Chapter 17:
– Amara –
I couldn't keep the grin off my face.
It stretched wide and feral across the plain, unremarkable features of Heather Potter which was a sharp contrast to the dull, timid girl I was supposed to be.
My black wand was steady in my hand, pointing directly at the center of James Potter Junior's chest, humming with a dark, eager energy that begged to be released.
Opposite me, my so-called twin brother mirrored my stance, his own wand raised, but the difference in our posture was laughable. He was shaking like a leaf in a gale. His knuckles were white, the blood drained from them as he gripped the wood so tight I thought it might snap.
He was terrified. And he should be.
"Come on, James," I taunted softly. I took a slow, deliberate step forward, enjoying the way he flinched back instinctively. "Show me what you're actually made of. Aren't you the Boy-Who-Lived? The magical world's golden boy?" I tilted my head, letting the dull brown hair of my disguise fall over one shoulder. I looked at him with mock pity, widening my eyes. "You were tutored for years by the best duelists money could buy," I reminded him, my tone dripping with poison. "You had private lessons. You had Dumbledore's guidance. You had Mommy and Daddy cheering you on while I rotted in an orphanage. So go on then. Prove it was worth the investment."
His face twisted, flushing a blotchy, ugly red. The shame was warring with the fear, and I could see the exact moment his pride snapped. "Shut up!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You're nothing! You're just a squib! You're a mistake!"
"Attack me again, you coward," I hissed, dropping the facade entirely. My eyes narrowed, cold and hard. "Do it!"
That seemed to set him off.
With a guttural roar of frustration, James whipped his wand in a jagged, violent slash. "Reducto!"
The spell tore through the air, a bolt of vibrant, crackling blue light aimed straight for my head. It was a nasty curse, one meant to pulverize solid objects into dust. If it hit a human skull, there wouldn't be enough left to identify. He wasn't trying to disarm me anymore. He was trying to erase me.
My body moved on instinct, honed by Morgana's training sessions and the bloody reality of the battles I'd fought in the last week. I stepped to the left. The blue bolt hissed past my ear, the heat of it prickling against my skin, and slammed into the stone wall of the barn behind me. Rock exploded into dust, showering the grass with debris.
It was a good thing I let all the Hippogriffs out earlier…
"Missed," I said dryly.
"Confringo! Stupefy! Expulso!"
The spells came in a short barrage. I danced through them. I batted a Stunner aside with a lazy flick of my wrist, sending the red jet of light careening into the grass where it scorched a black mark into the earth. I ducked under a Blasting Curse, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle my hair.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Is that it?" I mocked him, twirling my wand between my fingers. "Is that really the best you can do?"
He was panting heavily now. His eyes were wild, darting back and forth, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
In his mind, I was Heather—weak, useless, broken. The cognitive dissonance was tearing him apart. He couldn't reconcile the sister he despised with the witch who was effortlessly humiliating him.
"DIFFINDO!" he shrieked, slashing his wand horizontally.
The Severing Charm was a blade of compressed air meant to slice through flesh and bone. It was a dark choice. A vicious choice.
I stopped laughing.
I watched the hatred in his eyes as he cast it. There was no hesitation there. No brotherly reluctance. He looked at me with the same loathing James Senior had shown when he pointed his wand at me in Sirius's house…
In that moment, something inside me finally settled.
Whatever tiny, lingering part of me that had wondered—just wondered—if maybe there was a chance for a connection, if maybe my twin wasn't entirely lost to his parents' toxicity... it died. Right there on the lawn.
He wasn't a confused boy. He wasn't a victim of his upbringing. He was nineteen years old. He was a man. And he was just as messed up, just as twisted, and just as cruel as Lily and James were.
I flicked my wand upward, a sharp, vertical slash. "Protego."
The invisible blade of his curse slammed into my shield with a ringing clang like a hammer hitting an anvil. My barrier didn't even shimmer. It held firm, solid as a rock.
"My turn," I whispered.
I stopped dodging. I planted my feet, squared my shoulders, and let my magic flow. I didn't reach for the killing curses or the black fire I'd used in Diagon Alley. I didn't need them for him.
He wasn't worth the mana cost…
"Flipendo!"
I put real power behind the Knockback Jinx. A pulse of blue light erupted from my wand, moving faster than he could react.
It caught him square in the chest.
James let out a breathless whoof of air as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backward. He flew ten feet through the air, his limbs flailing helplessly, before crashing hard onto the grass. He rolled, groaning, his expensive silk robe stained with dirt and grass.
"Get up," I ordered, my voice cold.
He scrambled to his feet, spitting out a blade of grass, his face contorted with rage. "You bitch!" he screamed, raising his wand again.
"You need to clean out that filthy mouth… Aguamenti," I cast, but I made sure that I focused the spell, I pressurized it more than normal. A jet of water slammed into his face like a fire hose, knocking his head back and choking off his scream.
He sputtered, blinding him momentarily, staggering back as he tried to wipe the water from his eyes.
"Furnunculus!"
I hit him with the Pimple Jinx before he could recover. He yelped as large, angry boils began to erupt instantly across his nose and cheeks, distorting his handsome face into something lumpy and grotesque.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
His legs snapped together, bound by the Leg-Locker Curse. He teetered for a second, arms windmilling wildly, before toppling over sideways like a felled tree. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, his wand flying from his hand and landing a few feet away.
I walked toward him slowly, savoring the sound of his panicked breathing.
"What's the matter, James?" I asked, looking down at him. He was struggling to reach his wand, his fingers clawing at the grass, dragging his bound body forward inch by inch. "I thought you were supposed to be this amazing talented wizard? You can't even block such basic spells?"
