities as a reward for fucking you" was going to go over well. She’d seen some weird shit I was sure, but even that was something I’d doubted she would believe. 

Or worse—she would believe me…

Raven was an empath. She could read emotions. I wasn't sure if that extended to detecting lies directly, but I knew she'd pick up on any obvious deception. I needed something that was technically true, or at least true-adjacent. Something that would satisfy her curiosity without revealing the existence of my System.

Or... I could just fluster her so badly she'd forget to press the issue.

Option two it was! "I think," I said slowly, letting my voice drop into a lower, more intimate register, "that you might have given it to me."

Raven's brow furrowed. "Given it to you? What do you mean?"

"When we had sex." I paused for effect, watching her eyes widen. "I think it was some kind of magical STD."

"WHAT?" Her shriek echoed off the corridor walls, loud enough that several survivors ahead of us turned to look back in alarm. Raven's face had gone from blushing to absolutely crimson, her composure shattering like glass. "A magical—I did not—that's not even—"

Two creatures chose that exact moment to burst from a maintenance hatch behind us, their yellow eyes gleaming, their rusty tridents raised for the kill. They were fast, propelling themselves forward on powerful legs, shrieking that horrible wet rattle.

Raven didn't even look at them. She waved one hand in an almost dismissive gesture, her attention still fixed on me with outraged disbelief. Dark energy erupted from the floor in response—shadow tendrils that shot upward like spears, skewering both creatures through their midsections simultaneously. Purple-black blood sprayed across the walls. The monsters twitched once, twice, and went still.

"I did not," Raven continued, as if the brief interruption of violence hadn't happened at all, "give you some kind of magical shadow STD. That's not a real thing. That's not how any of this works."

I raised an eyebrow, stepping carefully around the expanding pool of ichor. "Are you sure? I mean, it's not like you've ever had sex before me." I let my smile turn wicked. "How would you know what's normal and what isn't?"

Raven made a sound like a kettle about to boil over. Her hands clenched at her sides, shadows flickering around her fingers in response to her emotional turmoil. For a moment, I thought she might actually try to strangle me.

Then she let out a long, slow breath, visibly forcing herself to calm down.

"Fine," she said, her voice flat with resignation. "Keep your secrets."

I grinned at her, utterly unrepentant. "I always do."

She shot me a glare that promised retribution at some unspecified future date, then pulled her hood further down to hide her still-flushed face. I hoped it was some sexy bedroom retribution to be honest…

I caught the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth, the ghost of a smile she was trying very hard to suppress.

…All in all, teasing and flirting with Raven made for a good temporary distraction. But distractions, by their very nature, couldn't last forever.

We reached the casino level after what felt like an eternity of blood-slicked corridors and muffled screaming from parts of the ship we couldn't reach. The space was garishly opulent—red velvet carpeting, gold-trimmed slot machines arranged in neat rows, blackjack tables with green felt surfaces that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their faceted surfaces catching the emergency lighting and scattering fractured rainbows across walls that were mercifully free of purple ichor.

For now.

Cyborg moved immediately to a central position, his mechanical eye scanning the room's layout with tactical precision. I could practically see him cataloging entry points, chokepoints, defensible positions.

"How long until you can punch through the jamming?" Raven asked, her voice clipped and professional. The flustered girl I'd been teasing in the corridor had vanished entirely, replaced by the cold, competent hero.

Cyborg's human eye tightened with frustration. "Still looking at ten minutes, minimum. The interference is adaptive—every time I find a frequency that might work, it shifts. It's like something down there is actively blocking us."

Ten minutes. An eternity when thousands of monsters were scaling the hull, pouring through every breach, hunting every passenger who hadn't made it to safety.

In our current situation, ten minutes might as well have been ten hours. I could already sense the monsters converging on our location. Most of them had now climbed up the ship. 

Starfire rose into the air above the huddled survivors, her body glowing with that warm, golden-orange luminescence that seemed to radiate reassurance. "Do not worry!" she called out, her voice carrying effortlessly across the casino floor. "We are the Teen Titans! We have faced many terrible foes, and we have always emerged the victorious! We will keep you safe!"

The reactions from the crowd were... mixed.

