Ch 619 – Under the Table?
Warning - Lucifer, the Devil is Billions of years old.
Hermione with multiple personalities, her character's real age during sexual intercourse is 18+
(Hermione - Blessed by Amenadiel, time works differently for her, she has already surpassed age of 18+)
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The Knight Bus's interior was in its usual state of disarray, and mismatched armchairs that littered the first floor of bus were scattered everywhere, sliding against the walls with every turn.
"We'll have to split our numbers up to fit the vacant seats, it seems," Tonks announced, holding onto a brass pole. "Fred, George, Ginny, you three can sit right back there with Remus, he will watch over you well.”
"While Lucifer watches over the safety of whole bus and surrounding geographical area, right?" Ginny asked cheekily, a wide, mischievous grin breaking across her face.
Tonks let out a tired sigh, adjusting her leather coat. "Well... obviously, Ginny.”
Even with the other armchairs sliding around the floor, Lucifer and Hermione sat slightly off to the side in a corner to remain with themselves. She leaned her shoulder against his scarlet shirt, fingers tracing the ring on her left hand. "Are you excited to get back to Hogwarts, Lucifer?"
"Yeah," he smiled warmly down at her .
She offered one back up, voice seriously mopey, “I still can't believe you, Lucifer... strongest wizard to ever exist, the most pure and noble blood Wizarding world has ever seen in its lineage, and yet you've openly admitted... your intention to be with a Muggle-born witch. That is guaranteed to get pure-blood families talking at kitty parties. But obviously, not all of their gossip will be positive or encouraging about us... they'll say you are ruining your purity by choosing me....” She said, looking down at the glittering ruby promise ring on her finger.
"That ridiculous concept never once crossed my mind, Hermione," Lucifer said honestly, “Even If you were an ordinary Muggle with no magical properties, vaults, or special abilities, I would still have fallen in love with you... This is neither bound by common laws of universe, nor is it restricted by the petty confines of space and time. It is never-ending, and it shatters reality to be inherently inter dimensional, because our bond cannot be replicated in alternate timeline or earth, as there is only one, single 'Us' in existence.”
Hermione was currently sniffling, it was quickly becoming a bad habit. The hot, silent tears slid down her blushing cheeks as she understood cosmic weight behind his words, and the declaration melted to know he loved her to such a consuming extreme. If they didn't currently have company of Order members and Weasleys present in the immediate vicinity, lustful desires would have driven her to open his trousers and suck his cock all the way north to the Hogwarts gates.
Since she physically couldn't follow that explicit routine on a moving bus, however, she settled for pulling his lapels down for a lingering kiss that lasted about seven seconds. "I can't even begin to describe the love I have for you in a way you just did, Lucifer. So, I hope those three simple words... that carry such meaning will suffice?’
Lucifer smiled gently down at her, arm tightening around her waist. 'I love you too, Hermione. Forever and always from this point forth.'
As it turned out, Lupin and Tonks had purposefully left out a small tidbit from their morning briefing; they weren't actually going to drop off at King's Cross station at all, but instead, the Knight Bus carried them straight to the snow-covered, deserted streets of Hogsmeade village directly.
Tonks stepped off the step, her eyes scanning the empty winter landscape. "I know you've got Lucifer, Harry, but Remus and I will feel better when you seven are safely past school gates.”
"Look after yourselves out there," Lupin said, a wry, knowing smile playing on his lips as he leaned in to whisper a private order to Harry, and Lucifer was polite enough to not use his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop or make out what he said.
The seven Gryffindors trudged up the long, sloping snowy hill toward the castle gates, being some of the very first students back to Hogwarts given how fast the 'Knight Bus' travels across the country.
Hermione and Lucifer walked side-by-side, holding hands firmly against the January wind, as he effortlessly dragged her traveling trunk behind.
Later that day, during main Welcome dinner just after the vast majority of the other students had arrived back from the trains, Lucifer maintained his grip on Hermione's hand as they confidently entered the double doors of the Great Hall.
The massive uncut ruby promise ring on her left hand was visible to the naked eyes of the surrounding tables, and loud whispers and pointing fingers instantly began cascading through the room.
The gossip wasn't anything new to the Gryffindors, though. When the house returned to safety of the Common room later that evening, they found the bushy-haired girl leaning comfortably up against Lucifer's chest, cuddling close with him on the main couch and passionately kissing one another's lips without a care for surveillance.