He glared up at me, his face red and lumpy, water dripping from his nose. "Let me up!" he snarled. "You're cheating! You're using dark magic!"
"I'm using first-year spells, you idiot," I scoffed. "You should recognize them considering you were lucky enough to go to magic school!" With a lazy flick of my wand, I released the bind on his legs.
"Pick it up," I told him, nodding toward his fallen wand. "Pick it up and try again."
He scrambled for it, clutching the wood like a lifeline. He scrambled to his feet, backing away from me, his chest heaving.
"Protego Totalum!" he shouted, thrusting his wand forward. A shimmering, translucent dome of magical energy sprang up around him. It was a strong shield, I had to admit. He poured everything he had into it, his face straining with effort, sweat dripping down his temples. He hunkered down behind it, eyeing me warily, thinking he was safe.
I smiled. "Let's test that defensive magic, shall we?" I laughed. I began to cast. I didn't use incantations. I just threw raw bolts of magical force, one after another, hammering against his shield.
Bang.
The first impact made his shield shudder violently. James flinched, his knees bending under the strain.
Bang.
The second bolt hit the exact same spot. A spiderweb fracture appeared in the magical barrier. James let out a low grunt of exertion, reinforcing the shield with a desperate infusion of his own magic.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I increased the tempo. I wasn't even trying. My arm moved back and forth in a steady rhythm, firing spell after spell. Each one carried slightly more weight, slightly more of my magical strength behind it.
I watched his face as he struggled. His teeth were gritted so hard I thought they might shatter. He was pouring every ounce of his mana into holding that shield, draining his magical core dry just to stay standing.
I loved it. I loved watching the realization dawn on him—that he was completely, utterly outmatched. "Is that it?" I taunted, firing another bolt that made his shield flare dangerously bright. "Is that all the power the great Potter line has to offer?!"
He groaned, his arms shaking. He dropped to one knee, unable to support the weight of the magical assault.
"Stop!" he gasped, sweat stinging his eyes. "Stop it!"
"Why?" I asked, firing again. Crack. The fracture in his shield widened. "You wanted to see what I could do. You wanted to know how a 'squib' could defy you. Are you not entertained?"
He wasn't even close to my level. It was laughable. Last night, I had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bellatrix Lestrange. I had fought the head of the DMLE Amelia Bones. I had slaughtered trained Aurors, boiling their blood and burning some of them to ash!
I raised my wand high, gathering a larger ball of kinetic energy at the tip. It glowed with a deep, purple hue.
James looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. His shield was flickering, guttering like a candle in a gale. "Please," he whimpered.
I brought my wand down.
The spell slammed into his shield with the force of a cannonball. The barrier didn't just break; it shattered. It exploded outward in a shower of magical sparks. The backlash hit James hard, lifting him off his knees and throwing him backward through the air. He flew ten, fifteen feet, tumbling ragdoll-limp across the lawn before skidding to a halt near the rose bushes.
My mind raced as I stood over the broken form of James Potter Junior.
He was curled into a fetal ball in the mud, his expensive silk pajamas stained green and brown, clutching his ribs as he wheezed for air. The Pimple Jinx had done its work thoroughly; his face was a grotesque landscape of angry, pulsating boils that distorted his features into something unrecognizable. He looked pathetic. He looked weak.
My wand tip hovered inches from his face, humming with a dark, expectant energy. It would be so easy. A single word. A flick of the wrist. Avada Kedavra. Or maybe something slower, something that would let him feel the life leaching out of him, payback for every year I spent rotting in that orphanage while he grew up in the lap of luxury.
The bond that was supposed to exist between magical twins—that unbreakable connection the storybooks lied about—was no longer in existence. In truth, it had never existed. It had been strangled in the crib the moment my parents chose him over me.
I stared down at him, watching a tear leak from his eye and track through the pus and inflammation on his cheek. I wondered, with a cold, detached curiosity, if I would be doing him a favor by finishing him off. What kind of man was he going to grow up to be? He was nineteen, impotent, bitter, entitled, and cruel. Maybe reincarnation would give him a better roll of the dice. Maybe in his next life, he wouldn't be such a colossal asshole.
My fingers tightened on the black wood of my wand.
But then an image flashed through my mind. Ginny Weasley's laugh, bright and uninhibited on the dance floor. Hermione Granger's shy, flushed smile as she pressed a kiss to my cheek.
I hesitated. I only knew the both of them for two days, but I knew if we ever met again in the future they would be very disappointed if I actually killed him here and now. No, I'd let him live in pathetic disgrace for now. Knowing his stupid arrogance, someone else would do the job for me.
I let out a sharp, frustrated breath and began to lower my wand. "You're not worth the trouble," I muttered.
"HEATHER!" The scream came from nearby, filled with pure hatred. James Potter Senior was storming out of the mansion's rear conservatory doors. He looked deranged. His robes were flying behind him, his face twisted into a rictus of panic and murderous rage. He wasn't looking at his son. He was looking at me. "What are you doing, you evil little bitch?!" he roared. He stopped twenty yards away, chest heaving, his wand raised high. "I knew it!" he screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "I knew something was wrong with you! I felt it the moment you stepped back into this house!" He took a stumbling step forward. "The prophecy! It's coming true right before our eyes, Lily! The dark child rises to consume the light! I won't let it happen! I won't let her destroy us!"
My eyes narrowed. The prophecy?
