Ch 621 – Finding hots for Lestrange?

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+)

___________

The following day, what Harry had been desperately wondering about all night got answered in the most brutal register inside pages of 'Daily Prophet.'

During the morning breakfast period, Hermione Granger unfolded the fresh copy of the paper she had ordered from the owl post, intending to check the front page as she usually did. But when eyes landed on the sweeping black headline, she suddenly stood straight up from her bench with a cry of alarm.

It wasn't just her reaction that shattered the table; more students across the houses began to gasp out loud and exclaim in shock, as if their eyes had just witnessed a horrifying, supernatural atrocity.

"What is going on over there?" Harry asked instantly, his voice laced with burning concern as he dropped fork.

Hermione, visibly shaken and her hands trembling, spread the sprawling newspaper across the wooden table and pointed her finger directly at the headline. The text was accompanied by a row of moving, black-and-white photographs. Her throat tightened, rendering her unable to form words.

Lucifer, sitting right beside her had already quickly read through the entire front page layout. He actually been gravely concerned about this 'North Sea' coordinates, close to Norwegian waters, the moment his internal clock went past 4:07 in the morning, sensing dimensional strings shifting from his own two Dementors he had taken.

Ten high-tier prisoners, nine dark wizards and one single witch had successfully done a mass escape from the fortress of Azkaban.

Each individual moving image on the parchment seemed to radiate menace: some of the escaped convicts were laughing wildly into the camera, threw their heads back in a manic frenzy, while others bore smug, arrogant expressions. Beneath each black photograph, their pure-blood names and heinous crimes were outlined in a stark, bold Ministry detail:

Only a few specific names really stuck to his memory files.

Augustus Rookwood: A treacherous Ministry turncoat who had systematically leaked top-secret intelligence directly to You-Know-Who.

Lucifer knew he was from 'Department of Mysteries' while operating as an elite Unspeakable.

Then came the heavy muscle: Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Antonin Dolohov’s moving photograph featured a twisted, sneering face as he looked out toward whoever was reading the paper; his ledger noted he was convicted for the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett during the first war, like Molly had told him earlier.

Bellatrix Lestrange, as Lucifer’s knowledge had known for two years, was the primary cause among the four Death Eaters, for psychological incapacitation and decay of Frank and Alice Longbottom inside the closed wards of St. Mungo's Hospital, through torturous use of the 'Cruciatus Curse.'

He glanced across the aisle at Neville Longbottom.The round-faced boy looked deeply troubled for the safety of his parents, who had only just recently recovered under Lucifer’s medical interventions, he made an immediate note to have Tipsy shift the boy's 'family' line into warded penthouse Med-wing at Lux for time being to ensure their protection from a secondary hit.

What was most concerning about the front page wasn't just the fact of an Azkaban breakout, but engineered political spin Fudge had stamped across the parchment:

THE DAILY PROPHET FRONT PAGE

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT" FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

Lucifer gave the propaganda another long, critical look. The corrupt 'Ministry for Magic' still stubbornly refused to issue a proper national warning regarding You-Know-Who's return. His eyes read down to the only witch among the escaped group, staring at Bellatrix Lestrange, who immediately drew the most attention from Great Hall crowd.

Her photograph was chilling: dark, penetrating eyes gleamed with a maniacal malice, her thin lips twisting into a wild, jagged sneer of contempt, as though the very concept of a camera capturing her image was miles beneath her notice.

Her listed crime was the heinous torture of the Longbottom aurors.

Lucifer tilted his chin, casually offering his blunt assessment aloud to the table: “She is crazy, but hot....”

Hermione’s eyes instantly darkened with an intense wave of annoyance, her head snapping around as she raised a questioning eyebrow straight at his face, "'Attractive, Lucifer?" she whispered, her voice tight.

It was no surprise that she had let out a loud cry earlier; this news was nothing short of terrifying to her. The very idea that multiple infamous, Death Eaters had successfully broken out of an island prison was enough to send shockwaves through the younger years.

The entire Great Hall was now in a state of loud disarray. Some of the younger, more timid first-years across the Hufflepuff table were even breaking into open tears of panic, their fear audible amidst the rising din of the room. Even the older, more steadfast upper-years, those who had always firmly trusted Dumbledore's protection, like Rolf Scamander, Mikel, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, sat perfectly pale and shaken against their benches, visibly struggling to process the grim reality.

Believing in Harry’s spoken words of Voldemort's return over the summer was one thing, but having his worst supporters escape custody right now confirmed the blasphemy, bringing a chill to war that many teenagers simply weren't ready to face or accept.

