Hellbound

The moonlight filtered through the silver-rimmed glass of the guest wing in Greengrass Manor, casting pale lines across the polished floor and silk-draped beds. The air was quiet, still, but not empty. It was the kind of silence that existed only after something irrevocable had been decided.

Loona sat at the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers along the edge of the rune-stamped necklace glowing faintly around her neck. Her claws tapped it absently—still not used to it, still trying to decide what it meant. The bond had sealed. And somehow, she'd said yes to being part of something bigger than herself.

The door creaked.

Hadrian stepped in, not wearing his cloak or armor—just a black tunic and soft trousers, looking far more grounded than anyone who called Hell home had any right to.

He said nothing at first, just walked over and sat down beside her.

After a pause, she murmured, “They… really don’t hate me for this?”

“Who, the Greengrasses?” Hadrian asked.

She nodded. “Daphne’s parents. I mean… I'm a Hellhound. Not exactly afternoon tea material.”

Hadrian let out a dry chuckle. “You saved their daughter’s life. You bonded with me. You're family now.”

Loona snorted. “Weirdest family reunion I’ve ever had.”

“I’ve only had one,” Hadrian muttered. “This one’s better.”

A beat.

Then Loona asked, “You sure you're okay with me sticking around? It’s not too… crowded?”

That’s when Daphne leaned against the doorframe, arms folded but smiling.

“Crowded? You haven’t even seen how big the manor library is,” she said.

Loona blinked. “You’re okay with it too?”

Daphne stepped forward, the moonlight catching the silver trim of her emerald robe. “You bonded with Hadrian. That means something sacred in our world. Besides…” She glanced toward Hadrian and smirked, “It’s nice having someone around who knows how to keep him humble.”

Loona gave a toothy grin. “I could get used to this.”

Later that night, the three of them gathered on the private balcony overlooking the gardens. The stars above twinkled, and the lanterns lit by elven flame flickered softly across the stones.

Hadrian lay back against the cushioned bench, Loona on his right, Daphne on his left. The closeness was natural now—no awkwardness, just familiarity settling into comfort.

Loona spoke first. “You ever think about what we’re doing here? You’re a royal hell-spawn, she’s a pureblood aristocrat, and I’m… me.”

“You’re you,” Hadrian said firmly, not even opening his eyes. “That’s all you ever need to be.”

Daphne added softly, “You fit better than half the fools in the court. You’re loyal. And honest. That puts you above most people I know.”

Loona’s ears twitched. She looked away, hiding the small but genuine smile creeping up her muzzle.

Hadrian finally said, “We’re not normal. And we’re not meant to be. But together?” He looked at them both. “We make sense.”

And for a while, none of them said anything.

They didn’t need to.

The Greengrass manor was silent past midnight, save for the occasional whisper of the wind against the high windows. In one of the guest chambers—no longer a guest’s, but Loona’s—the fire burned low, casting golden-orange shadows across the stone walls and velvet drapes.

Loona sat on the thick rug, legs crossed, her tail flicking as she tried—again—to focus on the glyph floating in front of her.

“Ugh,” she groaned, waving her claw through it as it fizzled. “Too damn precise.”

From the bed, Hadrian spoke around the rim of his cup. “It’s a hellhound sigil, not a weapon trigger. You have to breathe through it.”

She turned and scowled. “You breathe through it.”

He smirked. “Already did.”

Daphne, seated on the chaise by the fire, let out a quiet laugh. “He’s not wrong. It’s about feel, not force. You’re trying to punch a symbol when you’re meant to fold it.”

Loona stared at her. “How are you this good at this? I’ve literally been a Hellhound longer.”

Daphne gave her a slow, smug smile. “Because I learn fast, and I actually listen to instructions.”

Loona flopped back with a groan. “Kill me.”

Hadrian leaned forward and offered her his hand. “Come on. Try again—with both of us guiding you.”

She looked at him. Then at Daphne.

Then, with a mock growl, she grabbed his hand and reached toward Daphne’s too.

The moment their fingers touched—claw and skin, fur and flame—the sigil pulsed to life between them, stable and glowing like moonlight soaked in blood.

Loona stared. “Oh.”

Hadrian’s smile widened. “There she is.”

Later that evening, they ended up on the wide terrace just outside the west wing, lounging under the stars with enchanted fire bowls keeping the chill off their shoulders. The conversation wandered—old Hell politics, wizarding gossip Daphne found hilarious, the question of whether or not phoenixes would taste good grilled (Loona’s idea).

But eventually, the quiet settled into something else.

“Do you regret it?” Loona asked suddenly, staring up at the sky.

Hadrian didn’t need clarification.

He shook his head. “No. Not even a second.”

Daphne spoke gently. “Not even the power you could’ve had in the wizarding world?”

“I’ve got more than that now,” he replied. “And people who actually see me.”

Loona was quiet a moment longer, then nudged his leg with her foot. “If we go to war with the world, you better let me start the fire.”

Daphne leaned over and whispered dryly, “I get the first kill.”

Hadrian closed his eyes, pulled them both closer.

“Deal.”

It was past midnight, deep within the Greengrass estate’s private forest clearing. The air shimmered with latent magic, the ground lined with salt, ash, and sigils glowing faint red and silver in the dirt. The trees stood silent sentinels around them.

At the center of the circle stood Hadrian, tall and calm, infernal symbols swirling around his feet.

To his right, Loona, her stance strong, tail twitching with anticipation.

To his left, Daphne, breathing slow, uncertain—but unwavering.

“Are you sure you want this?” Hadrian asked, glancing sideways at her. “Pack-bonding isn’t just soul-deep. This is… primal. Permanent.”

Daphne met his eyes, golden candlelight reflected in her sharp gaze.

“I’m already yours,” she said simply. “Let the magic catch up.”

Loona grinned. “That’s hot.”

Hadrian smirked. “Then it begins.”

He stepped forward, claws slicing into his palm, letting a drop of glowing blood fall into the center sigil. Loona followed, then Daphne—her cut precise, fearless.

The circle flared to life—red, white, and gold flame swirling upward like a miniature cyclone.

The ground vibrated.

Their blood mingled at the center and the fire ignited into a pulse that struck all three with a shockwave of raw pack magic.

Hadrian growled as his form expanded, war-shifting briefly, glowing with infernal runes.

Loona let out a howl, her form sharpening, stabilized into its most powerful state.

But then—

Daphne screamed.

She fell to her knees, gripping her chest as golden fire coiled around her skin, reshaping her magic.

Hadrian turned, alarmed—but he didn’t break the bond. Neither did Loona. They closed in around her, holding her steady as her form changed.

Her skin shimmered—fur sprouting in waves, her nails turning to claws, her figure shifting to a beautiful, tall, powerful northwest grey and white wolf-Hellhound form. Not monstrous. Regal. Controlled. Built from dignity and flame.

Her eyes opened, now luminous gold, filled with intelligence and new clarity.

Then—

The circle sealed with a final burst of magic that cracked the ground, forging a permanent triad bond, bound by soul, blood, and pack instinct.

Witnesses to Power

The door to the forest groaned open.

Selene and Orion Greengrass, dressed in formal night robes, had come to investigate the sudden magical pulse—

And froze.

Their daughter stood transformed, glowing, regal, radiant.

Selene’s hand flew to her mouth.

Orion’s brow furrowed, stunned silent.

“Daphne…?” Selene whispered.

