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
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