"Not nearly as attractive as you are, pet," Lucifer clarified immediately, smoothing over before his beautiful Miss Know-It-All could erupt from the bench and manually tear the 'Daily Prophet' to shreds with her bare fingers. "But ugly, that woman is not.”

Hermione continued to look straight at his face with a stern, defensive glare, her hands clutching the edges of the newspaper tightly. Her morning lust wasn't helping her restraint in the slightest.

Harry came to Lucifer's rescue, leaning over the table to read print aloud, Sirius Black?" he asked loudly, his eyes blinking in shock. "Not---”

"Shhh!" Hermione whispered desperately, eyes darting around the hall as a few Ravenclaws turned their heads to look toward their corner, "Not so loud, Harry! Just read the lines silently!" she said through gritted teeth. Couldn't these boys understand that the vast majority of students' eyes were actively locked onto Albus Dumbledore and the Gryffindor table right now, specifically targeting one idiotic Mr. Potter who couldn't control his volume?

Both dropped their notice back to the text, and a second later, Ron Weasley said, completely flabbergasted, given how last night he had almost textually become an angry girl over his friend’s comfort, "There you are, Harry. Look at the timing, that is why Riddle was so happy last night...”

"I don't believe a word of this garbage," Harry snarled angrily under his breath, his knuckles turning white, "Fudge is literally blaming the prison breakout squarely on Sirius's shoulders!”

“Fudge doesn't really have any other options left to play at this point in his career, though," Hermione said bitterly, her lips thinning, "He can hardly stand up before the press and say, 'Sorry everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban Dementors have joined Voldemort's ranks, and now his worst supporters have broken out too.' Oh, give it a rest, Ronald!" She quickly snapped at the ginger boy, who was about to open his mouth, "I mean, look at the facts: Fudge has spent a good six months telling the nation that he and Dumbledore are nothing but delusional liars, hasn't he? He's really not going to recant political platform now, is he?”

Hermione aggressively grabbed back the newspaper, scanning the inside columns. She maintained an annoyed look on her face, and Lucifer found himself quietly worried about the girl's cheeks; he didn't want her beautiful features to get wrinkled by stress so early in her young life.

"Stop staring at me like that!" She scowled at him, her foot tapping the floor. Hermione didn't mean the anger, but she couldn't help but feel a sudden spike of jealousy that Lucifer had found another woman's photograph attractive, especially a crazy pure-blood like Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I can't stop," Lucifer murmured close to her ear, his hand sliding under the table to rest over her knee, “You're far too pretty to not look at yourself.”

“Like Bellatrix Lestrange’s 'face,' perhaps?” Hermione shot back under her breath, her hand tightening around her vine wand. She realized she desperately needed to calm her breathing down; her body was currently extremely horny and unsatisfied after their interrupted interlude on the way to Great Hall, and he stopped penetrating her arsehole.

Lucifer let out a soft sigh, arm wrapping securely around her waist to pull her close against the side, "I simply said the woman was attractive by my standards, nothing more," he murmured, warm breath puffing directly into her ear. “Besides, the only person I want to kiss is you.”

Hermione tried her best to keep the corners of her lips firmlmmturned down into a scowl, but performance failed, and a beautiful smile tugged at her lips.

"You look incredibly cute whenever you smile," Then commented, his eyes softening as he looked at her beaming face, “Well... you always look cute.”

Her smile grew even bigger at the praise, her defensive pride completely vanishing as she felt slightly chastised for being so easily defeated by her own twelve-year old insecurities.

After that, Lucifer looked back down at the newspaper headline and let out a heavy sigh of his own. He wondered how Cornelius Fudge, in his infinite stupidity, could have ever allowed this security system to collapse so catastrophically. The man was lustful for power that he would probably deny Voldemort's return even if the Dark Lord was standing right in front of his desk.

Lucifer truly hoped he would be present in the room the exact day Fudge got sacked from his position as Minister, just so he could tell the man how stupid he really was to world.

Suddenly, Hermione stood up from the bench beside them, her jaw set as she began power-walking straight away from the table.

"Where are you going at that speed?" Ron asked, completely dumbfounded, wondering if the witch was going straight to Lestrange Manor to have a cup of tea, given how angrily her fingers were clutching her wand like a leather whip.

"To send an urgent letter," Hermione said over her shoulder, bag swinging heavily on her arm, "It... well, I don't know whether it will work... but worth a shot... and I'm the only person in this school who possesses the capacity to do it..." She stated without revealing name of recipient, marching out of the Great Hall doors.