Many of the starry-eyed third and fourth-year girls practically gasped at the romance, and Angelina, Alicia, and Katie Bell gave him a bit of a playful hard time when they came past the sofa, but it was all done in good fun.
Hermione did notice out of the corner of her eye that Katie looked significantly less happy about the relationship status than the others, but she found it hard to care about Bell's unexpressed feelings for Lucifer; after all, he loved her and only her, and nothing would ever alter that.
Nearby, Parvati Patil simply offered her a knowing, triumphant grin.
Then, during the subsequent meals, the Hufflepuffs were the very 'first' house to loudly talk about the news, since Susan Bones had technically seen the pristine cut ring up close during breakfast intercept at the pub.
Within hours, the Ravenclaws were staring over at their corner of table, talking frantically about the two fifth-year Gryffindors being engaged or something similar.
Hermione secretly held the sweet, satisfying feeling that she was parading him around the castle, showing her magnificent boyfriend off to anyone who bothered to look, but the display let every girl in this school know with certainty that he was permanently off-limits, and she would happily hex any of the desperate trollops into the Hospital wing if they tried to steal him away from her territory.
And of course, the majority of the green-clad Slytherins had nothing but nasty, bitter things to say about the fact that Hermione Granger and Lucifer Morningstar were now promised to each other; but any gripes they did harbor were kept quiet enough so that he didn't hear them across the hall.
Overall, Hermione had never felt this profoundly good or accomplished about anything in her entire life, and that was saying lot for her standards. Needless to say, their official relationship status had spread like a wildfire across the lake; every person in school knew truth before very first day back from break had even ended.
xxxxxxx
Lucifer clearly noticed that Harry spent the entirety of following day miserably dreading his upcoming evening session with Snape.
His double Potions lesson that morning was easily one of his worst performances so far, and it didn't help that Snape was being venomously unpleasant about anything and everything Gryffindor related.
He also noticed during brief breaks between classes that many of the core D.A. members were anxiously approaching Harry in the corridors, whispering to ask when next secret training meeting was scheduled.
When Harry sighed, telling them he couldn't do it tonight because of a commitment, Lucifer stepped into the huddle, his voice cutting through the excuses, “I don't think both of us have to be present to run a refresher session, Potter.... Either hand your master Galleon coin over to me, or set numbers for tonight yourself, okay?”
Harry was noticeably reluctant to cede control, but he agreed to compromise; it was better than having to invent some embarrassing excuse like claiming he had to take 'Remedial Potions' with the git.
After their very last class for the day, which consisted of reading through the dry textbook pages during 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' with Umbridge, who Lucifer clearly noticed glared at his face evilly for more than two solid seconds, the group packed their things.
As they stepped into the courtyard, Cho Chang walked up to their group, a warm smile on her face as she looked at Harry, “Hi," she said softly from behind their shoulders.
"Oh," Harry said a bit awkwardly, his face flushing as he wanted nothing more than to go visit Snape's dungeon at that very instant, and that was saying already about his stress levels, “Hi, Cho.”
"We'll be sitting through assignments in the library until D.A. meeting begins tonight," Hermione announced crisply, her hand reaching out to forcefully grab Ron by his elbow, dragging him away down the corridor with Lucifer following close behind her heels.
Before Lucifer could clear the corner, though, Cho turned her head to speak to his profile, "Congratulations on you and Hermione being officially promised, Lucifer.”
"Thanks, Chang," Lucifer smiled, before he continued to follow his girlfriend's quick strides as she forcefully dragged their red-headed friend along, who wanted nothing more than to stay behind and give Cho a piece of his mind for traumatizing Harry's confidence.
Once they safely reached the quiet rows of the library shelves, Hermione sat down at a corner table, with Lucifer and Ron immediately flanking her sides as she got straight to work on the mountain of homework they already had piled up.
Ron loudly complained about the workload, but Hermione sharply stated that he should try to actually get ahead on his O.W.L. preparation for a change in his life. She didn't know if the lecture would actually work on his brain, but it was undeniably worth a shot.
"Hermione," Lucifer said softly, breaking the quiet scratching of her quill as he leaned closer.
"Hmm?" She looked over at his handsome face, completely, entirely unaware of what specific question he were about to ask her.
"The next Hogsmeade weekend trip is scheduled for February fourteenth," Lucifer murmured, a wicked, beautiful smirk curling on his lips, "And I was quietly wondering if you would like to go down to the village with me to celebrate Valentine's Day together?”