Some of the survivors actually seemed to relax at her words. A mother clutched her young daughter closer, but her shoulders dropped from around her ears. An older couple, still in their formal dinner attire now splattered with gore, exchanged glances that held something like hope. A group of college-aged kids who'd clearly been on spring break—their Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts almost offensively casual given the circumstances—started whispering among themselves, phones out, probably trying to document their brush with death for social media clout.

Others were less convinced. A heavyset man in a business suit kept shaking his head, muttering under his breath about lawsuits and negligence and how someone was going to pay for this. A woman in a cocktail dress stared at nothing, her mascara-streaked face blank with the particular emptiness of someone whose mind had temporarily checked out to avoid processing trauma. A teenage boy sat against a slot machine, his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking slightly back and forth.

We'd passed too many bodies on the way here. They'd all seen it.

And then there were the ones who simply... didn't seem to care?

An old man, easily in his eighties, sat hunched on a stool in front of a slot machine that was somehow still operational. The emergency power must have kept it running, its screen glowing with cheerful animated fruits and lucky sevens. 

As I watched, he reached up with a liver-spotted hand and pulled the lever with the practiced ease of someone who'd performed that exact motion thousands of times before.

The reels spun. Cherries, bars, and bells tumbled past in a blur of color. The machine let out a disappointing series of beeps—no jackpot today.

The old man grunted, fed another token into the slot, and pulled the lever again.

I walked closer, genuinely baffled. Around us, people were crying, praying, having quiet mental breakdowns. Somewhere above our heads, thousands of nightmare creatures were tearing the ship apart and devouring anyone too slow to escape. And this elderly gentleman was... playing slots.

"Hey," I said, stopping beside his stool. "You do know what's going on, right? The ship is under attack. Man-eating fish monsters. Mass casualties…?"

He didn't even look at me. Just pulled the lever again, watched the reels spin, grunted at another losing combination.

"Maybe he's senile," I muttered to myself, reaching out to tap his shoulder.

The old man finally turned, and the eyes that met mine were anything but senile. Sharp, clear, and filled with a weary amusement that spoke of someone who'd long since stopped giving a fuck about anything. "I heard you the first time, girlie," he said, his voice a raspy growl that suggested decades of cigarettes and whiskey. He turned back to his machine, feeding in another token. "Ship's under attack. Fish monsters. People dying. I got ears."

"Then why—"

"Stage four pancreatic cancer," he interrupted, pulling the lever with another practiced motion. "Doctors gave me three months, maybe four if I'm lucky. This cruise was supposed to be my last hurrah. My final vacation before I kick the bucket." He paused to watch the reels spin, then snorted when they came up empty again. "Way I figure it, I'm dead either way. Might as well enjoy myself while I wait."

What was I supposed to say to that?

"Ain't nothing taking this from me," the old man continued, not waiting for a response. He patted the slot machine almost affectionately. "Not cancer. Not fish monsters. Not the grim fucking reaper himself." Another token. Another pull. Another loss. "Besides, I'm feeling lucky tonight. Got a good feeling about this machine."

"Well," I said finally, shrugging one shoulder. "Can't argue with that logic, I guess."

The old man let out a wheezing chuckle. "Damn right you can't." He glanced at me sideways, taking in my appearance. "You one of them superheroes?"

"Technically I’m closer to a villain…" I said with a second shrug.

The old man turned to give me a look that was equal parts baffled and dismissive.  "Why the hell is a villain sticking around to help?" he asked, the question more rhetorical than curious. "Shouldn't you be flying away or something? Saving your own skin?"

It was a fair question. The kind of question I might have asked myself not too long ago.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the old man just waved a dismissive hand before I could get a word out.

"Eh, forget it. Ain't none of my damn business." He turned back to his slot machine, feeding another token into the hungry mouth of the one-armed bandit. "You do you, girlie. I got a jackpot to win." The lever pulled. The reels spun. Another loss. He didn't seem to care.

I walked away, shaking my head slightly at the absurdity of it all. Here we were, trapped on a sinking ship surrounded by thousands of man-eating monsters, and somehow the calmest person in the room was an octogenarian with terminal cancer and a gambling addiction.

Life was strange.