Daphne turned to them slowly. She didn’t look angry. Or ashamed. Or even surprised.

She stood taller, more confident, her voice rich and calm.

“I’m still your daughter. Just more.”

Loona stood protectively behind her, tail flicking once.

Hadrian stepped to her side.

Orion stared a moment longer—then slowly inclined his head. “Then I suppose… it’s time we learn what this new family is truly capable of.”

The wind settled in the forest clearing, carrying with it the lingering shimmer of ritual magic.

Hadrian stood in the center of the now-dimmed circle, claws still faintly glowing, breathing steady. He was processing the surge of power, the connection pulsing at the edges of his senses like golden cords that now linked him to both of them.

And then—

A soft pressure on his left cheek.

Then another on the right.

He blinked.

Loona and Daphne had leaned in, each placing a quick, warm kiss on either side of his face—soft snouts brushing against skin and fur.

He barely had time to react before they both whispered in unison:

“You’re going to have to explain this to Mum and Dad.”

Then they bolted, tails high, laughing as they ran back toward the manor, their voices echoing through the trees.

Hadrian stood in the silence, blinking once… and then cracked a grin.

“They’re gonna break something, I swear.”
The door slammed shut behind them as Loona and Daphne collapsed into her bedroom, still half-laughing, breathless from the sprint.

Daphne panted, half shifting back into her half-human form, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her fur shimmered as it receded to reveal tall, lithe lines beneath her nightgown. Her hair was longer now, silver-streaked at the edges. Her golden eyes remained.

Loona was flopped on the bed, tail wagging lazily. “Okay, new rule. Hellhound form is strictly for murder and glamour events. I am not running through a manor in this body again.”

Daphne peeled open her wardrobe and groaned. “Ugh. Nothing’s going to fit this right. My hips are different. My shoulders too.”

Loona smirked. “Yeah, you got that ‘I bite nobles for breakfast’ look now.”

Daphne pulled out an emerald robe and held it up. “Too tight.”

Then a black corset. “Way too tight.”

Then a stretch tunic with gold thread. “...Maybe.”

Loona leaned over. “You could just wear nothing and make Hadrian combust.”

Daphne snorted. “Tempting, but I’m still a Greengrass.”

Loona raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, a Greengrass who turned into a divine predator and kissed a demon prince with a blood oath.”

“…Fair.”

They both laughed again, softer this time.

Then Loona said, more quietly, “You good?”

Daphne nodded. “It’s a lot. But I chose it.”

She looked toward the window, where the moon still hovered.

“And I don’t regret it.”

Loona smiled. “Neither do I.”

The manor was quiet under the soft rays of morning. The events of the previous night—rituals, transformations, and stunned silence—had given way to the weary calm of daybreak.

Hadrian, Loona, and Daphne had gone to bed after reluctantly giving an extensive and chaotic explanation to the Unspeakables. Daphne’s parents listened calmly, though Selene had occasionally pinched the bridge of her nose, and Orion had muttered something about “just another Tuesday.”

Now, the Greengrasses sat in the grand dining hall, robes pressed, expressions guarded.

The tea was poured.

The plates were full.

And on the long oak table sat a black lacquered box trimmed in shimmering crimson and lined in infernal silver.

There was no courier.

No magical fanfare.

It had simply… appeared.

The card, written in impossibly elegant red ink, read:

> To My Young Wolves,
For the mortal world is sharp and shallow. This gift is for when it bares its teeth.

Wear them with pride. They are yours by bond, by power, and by my name.

I have no objection to your continued presence in the realm above.
But let it be known… you are always mine.

—L.M.

Selene stared at the box for a moment longer.

Then slowly pushed it to the center of the table.

“We’re not touching that,” she said simply.

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Wise.”

---

Scene: Wolves at the Table

The trio shuffled into the dining hall, still dressed in loose sleepwear and soft robes—Hadrian’s black with embroidered silver thread, Loona in one of Daphne’s overlong tunics, and Daphne herself in understated green.

They stopped the moment they saw the box.

Hadrian’s ears twitched. “Lucifer?”

Selene nodded to it. “Left that for you. We didn’t open it.”

Loona padded forward on bare feet, claws tapping the floor. She sniffed the box once. “Definitely him.”

Hadrian opened the lid.

Inside lay three collars—crafted of obsidian leather, adorned with silver spikes, and etched with infernal runes around their inner lining. Each one bore their names carved in Infernal: Hadrian. Loona. Daphne.

Daphne picked hers up. The collar pulsed faintly in her hand, syncing to her aura with ease.

“They’re enchanted,” Hadrian murmured. “Defensive layers. Warding. Pack link magic… and a burn curse for anyone who touches us without permission.”

Loona grinned, already buckling hers around her neck. “Okay, that’s badass.”

Daphne hesitated a second longer… then clasped hers into place. It fit like it had always belonged there.

Selene watched them with an unreadable look.

Orion raised his teacup in dry salute. “Try not to set your classmates on fire by accident.”

“No promises,” Hadrian said, settling into his chair.

The Greengrass estate had known many forms of quiet—but lately, it had taken on a newer kind. Not the stiff silence of aristocracy, nor the whispered calm of politics behind closed doors. No, this quiet was soft. Domestic. Full of laughter around corners and warmth in unexpected places.

Loona sat on the drawing room floor, cross-legged, wearing her newly enchanted collar and a borrowed Greengrass tunic she hadn’t gotten around to returning. In front of her, a small stack of spell cards floated midair—each one zipping through basic runic equations with growing speed.

On the couch beside her, Astoria Greengrass, now ten years old, squealed with delight as she nailed another answer.

“Yes! I beat the card again!”

Loona snorted. “You’re officially smarter than three Hogwarts first-years.”

Astoria beamed and leaned against her furry side without hesitation.

“Are you really a Hellhound?” she asked for the fiftieth time that week.

“Last I checked.”

“Do you eat souls?”

“Only if they’re really annoying,” Loona teased, nudging her playfully with her elbow.

Astoria giggled and grinned wider. “I’m glad you’re my big sister.”

Loona’s smirk faltered. Just slightly.

But only because her heart clenched.

She meant it.
She actually meant it.

Loona’s tail curled softly around Astoria’s legs like a blanket.

“Yeah, kid… me too.”

Later that evening, with the younger Greengrass fast asleep under a starlight charm, Selene and Orion found Loona seated in the manor’s sunroom, sipping magically chilled cider from a green crystal glass.

They approached quietly.

“Loona,” Selene began, “we wanted to ask something of you. Not as a bondmate to Hadrian, or even as our daughter’s… protector.”

Loona looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“We want you to take care of Astoria, properly. While we’re at the Department,” Orion said. “You’ve proven you’re capable, patient, and frightening enough to make most threats wet themselves.”

Loona snorted into her glass. “That a compliment?”

“A formal one,” Selene replied with a smile. “We trust you.”

Loona hesitated—then gave a nod, her expression unusually serious.

“I’ve got her. You don’t have to worry.”

Selene laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Loona.”

Orion added, “We know you never asked for any of this. But… we’re glad you’re here.”

Loona didn’t say much.

She didn’t need to.

Her tail thumped once.

That night, Loona returned to Daphne’s room—now unofficially their shared room—where Daphne lay stretched across her bed reading and Hadrian sat by the window, watching the stars with his hands clasped behind his head.

Loona flopped between them with a groan.