"I'll stop it right now!" James bellowed. There was no fatherly reluctance, no hesitation in his soul. He wanted me dead. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green light erupted from his wand, a jagged bolt of death hurtling across the lawn.
I simply took a step to the right.
It was almost insulting how easy it was. The jet of green light hissed past my left shoulder, the wind of its passage ruffling the dull brown hair of my disguise. It slammed into the mud ten feet behind me with a wet, heavy thud, scorching the earth and leaving a smoking crater where the grass had instantly died.
I looked back at James, my expression unimpressed. "You missed," I said coldly.
But my mind snagged on something he had screamed.
"...coming true right before our eyes, Lily!"
Lily?
I frowned, scanning the area quickly. James was alone on the lawn. The patio doors were open, but empty. There was no sign of my "mother" anywhere. Why would he be shouting to her if she wasn't—
Crack.
The sound was subtle, the snap of a dry twig, but it came from behind me.
My instincts, sharpened by paranoia and dark magic, screamed a warning! I didn't think. I dropped.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" The incantation was shrieked, high and vindictive, from thin air directly behind where I had been standing a split second ago.
I felt the air tear above my head. The invisible blade of the curse sliced through the space my neck had occupied, carrying so much force I heard the whoosh of it passing. It struck the stone fountain in the center of the garden, cleaving the marble statue of a griffin cleanly in half with a deafening crack.
I rolled across the grass, coming up into a crouch, my wand snapping toward the source of the voice. The air shimmered. It was a watery, distorting ripple, like heat rising off asphalt, before settling back into perfect transparency.
Lily Potter was there. I couldn't see her, but I knew she was there. She was under an Invisibility Cloak.
"Trying to hide and sneak attack me, Lily Potter?" I called out—not even calling her "mother" anymore out loud—my voice was dripping with scorn. "Cowardice really does run in the family, doesn't it? First your husband tries to sell me, now you try to stab me in the back?"
"Die!" her disembodied voice screamed, moving to my left. "Just die, you monster!"
I tracked the sound of her footsteps in the grass—the slight depression of the blades, the rustle of movement. She was trying to flank me.
"Think again," I snarled. I thrust my soul-bound wand forward, tapping into [Daughter of the Eternal Fire]. I didn't need an incantation. I just needed the intent. Burn.
A torrent of liquid, roaring orange fire exploded from my wand. It wasn't a jet, it was a wave, a cone of destruction that washed over the entire left side of the garden.
The fire hit something solid in the empty air.
"AAAAHHH!" Lily's scream was high and shrill, a sound of pure agony.
The invisibility cloak was tossed off of her body.
Lily Potter stumbled backward, frantically batting at herself. The fire had caught the edge of the cloak and the sleeve of her expensive robes. She was flailing, dropping to the grass and rolling desperately to smother the flames licking at her arm and side. The smell of singed fabric and burnt hair filled the air.
"LILY!" James Senior roared from across the lawn. He was running toward me now, firing spells as he came—launching a barrage of angry magic.
I didn't even move my feet. I stood my ground, feeling the hum of the wand in my hand. I swatted his spells aside like annoying insects. A Reductor curse hit my shield and bounced harmlessly into the sky. A Stunner fizzled out against the raw aura of my power.
"Is that it?" I taunted him. "Is that the best the great Auror Captain can do?"
He fired another dark Curse, aiming for my head.
I didn't block it. I caught it.
With a precise, fluid motion of my wand, I snagged the energy of his spell mid-air, spun it around with a twist of my wrist, and hurled it back at him with double the velocity. "Return to sender!"
James's eyes widened. He tried to dive, but he was too slow, too old, too out of practice.
The spell slammed into his left arm.
There was a sickening crunch, followed by the wet sizzle of boiling flesh.
"GAAAH!"
James spun around from the impact, clutching his arm as he fell to his knees. The sleeve of his robe was smoking, the fabric melted into the blistering, red ruin of his skin. He howled, curling in on himself, the fight draining out of him as the pain took over.
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Pathetic. Both of you."
I turned my back on James, dismissing him as a threat. He was broken, weeping over his burnt arm. My attention was fixed on Lily. She had managed to put out the fire on her clothes, but she was lying on the grass, gasping for breath, her face streaked with soot and tears. Her wand lay a few feet away.
I walked over to her, my steps slow and deliberate. The "Heather" disguise felt tight on my skin, but the power flowing through me was all Amara.
I stopped over her. She looked up at me, her green eyes—my eyes—wide with terror. She scrambled backward, pushing herself along the ground with her heels, trying to get away from the daughter she had thrown away.
"Stay back," she whimpered. "Heather, please..."
I reached out with my foot and kicked her wand. It skittered across the grass, spinning away into the bushes.
"No!" she gasped, reaching for it uselessly.
I ignored her. My eyes were drawn to the pile of silvery, fluid fabric she had discarded in her panic. The Invisibility Cloak she used to try and kill me.
Even sitting there, inert, it radiated a power that made the hair on my arms stand up. I could feel it vibrating against my senses—a deep, resonant hum of PURE DARK MAGIC. It felt cold, like the space between stars, but also alluring, like a whisper promising secrets. It felt ancient.
It called to me! It felt… delicious. I reached down and touched it.
"Don't touch that!" James hissed from across the lawn. He was struggling to stand, cradling his ruined arm, his face pale and sweaty. "Put that down! That is a precious Potter family heirloom! It has been in my family for generations! It is not meant for the likes of you!"
"Not meant for me?" I repeated, my fingers brushing the silk-like material.