If they weren't currently sitting right inside the Restricted library zone under eyes of Madam Pince, Hermione's lustful devotion would have definitely driven her to drop under the table and give him a magnificent 'blowjob' on the spot, "Of course, I w-will gladly go with you to celebrate, Sir," she said, her face beaming with a radiant happiness that was unmatched in that current moment.
"Can you two please keep romantic dialogue to a minimum for five minutes? I am actually trying to work on this grid here," Ron muttered crossly from across the table, and to her immense satisfaction, he was indeed focused on his parchment.
“...Well, look at that. I suppose I will have to check with the under-realms tonight to see if Hell has frozen over or not, Weasley,” Lucifer said with a wide smirk.
The dry comeback caused Hermione to let out a series of small, beautiful giggles, her hand reaching out to playfully smack his shoulder, "Be nice to him, Lucifer!” she whispered, scolding him, though her eyes carried a thoroughly mischievous, loving look meant only for her king, especially after what he had done for Neville's parents over the break, giving him a delayed Christmas present.
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~Flashback~
The green-painted cast-iron grate of the Janus Thickey Ward did not crackle with standard firewood; instead, it let out a steady, low hiss, spitting oily emerald embers against the soot-blackened hearth.
Outside, the London sky was a heavy, suffocating sheet of slate, dropping a quiet, dense snowfall that completely swallowed the rumbling clatter of the streets down below.
Through the musty glass, the gas lamps of the alleyways were reduced to distant, bleeding amber blurs.
Inside, the air was stagnant, thick with the medicinal reek of boiled cabbage, carbolic soap, damp flannel, and the cloying sweetness of cheap lavender water, a pathetic, desperate perfume used by the staff to mask the stale scent of a ward where minds rotted away long before the physical body surrendered.
It was a room where the living lingered as ghosts. But tonight, that suffocating atmospheric weight felt suddenly thin, sharp, and brittle enough to shatter.
Frank Longbottom sat rigidly in his corner bed, his jaw slightly slack, calloused thumbs twitching in a unceasing jerk against his white hospital gown. Across from him, Alice sat perched on the literal edge of her mattress. Her silver-streaked hair was pinned up haphazardly with brass hairpins, and her blank, glassy eyes remained fixed on a crumpled, metallic silver wrapper of 'Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum' that she methodically smoothed between her calloused thumbs.
Neville stood tightly beside her bed, his large hands jammed so deep into his oversized, hand-me-down school robes of his father that the seams groaned. His eyes, heavily ringed with dark circles from sleepless nights, were locked onto the peeling white lacquer of the ward's double doors.
Near the frosted windowpane, Augusta Longbottom stood like a granite statue. The stuffed vulture atop her rigid hat sat perfectly level, its glass eyes mirroring the bleak winter light. Her thin fingers clutched the clasp of her crocodile-skin handbag until her old knuckles turned a bloodless white.
Her sharp, hawk-like eyes darted continuously between her silent, twitching son and the ticking brass wall clock.
"He said he would arrive before six, Neville," Augusta whispered, her voice a fragile, frayed chord stretching between desperation and her iron-clad authority. "Whatever else he may be, Mr. Morningstar is nothing if not punctual."
"He'll come, Gran," Neville mumbled, a nervous tremor shook his chin, “You saw the charts yourself, and told me at Christmas, he had spent the autumn term setting magical groundwork in their dreams. He wouldn't simply stop now....”
Right on the stroke of six, the double doors swung open with echoing thud.
Lucifer Morningstar, 'the Devil himself,' stepped into sterile room. With a casual movement, he swept the light dusting of London snow from the tailored shoulders of his charcoal travel cloak.
Fifth year at Hogwarts was turning out to be an exercise in tedious, bureaucratic grandstanding under Umbridge’s pink regime, but the quiet work he had been conducting here in London over the past several months had 'finally' reached its crest.
Internally, Lucifer felt a faint, dark pulse of satisfaction ripple through his chest. He was a creature governed by the absolute laws of balance; he despised being in anyone's debt, no matter how trivial. Back in their third year, he had subtly requested Hermione's half-Kneazle, Crookshanks, into snatching Neville’s written slip of paper containing the Gryffindor tower passwords to facilitate a “private meeting” with Sirius Black.
The resulting chaos had served Lucifer's own hidden motives, but it had left poor Neville facing the blistering, public humiliation of a Howler from Augusta, followed by a locked-out night on cold flagstones.