“I’ve been officially adopted by rich magic nerds.”

Daphne smirked without looking up. “You’ll adjust.”

Hadrian smiled faintly. “And Astoria?”

Loona let out a breath. “She’s gonna be fine. I got her.”

Daphne set her book down. “Then we’ve got each other.”

Hadrian, still gazing upward, murmured, “We always did.”

The manor was always bathed in warm, enchanted candlelight when Hadrian returned.

Each night, just after twilight, a flicker of fire would shimmer through the study’s hearth—or the garden gate, or the private magical archway in the west wing—and Hadrian would step through, robes ash-streaked from another long day studying under the infernal skies of Hell.

He was often quiet upon arrival, but his presence always shifted the room.

Loona would immediately perk up, her tail flicking with ease, usually sprawled across the rug where Astoria had half-fallen asleep on her side mid-story.

Daphne would glance up from a book or a parchment-filled desk, soft smile forming without words.

Dinner had usually passed by the time he arrived, but a tray would always appear—brought by the Greengrass house-elf without prompt, bearing the exact meal Hadrian preferred. (And a small plate for Loona, who always stole a bite anyway.)

And so they would talk.

One evening, they sat before the long glass window that overlooked the back gardens—Hadrian seated, cloak draped across the arm of his chair. Loona curled up nearby with her head resting on Daphne’s lap, and Daphne absentmindedly ran her fingers through the soft fur at her ears.

They spoke of the day.

Hadrian talked of his infernal combat training—how Lucifer had personally tested him by animating a dead forest and forcing him to find his way out with no spells, only instinct.

Loona shared how Astoria had tricked a visiting noble's son into falling into a koi pond—“accidentally,” of course.

Daphne explained how she'd defended their new defensive theory at a political academy meeting and left three smug heirs speechless.

Their voices filled the room like music. Quiet. Harmonized.

And above them, unseen but present, the Greengrass ancestors watched from the painted portraits in the hall, their frames enchanted with magic passed down through generations.

One ancient witch with a crown of night roses murmured from her canvas, “A Greengrass soul, transformed by a Hellhound ritual… and still regal.”

A skeletal patriarch whispered back, “And the boy. A Potter, once abandoned—now returned not to claim power… but to build his own.”

“They are bound in ways our time never dared,” another said. “And the wolf girl—feral, sharp… but loyal. Family.”

In silence, the ancestors approved.

Later, Hadrian sat beside Daphne on the edge of her bed while Loona leaned on the wall, arms crossed and tail relaxed.

“You good?” Loona asked.

Hadrian nodded. “Lucifer’s pushing harder. Wants me to unlock my inheritance fully before I’m sixteen.”

“He thinks the wizarding world’s going to try something again?” Daphne asked softly.

“He doesn’t think,” Hadrian said. “He knows.”

Daphne leaned against his shoulder. “Then they better be ready. Because this time? You’ve got us.”

Loona gave a small, sharp grin. “Pack doesn’t break. We bite back.”

Hadrian smiled.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He was ready.

The late summer breeze drifted through the open balcony doors of Greengrass Manor, carrying the scent of warmed grass and distant ocean wind. It should’ve felt calm. But tension lingered in the air like a spell yet to go off.

Daphne sat in the drawing room beside Loona, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes narrowed over the letter in her hands. Across from them, Hadrian paced slowly, his claws tapping the marble floor with each deliberate step.

Selene and Orion Greengrass stood just inside the room, still in their dark blue Ministry robes.

“They’re calling it a ‘friendly international exchange,’” Selene said, tone clipped.

Orion scoffed. “But it’s no coincidence that they’re doing this now. The Triwizard Tournament has been locked away for centuries, and suddenly they want to resurrect it?”

“They’re afraid,” Hadrian said simply. “They want distraction. A way to focus the public’s eyes on something other than me.”

Loona let out a snort. “Good luck with that.”

Selene glanced at her daughter, then the Hellhound girl beside her.

“There’s more,” she said carefully, pulling a second envelope from her sleeve and laying it on the table.

Daphne blinked as she recognized the seal. Infernal. Royal.

She opened it—and inside was a compact, magically binding marriage notice, elegantly worded in three languages and sealed with crimson wax.

One addressed to her.

Another to Loona.

And the final, signed by Lucifer Morningstar himself.

To the Houses of Greengrass and Goetia,

This bond is recognized and sanctioned by both Hell and the mortal plane.
The Prince of Hell, Hadrian of the Goetia, is henceforth united in formal pact-marriage with his soul-bonded consorts: Daphne Astoria Greengrass and Loona (H-Class, Wolfen-Blood).

All who challenge this union challenge Hell’s crown.

— Lucifer M.

Selene arched a brow. “Well… it’s official.”

Orion nodded slowly. “And irreversible.”

Hadrian met Daphne’s eyes. “We should’ve told you it was coming.”

Daphne folded the letter and smiled faintly. “I already said yes the night we became more than human.”

Loona leaned back with a grin. “Hell’s weird, but I’ll take it.”

The Daily Prophet, Special Evening Edition, arrived in a rush—dozens of owls blanketing the sky in flurried wings as copies landed at doorsteps, balconies, and open manor windows across the wizarding world.

The headline was stark and inked in urgent crimson:

> TRAGEDY AT THE WORLD CUP: DEATH EATERS STRIKE IN THE NIGHT — DOZENS DEAD

By: Clarissa Wainscott, Senior Correspondent

In what officials are calling one of the worst acts of magical terrorism in over a decade, masked figures identified as former Death Eaters launched a coordinated attack during the final celebration of the Quidditch World Cup late last night.

Witnesses described chaos erupting without warning, as spells tore through tents, magical barriers failed, and innocent spectators—Muggles and magical folk alike—were targeted without mercy. At least thirty-two confirmed dead, and the number is expected to rise as searches continue.

"They tortured people," one survivor stated. "Families, children—like it was a game to them."

The Dark Mark, last seen during the height of Voldemort’s reign, was cast into the sky at approximately 12:43 a.m., igniting fear that the old regime may not be as dormant as believed.

Aurors arrived late, after the Death Eaters had dispersed. No arrests have been made at the time of publication.

Minister Fudge called an emergency press conference, declaring the incident an act of “isolated extremism.” However, rumors within the Ministry speak of panic and disarray. Multiple departments are being quietly reassigned, and several high-profile pureblood families are already under investigation.

This attack has cast a long shadow over the magical world—and with the revival of the Triwizard Tournament approaching, questions are being asked:

Are we truly prepared for what comes next?

Greengrass Manor — The Aftermath

The newspaper landed with a soft thud against the breakfast table.

Silence fell.

Hadrian, freshly returned from Hell for the evening, read the article word for word before slowly folding it shut. His eyes were unreadable.

Daphne, her expression tense but composed, stood at the window, arms crossed over her night robe.

Loona, tail twitching, was pacing near the fireplace.

Selene’s voice was cold. “The old monsters never died. They just changed names. Faces.”

Orion added grimly, “And the Ministry will not stop them. Not without shaking the whole system apart.”

Loona glanced over. “So what now?”

Hadrian exhaled, voice low.

“Now… we get ready.”

Potter Estate — The Golden Child

The Potter estate in Godric’s Hollow was a blend of polished legacy and quiet tension. Its halls were lined with portraits, awards, and magical trophies—nearly all of them bearing the name of Elias Potter.