I made my way back to where Raven and the others had gathered near the center of the casino floor. Cyborg had pulled up some kind of holographic display from his arm—a schematic of the casino level, blue lines and red dots that I assumed represented structural layouts and enemy positions. His human eye was narrowed in concentration, his mechanical one whirring as it processed data faster than any organic brain could manage.

"We've got a problem," he said as I approached, not looking up from his display. "This place wasn't designed to be defended. Look at this—" He gestured at the schematic, highlighting sections that pulsed an angry red. "Thirty-seven potential entry points. Doors on every wall. Emergency exits. Service corridors. And these windows—" He jabbed a finger at the casino's exterior walls, where floor-to-ceiling glass panels offered what had probably been a stunning ocean view before it became a portal for nightmare creatures. "They're not reinforced for more than some heavy rain. One good hit and they shatter."

The casino was huge—easily the size of half a football field—and every wall was riddled with potential breach points. Slot machines offered some cover, sure, but they weren't barriers. The blackjack tables could be flipped, but they'd only slow the creatures down, not stop them.

And those creatures were getting closer. We had minutes. Maybe less.

"Can you seal some of it off?" Beast Boy asked, having shifted back to his human form. "Like, weld the doors shut or something?"

Cyborg shook his head grimly. "I could seal maybe three or four before they breach. That's not going to help when there are thirty more they can come through."

An idea sparked in my mind, something so obvious I almost laughed at myself for not thinking of it sooner. I turned to Bellatrix, who was standing slightly apart from the group, examining her nails with theatrical boredom despite the dried gore splattered across her robes.

"Mother," I said, and she perked up immediately at the title, her dark eyes focusing on me with that unsettling intensity she reserved for moments when she felt useful. "Let’s use transfiguration. We seal them all at once."

Her brow furrowed for a moment before understanding dawned. “Turn every door and window into solid wall?" She tapped her wand against her palm. "It won't last forever. Transfiguration at this scale without proper preparation... maybe ten minutes before the magic starts degrading. Fifteen if we're lucky."

"Fifteen minutes is what we need," I said. 

"I suppose it won't waste too much of my magic," she conceded, as if doing anything helpful for Muggles physically pained her. 

We pulled out our wands simultaneously. The survivors nearest to us flinched at the sight.

"Duro!" I commanded, pouring my will into the spell. The incantation was simple—first-year Hogwarts material, had I actually attended the place. But casting it at this scale, affecting dozens of targets simultaneously, required raw magical strength that most witches would never possess.

Good thing I wasn't most witches.

The magic erupted from my wand in a wave of crystalline energy, washing across the casino's eastern wall like a tide of solidifying light. Glass panels shimmered, rippled, and then transformed—their transparent surfaces darkening, thickening, becoming solid stone that matched the walls around them. Doors sealed themselves shut as their wooden frames merged with the surrounding architecture, hinges disappearing, handles sinking into suddenly-smooth surfaces.

Across the room, Bellatrix was doing the same to the western wall, her own magic achieving the same results but what I suspected was significantly more taxing on her magical reserves.

We met in the middle, our final spells overlapping to seal the last few entry points. The emergency exit near the cashier's cage. A service door half-hidden behind a row of slot machines. A decorative window that had probably offered a view of the ship's atrium before the attack.

Stone. Stone. Stone.

When we finished, the casino had been transformed. No doors. No windows. Just solid walls on every side. A complete and total fire hazard in any other situation but perfect for us. Those monsters were going to be very confused when they reached the center of the ship.

The Titans stared at our handiwork with expressions ranging from impressed to deeply unsettled.

"Okay," Cyborg said slowly, his mechanical eye scanning the newly-sealed walls. "That's... actually really useful. I'm not gonna lie, I did not expect the scary evil witches to be this helpful besides killing stuff."

Starfire had a more enthusiastic response.

"Eep—!" The sound escaped me before I could stop it—a completely undignified squeak of surprise as something warm and soft and very strong slammed into my back. Arms wrapped around my torso from behind, pulling me against a body that was simultaneously athletic and impossibly curvaceous.