'A screaming letter and public shaming for a lost slip of paper,' Lucifer thought, his sharp gaze sweeping over the broken, silent family. 'A ridiculous, unbalanced injustice. Returning a boy's parents to him ought to settle the account with substantial interest....'
"Madam Longbottom. Neville," Lucifer greeted smoothly, his hand stitched leather boots making no sound on the green linoleum.
The moment he stepped into the room, the air subtly warped. A faint, intoxicating warmth smelling faintly of ozone, cracked stone, and dry brimstone trailed his presence. The frost layering the ward windows instantly began to liquefy, melting away in thin, weeping lines as the temperature rose.
"L-Lucifer," Augusta said, taking a step forward. For all her formidable pure-blood pride, her voice cracked into a ragged whisper as she looked at him. "Is this... is today truly the final step? The previous blood-tinctures Runes of the Holy sand you brought from your penthouse..."
"Were merely clearing the necrotic weeds from the soil, Augusta," Lucifer said softly, pulling off his black leather gloves with deliberation. "They softened the decaying magic left behind by Lestrange's 'Cruciatus Curse.' Today, I am going to re-architect the neural paths. I am going to restore the brain."
"I still can't quite believe it," Neville breathed, taking a tentative half-step toward him, his hands trembling against robes. "When Gran told me over the Christmas holidays that you had found a way... I thought... I didn't want to let my hopes up."
"Hope is a fragile, messy, and inefficient emotion, Neville," Lucifer replied, a dry, humoured glint in his eyes. "I prefer tangible results. Now, please stand clear off."
He stepped up to the foot of Alice’s bed. The woman looked up slowly, her vacant, unseeing gaze drifting over his face without a flicker of human recognition. With a slow, mechanical movement, she offered the shiny silver foil wrapper toward his hand, as she had done a thousand times to her son.
Lucifer reached beneath the heavy folds of his cloak and withdrew an artifact that made the room’s light instantly flinch. It was an 'inverted cross' forged of cold, unpolished human bone, smooth and pale as marble. Stitched into its center in faint, incredibly delicate relief was the figure of the 'Virgin Mary,' her face frozen in a state of perpetual, agonizing sorrow.
As Lucifer held the bone cross suspended in space between Frank and Alice’s beds, silver light of room didn't glint off the white surface; instead, the artifact seemed to actively swallow illumination around it, casting a localized shadow.
"Watch closely," Lucifer whispered.
Closing his eyes, he let out a low, vibrating hum from within his chest. The sound quickly shifted into a language far older than High Latin, older than the primitive planet beneath their feet. It resonated with the terrifying weight of the earth, sounding like the grinding of tectonic plates, like rush of wind through a cavernous, infinite abyss.
The bone cross began to hum in tandem with his voice. Suddenly, the carved eyes of the 'Virgin Mary: welled with viscous crimson. Twin tears of luminous, and glowing blood spilt over the white bone cheeks, pooling at base of the cross before completely defying laws of gravity.
The crimson droplets split apart, levitating through the cold air like two suspended, polished rubies.
With a soft, singing hiss that smelled of static electricity, blood drifted across the ward. One drop settled directly between Frank’s vacant, unblinking eyes; the other struck the dead center of Alice’s forehead. For three agonizing, dead seconds, the blood sat on their skin like ink.
Then, Frank Longbottom let out a sharp, ragged sound, one of a drowning man breaking the surface of a freezing sea. His eyes snapped wide open, instantly clear, bright, and agonizingly present. He violently seized his own chest, lungs gasping for air as unceasing twitch in his thumbs vanished.
His knuckles turned a sharp white as he gripped the fabric of his hospital gown, shuddering as the magic broke.
Beside him, Alice dropped the 'Drooble's gum' wrapper. Her hands flew directly to her face as a sudden scream ripped from her throat, her chest heaving as ten years of dark, tangled madness unspooled in a searing flash of heat behind her eyes.
The blank vacuum of gaze was instantly replaced by crushing awareness.
"...Frank?" She choked out. Her voice was a raspy, dry ruin from a decade of silence. She turned her head slowly, her eyes past the musty bedside tables, past pale winter light, until her gaze landed squarely on trembling, round-faced boy standing by the lacquer doors. "Frank... who... who is that boy?"
The man named Frank was also breathing heavily, sweat slicking his graying hair against his forehead. He looked at the teenager, lips trembling as recognition flooded his features, bringing with it a tidal wave of unutterable grief and joy.