A shockwave of cold energy rushed up my arm as I grabbed the cloak. It didn't reject me. It didn't fight. It settled into my grip like it had been waiting for me. It felt heavy and light at the same time, a paradox of magic. I lifted it, letting the fabric flow through my fingers. It was so soft, cold and warm at the same time.
I whipped the cloak around my shoulders. It settled instantly, draping over me like a second skin. I felt hidden. I felt like death itself was wrapping its arms around me in a lover's embrace. "It's mine now," I declared, knowing they could no longer see me as James and Lily's heads snapped in all directions.
"You thief!" Lily shrieked from the ground, finding her voice. "Give it back! That belongs to James Junior, not you! Give it back!" Lily screamed, her voice shrill and breaking with hysteria. She was scrambling to her feet, her hands blackened with soot, her expensive robes ruined. Her eyes were wild, darting frantically around the spot where I had been standing just a second ago. "That cloak belongs to my son! It belongs to James! You have no right—"
I stood perfectly still, not three feet away from her, and watched her scream at a patch of empty grass.
It was objectively hilarious.
"Heather!" she shrieked, lunging forward and grabbing at the empty air, her fingers closing on nothing but smoke and morning mist. "Don't you dare walk away with that! That is a Potter heirloom! It is priceless!"
James Senior was still on his knees, clutching his ruined, blistering arm, his face a mask of grey agony, but he added his voice to the chorus. "You thief! You ungrateful little gutter rat! Bring it back!"
James Junior was still moaning in the dirt, too broken to say much of anything.
I didn't say a word. I simply sidestepped Lily's frantic, flailing grasp. She stumbled past me, nearly tripping over the hem of her own scorched robes. The sheer incompetence was staggering. These were the people who had held my fate in their hands for most of my life?
I turned my back on them. Their screams of outrage and pain faded into background noise, the buzzing of angry, toothless insects.
I walked toward the manor.
The house loomed ahead, a massive, stone testament to generational wealth and unearned arrogance. It stood there, solid and imposing, a fortress of legacy that had shut its doors to me for eighteen years.
I pulled my wand from my sleeve. It wasn't invisible beneath the cloak, but it didn't matter. To them, it would just look like a floating stick, a harbinger of the doom I was about to rain down on their heads.
"Let's give them something to finally remember me by," I whispered to myself.
I thought of every cold night in the orphanage. I thought of every time I had been hungry. I thought of the look on James's face when he tried to sell me to McFinnegan.
"Fiendfyre."
A torrent of fire erupted from my wand, so massive and intense that the recoil nearly knocked me off my feet. It wasn't just orange—it was a swirling, chaotic mix of crimson, gold, and a terrifying, abyssal black. It roared like a living thing, a dragon made of pure thermal energy, expanding instantly as it rushed toward the house.
The fire slammed into the front of Potter Manor with the force of a bomb.
The heavy oak front doors didn't just burn, they vaporized instantly! The stone archway around them exploded outward in a shower of superheated shrapnel. The flames poured into the foyer, hungry and sentient, seeking out every tapestry, every portrait, every piece of antique furniture.
Windows blew out across the entire front of the house, glass shattering outward as the pressure inside skyrocketed. Tongues of black fire licked up the ivy, consuming it in seconds, turning the green facade into a wall of ash.
"NOOOOOOOO!"
The scream came from behind me—a raw, tearing sound of absolute despair. I glanced back over my shoulder.
Lily had fallen to her knees again, her hands clutching her hair, staring at the inferno with wide, horrified eyes. James Senior was trying to stand, shouting incoherent spells at the flames, but it was useless. You couldn't fight this kind of fire with a water charm.
It was cursed. It was mine.
A massive section of the slate roof collapsed inward, sending a plume of sparks and smoke high into the sky. I watched for another moment, savoring the heat on my face, the beautiful destruction of the cage I was never meant to live in.
"Burn," I whispered in glee. "Burn it all down…"
I turned away from the heat and began to walk.
I moved casually across the lawn, heading for the edge of the property line where the anti-Apparition wards ended. I could hear them screaming behind me—screaming for their house, for their legacy, for their lost fortune—but I didn't look back.
Cool guys don't look at explosions, and apparently, neither do vengeful succubus witches.
I reached the stone wall that marked the boundary of the estate. I hopped over it easily. I reached up and pulled the Invisibility Cloak off, the fabric pooling in my hands like liquid mercury.
"Inventory," I murmured. The cloak vanished from my hands, stored safely away in the pocket dimension of my system.
Congratulations on acquiring your first deathly Hallow! Only two more required to complete the set!
I took a deep breath of the air outside the wards. It tasted sweet. It tasted like victory.
Now, to get rid of this skin!
I closed my eyes and pushed my magic outward. I felt the familiar, sickening crunch of bone and the slide of muscle as I released the Heather Potter disguise. My jaw sharpened, my nose straightened, my cheekbones rising high and elegant. My hair darkened, the dull brown bleeding into a rich, glossy raven black that spilled over my shoulders like silk. My body stretched and filled out, curves blossoming where there had been angles, breasts swelling and firming, hips widening into the luscious, dangerous shape of Amara Black.
I opened my eyes. I looked down at my hands—long fingers, perfect nails, skin glowing with supernatural health.
Heather was gone. Good riddance.
I supposed I should get back now before Bellatrix wakes up! I pictured the penthouse suite in London. I turned on my heel. Crack.
The sensation of Apparition squeezed me tight, darkness pressing in on all sides, and then—
Huh?
Why was everything on fire?