Fourteen years old, tall for his age, and with a face that always seemed just on the edge of a smug grin, Elias Potter stood in the backyard courtyard practicing his favored duel flourish for the third time that morning.

The target dummy exploded with a flash of fire.

From the nearby bench, James Potter—now a battle-worn Master Auror—watched with crossed arms. “Better. But your footwork still drags before the twist.”

Elias rolled his eyes. “The spell still worked.”

James frowned. “A good Auror doesn't rely on brute force. Precision wins fights.”

“But style wins influence,” Elias replied, grinning. “And face it—everyone knows I’m the strongest student in my year.”

Behind them, the garden gate opened.

Lily Potter, dressed in her Hogwarts teaching robes, carried a stack of parchment and a tired look.

She barely glanced at the wrecked training circle. “Don’t burn the hedges again, Elias. The gardeners are still annoyed from last time.”

He gave a dramatic bow. “Your wish is my command, Lady Potter.”

James snorted while Lily sighed.

---

Scene: A Family in Shadows

Later, inside the manor’s dining hall, the family gathered: James, Lily, Elias, and the youngest Potter daughter, now eleven and quietly reading at the table.

Elias was in full swing, boasting about the new spell Dumbledore had begun teaching him.

“—and Professor D says it’s a mark of leadership potential. He says not many wizards my age can even cast modified flame barriers—”

“Or stop talking,” Lily muttered under her breath.

James ignored it. “If you keep progressing like this, you'll be captain of your House by next year.”

Elias grinned, basking in the praise. “I already lead the younger ones. They look up to me.”

“Some,” Lily said coolly, “might say your attitude is pushing more people away than it pulls in.”

Elias shrugged. “They’ll come around. I mean—Daphne Greengrass? She’s cold now, but even she’ll see sense eventually.”

James and Lily exchanged a glance.

Lily set down her fork. “You need to stop chasing that girl.”

“She’s clearly interested,” Elias lied easily.

“No,” James said flatly. “She isn’t.”

Lily added carefully, “The Greengrasses are politically powerful—and private. You keep bothering their daughter, you’ll make enemies we don’t want.”

Elias scoffed, brushing off their concern. “She just hasn’t seen the real me yet.”

The youngest sister looked up from her book and said quietly, “Maybe the real you is why she’s not interested.”

James stifled a laugh. Lily didn’t.

Elias glared, but the mood shifted quickly. Not to embarrassment, but resentment.

Deep down, he hated that no matter how much attention he got—he still wasn’t enough to silence the shadow of the brother they never talked about.

First Year, First Steps

The Hogwarts Express hissed to a halt beneath the shadow of the mountains, the chill of the Highlands creeping in through the open doors. Steam billowed around the carriages as students stepped out in clusters, laughing, shivering, wide-eyed. It was magic in its rawest form—for most, a dream come true.

For Elias Potter, it was a stage.

He stepped off the train with a practiced grin, his black school robes already tailored a bit sharper than most first-years. His wand was holstered like a duelist's, and his posture told everyone watching that he knew who he was: a Potter. A name wrapped in legacy.

At his side was Ron Weasley, already a close friend. The two had met on the train and bonded quickly over sweets, Quidditch, and their mutual belief that they were destined for something great.

Ron looked around at the waiting boats in awe. “Blimey. This place is mental.”

Elias smiled, hair tousled perfectly by the breeze. “It’s more than that. It’s ours.”

They climbed into the boats with the other first-years, four to a vessel. The water shimmered as the boats glided silently toward the castle. Elias didn’t gape like the others—he held his gaze steady, trying to look composed. Noble. Confident.

But when the towering silhouette of Hogwarts Castle came into view over the lake, even he forgot to play the part for a moment.

“That’s mine,” he whispered.

The Sorting

The Great Hall was overwhelming—ceiling bewitched with stormy twilight, candles floating midair, four long tables filled with curious, whispering students.

Elias stood with the other first-years, heart pounding.

When the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, he expected it to shout instantly.

But it paused.

Ah… a Potter. Interesting. Braver than clever, louder than wise. Hmm. There’s ambition in you, boy… and a hunger to be more than just a name.

Not unlike another I knew.

Elias stiffened.

Still, you’re not a Slytherin. Not truly. You crave approval more than control. You want cheers. Adoration. A House that will lift you high.

Very well…

“GRYFFINDOR!”

He grinned wide and strutted to the Gryffindor table as applause rang out. Ron joined him moments later, beaming. The two slapped hands.

They were already the stars of their little corner of the world.

Elias quickly became one of the most talked-about first-years. He was charismatic, bold, and surprisingly good with a wand—even if he didn’t always study for it. His favorite subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he made sure everyone knew it.

When Professor Flitwick praised his spellwork in Charms, Elias beamed for an hour.

When he beat a third-year in a practice duel by catching them off guard with a disarming charm he’d seen James use at home, the Gryffindors cheered—and Elias basked in it.

He got away with cheeky remarks in class, especially when he made people laugh. He started calling himself “The Better Potter” whenever Ron mentioned his own family’s connection to Harry.

But not everyone was impressed.

Daphne Greengrass, a sharp, quiet Slytherin girl from a prominent family, barely looked at him twice.

He noticed.

Elias made several attempts to speak with her—complimenting her, offering to help her with Charms, once even trying to show off by levitating three plates during lunch.

She ignored him all three times.

That stung.

Why wouldn’t she like him? He was brave, talented, a Potter!

The seed of frustration took root.

He began to look at Daphne less like a girl and more like a prize that just hadn’t realized how valuable he was.

Year One Ends

By the end of his first year, Elias had a reputation.

To some, he was charming and fun—a natural leader.

To others, arrogant and exhausting.

But he didn’t care.

He had popularity, Dumbledore’s attention, and a growing belief that greatness wasn’t a question—it was his birthright.

What he didn’t know… was how far that belief would take him.

Or how far it would make him fall.

Summer After First Year — The Golden Celebration

The Potter estate was awash in soft golden light, warm breezes floating through the open veranda doors as house-elves laid out an elaborate celebratory feast. Enchanted streamers curled through the air, swirling in crimson and gold—Gryffindor colors—and the family crest shimmered proudly above the long dining table.

Elias Potter stood at the center of it all, wearing a custom robe his father had gifted him—sleek black with gold thread etched in lightning bolts along the sleeves.

“To my son,” James said proudly, raising a goblet of firewhisky, “who finished his first year at Hogwarts not only top of his class in Defense, but also bested a third-year in a duel!”

Lily smiled as she leaned against James, eyes on Elias with motherly pride. “You handled it all with charm. Even McGonagall says you’ve got leadership written all over you.”

Elias gave a modest shrug, but the grin he wore stretched a little too wide.

“Thanks. Honestly, I think Hogwarts needed someone like me.”

Their daughter, seated nearby and rolling her eyes, muttered, “Hogwarts needed fewer loudmouths.”

No one heard her over the applause.

Summer Lessons

As July wore on, Elias found himself receiving private instruction at Dumbledore’s suggestion—dueling forms, advanced magical theory, “mental fortitude.”

James watched him like a proud commander grooming an heir.

Lily occasionally joined to test his spell retention.

And Dumbledore himself appeared now and then, offering cryptic words and guiding his magical instincts.

Elias took it all in like prophecy.