"N-Neville," Frank whispered. The voice was a cracked, broken thing, but the strength behind it was unmistakable. "My god... Neville. Look at you. How big you've gotten, son."
Neville didn't speak. He physically couldn't. A strange, choked squeak escaped his throat, and then the emotional dam broke entirely. He threw himself forward across the linoleum, crashing into his mother’s outstretched arms with enough physical force to cause metal bedframe to rattle loudly against wall.
Alice caught him, burying face deep into his thick, bushy hair, weeping loudly as her thin arms wrapped around his back with a ferocity that defied her wasted body. Frank leaned over from mattress, wrapping his own arms around both of them, pulling tight against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably into his son’s neck.
"Mum... Dad..." Neville sobbed, his voice cracking into the fabric of her gown. "You know who I am... you actually know me..."
"Of course we know you, sweetheart," Alice wept quietly, pressing her lips to the crown of his head over and over again. "Oh, my sweet, brave boy... we're here. We're right here."
Behind them, Augusta Longbottom dropped her handbag. The crocodile leather hit the floor with a dull thud, spilling gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and pink peppermint creams across, but she didn't look down at the mess. Her old hands flew to her mouth, her shoulders shaking as hot tears carved wet tracks through her face powder.
"My b-boys," Augusta wept, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees beside the bed, grabbing Frank’s free hand and pressing it against her wet cheek. "My boy... my darling boy... thank you, Lucifer... sweet Merlin, it's a miracle..."
After a long, breathless moment, Neville pulled back just enough to wipe his face with his sleeve. His nose was running and eyes were bloodshot, but he looked up at Lucifer with an expression of gratitude so pure it was almost painful to witness.
Without a word, Neville stood up from the mattress, walked two paces, and threw his arms tightly around Lucifer’s neck who went completely rigid at the movement, his posture freezing, unaccustomed to the messy, tear-stained, and gratitude of mortals. He stared blankly at the wall before slowly, stiffly bringing his right hand up to pat the boy’s back twice awkwardly.
Neville was crying so intensely that his whole front was shaking against Lucifer’s wool robes.
"Thank you," he sobbed into Lucifer's shoulder, the words muffled and broken. "Thank you... you gave my family back... I can never repay this..."
"You don't need to repay a copper Knut, Neville," Lucifer said softly, a faint, amused smirk touching his lips as his mind briefly flashed back to the image of Crookshanks and the stolen Gryffindor password list. 'Consider us even, Longbottom. '
"And you are currently making a substantial mess of my fine Italian wool. Consider it a delayed Christmas gift. You were getting tired of those silver gum wrappers anyway, weren't you?"
Neville let out a wet, breathless laugh, wiping his nose with sleeve again as he pulled back, face splitting into a brilliant smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."
Lucifer reached inside the hidden lining of his cloak and withdrew three small, square bottles crafted of obsidian glass. He set them down onto the wooden bedside table with a sharp, definitive 'clack.' "The restorative remedies," he explained, turning his gaze toward Augusta, who was watching him from knees with an expression of terrified reverence. "One drop in their tea every morning exactly at sunrise for a fortnight... It will mend the remaining scarring on neural pathways and stabilize their magical core as well... Don't let any of these incompetent St. Mungo's staff tamper with the bottles. They will only ruin the balance with their useless, dandy-grass potions.”
"Mr. Morningstar..." Augusta gasped, pushing herself up from the floor, trembling as she reached out to grab his right hand, pressing it between her own. "The Longbottom family... we are in your debt for the rest of our days. Whatever you ask of us, anything at all, it is yours."
"I ask that you keep your family quiet for the next ten minutes so I can leave this building without a public parade," Lucifer replied, pulling leather gloves back over his fingers and arranging travelling cloak around his shoulders. He turned on his heel and strode out of the ward, doors swinging shut behind retreating form.
As he stepped out into the cool, tiled corridor, he almost ran directly into Matron Grace. The senior nurse, who had personally overseen the Longbottoms' long, agonizing decline for over twelve years, was pressed against the white-tiled wall.
A crumpled linen handkerchief was shoved tightly against her mouth to muffle her sobs, and tears were streaming freely down her wrinkled cheeks. She had witnessed the entire restoration through small glass viewing window.