"I hate it when she does that dramatic routine," Lucifer heard Ron grumble crossly as both he and Harry got to their feet to gather their books.

In objective truth, he had no idea what specific plan Hermione was going to write down in that letter or what place she was sending the post to, but knew she would share with them when time was good.

Anyway, looking at the scenario, if Voldemort himself had personally orchestrated this prison escape from behind the scenes, no amount of extra Ministry auror security would have made difference after Sirius Black's escape proved the flaws. Heavy deployment would have only led to more unnecessary human sacrifices along the North Sea.

After all, only Albus Dumbledore possessed the true magical power to stand against Voldemort in a direct duel, and expecting the Headmaster to abandon Hogwarts to personally guard an island cage was unrealistic.

Lucifer dismissed the global thoughts from his mind, focusing on the shifting scene around. The scent of fear and unease was palpable inside the Great Hall, rippling through the rows of students like a freezing draft.

Fortunately, the senior professors seemed to have anticipated such a reaction from the teenagers. Professor Sprout, seated at center of the staff table, rose to her full height and addressed whispering tables in a steady, reassuring, and motherly voice.

"Don't panic, everyone! Please, look at me. Hogwarts is well-protected by founder's wards, and every corridor is safe. You have nothing to 'fear' within these walls.”

Her calm words managed to soothe the crowd's anxiety somewhat. The rising tide of anxious whispers and gasps began to rapidly subside across the house tables, and the tense atmosphere eased slightly, she had done this because she knew the death of Cedric Diggory lingered in minds of Hufflepuff students again.

Shortly afterward, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape arrived through the side door, followed finally by Dumbledore himself stepping onto the dais.

The mere physical sight of the legendary Headmaster entering the Great Hall instantly silenced last remaining murmurs in room.

Albus Dumbledore, however, said nothing about the newspaper. He walked with a calm stride straight to his golden seat at the center of staff table and sat down, carefully assembling a morning sandwich as if his concern were his breakfast menu.

His composed demeanor radiated a silent reassurance that successfully stabilized the atmosphere 'further' for the upcoming winter term.

xxxxxxx

On the way out of the Great Hall, Lucifer saw Hagrid standing there, letting a group of Ravenclaws pass by him, "Alrigh', you three?" the half giant tried to muster a smile, but it was more of a pained grimace; he didn't look any better than when he had first returned from his failed secret mission to the Giants.

He looked worse somehow, a new cut split across the bridge of his nose.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" Harry asked, quickening his pace as they followed after him down the corridor.

"Fine, fine," Hagrid said feebly, his massive voice dropping into a hoarse whisper. His large eyes were darting around the Entrance hall in an almost defensive paranoid manner, "Jus' busy, yeh know? Usual stuff... lessons ter prepare, couple o' salamanders go' scale rot, an'... well, I'm on probation.”

Harry and Ron appeared instantly startled and deeply affronted by the news, but Lucifer had been expecting when Umbridge sat in on Hagrid's class with her clipboard. Even though he had tried to make him look like a competent teacher during the evaluation, she simply hated him for being a half-giant and Dumbledore’s most loyal supporter.

She was going to enforce disciplinary strike no matter how well or how horribly the actual inspection had gone.

"You're on probation!?" Ron asked so loudly that Lucifer was genuinely amazed the entire student body didn't turn their heads to stare at ginger, "Sorry," he quickly added in whisper, his face flushing red, "I mean... you're on probation like Professor Charity Burbage?”

"Yeah..." Hagrid sighed heavily, fist clenching tight against moleskin coat as if he wanted nothing more than to squash the pink toad, "Tha's no more'n I expected, kids... thank yeh fer wha' yeh did, Lucifer, in tryin' ter help guide the answers during the inspection... but it jus' wasn' enough to stop her ink..." He looked lost, spirit noticeably buckling under the weight of the Ministry's radar. He had even been spending his extra hours treating school owls alongside Professor Grubbly-Plank and Blaise Zabini just to keep busy, "See yeh around, Harry... Ron... Lucifer..."

The three of them watched him walk heavily through the large oak double doors of the Entrance Hall out into the chilly, bleak January morning, his giant spirit on the verge of shattering.

For the first time since stepping into this timeline, Lucifer 'felt' a genuine pang of pity for the half-giant.

The fact that Hagrid was now on official probation became common knowledge within the castle over the next few days, but few outside of the Gryffindor tower and Blaise Zabini seemed to be genuinely upset about it.