The Return of Elias Potter — Year Two Begins

Elias Potter arrived back at Hogwarts for his second year with a bigger grin, a louder voice, and a sharper wand flick. Over the summer, he’d grown half an inch taller, gotten a new robe custom-tailored with subtle red and gold embroidery, and spent most of the break retelling his “dueling triumph” to anyone who would listen.

Now, he returned not just as a student—he saw himself as a rising star.

“Second years run this place,” he told Ron proudly as they entered the Great Hall for the welcome feast. “We’re not the wide-eyed newbies anymore. This is where we start building our legacy.”

Ron nodded enthusiastically, though it was clear he was mostly thinking about pudding.

It didn’t take long for Elias to start pushing boundaries.

He hexed a Slytherin’s robe to shrink two sizes too small during a flying lesson dispute.

He led a late-night “exploration” group into the third floor without permission—despite having zero idea what was behind the locked doors.

He challenged a Ravenclaw prefect to a race using charmed brooms in the corridor.

And worst of all?

He tried to levitate Snape’s desk during Potions while the man was mid-lecture.

That earned him a month’s detention, but he left the classroom grinning anyway.

> “You should’ve seen his face,” he told Ron afterward, clutching his ribs with laughter. “He looked like someone spit in his cauldron.”

Despite the detentions, Elias started gaining a reputation—not for brilliance, but for boldness. Gryffindors cheered him. Some younger students tried to mimic him.

But the teachers…?

They started to frown more often when his name came up.

Professor McGonagall’s Warning

One night, after serving a third detention in a single week (this time for charming every goblet on the Gryffindor table to spray pumpkin juice at dinner), Professor McGonagall cornered him in the common room.

“Mr. Potter,” she said sharply, “this is not how a leader behaves.”

Elias stood straight. “With respect, Professor, I’m not trying to lead. I’m trying to wake this place up.”

She stared at him for a long, long moment.

“You may find,” she said, voice colder than stone, “that chasing attention leaves you very alone when it finally runs out.”

He didn’t understand her words then.

And if he did—he didn’t care.

Year Two Ends

Despite the chaos, Elias did well in practical classes. He had raw talent in Defense Against the Dark Arts and could duel most students a year older than him. But his essays were sloppy. His teamwork abysmal. And his “hero complex”—as Professor Sprout called it—was becoming difficult to overlook.

Still, when the Hogwarts Express rolled back into King’s Cross that summer, Elias stepped off the train with his head held high, dragging his trunk behind him like a returning champion.

---

Summer at the Potter Estate — Year Two Reflections

That evening, Lily and James prepared a quieter celebration.

James poured two glasses of wine for him and Lily, while Elias tore into the chocolate-frosted cake with a proud smile.

“They don’t like me because I shine too bright,” he said mid-chew.

James chuckled. “They’re jealous. You’ve got what most kids your age don’t—confidence.”

Lily offered a softer look. “Just… don’t forget to listen sometimes, Elias.”

He nodded politely.

But inside?

He was already planning how to make his third year unforgettable.

End of Second Year — Confidence Solidifies

Returning from his second year at Hogwarts, Elias burst through the floo in a flourish, his wand spinning as he greeted the house-elf with a wink.

“Your champion returns!”

“Elias!” Lily pulled him into a hug before holding him at arm’s length. “We saw your grades! All O’s except for History!”

“I told you that class was sleep magic disguised as lectures,” Elias laughed.

James stepped in with a grin. “Your Head of House says you’ve taken leadership in stride. And that you’ve started helping younger students?”

Elias shrugged with a grin. “Some of them need direction. I’m just helping them see how it’s done.”

The truth was less noble—he’d started a small circle of “favorites,” mostly students who idolized him and did as he asked.

But James and Lily didn’t ask how he led. They were too busy being proud.

They toasted him again that night.

Lily even brought out a box she hadn’t shown him in years—full of old photos of Harry. She paused, hesitated… and then closed the lid before handing it to him.

“You’ve more than made up for what we lost,” she whispered.

Elias didn’t ask what she meant.

Because for him, he’d already won.

Elias returned to Hogwarts for his third year feeling untouchable.

He had two years under his belt, a growing fan club of first- and second-years, and the promise of Hogsmeade weekends, which he viewed less as school privileges and more as opportunities to solidify his legend.

And more importantly: this was the year he would finally win over Daphne Greengrass.

Defense Against the Dark Arts – Professor Lupin................

“Defense is mine this year,” said the soft-spoken, sharp-eyed Professor Lupin during the first class.

To Elias’s surprise, Lupin didn’t demand obedience with power or fear—he earned it with calm confidence and actual skill. The man could cast spells with barely a whisper, and his lessons were immersive, often centered on real-life survival tactics.

Even Elias, ever the attention-seeker, sat forward.

“Today,” Lupin said near Halloween, “you’ll face your first Boggart.”

As each student approached, the classroom Boggart took shape—spiders, clowns, failing grades.

When it came to Elias, he smirked, stepped forward—

And froze.

The Boggart shifted into an empty room with no one clapping. No spotlight. No recognition. No applause.

Lupin watched carefully.

“Riddikulus!” Elias snapped, forcing the illusion to vanish in a burst of laughter.

But Lupin's knowing look lingered.

So that’s what you’re afraid of…

Halloween weekend arrived.

Elias had a plan.

He’d sneak off during their visit to Honeydukes, pick out the most expensive chocolate assortment he could afford, and present it to Daphne Greengrass outside the Three Broomsticks. He’d written—rewritten—a letter to go with it three times.

Ron warned him. “Mate, she’s… not really into anyone.”

“She just hasn’t seen the real me,” Elias insisted, flashing his trademark grin.

Daphne stood outside the Three Broomsticks with a few older Slytherins, cool as ever, coat buttoned to her chin, dark hair sleek, her expression unreadable.

Elias approached with the chocolates behind his back, his Gryffindor scarf flapping dramatically.

“Daphne Greengrass,” he said, loud enough to draw a dozen heads, “I was wondering if you'd do me the honor of joining me on a walk through Hogsmeade.”

He presented the chocolates with a flourish.

Daphne looked at them.

Then at him.

Then slowly blinked.

“…Are those filled with liquorice spiders?”

Elias faltered. “W-what? No! I mean—I didn’t read the—wait, what?”

One of her friends stifled a laugh.

Daphne, still unbothered, handed the box off to a passing second-year and turned away.

“No, thank you.”

No drama. No insult.

Just complete dismissal.

Elias stood frozen in the snow, red-cheeked and wide-eyed.

Even Ron didn’t know what to say.

That night in Gryffindor Tower, Elias tossed what remained of his planned “romantic speech” into the fireplace.

Lupin passed by their table in the common room, pausing just briefly.

“Courage,” he said softly, “isn’t about the gesture. It’s about knowing when it’s not needed.”

Elias didn’t reply.

For once… he had no words.

The morning sun filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting soft gold light across the long tables where students chatted, chewed, and gossiped.

At the Slytherin table, however, an unusual hush had fallen over a portion of the students.

Daphne Greengrass sat near the center, dressed in her flawless winter uniform, black and green robes neatly pressed. But what drew attention wasn’t her poise—

It was the letter she held.

Unfolded across her breakfast plate was a sheet of gothic parchment, dark and slightly textured like aged dragonhide. The ink glistened faintly, blood red, shifting subtly under the light. Each letter curved with infernal grace—precise, powerful, and unmistakably not written by a schoolboy.

Daphne read silently, lips twitching into a subtle smile. The kind that was rarely seen from her.