"Mr. M-Morningstar," she hiccuped, scrambling forward as he made to pass her. She reached out, fingers desperately grabbing the edge of his sleeve, her eyes wide, wild, and filled with a new light. "Mr. Morningstar, please... wait a moment!"
Lucifer stopped, looking down at her hand on his robe until she reluctantly released grip, backing away a step. "Yes, Matron?"
"How... how did you possibly achieve that?" She swallowed hard, wiping her cheeks furiously with her handkerchief,"It doesn't matter. Sweet Circe, it's not relevant at all. Sir... when you graduate from Hogwarts... I beg of you, please. Please consider joining the staff here at St. Mungo's. We have hundreds of them. The Spell-Damage ward... Artifact Accidents, we simply cannot save them. But you... the world desperately needs a Healer of your caliber!"
Lucifer looked down the long, dreary, green carpeted hallway of St. Mungo's. He could smell the lingering misery hanging in the plaster, the quiet, hopeless dread of a thousand magical souls slowly decaying in clean white beds while the Ministry pretended everything was fine.
"A Healer," he murmured, the word tasting entirely strange and foreign on his tongue.
His mind drifted back to his true kingdom, to the underworld, to the vast, screaming pits of Hell where billions of fractured, tormented souls writhed in an eternal agony of their own making. Those souls were always waiting for someone who understood the inclessness of “suffering,” someone who knew how to rebind a shattered spirit, weave a broken mind back together, and to command the flesh. He had always intended to be a Healer for his own kingdom. 'Depths of Hell' deserved a physician who understood the true anatomy of pain.
He looked back down at the crying nurse, his eyes showing a brief, brilliant red in dim hospital lighting, "I have my own extensive roster of patients to attend to upon my graduation, Matron," Lucifer said softly, dry smile touching the corner of his lips as he turned to walk toward the visitor's Floo network. "But... I suppose the mortal realm has its own quiet little hells to clear out. Perhaps I shall drop by on 'Tuesdays."
xxxxxxx
That evening, damp stone walls of the hidden corridors gave way as heavy, iron-studded door of the 'Room of Requirement' materialised from the solid masonry. Lucifer, Hermione, and Ron were the first three to step across, their boots echoing lightly against floorboards. The vast chamber had shifted into familiar, torch-lit configuration of their previous D.A. meetings with sprawling bookshelves, duelling mats, and rows of small, plush blue bean bag chairs scattered across the floor.
As expected, since the 'Room of Requirement' had to be similar to what they used the previous meetings for D.A, and he really doubted any of the other members would think to make it so.
"So, what do you have in store for the group this evening, Lucifer?" Hermione asked, adjusting the canvas strap of her school bag as her brown eyes searched his face, wanting to get a clear idea of the lesson plan.
"I have a demonstration lined up first," Lucifer replied, fingers lightly brushing the silver links of his sapphire necklace. "But considering it is our very first meeting back after the holidays, I think it wouldn't hurt to have refresher of what everyone has managed to learn so far." He stepped over to edge of the mat and sank comfortably into one of the low bean bag chairs.
"That sounds like a good idea," Hermione agreed, smile breaking across her face. She walked over to the towering mahogany shelves, casually grabbed a thick text on defensive theory, and sat down closely right beside him.
Ron was busying himself across the room, adjusting the joints of one of the three wooden duelling mannequins that had emerged, when Luna Lovegood became the first member to drift through open door. Before anyone could even voice a proper greeting, her dreamy voice echoed through the ceilinged room, "Lucifer! Hermione! Congratulations on getting engaged!"
“Thanks.” Lucifer simply offered her a sharp, knowing smile from his seat.
"Thank you so much, Luna," Hermione said, glancing up from her text to beam brightly at the younger Ravenclaw before looking right back down to hide faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.
The same scenario repeated itself with nearly every student who walked through over the next ten minutes. A steady chorus of whispered congratulations and warm handshakes filled the air as members celebrated the couple's promised future. However, a few of the older girls chose to stay silent, notably Katie Bell and Padma Patil, who merely watched the couple with tight, unreadable expressions.
When Lucifer’s senses registered every member was officially present in the room, he pushed himself up from the bean bag chair, his presence instantly drawing focus of the crowd.
"Okay," he announced, clear voice carrying over the chatter. "I hope everyone had a productive Christmas holiday. I know for a fact that I did." He paused for a brief second, his winking the bushy-haired girl, "So, before we get started----”
"Where is Harry?" Cho Chang interrupted suddenly, her eyes darting around the room as she just realized the messy-haired Gryffindor was missing from his usual spot.