Starfire's chest pressed against my shoulder blades—her breasts were enormous, easily as large as my own, and I could feel every generous curve molding against my back through the thin material of her uniform. Her skin radiated that dry, intense heat I'd noticed earlier, like standing too close to a bonfire. It should have been uncomfortable.

It was not uncomfortable.

"Excellent work, Friend Amara!" Starfire chirped directly into my ear, her voice bright with genuine delight. Her arms tightened around me in what she probably considered a friendly hug but which was actually threatening to crack my ribs. "Your magical sealing of the entry points was most impressive! You and your mother make a formidable team of the combat!"

And then her hands moved.

I wasn't sure if it was intentional or just a byproduct of Tamaranean social norms that apparently had no concept of personal boundaries, but Starfire's grip shifted as she squeezed me—her palms sliding up my torso until they were pressed directly against my breasts, cupping them through my shirt with the casual familiarity of someone who genuinely didn't understand why this might be inappropriate.

"You are also very soft!" she added happily, as if this were a perfectly normal observation to make while groping someone in the middle of a crisis. "Your body is most pleasant to embrace!"

My brain short-circuited.

On one hand, we were in mortal danger, surrounded by traumatized civilians, and this was absolutely not the time for... whatever this was.

On the other hand, a beautiful alien princess was pressed against my back, her breasts squishing against me, her hands full of my chest, and my [Major Sin of Lust] was purring.

"Starfire." Raven's voice cut through my hormonal haze like a bucket of ice water. I turned my head, as much as Starfire's grip would allow, and saw my half-demon lover standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, her hood thrown back to reveal a face that was decidedly not amused. Her violet eyes were narrowed. Her pale grey cheeks had flushed that lovely lavender color I was beginning to associate with strong emotion. And her voice, when she spoke again, carried a distinct edge that made something warm bloom in my chest. "Get. Off. Her." It came out as a hiss, low and possessive and absolutely dripping with jealousy. 

Shadows flickered at the edges of her cloak, responding to her emotional state, and for a moment she looked less like a teenage superhero and more like something ancient and territorial that had just spotted a rival encroaching on its territory.

Oh, that was adorable.

Starfire blinked, apparently oblivious to the danger. "But Friend Raven, I am merely expressing my appreciation for Friend Amara's contribution to our—"

Beast Boy and Cyborg, standing a few feet away, exchanged glances. Then, almost in unison, they started snickering.

"Dude," Beast Boy whispered, not even trying to be subtle about it. "Is Raven jealous? Like, actually jealous? I didn't think she could even feel that emotion!"

"Man, shut up," Cyborg whispered back, though his human eye was dancing with barely-contained amusement. 

Starfire finally seemed to register that something was amiss. She released me—slowly, her hands trailing across my body in a way that was probably innocent but definitely didn't feel innocent—and floated back a few inches, her head tilted in that confused-puppy expression she did so well. "Friend Raven," she said, her tone genuinely puzzled, "why are you making the face of anger? I was only—"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a notification that blazed across my vision, visible only to me, the familiar black text of my System burning itself into my retinas with an urgency that made my heart stutter.

ATTENTION! Your Familiar Egg is ready to hatch! Please prepare for familiar bonding sequence!

I stared at the words, my brain taking a moment to process what I was reading.

Seriously?

Now?

That thing I’d almost forgotten about that’s been sitting in my inventory for days was choosing now of all times to hatch!?

The egg materialized out of thin air directly in front of my face.

I lunged forward on instinct, my hands shooting out to catch the egg before it could shatter against the casino floor. My fingers closed around smooth, cool shell, and I found myself cradling something roughly the size of a cantaloupe against my chest.

For a moment, I just stared at it.

The egg was black. The surface was smooth as polished obsidian, faintly warm against my palms, and when I tilted it slightly, I could have sworn I saw shadows moving beneath the shell. Swirling. Waiting.

"Amara?" Raven's voice cut through my contemplation, sharp with concern. She'd moved closer while I was distracted, her violet eyes fixed on the object in my hands with obvious wariness. "What is that? Where did it come from?"