"What the fuck?" I gasped, waving my hand in front of my face. I was completely immune to fire and smoke at this point, so I wasn't panicking, but I was very confused as to WHY my 20,000 pound a night hotel suite was burning…
I was in an inferno.
I stood there in the center of the room, blinking in total confusion. Had my fire followed me? No, that was impossible. I could sense that this fire was caused by a different magical signature than my own.
"Is this a joke?" I muttered, shielding my eyes from the glare.
Before I could even reach for my wand to extinguish the flames, the front door of the suite was kicked open with a tremendous crash.
"FIRE DEPARTMENT! CALL OUT IF ANYONE IS IN HERE!"
A massive figure in heavy turnout gear barged through the smoke, a flashlight beam cutting through the haze. He was wearing a helmet and a breathing apparatus, looking like a knight in modern, reflective armor.
The beam of his flashlight swung around the room and landed squarely on me.
I must have been a sight. A stunningly beautiful woman with wild black hair, wearing a torn, oversized, dirty t-shirt and grey sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to hide the sudden, voluptuous curves of my true form, standing calmly in the middle of a raging fire.
The firefighter froze for a split second. "Ma'am! Don't move! I've got you!" He roared the words, dropping his axe and sprinting toward me.
"Huh? Wait, I can—" I started to say, reaching for my wand again.
I didn't get the chance. He closed the distance in three giant strides. Before I could even protest, he swept me up off my feet.
I let out a completely undignified squeak as I was hoisted into the air. One of his arms hooked firmly behind my knees, the other wrapping securely around my back. He lifted me effortlessly, like I weighed nothing more than a feather pillow.
"Hold on tight!" he yelled over the roar of the fire. "I'm getting you out of here!"
I stared up at him, bewildered. My wand was still in my hand, pressed uselessly against his thick, fire-retardant coat. I could have snapped my fingers and put out the entire fire. I could have levitated us both out the window. I could have turned into smoke and flown away.
Instead, I was being carried bridal-style by a mortal man named... I squinted at the nameplate on his chest. Miller.
Miller turned and ran. He didn't stumble, didn't hesitate. He charged back through the door he had kicked in, shielding my body with his own bulky frame as we passed a wall of flames licking at the doorframe.
"Stay low, keep your face against my coat!" he ordered, his voice muffled by the mask but vibrating through his chest against my side.
I found myself obeying simply because I was too taken aback for anything else.
He hit the stairwell at a run, his boots thudding heavily on the concrete steps. "I've got a survivor!" he shouted into his radio. "Female, conscious, bringing her down now!"
I was jostled rhythmically against him as he descended flight after flight of stairs. My body was pressed tight against his. I could feel the hard muscles of his arms beneath the heavy gear, holding me with a grip that was iron-solid but surprisingly gentle.
It was... weird.
Usually, when men grabbed me, there was a layer of lust to it. Even when they didn't mean to, my succubus nature drew it out of them. Their hands would wander, their breathing would change, their thoughts would twist toward desire.
But this guy?
There was nothing. No wandering hands. No squeezing my ass under the pretense of a better grip. He was just... saving me. He was genuinely, purely focused on getting me out of the fire safely.
"You're doing great, miss," he panted as we hit the tenth-floor landing. "Almost there. Just hang on!"
"...Thank you," I said, forcing my voice to tremble just enough to sell the performance of a traumatized civilian. I looked up at Miller, the soot-stained firefighter who had hauled me out of the inferno, and let my eyes go wide and grateful. "Thank you so much for saving my life. I don't know what I would have done without you!"
I would have been fine—fire couldn't hurt me anymore, but he didn't know that.
He adjusted his helmet, looking embarrassed by the praise. "Just doing my job, miss. You're safe now, that's what matters." His head snapped back toward the hotel, where orange flames were still licking greedily at the upper windows, black smoke billowing into the grey London sky like a signal flare. "I gotta go back in there," he said, his voice tightening with urgency. "We haven't cleared the fifth floor yet. There might still be people trapped."
And then, without a second thought for his own safety, he turned and sprinted back toward the burning building.
He just ran straight back into hell because he thought someone might need him.
I sat there on the bumper of the ambulance, watching his retreating figure disappear into the swirling smoke.
I felt a strange, heavy sensation in my chest—something like awe, mixed with a profound sense of confusion.
That, I realized with a jolt of clarity, is a genuine hero. Even with everything I was, I still found myself deeply respecting genuine heroes. I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses.
I visualized the heat being sucked out of the air. I imagined the oxygen vanishing, the fuel turning to stone. I exerted my dominance over the element, forcing the wild, roaring beast to heel.
High above, the flames faltered. The roaring inferno that had been threatening to consume the entire roof suddenly dimmed, the orange glare turning to a dull, sputtering red. The smoke thinned. The aggressive, leaping tongues of fire shrank back as if afraid, dying down into harmless embers. It would look like a miracle to the firefighters—a sudden shift in wind, a burst of luck. But I knew better. I held the fire in a chokehold until I was certain it wouldn't flare up again, until I was sure Miller and his team would be walking into a dying embers rather than a death trap.
"You're welcome," I muttered to the empty air.
Satisfied, I turned away from the ambulance. The paramedics were busy with a coughing elderly couple, so I slipped away unnoticed, merging into the crowd of gawkers and evacuees.
I walked through the chaos, clutching my ruined, oversized t-shirt around me. My thoughts cut off abruptly. Standing at the edge of the police cordon, looking completely out of place among the worried civilians, was a woman.
