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.