Before I could answer, Beast Boy let out a snort of laughter that was entirely inappropriate for our current situation. "Dude," he said, elbowing Cyborg in the ribs. "Did she just pull out an egg? Like, from nowhere?" He shifted into a chicken for approximately half a second—just long enough to let out an obnoxious cluck—before shifting back with a grin splitting his green face. "I know we're all stressed, but I really don't think now is the time for breakfast."

Cyborg was already shaking his head. "Man, that's not even a chicken egg. That thing's huge. What is she gonna do, make an omelette for everyone?" He gestured at the huddled survivors. "Actually, that might not be a bad idea. Morale's pretty low. Some comfort food could—"

"It's not for eating!" I snapped, clutching the egg protectively against my chest. The indignation in my voice was entirely genuine. These heroic idiots were mocking what was about to be a profound magical bonding experience! "This is my familiar egg. It's been incubating in my magical core, preparing to hatch into a creature that will be soul-bound to me for the rest of my existence." I paused, glancing down at the egg, which had begun to vibrate faintly in my grip. "It just, unfortunately, decided that now was the optimal moment to make its grand entrance into the world."

The timing really was spectacularly bad. Thousands of monsters outside. Fifty terrified civilians inside. A communication jamming field preventing us from calling for help. And my familiar had apparently looked at all of that and thought yes, this seems like the perfect environment for a birth!

Bellatrix drifted closer, her dark eyes gleaming with something that might have been maternal pride. She clasped her hands together beneath her chin, practically vibrating with anticipation. "Oh, how wonderful!" she breathed, her voice dropping into that reverent tone she usually reserved for discussions of torture techniques and ancient curses. "Congratulations, my darling daughter. A familiar bonding is a momentous occasion—one of the most sacred rituals in our world." Her smile sharpened, showing too many teeth. "I do hope you get something properly dark and terrifying. A nundu, perhaps? Or a basilisk? Ooh, or one of those delightful little creatures that feeds on human despair—what are they called again?"

"This is really bad timing," Raven said flatly, apparently deciding to ignore Bellatrix's enthusiasm entirely. Her arms were crossed, her expression caught somewhere between concern and exasperation. "We're in the middle of a crisis, Amara. Can you... I don't know... postpone it somehow?"

I opened my mouth to explain that familiar bonding wasn't something you could just reschedule, but the words died in my throat.

Because the egg was cracking.

Fragments of black shell scattered across my hands, dissolving into wisps of shadow before they could fall to the floor. And in their place, nestled in my cupped palms like it had always belonged there, was a bird.

It was small—barely larger than my fist, its body covered in downy feathers so dark they seemed to absorb the emergency lighting around us. Its wings were folded neatly against its sides, delicate and fragile-looking, tipped with what might have been tiny flames if flames could burn in shades of purple and black. A crest of shadow-dark plumage crowned its head, soft and wild, giving it the appearance of a creature that had just woken from a very comfortable nap.

And its eyes.

Its eyes were pools of absolute darkness, deep and infinite and somehow, impossibly, utterly adorable. They stared up at me with the guileless wonder of a newborn discovering the world for the first time, and I felt something in my chest crack open.

"Oh," I whispered, my voice coming out softer than I'd intended. "Oh, you're... you're so cute."

The words escaped before I could stop them, entirely undignified and completely sincere. This tiny creature, this impossible little bird that had chosen me, was looking at me like I was its entire universe. Like I was the first beautiful thing it had ever seen.

My [Simmering Fury] didn't stir. My [Major Sin of Lust] stayed quiet. For one perfect moment, there was nothing but me and this small, dark, precious life cradled in my hands.

Starfire descended from wherever she'd been hovering after Raven scared her off me, her face alight with genuine delight. "Oh!" she gasped, pressing both hands to her cheeks in a gesture of overwhelming cuteness appreciation. "The little birdie is absolutely adorable! It is the most precious creature I have ever witnessed! May I hold it? I promise I will be very gentle!"

The bird—my bird, my familiar—chirped at Starfire. A tiny sound, barely audible, but somehow conveying a mixture of curiosity and wariness that suggested it had already developed opinions about the world.

Smart creature. I approved.

But it was Bellatrix's reaction that made me look up sharply. She had gone very, very still. Her dark eyes were wide, fixed on the creature in my hands with an intensity that bordered on reverence. Her lips moved silently for a moment before she found her voice. "Amara," she breathed, and there was something almost like awe threading through her usually manic tone. "Amara, darling, do you have any idea what that is?"