She was wearing a long, tattered black dress that looked like it had been stolen from a Victorian funeral. Her hair was a wild, frizzy halo of black curls that whipped around her face in the wind. Her posture was rigid, vibrating with a manic energy that made the people standing near her instinctively edge away.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
She was scanning the crowd, her dark, heavy-lidded eyes darting frantically from face to face. She looked desperate.
And then she saw me. Her face transformed instantly. Her eyes lit up, and a wide, beaming smile stretched across her face, showing teeth.
"Amara!" she shrieked, ignoring the police officer who tried to tell her to stay back. She ducked under the yellow tape and sprinted toward me. She hit me with the force of a cannonball, wrapping her arms around me and lifting me off my feet in a crushing embrace. "You're here! You came back to me!"
I stood there, stiff in her grip, feeling the eyes of half of London on us. "Bellatrix," I hissed, trying to pry her arms off my ribs before she cracked one. "What are you doing here? And... wait." A cold realization washed over me. I looked over her shoulder at the smoking ruin of the hotel. I looked back at Bellatrix, who was nuzzling my cheek affectionately. "Bellatrix," I said slowly, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What the fuck did you do?"
She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her expression was innocent—grotesquely so. She pouted, her lower lip jutting out, her eyes big and watery. "I woke up," she said, her voice trembling with hurt. "I woke up, and the bed was cold. You were gone. You left me!"
"I went to get coffee!" I snapped out a lie. "I was gone for, like, a half hour tops!"
"It felt like forever!" she wailed, clutching my shoulders. "I thought you abandoned me! I thought maybe the Aurors took you! I didn't know where you went!" She gestured vaguely at the smoldering skyscraper behind us. "So I thought... if I made a big enough fire... a really big, bright signal... maybe you'd see it? Maybe you'd come back to see what was burning?" She smiled then, a proud, beaming grin that chilled my blood. "And it worked! You're here! I told you, sweetie! I told you last night—if I woke up alone, I'd burn this whole building down!"
I stared at her. My mouth opened, then closed.
Holy fuck. She was serious!
I had thought it was just the dramatic rambling of an insane woman. But no. She had literally woken up, found me missing, and decided the most logical course of action was to commit grand arson on a luxury hotel in central London just to get my attention.
I raised her craziness level in my mind a whole other notch!
I struggled against her grip, managing to push her back a step. "Bellatrix," I said, keeping my voice deadpan, though inside I was screaming. "Please. I am begging you. Do not burn down any more buildings just because I step out for coffee or a bagel. I was coming right back. My stuff was in there!"
"I saved your stuff!" she interrupted happily, patting the pocket of her dress. "I shrunk your trunk. It's right here. See? Mummy takes care of you!" she whined, stepping closer again and wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. "That thirty minutes of loneliness after getting you back felt like a lifetime, Amara! I couldn't bear it! The silence was so loud!"
I looked at the firefighters battling the remnants of the blaze she had started. I looked at the displaced hotel guests huddled in blankets, crying over their lost possessions. I looked at the paramedics treating smoke inhalation.
All of this... because she missed me?
It was horrifying. It was disastrous. And in a very twisted, fucked-up way that I hated myself for acknowledging... It was almost flattering. No one had ever burned down a building for me before!
I sighed, a long, heavy exhale that rattled in my chest. There was no point arguing with her. Her logic didn't operate on the same plane of existence as reality. "Okay," I said, surrendering to the madness. "Okay. You found me. I'm here. We're together."
She beamed, squeezing me tighter. "Yes! Together!"
"Now," I said, gently trying to steer her away from the police officers who were starting to look at us with suspicion. "Let's just figure out what we should do now. We can't stay here. They're going to start asking questions, and I don't think 'my mother burned down the hotel because she missed me' is going to hold up in court."
Bellatrix's expression darkened instantly. The joy vanished, replaced by a sharp, paranoid intensity. She grabbed my hand, her nails digging into my palm.
"You're right," she whispered, her eyes darting around the crowd, scanning faces for threats. "We're exposed here. Too many Muggles. Too many eyes." She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "We should flee the country!"
I blinked at her. "Flee the country? Why? Did the ministry find us?" I mean I was planning on leaving soon, but I didn't think I needed to "flee."
Bellatrix shook her head violently, her curls whipping around. "No, no, not the Ministry! Them we can kill. I'm talking about Him." She looked over her shoulder. "We don't want your Daddy to find us, do we?" she whispered, her eyes wide with genuine fear. "If he finds out you exist... if he finds out I kept you from him... he'll come for us. And he'll kill you, Amara. He won't share power. He won't want an heir he didn't raise. He'll kill you to secure his throne!"
I stared at her. "Huh?" was all I could manage.
….And that was exactly how I found myself stranded in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, trapped on a slow-moving floating city instead of relaxing in a first-class seat at thirty thousand feet.
I would have vastly preferred a plane ride. A nice, private jet could have whisked us back to America in a matter of hours. But Bellatrix had absolutely refused. The moment I mentioned an airplane, she had gone pale, her eyes widening with a terror I hadn't even seen when she was facing down an entire squad of Aurors.
"I will not!" she had shrieked, clutching my arm so hard her nails nearly drew blood. "I will not step foot inside a disgusting, metal Muggle death trap! They fall out of the sky, Amara! They have no magic to hold them up! It is unnatural!"
No amount of logic or explanation of aerodynamics could sway her. The most feared witch in Britain, the woman who had tortured people into insanity without blinking, was terrified of business class.
So, we compromised. Or rather, I surrendered to her madness because I was too exhausted to argue, and we booked the Royal Penthouse Suite on a luxury cruise liner departing Southampton for New York.