Some of the pure-bloods, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, were positively gleeful at breakfast, loudly boasting that they would finally no longer risk severe physical injury or dismemberment in the giant oaf’s reckless classes.

The compounding news of the mass Azkaban breakout and return of Voldemort had caused a massive uproar at Hogwarts.

No matter where you walked, conversations about the Dark Lord filled the air. Students who grew up in magical families were particularly shaken to their cores; their primitive fear of Voldemort's name was deeply ingrained from childhood and now violently rekindled after reading the morning papers.

Even the professors weren't immune to tension; groups of two or three teachers could often be seen huddling together in the drafty corridors, speaking in hushed, urgent tones that ceased abruptly whenever a student approached.

This tense dread wasn't the case for everyone, though. Inside the Slytherin dungeons, atmosphere was starkly different. Among the children of the old pure-blood families, an excited buzz filled the air, making common room feel exactly like Christmas morning.

At lunch, Nicole Everett and Millicent Bulstrode strutted proudly into the Great Hall with their heads held high, their shrill, mocking laughter echoing nonstop off the high ceiling.

They moved through aisles like peacocks displaying their feathers, oblivious or unbothered by the terror gripping the rest of the school.

"Look at those two turkeys flaunting themselves again," Susan Bones muttered in disgust from across the table, her fork twisting in her plate, "I'm certain someone in their family is a newly escaped Death Eater.”

The Bones family's long-standing, generational support of the 'Order of the Phoenix' had placed them in direct, bloody opposition to the Death Eaters for over a decade, leaving behind an unshakable animosity in her bloodline. That deep hatred had simmered quietly while Voldemort was gone and his most infamous followers were locked away.

But with his sudden return and the recent prison breakout, old hostilities had flared anew, and the sides were once again clearly, dangerously drawn.

Susan usually held no particular personal grudge against most Slytherins, but the recent events had completely altered her perspective.

xxxxxxx

"Isn't it obvious why they are celebrating?" Lucifer replied to Harry's question regarding why the Slytherin girls were giggling so loudly over their plates. "If you had actually read the back pages of the 'Prophet' again, you'd have seen that one of the ten Death Eaters who escaped custody yesterday was explicitly a Bulstrode.”

"I honestly don't understand why the Headmaster doesn't just use his authority to expel them from castle," Hermione said curtly, aggressively stabbing her pork schnitzel in deep frustration.

"Because they haven't committed a crime, Granger," Lucifer pointed out calmly, reaching out to gently soothe the bushy-haired girl's mad, flushed face today. "At least, not yet. They are legally just students under the school charter. Dumbledore cannot expel a child simply because of their family name or their father's crimes; that would go against Hogwarts' founding principles. Look at the history: during... the 'Chamber of Secrets' incident in our second year, he didn't expel Harry, even though the school believed he was the prime suspect.”

The logical comparison didn't make Harry feel any better at all; in fact, the sudden mention of the Chamber caused the boy to cough, nearly choking on his boiled egg, why reopen the old wounds? He was doing a good job at forgetting stuff like Neville.

"That's a fair point, I suppose," Ron conceded grudgingly on his friend's behalf. "But the gits are still so incredibly annoying to look at. I'd love nothing more than to teach them a lesson while sacking in bags..."

"It doesn't technically matter if no one ever finds out who did it," Fred Weasley whispered, appearing out of nowhere from behind their bench alongside his twin. He leaned down in a conspiratorial whisper, “I happen to know for a fact that Honeydukes uses these thick brown paper bags for their bulk winter deliveries, large enough to comfortably fit a full-grown person inside. You could easily use one to bag Millicent or Everett from behind... you know, right before teaching a thing or two in an empty classroom.”

George's eyes twinkled with a mischief as he let out a series of sly, low chuckles, proudly patting his twin brother's shoulder for being more handsome today.

"I'll handle the supply run," Susan Bones said fiercely, having marched over from the Hufflepuff table after openly eavesdropping on their conversation for a while. She surprised everyone with her sudden eagerness, “I buy loads of sugar skulls and sweets from Honeydukes every term. I can easily borrow a couple of those delivery bags from the cellar next weekend...”

"Borrow them?" George grinned widely, his eyebrows raising, "Don't be silly, Miss Susan. We might as well buy the whole stock from the shopkeeper. I have a distinct feeling those are going to become the next hot commodity in castle. We can't keep borrowing them indefinitely if we plan to bag half the dungeon...”

Lucifer had also heard through the portrait channels of a freakish, bizarre death involving an obscure 'Department of Mysteries' employee by the name of Broderick Bode.