I looked down at the bird. It chirped again, tilting its head to examine me with those fathomless dark eyes.

"A... bird?" I offered uncertainly.

Bellatrix let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes actually glistening with what might have been tears. "That," she said, pointing at my familiar with a finger that shook slightly, "is a Dark Phoenix. Also known as a Shadow Phoenix, or in some of the older texts, an Umbral Firebird." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "They were thought to be extinct, Amara. Hunted to annihilation centuries ago because wizards feared their power. The last confirmed sighting was over four hundred years ago, and even that was considered apocryphal by most scholars." She reached out as if to touch the bird, then stopped herself, her hand hovering inches away like she was afraid it might dissolve if she made contact. "Oh, my darling daughter, you continue to exceed every expectation! This familiar is worth more than—" She paused, her expression shifting to something cruel and satisfied. "—worth infinitely more than that pathetic excuse for a phoenix that serves old fool Dumbledore."

A phoenix. My familiar was a dark phoenix.

"Wait," I said, my voice sharp with sudden hope. "Phoenixes can teleport. Flame travel, or shadow travel, or whatever the dark equivalent is." I looked down at the tiny creature, my heart pounding. "Can you get people off this ship? Transport the survivors somewhere safe?"

The Dark Phoenix stared up at me with those infinite black eyes.

For a moment, I felt a flicker of something through our newly-formed bond—a sense of connection, of understanding, of a creature that wanted desperately to help its bonded partner.

And then it chirped. 

A tiny, adorable, utterly useless chirp.

The bird shuffled its wings, puffed up its downy chest feathers, and proceeded to close its eyes in a gesture that I recognized immediately. It wasn't preparing to use some ancient teleportation ability. It wasn't summoning the power of shadow flames to save everyone aboard this doomed vessel.

It was falling asleep. Because it was a baby. 

"Oh," I said flatly, watching my familiar snuggle deeper into my palms, its tiny body rising and falling with the rhythm of infant slumber. "Right. You're completely useless right now, aren't you?"

The Dark Phoenix, already mostly asleep, let out a soft coo that seemed to confirm my assessment without any shame whatsoever.

I sighed, carefully adjusting my grip so the sleeping creature was secure against my chest.

"Well," I announced to the room at large, "so much for that plan."

“MY EMERGENCY MESSAGE JUST GOT THROUGH!” Cyborg suddenly announced!

And that’s when we heard scratching and pounding on the walls all around us…

Fifteen minutes later, the casino had become a slaughterhouse just like the last place we’d fled from...

The transfigured walls were failing. I could see the magic degrading in real-time—stone rippling back into glass, sealed doors shimmering as their frames reasserted themselves, solid barriers developing hairline fractures that spread like spiderwebs across their surfaces. 

And through every crack, every gap, every newly-reformed window, the creatures came pouring in.

"LEFT FLANK! WE'VE GOT A BREACH ON THE LEFT FLANK!" Cyborg's voice cut through the chaos, his cannon arm firing in rapid bursts that turned clusters of merpeople into purple paste. But for every group he obliterated, three more squeezed through the widening gaps.

Starfire was a blur of green fire above us, starbolts raining down like a meteor shower, but even her seemingly endless energy was flagging. Her movements were slower now, her shots less precise. A creature's rusty spear had grazed her shoulder at some point—blood trickled down her arm.

Beast Boy shifted forms with desperate speed—gorilla to tiger to bear to something with too many teeth, but the strain was showing in how his transformations flickered at the edges, how his green fur was matted with gore both purple and red.

And through it all, Raven held the center. Dark energy erupted from her in waves, tendrils of shadow tearing creatures apart, shields deflecting rusty weapons, barriers buying precious seconds for the civilians huddled in a shrinking circle at the room's heart. But I could see the tremor in her hands. Could feel, through whatever strange connection we now shared, the exhaustion bleeding through her concentration.

Bellatrix fought beside me, her wand a blur of dark curses.