It wasn't the worst fate in the world.
She had further explained her belief that the Dark Lord would kill me, even if he accepted me as his daughter, because he would never tolerate sharing power. Bellatrix's decision to betray him and choose me instead was incredibly flattering.
I also learned what happened to Daphne and Astoria's parents. Bellatrix revealed that they had been pressured to join the Dark Lord's service and, to spare their daughters the same fate, they likely cut off all contact.
Daphne and Astoria would be relieved to know they are at least alive, though not truly safe as long as Voldemort is still a threat.
I was powerful now, I knew that, but I didn't think I could take on him or Dumbledore just yet. Both of them were masters of magic, Light and Dark, I had only just begun learning from Morgana.
I stretched out languidly on the padded lounge chair, arching my back like a contented cat soaking up the heat. The sun beat down on the top deck, shimmering off the turquoise water of the enormous swimming pool nearby. The air smelled of salt, expensive sunscreen, and the mixed cocktails being ferried around by servers in crisp white uniforms.
I took a deep breath, letting the solar energy seep into my skin.
I was wearing a black bikini I'd purchased in the ship's overpriced boutique. It was a scandalous little thing—barely more than a few triangles of fabric held together by thin, precarious strings. The top struggled to contain my breasts, pushing them up and together, leaving the creamy swells of my cleavage fully exposed to the sun and the wandering eyes of every passenger on deck. The bottoms were high-cut, sitting above my hip bones to elongate my legs, the back a thong that left my perfectly round, firm ass completely bare to the elements.
I knew, instinctively, that my supernatural skin would never burn. I didn't need to worry about UV rays or peeling skin. My complexion would remain flawless, porcelain-smooth and unblemished, forever.
But the act of sunbathing wasn't really about the sun. It was about the audience.
I adjusted my sunglasses, peering over the rim to survey my kingdom for the afternoon.
The deck was crowded. And almost everyone was looking at me.
To my left, a middle-aged man with a potbelly and a gold chain was staring so hard at my chest that he was pouring his suntan lotion directly onto the deck instead of his wife's back. To my right, a young couple was having a whispered argument, the woman glaring daggers at me while her boyfriend tried and failed to pretend he wasn't mentally undressing me.
I smirked, a little thrill of vanity warming my blood. My [Major Sin of Lust] purred in the back of my mind, feeding on the attention. I shifted my legs, bending one knee to accentuate the curve of my thigh and the dip of my waist. I saw three heads turn in unison.
It was shallow. It was vain. And it made me incredibly happy.
"This is ridiculous," a voice hissed from the lounger next to me. "It is undignified. It is improper. We are surrounded by filth."
I turned my head to look at Bellatrix.
She was also wearing a black bikini—I had insisted we match—but she looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.
She was squirming on the lounger, trying to pull her knees up to her chest to hide herself, then stretching back out, then tugging at the strings of her top.
"Stop fidgeting, Bella," I said lazily, reaching out to pat her arm. "You look hot."
And she did. Despite her years in Azkaban, despite the madness, Bellatrix Lestrange had a body and face that women half her age would kill for. She was lean and wiry, with a pale, aristocratically thin elegance. Her breasts were smaller than mine, perky and pressed visibly against the fabric of her bikini. Her stomach was flat, her hips narrow but shapely.
But she looked miserable.
"I look like a harlot," she muttered, glaring at a passing waiter who lingered a second too long on her figure. Her hand twitched, and I knew she was reaching for the wand she had disillusioned and stuck to her thigh with a sticking charm. "A common street walker. Pureblood witches do not expose their flesh to Muggles like livestock at an auction!"
"We're blending in," I reminded her, soothingly. "If we were wearing black robes in the middle of the Atlantic, people would ask questions. Besides..." I let my eyes drag over her body, deliberate and slow. "I like seeing you like this. You have a beautiful body. Why hide it?"
Bellatrix froze. Her cheeks, usually so pale, flushed a sudden, vivid pink. She looked at me, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable, the murderous rage instantly replaced by that desperate, puppy-dog devotion she reserved solely for me. "You... you think I am beautiful?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I know I was a lot better looking before losing almost 20 years in Azkaban…"
"I think you're stunning," I said honestly. "Now lie back and relax. Let them look. Let them envy what they can't touch."
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she forced herself to relax against the cushioned lounger. Slowly, hesitantly, Bellatrix lowered her legs and laid back, though the tension in her frame remained palpable—she was as stiff as a board, her muscles coiled tight as if she expected the Muggle tourists to attack at any moment.
"If you say so, my star," she murmured, her voice tight but obedient. She turned her head slightly, shielding her eyes from the glare with a slender hand. "If it pleases you."
"It does," I assured her, reaching out to rest my hand soothingly over hers. Her skin was cool despite the sun, her fingers twitching beneath my palm. "I'm sure we'll both enjoy this. It's a nice, peaceful cruise. And who knows? Maybe we can even get you to let go of your hatred of Muggles a little bit. Look at this luxury, Bella. Magic didn't build this ship."
I said it only half-jokingly, knowing full well that changing Bellatrix Lestrange's worldview was about as likely as teaching a Dementor to tap dance.
Bellatrix let out a scoff. "That will never happen," she hissed, glaring at a passing waiter carrying a tray of daiquiris. "They are cattle, Amara. Dressed-up, noisy, pointless cattle. The fact that they can build a floating palace doesn't change the fact that they are beneath us."
I just rolled my eyes, leaning back and adjusting my sunglasses. But then my eyes shifted to the side, toward the main staircase leading down to the pool, and my breath caught violently in my throat.