"Harry was unfortunately unable to make tonight's meeting," Lucifer answered, his expression flat. "But he will be back in rotation for the next scheduled session. Now, before---”
"What is he doing right now that is apparently more important than teaching us?" Zacharias Smith demanded snidely, stepping forward from the Hufflepuff cluster while aggressively tapping the tip of his wand against his open palm.
Lucifer turned his head slowly, locking onto the boy with a chill. "It is of no concern to you what Harry is doing with his private time, 'extra... Now, let me make this clear: if I am cut off mid-sentence one more time this evening, I am going to become very angry.”
The collective look of instinctual alarm that washed over students' faces was a promise that no one would dare to interrupt him again. Lucifer let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the collar of his robes. "Now... before we get started with revisions of everything we've learned so far, I wan—"
"What do you mean by 'revisions?" Smith barked out, apparently unappreciative of the fact that they were going to go over old material instead of learning lethal hexes.
Lucifer didn't waste a breath. He raised his wand in fluid motion and pointed it directly at the Hufflepuff's face. "Oscausi!"
A sharp flash of white light zipped through the air. Instantly, the skin of Smith's lower face shifted and melted together, removing his mouth and leaving nothing but a smooth, seamless blank patch of flesh over his jaw. Zacharias’s eyes went wide with a sudden panic.
He reached up, his fingers feeling his own hairless, mouthless jawline as he became enraged, stomping his feet and making furious hand gestures at Lucifer.
Rolf Scamander stepped up quickly behind him, grabbing Smith's flailing arms and forcing them down to his sides. "Smith, that is enough!" he hissed. "Lucifer warned you not to interrupt him again, but you did it anyway. This consequence is on you!"
Smith glared at the younger puff, then looked around at unsympathetic faces of the surrounding Gryffindors, before 'finally' crossing his arms tightly over his chest and staying quiet, though nostrils flared with silent fury.
"Thank you, Rolf," Lucifer said, his tone perfectly nonchalant. "I will gladly return his mouth to him once I am done speaking. Now, by revisions, I mean we are going to practice every charm and hex we have learned so far, just to ensure your reflexes are still up to speed... But before we begin the Duelling pairs, I want to show you all something specific. The Seventh Years will already know what I am talking about, and if you read the 'Daily Prophet' cover during summer of the Quidditch World Cup, you will also recognize. I am talking about a spell known as the 'Blasting Curse."
"I've heard Professor Flitwick mention the theory in passing," Angelina Johnson said, stepping forward as her fellow Seventh Years nodded in agreement.
"I don't suppose he has actually had any of you cast the spell in a practical setting?" Lucifer asked, already knowing the answer. In this timeline, strictly monitored by Ministry, a standard 'fourth-year' duelling spell had been pushed back into N.E.W.T.-level curriculum due to safety panics.
"No," Fred Weasley said, spreading his hands wide. "He told us that pressure is far too dangerous to use, even within a reinforced classroom."
"He's not wrong," Lucifer said, a slow, dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "It is a violent and lethal spell, and easily one of my personal favourites." A collective wave of sharp gasps rippled through the younger students at the admission. To be honest, he had briefly considered displaying the soaring blue firebirds of 'Protego Diabolica,' but he calculated that demonstrating 'fiend-fire' would probably send half the Hufflepuffs straight to Hospital wing in shock. "I have arranged two of these wooden mannequins specifically to demonstrate the destructive power the spell possesses."
"I think... I think it would be wise if we all move over to far side of the room, away from targeting radius," Hermione suggested loudly. She didn't wait for a response, already taking more than four large steps back toward the safety of the stone arches.
The rest of D.A. agreed with her logic instantly, scrambling backward in a tight crowd until a wide, empty perimeter was left around the targets. Lucifer stepped into open space between the students and wood. "Is there anyone here who would like to step up and see if they can cast it?"
Angelina Johnson raised her hand without a second thought. Being the newly appointed Quidditch captain of Gryffindor, she felt a burning need to prove her mettle, sensing that if she backed down now, she would lose her authoritative edge over the younger years, “I'll try it. I've read the spell's description and vocal incantation in Duelling guide, so I should be able to manage a solid hit.”
"Okay," Lucifer said, stepping out of the center lane. "By all means, step up to mark and take your best shot at the first mannequin."
xxxxxxx
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