Ron had mentioned over their homework he and Harry had briefly seen the man resting inside long-term ward directly opposite Gilderoy Lockhart when they visited St. Mungo's over Christmas.

He stated his father had mentioned Bode's name a few times at the dinner table, noting the man was known across the Ministry as Unspeakable.

The man had died from a sudden strangulation by a Devil's Snare cutting through his sheets, a terrifying detail that had scared both Harry and Ron to their absolute bits. Neither of the boys had spoken for a long while about the murder, haunted by the fact that they hadn't even noticed when a St. Mungo's med-witch had brought the lethal plant into the ward disguised as a harmless, small potted Christmas gift.

If Lucifer or Hermione had been present inside that specific medical wing, their knowledge would have easily detected and saved man's life. But when the couple had gone to see Arthur Weasley at the hospital, they had purposefully not ventured in the direction of Bode or Lockhart's beds, purely because neither of them wanted to waste their hours looking at the fraudulent author's face.

Only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Lucifer seemed to even care about the mysterious death of Bode, because the primary topic of conversation across the rest of the school was single mindedly fixed onto ten escaped Death Eaters.

Wild rumors were flying through the corridors that several of armed convicts had already been spotted hiding out inside the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, and that they were actively planning to break into Hogwarts through the secret tunnels, just as Sirius Black had allegedly done two years prior.

A massive number of the younger students, pretty much mainly the girls of RavenClaw and Hufflepuff loudly declared in the common rooms that even if the dark wizards did break into the castle, they weren't scared in the slightest, because Lucifer Morningstar would effortlessly protect them.

The widespread admiration did cause Hermione to cling significantly closer to her boyfriend's arm in corridors than she usually did, which was already a lot. She purposefully smashed her heavy, expanding chest straight into bicep as they walked, poised to ruthlessly strike any walking tramp or harlot that dared to step a centimeter too close to her wizard.

Lucifer had already figured out that the Azkaban prisoners were not 'Imperiused' into doing Voldemort's bidding; they were functioning out of pure, fanatical devotion like Crouch Junior.

He carefully committed their names and faces, adding Lucius Malfoy, both Crabbe's and Goyle's fathers' names, and the executioner Walden Macnair to his target. If ever caught sight of any of the escaped Azkaban wizards or Bellatrix Lestrange herself near, was prepared to kill them on the spot.

Especially if they harmed a single hair on Hermione's head; if that happened, he would permanently stop holding back his true celestial power and send their souls into nothingness.

Those students who grew up in Wizarding families knew the horrific reputations of the escaped Death Eaters all too well, speaking their names with almost as much trembling fear as Voldemort himself.

Hermione couldn't quite understand the visceral panic, constantly trying to compare what she knew from Muggle history to the current magical world, but was starting to realize that the two weren't nearly as comparable as her books wanted to admit.

Susan Bones, in particular, carried a deep, personal stake in the war; her aunt, her uncle, and several of her cousins had all died at hands of the ten escapees during the first war.

She bluntly explained to Harry during a Herbology lesson why she had stated back in their first year that she had a good idea what it felt like to be in his isolated shoes.

"And I honestly don't know how you stand the pressure, Harry, it is horrible being rutted by Aunty on the 'floor' in the name of training," She said bluntly, her hands shaking so much from grief that she almost dumped far too much dragon manure straight onto her delicate tray of Screechsnap seedlings.

The only reason the fertilizer didn't ruin the plants was because Lucifer utilized his wandless magic to catch the manure mid-air, holding the soil steady above the green leaves before moving it back down into its proper container that Susan had just set onto the bench.

Hermione had also realized Harry was once again the subject of much renewed muttering, pointing, and staring in the corridors since breakout was announced.

She did, however, detect a slight, critical difference in the tone of the whispers; not as many of them were hostile or mocking in nature anymore, but were instead replaced with curiosity.

She also heard, from the various snippets of private conversations she caught inside the girls' loos, that the students were no longer satisfied with how the 'Prophet' had handled prison breakout story, feeling that there was a hidden Ministry bias in the text.

In their confusion and fear, those doubters now seemed to be turning back toward the only other logical explanation available to them, the warning that Harry and Dumbledore had been giving since the previous summer.

It wasn't just the students she heard talking either; it was now quite a common occurrence to come across two or three professors conversing in low, urgent whispers outside the classrooms, breaking off their sentences when they saw students approaching.

Hermione knew why the faculty was acting so paranoid. She had picked up a great deal of espionage and gossip skills from her long talks with Ginny Weasley lately, and she was following the staff room variables.

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