Draco Malfoy, seated two spots down, noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed.

“That’s not school parchment,” he commented coolly.

Daphne didn’t answer.

He leaned forward, voice lower. “Is that… foreign?”

She turned the page slightly, revealing a crest stamped in black wax—a sigil unknown to Hogwarts, but unmistakable to anyone with ties to the old Pureblood families.

The House of Goetia.

Draco’s brow furrowed.

“You’ve got a pen pal?”

Still no answer. Just that same, maddening little smile as Daphne read on:

> “The skies above Hell shift with the moods of Pride. We study beneath towers of obsidian, and the stars burn silver when we cast spells in sync. Our duels leave shadows burned into the stone—not out of danger, but because raw magic here is alive. You’d like it. There’s a rhythm to the chaos that reminds me of you.”

She folded the letter carefully, then tapped it once. The ink vanished instantly, as if never written.

Draco scowled. “Who was that from?”

Daphne finally looked at him.

Her smile faded, but her eyes gleamed.

“Someone who doesn’t need to bribe my father to speak to me.”

His jaw tightened.

He knew exactly what she meant.

At the Gryffindor table, Elias watched the interaction from afar, not hearing the words but seeing Daphne’s smile—one he’d never earned—and the way she cradled the letter like it was something sacred.

His eyes narrowed.

That parchment wasn’t from Hogwarts.

And something about the aura around it made his magic twitch uncomfortably in his chest.

Whoever he is… he’s beating me.

And Elias Potter did not take losing well.

Elias Potter had never been the most patient of boys.

It had started as simple irritation—seeing Daphne smile at a letter that clearly hadn’t come from any Hogwarts student. The paper, the ink, the way she guarded it like something precious.

But that irritation turned into something else the longer he watched her.

The way she dismissed Draco. The way she ignored him.

The way she didn’t need their attention.

One afternoon in late May, when most students were outside enjoying a warm stretch of sun near the lake, Daphne remained at the Slytherin table, rereading the newest letter from her mysterious sender.

Elias passed by with Ron, pretending not to notice.

But his eyes were locked on the black wax seal imprinted on the corner of the folded page. It was circular, unfamiliar, intricate. Infernal, somehow—though Elias didn’t know that word yet.

She turned her head briefly to speak to a Slytherin beside her.

That was all the opportunity he needed.

Moving fast, he slipped a piece of parchment over the wax seal and rubbed over it quickly with the end of a charmed pencil—capturing a near-perfect imprint.

He slipped the copy into his sleeve before she turned back.

Later that evening, in a shadowed alcove near the library’s restricted section, Elias met Draco Malfoy.

He unfolded the traced symbol between them.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the seal from her letters.”

“You noticed it too,” Elias said.

“She protects them like they’re royal decrees. My father submitted a marriage offer to Lord Greengrass this year—it was rejected outright.”

Elias nodded slowly. “Whatever this is… it’s not casual. She’s bonded to someone.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “We need to find out who.”

“I already know where I’m taking this.”

The Headmaster’s office was filled with its usual clutter—glowing trinkets, swirling telescopes, humming portraits. The phoenix on its perch eyed Elias warily.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, fingertips steepled.

Elias placed the parchment on the table.

“I was hoping you could identify this, sir.”

The moment Dumbledore’s eyes fell on the symbol, his breath hitched—just slightly. But enough for Elias to notice.

The Headmaster composed himself quickly, but his tone was measured.

“Where did you find this?”

“I didn’t find it. I saw it—on a letter being read in the Great Hall.”

Dumbledore traced the seal with a long finger. “This is old magic, Mr. Potter. Older than the Founders. And not British.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Dumbledore smiled thinly.

“Let us say… it belongs to someone who no longer plays by our rules.”

Elias blinked. “You know who it is.”

“I suspect,” Dumbledore said quietly. “But if what I think is true… then I suggest you proceed with caution.”

Elias leaned forward. “Who is she writing to?”

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened. “That… is not your question to ask.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But Elias walked away with one certainty—

He had touched a thread connected to something far, far deeper than he’d imagined.

And he was not going to let it go.

The stone gargoyle turned silently as Daphne Greengrass ascended the spiral staircase to the Headmaster’s office. Her posture was regal, her face unreadable. She had seen the flicker of suspicion in Dumbledore’s eyes for weeks now. This meeting? It had been inevitable.

She stepped inside to find Professor Snape already there, arms crossed, robes unmoving even in the warm draft from Fawkes’ perch.

Dumbledore gestured calmly to the seat across from his desk. “Miss Greengrass, thank you for coming.”

Daphne sat, back straight, hands folded over her lap.

“I understand,” Dumbledore said, his voice as smooth as ever, “that you’ve been receiving correspondence of a… unique nature.”

Daphne didn’t blink. “I have.”

Snape’s eyes flicked toward her sharply, but he remained silent.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “The seal you use is not recognized by the British Ministry, nor any sanctioned magical institution. Yet it resonates with ancient authority—deep, infernal. Can you tell me… who you’re writing to?”

Daphne tilted her head slightly.

The letters come from the House of Ars Goetia.”

Even Snape inhaled faintly at that name.

Dumbledore’s calm expression cracked just a little. “You understand that that House exists only in infernal registers… in Hell.”

“I’m aware,” Daphne said smoothly.

“Then you also understand the… concern,” Dumbledore continued. “The potential danger.”

Daphne smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Do I look like I’ve been cursed, Professor?”

Snape finally spoke, voice low and even. “We are not accusing you of wrongdoing, Miss Greengrass. But we must understand… why a noble House of Hell would correspond with a third-year Hogwarts student.”

Daphne leaned forward slightly.

“Because one of them saved me.”

The room went still.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “Explain.”

Daphne’s tone remained measured. “Three years ago, before I arrived at Hogwarts, I was with my family on one of our estates in the Midlands. There was a breach in the wards. Fenrir Greyback—the werewolf—was there.”

Snape’s fists clenched slightly at the name.

Daphne continued, her voice steady. “He almost had me. My magic was too raw, too unstable. I would’ve died—or worse.”

Dumbledore leaned in. “And someone intervened.”

“Yes.” Her eyes darkened. “Something… powerful. Fast. It tore Greyback away before he could bite me. Burned his side with a single touch. It never gave a name, but it left me a rune.”

She reached under her robes and pulled out the necklace she always wore—set with a silver-etched rune, faintly glowing with deep infernal resonance.

Snape stared at it.

Dumbledore did not hide his unease.

“He’s written to me ever since,” Daphne said softly. “He asks about my life. My thoughts. The school. And I write back… because I owe him more than I owe anyone else here.”

“Do you know his true name?” Dumbledore asked, carefully.

Daphne met his gaze without fear.

“He is of the House of Goetia,” she said. “That’s enough.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “You’ve given us part of the truth.”

“You’ve earned part of it,” she said.

Snape’s mouth twitched—something dangerously close to approval.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Very well. You are not forbidden from continuing… but I would ask, Daphne, for your own safety, that you keep these correspondences private. Quiet.”

“They already are,” she said, rising to her feet.

And without another word, she turned and left.

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

Dumbledore stared at the empty seat.

“She is more dangerous than most adults in this castle,” he said quietly.

Snape nodded. “And smarter.”

Dumbledore frowned.

“If this Goetia truly walks among us… we may no longer be the ones setting the terms.”