The world seemed to slow down. The noise of the crowd faded into a dull roar, the splashing of the pool receding into the background.
Strutting toward the water was a woman who didn't just demand attention—she commanded it by existing.
She was tall—Amazonian tall—with legs that seemed to go on for miles, smooth and toned and glowing with a vibrant, unearthly orange hue. Her skin was flawless, a deep, rich tangerine shade that looked like it had been kissed by the sun of a different solar system. But it was her body that made my mouth go dry.
She had massive, gravity-defying breasts that bounced gently with every confident step, barely contained by the fabric of her swimsuit. Her waist was impossibly narrow, flaring out into hips that were wide, fertile, and devastatingly curvy.
And the swimsuit... if you could even call it that. It was a one-piece in a metallic, shimmering purple that clashed beautifully with her orange skin. It was cut high on the thighs, exposing everything up to her hip bones, and featured a deep, plunging slit down the front that showcased the heavy swell of her cleavage and her toned stomach. It barely hid her most private areas, clinging to her thighs ass with a tenacity that defied physics.
She tossed her head, and a cascade of fiery, floor-length red-orange hair whipped around her shoulders like a living flame.
I watched as men and women alike practically broke their necks turning to stare. Jaws dropped. Drinks were spilled. A silence seemed to ripple outward from her as she passed, followed immediately by a wave of whispers.
"What the fuck is Starfire doing here?" I whispered to myself, lowering my sunglasses to get a better look. Starfire. Koriand'r of Tamaran. And, more importantly to me right now... the woman who had broken Dick Grayson's heart.
I stared at her, feeling a complicated mix of emotions bubbling up in my chest. Jealousy? Maybe a little... Indignation on Dick's behalf? Definitely. But mostly, it was just raw, unadulterated lust.
She wasn't the cute, naive teenage girl from the cartoons I vaguely remembered. This was the full-grown alien babe from the comics, realized in high-definition flesh and blood. She was sex on legs. She radiated a kind of primal, joyful sensuality that made my own succubus instincts sit up and purr.
She reached the edge of the pool and paused.
"Boo-yah, baby! This ship is awesome!" The shout shattered the spell over everyone.
I tore my eyes away from Starfire just in time to see a massive, hulking figure cannonballing through the air.
"Slow down, Cyborg! You're gonna empty the pool!"
Two more figures burst onto the scene, bringing a vibe that totally disrupted the sophisticated atmosphere of the luxury deck.
The first was Cyborg—Victor Stone. He was huge, a towering wall of polished chrome and dark skin. Half his face was metal, a glowing red cybernetic eye whirring as he grinned. His body was a marvel of technology, massive robotic shoulders and limbs gleaming in the sunlight. He was wearing... god, was he wearing swim trunks over his robotic chassis? Yes, he was. Bright red board shorts.
The second was a green-skinned boy with pointed ears and a mischievous grin—Beast Boy. He was lean and wiry.
They hit the water almost simultaneously.
SPLASH!
A massive wave erupted from the pool, drenching the sunbathers in the front row. Starfire squealed as the water hit her. She wasn't annoyed, though. She laughed, wiping water from her face, and pouted playfully at the two heroes surfacing in the pool. "Friends!" she called out, her voice musical and strange. "You have made the wetness upon my person before I was ready for the swimming!"
"That's the point, Star!" Beast Boy yelled, morphing instantly into a green dolphin and swimming around in circles.
Beside me, Bellatrix had gone rigid. Her hand was diving for the wand she had concealed. "Amara," she hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of revulsion and horror. "What in the name of Merlin's sagging balls is that?" She pointed a shaking finger at Cyborg. "Is that a golem? A construct? Why is it wearing trousers? And the green one—it's a changeling! A filth-ridden half-breed!"
I reached out and clamped my hand over her wrist, stopping her from drawing her wand. "Calm down, Bella," I whispered urgently. "They're... they're Meta-humans. American superheroes. You can't hex them!"
"Superheroes?" she spat the word like it was a slur. "They look like abominations against nature!"
"Just ignore them," I advised, though I couldn't take my eyes off Starfire, who was now wading into the water, the purple fabric of her suit turning dark and clinging even tighter to her incredible curves. "They're just having fun."
"Hello, Amara." The voice was calm, monotone, and came from directly beside my left ear.
I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I whipped my head around.
Raven was right there. I hadn't heard her approach. I hadn't sensed her magic. She had simply materialized out of the ether, or maybe she had been there the whole time.
She was taking a seat on the empty lounger next to mine, moving with a fluid, silent grace. She wasn't wearing her usual dark blue cloak or the leotard. Instead, she was dressed in a modest, dark purple one-piece swimsuit.
Compared to Starfire's exhibitionist outfit, it was downright conservative. But on Raven? It was stunning.
"Raven," I breathed, recovering my composure. I flashed her a smile, leaning back on my elbows to give her a better view of my own bikini-clad body. "Fancy seeing you here. I didn't take the Titans for the cruise ship type."
"Usually not, except the last cruise ship that arrived off the East Coast crashed on shore with not a single living person on board…" she said, sounding concerned as she glanced around at all the people. "We're here to make sure that doesn't happen again and find out where all those abducted people ended up…"
Welp, I'm pretty sure the relaxing cruise wasn't going to be so relaxing after that ominous warning!
But in the meantime—
"You seem a bit tense, Raven? Obviously nothing is happening right now. Why don't you relax with me for a while. I can rub some oil on you if you want?" I suggested and loved the way her cheeks blushed purple.
XXX
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