"Reducto! Avada Kedavra! Crucio—oh, just DIE already!" Her voice had gone hoarse, her movements losing their earlier theatrical flourish in favor of brutal efficiency. Sweat plastered wild dark curls to her forehead, and I noticed with growing alarm that her spells were hitting with less force than before. Her magical reserves were drained.

My own fire roared through the casino, incinerating everything it touched, but I couldn't let loose completely. Not with civilians so close. Not with the baby Dark Phoenix nestled safely in the valley between my breasts. The creature had burrowed into my cleavage like it was the most natural place in the world, utterly oblivious to the carnage around us. Having to protect it meant fighting with one metaphorical hand tied behind my back. Every spell, every movement, every dodge had to account for the fragile life pressed against my heart.

A scream from my right made me spin.

The old man.

The slot machine in front of him was flashing. Lights blazing. Sirens wailing. The jackpot display scrolled through numbers that climbed higher and higher, finally settling on a sum that probably would have meant something if he'd had more than three months to live.

He'd won. Against all odds, in the middle of an apocalypse, the stubborn bastard had ACTUALLY WON!

His wrinkled face split into a grin of pure, defiant triumph. His liver-spotted hand was still on the lever, still clutching his victory, when the creatures reached him.

Three of them. They came from behind, through a window that had just finished reverting from stone, and they were on him before he could even turn around.

Claws. Teeth. The wet, tearing sounds of flesh parting from bone. The old man didn't scream. Maybe he'd made peace with death already. Maybe the cancer had stolen his fear along with his future. Or maybe it happened too fast for screaming.

I watched him disappear beneath a pile of grey-green bodies, watched the slot machine's cheerful victory jingle play on and on while purple-black blood splattered across its flashing lights, and I felt—

Nothing. That was the worst part. I felt nothing. Not horror. Not grief. Not even the vague discomfort I'd experienced earlier when passing bodies in the corridors. Just a cold, clinical observation that one more person had died, and it hadn't been someone I cared about, so it didn't really matter.

The realization should have disturbed me. It didn't.

"We're losing ground!" Cyborg's shout snapped my attention back to the broader battle. He was right. The perimeter was shrinking. The civilians, maybe forty left now, the rest having been picked off during the chaos, were pressed so tightly together they could barely breathe. The Titans formed a desperate ring around them, but that ring was getting smaller by the second.

I caught Raven's eye across the carnage. She looked exhausted. We needed to retreat. We needed to run. The heroes could fly, could carry civilians, could maybe, maybe save a handful of people if they abandoned the rest right now.

I opened my mouth to shout the suggestion—to tell Raven that dying here for nothing was stupid, that saving some was better than saving none, that—

The ship suddenly lurched!

The entire cruise liner jerked sideways like a giant hand had slapped it, sending creatures and humans alike stumbling, slot machines toppling, the crystal chandeliers swinging wildly overhead.

Something had hit us hard. No, I heard metal tearing and groaning. Something or someone just drilled right through the ship.

Before I could process what that meant, reality tore open in the center of the room.

A pitch black portal manifested right next to me and I immediately recognized the magic radiating from it. Through it stepped Morgana le Fay. She emerged like a queen entering her throne room—unhurried, imperious, utterly unconcerned with the chaos erupting around her. Her black dress clung to curves that mirrored my own, the fabric seeming to drink in the emergency lighting rather than reflect it. Long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in perfect waves. Green eyes—my eyes, our eyes—swept across the casino with an expression of aristocratic disdain.

Those eyes found me. Locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Even across a room full of screaming civilians and dying monsters, even covered in gore and exhaustion, even with a baby phoenix stuffed down my cleavage—she looked at me like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

"Amara." My name on her lips was relief and fury and possession all tangled together. "When I discovered you'd taken a pleasure cruise without me, I was prepared to be annoyed." Her gaze swept meaningfully across the carnage—the bodies, the blood, the creatures still pouring through breaches in the walls. "I was not prepared for this."

A creature lunged at her from the side, a rusty trident aimed at her throat.

Morgana didn't even look at it. She raised one hand in a gesture of casual dismissal, and the monster simply... came apart. It just ceased to be a cohesive entity, flesh and bone and scale separating into component pieces that scattered across the floor like a dropped jigsaw puzzle.