The dungeons were dim and cool as always, but Daphne Greengrass moved through them like she owned every inch of stone. Her expression was unreadable, but her stride was sharp, focused. The meeting with Dumbledore had cost her patience.

She wanted silence.

Instead, she turned the corner toward the Slytherin dorm entrance—and walked directly into Elias Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Both boys stood with practiced casualness, though it was clear they’d been waiting. Elias leaned against the wall with his arms folded, wearing his overconfident smirk. Draco had his hands clasped behind his back, chin tilted like a challenge.

“Daphne,” Elias said smoothly. “We need to talk.”

She didn’t break stride.

“I don’t think we do,” she replied flatly.

Draco stepped in just enough to block her path.

“You’ve been avoiding us.”

“I’ve been ignoring you. There’s a difference.”

Elias huffed. “Look, we’re just trying to understand. You act like we’re beneath you.”

Daphne tilted her head slightly. “Aren’t you?”

That hit a nerve.

Elias straightened, trying to recover. “You’re not even giving us a chance. Draco’s got the name, and I’ve got… well, everything else.”

Draco added, “You’d do well to consider the advantages of a proper alliance, Daphne. You’ve always been logical.”

She smiled then—thin, sharp, almost pitying.

“You’re right. I am logical. And logically, neither of you impress me.”

Elias frowned, jaw tightening. “Is it the letters?”

Draco’s eyes flicked with interest. “Who is he, Daphne?”

Daphne stepped forward, past their invisible challenge, her voice low and venom-smooth.

“Someone who could tear your world apart just by stepping into it.”

“Someone who burned a monster alive to save me.”
“And someone who sees through your egos like glass.”

They both stiffened.

“You should stop asking questions,” she added, brushing past them. “Before you find yourselves answering to someone far beyond this school.”

Daphne entered the Slytherin common room moments later, cloak trailing, face calm once more.

Behind her, whispers began.

Elias watched her from the corridor, lips pressed in a thin line.

What kind of person makes someone like her speak with that kind of fire?

He didn’t know.

But he would.

The moon hung low above the castle, silver light filtering across the grounds, touching both ambition and love with equal silence.

In the Slytherin common room, Daphne Greengrass sat at her desk, a fresh piece of black parchment in front of her. She dipped her quill in ink as red as dried blood and wrote in looping, elegant strokes:

> Dearest Hadrian,

You’ll be pleased to know that your last letter caused quite a stir. The boys here are still tripping over their own pride, trying to understand why I smile when reading something they cannot comprehend. They think themselves clever.

But none of them know what it feels like to be saved by fire and held by shadow. None of them have faced death and lived to write about it.

I hope the skies over Pride are still stormy. I think they suit you.

Until your next moon,

—D.

She sealed it with a touch of her rune-etched necklace and a soft whisper in Infernal. The black wax flared crimson, imprinting the Goetia seal like a brand of defiance and truth.

Elsewhere in the castle, Elias Potter stood alone in the owlery, his parchment furled and clutched tightly in his hand.

His letter was not poetic.

It was sharp. Tense. Scratched with frustration and hunger.

Dad,
There’s something going on at Hogwarts.

Daphne Greengrass has been getting letters from something calling itself "House Goetia." I copied the seal and included it with this letter.

It doesn’t match any wizarding family crest. Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t say what it was, but I could tell he knew.

I think she’s in contact with something dark. Possibly dangerous. And I think we need to know what it wants.

—Elias

He folded the parchment, enclosed the pencil-traced seal, and tied it to a Ministry-registered owl.

Let them see it for what it is.

The seal arrived the next day.

It was brought directly to the Unspeakables, passed from Auror to Archivist with increasingly pale faces.

When Legacy, a senior Unspeakable with storm-grey eyes and a permanently drawn wand, finally unrolled the parchment with the traced seal, he stopped cold.

“Who gave us this?” he asked.

“Potter’s son,” a younger agent said. “James’s second. Elias.”

Legacy didn’t speak.

He turned slowly, went to the deep storage shelves of infernal documents, and pulled a single black-bound codex wrapped in dragonhide and silver thread.

He opened it. Flipped six pages.

And there it was.

The seal of the House of Ars Goetia.

He whispered, almost reverently:

“One of the royal courts of Hell. Pride’s highest bloodline. Forbidden to speak of under the old magical accords.”

The room grew still.

Another Unspeakable leaned in. “And a Hogwarts student is writing to them?”

Legacy’s face darkened.

“No… she’s already bonded to them. This isn’t correspondence.”

“This is allegiance.”

A magically reinforced chamber deep beneath the Ministry thrummed with ambient power. Runes glowed faintly across the walls, and the air itself shimmered—warded, silent, sealed.

At the far end of the room stood Selene and Orion Greengrass, cloaked in the black and steel-gray of their Unspeakable rank, expressions calm and unreadable.

Across from them sat three senior agents, including Legacy, who placed the copy of the Goetia seal in the center of the obsidian table.

“We traced the origin,” he said, voice taut. “This isn’t just a symbol. It’s a binding seal. A mark of infernal nobility. We know your daughter has been corresponding with it.”

Orion didn’t flinch. “We know.”

Another Unspeakable leaned forward. “You permitted this?”

Selene slid a leather case across the table and calmly opened it.

Inside were three magically certified soulbond contracts, each one bearing Ministry seals, House Greengrass signatures, and a fourth, infernal sigil—burned into the parchment, still faintly glowing.

“We didn’t just permit it,” Selene said coolly. “We endorsed it.”

The room fell still.

Legacy’s voice dropped. “You understand what this means, don’t you?”

Orion folded his arms. “Of course we do.”

“She’s soulbound,” Selene continued. “To Hadrian, heir to the House of Goetia… and to Loona, the bonded Hellhound under his protection.”

“You kept this from the Department,” Legacy accused.

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Because it was personal. And it was protected. All proper documents were filed. You’ve simply been looking in the wrong vaults.”

Legacy’s composure slipped. “You’ve allied your daughter—your bloodline—with Hell.”

“And Hell has kept her safe,” Selene snapped, eyes flashing. “Safer than this government ever could.”

A heavy silence followed.

Then Orion added, voice low and final:

“We raised our daughter to choose wisely.
She did.
We will not break a soulbond for the comfort of men who fear what they don’t control.”

The Unspeakables said nothing more.

Because they knew the truth.

The Greengrasses weren’t asking for approval.

They were giving warning.

In the stillness of the Unspeakables' black-stone chamber, beneath ancient silencing enchantments and guarded by layered wards, the senior agents gathered around the soulbond contracts. Magical seals glowed softly along the borders—Ministry-approved, Infernal-sanctioned, and unbreakable.

The documents shimmered with an energy none of them dared touch without consent.

Legacy, voice tight with caution, looked to the others. “It’s all real. Fully ratified. Magical, infernal, and human law all bind it. Greengrass and her two soulmates are beyond our reach.”

One of the other Unspeakables spoke softly, “Then what do we do about the Potter boy?”

Legacy narrowed his eyes.

“We don’t threaten him.”

He pulled out a blank magical parchment, tapped his wand once, and wrote in clean, shimmering ink.

James Potter was halfway through reviewing a dark artifact seizure report when a sealed envelope slid across his desk—no owl, no footsteps, no announcement.

It just appeared.

He frowned, opened it.

The words burned themselves across the page as he read.

To: James Charlus Potter, Master Auror

Subject: Your Son — Elias Potter

We have reviewed the matter of the infernal seal brought to our attention. What he has discovered is not a game. Not teenage intrigue. Not a forbidden romance.

It is a supernatural pact tied to powers older and deeper than wizarding law. There is a soulbond in place—Magically and Infernal-approved—between your son’s target of interest, Daphne Greengrass, and two beings.

One of which is confirmed to be a noble heir of the House of Ars Goetia.

We advise your son cease any attempts to interfere, confront, or undermine this bond immediately.

Should he continue… we cannot guarantee his protection.

This is now a supernatural matter. And we will not provoke something we cannot contain.

— The Department of Mysteries

James stared at the letter for a long time, his hands tightening around the page.

A royal heir from Hell.

Daphne Greengrass.

And Elias is already tangled in it.

He stood from his chair.

There was a conversation he had to have—before his son lit a fire they’d never put out.

The Potter estate was quiet. Too quiet.

Elias Potter sat in the lounge, polishing his wand with practiced flair, smugly re-reading one of the Defense textbooks Professor Lupin had recommended. He barely looked up when the floo flared green and James stepped into the room, his Auror robes still dusted with the residue of Ministry fieldwork.

“You’re back early,” Elias said lazily.

“I need to speak with you,” James replied curtly, not sitting.

Elias blinked. “Okay…?”

James tossed a sealed letter onto the coffee table between them.

It slid across the polished surface and stopped in front of Elias.

The seal was black wax and bore the insignia of the Department of Mysteries.

Elias’s smirk faded.

“What is this?”

James didn’t answer right away.

He watched his son for a long moment, then said, low and deadly:

“You’re done with the Greengrass girl. No more letters. No more following her. No more questions.”

Elias laughed once—confused and defensive. “You’re serious?”

“I’m not joking, Elias.”

“You’re telling me to back off because she’s writing someone with a fancy name?”

“I’m telling you to back off,” James said coldly, “because she’s bonded to something that makes Death Eaters look like schoolyard bullies.”

Elias stood, defiant. “So what? I’m supposed to let her be claimed by something infernal?”

James slammed his hand down on the table.

The books jumped. So did Elias.

“You don’t let her do anything. She made a choice. And she’s under protections none of us can break.”

Elias’s voice dropped to a snarl. “So we just bow down?”

James’s eyes were hard. “We survive.”

The Tower in Pride

Far from Earth, beneath a sky of burning stars and polished obsidian towers, Hadrian sat on the edge of a floating balcony in Pride’s Capital, overlooking an ocean of molten clouds and jagged mountains.

He wasn’t armored today. Just in a dark tunic and boots, his cloak tossed to the side. Magic shimmered softly through the runes etched in his collar.

A thin scroll unfurled in his hand—the ink red, the parchment black, written in Daphne’s immaculate, clever hand.

He read the letter slowly.

Every line.

Every subtle jab at Elias. Every unspoken reassurance. Every hint that his world—the mortal one—was waking up to what he truly was.

He reached the end:

I hope the skies over Pride are still stormy. I think they suit you.

He smirked.

Loona padded up behind him and flopped down beside him. “Is that from your terrifying pureblood princess?”

“Mmhm.”

“She still writing poetry?”

“No,” he said, rolling the scroll with care. “Just a reminder that the mortals are starting to panic.”

Loona chuckled. “About time.”

Hadrian stood, slipping the letter into his pocket. His eyes glowed faintly as he looked toward the horizon.

“Let them.”

The request had come just after breakfast.

Hadrian, composed and deliberate, stood before Lord and Lady Greengrass in the manor’s solar. Loona leaned against the archway behind him, arms folded, chewing her lip to hide her smirk.

“I’d like to take Daphne to Pride,” Hadrian said simply. “For a shopping trip. With Loona.”

There was a pause.

Selene arched a brow. “You mean Hell.”

“Yes,” he replied without flinching. “With your permission.”

The room was quiet for a long beat.

Selene and Orion exchanged glances. They had both long accepted that their daughter’s life was no longer simple—nor entirely mortal. Still, the thought of letting her walk the streets of a realm ruled by demons and devils… unsettled them.

But then Selene looked at Loona—ripped jeans, leather coat, and now a bold streak of pink running through her wolfish silver hair.

And she looked at Hadrian—dressed in a tailored coat of elegant infernal weave, a prince in presence if not in crown, with power humming just beneath the surface.

And lastly, she looked at Daphne—poised, composed, no longer just a girl, but a young woman who had chosen this path.

“We want her back by dinner,” Orion said at last.

“No injuries,” Selene added. “No unsupervised combat.”

Hadrian nodded once. “Of course.”

The streets of Pride’s upper market district were chaos and color.

Banners whipped in scarlet wind over high towers, gold-accented demons bartered over floating relics, and flames danced above merchant tents made of stitched shadow and silk.

Daphne stood in the middle of it all, breath catching slightly.

It was unlike anything she’d imagined—vibrant, dangerous, beautiful. The sheer freedom of it coursed through her like wildfire.

Loona grinned and pointed. “Over there. That stall sells charm-braids and glamour ink.”

Hadrian added with a low chuckle, “And that tailor doesn’t just enchant fabrics—he weaves magic directly into the seams. No wizarding robes compare.”

Daphne didn’t hesitate.

She let herself be transformed—combat boots, charm-etched black trousers, a long-fitted infernal jacket, and a sweep of color braided into her dark hair: silver with ash-streaked ends.

Her form flickered once—Hellhound showing for only a breath.

Loona howled with delight. “Oh, that look is staying.”

Hadrian simply said, “You’re perfect.”

Daphne grinned, sharp and confident.

And somewhere behind the marketplace crowds, the Hellborn who watched them whispered quietly—

“That’s the Greengrass girl… the one bonded to the Hellhound prince and his blade-born.
They say she smiled when the runes carved themselves into her soul.”

The portal shimmered shut behind them, and Daphne found herself standing in a wide, moonlit courtyard paved with glowing stones that pulsed softly beneath her feet. Above them, the sky of Hell’s Pride Ring was deep violet streaked with crimson clouds, constellations shifting as though alive.

Before them stood the Goetia Manor—all spires, glass, carved marble, and celestial magic. The windows reflected not sunlight, but starlight from a sky that never truly knew day.

Loona let out a low whistle. “This place still gives me goosebumps.”

Hadrian gave a fond, crooked smile. “It’s home.”

The great doors opened before they could knock.

Stolas Ars Goetia, tall and elegant, glided down the marble steps with hands clasped. His long coat of rich midnight silk trailed like starlight behind him.

“Welcome back, my boy,” he said with genuine warmth. Then he turned his four eyes to Daphne, who stood tall, sharp, and composed in her new infernal attire.

“Lady Greengrass,” Stolas said, bowing with grace befitting royal courts. “It is an honor to welcome the one whose strength complements Hadrian’s so perfectly.”

Daphne curtsied slightly, refined even here. “Thank you for opening your home to me, Lord Goetia.”

Stella, already on the grand staircase, looked down with a raised brow. Her feathers shimmered with soft frost tones, and she wore the faintest smirk as her eyes landed on Hadrian.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite brooding hound.”

She tilted her head at Loona. “Still dragging that one around with you, I see.”

Loona grinned toothily. “Missed you too, Swan Queen.”

Then Octavia rushed in from the west corridor—taller now, still with her half-lidded eyes, but a small genuine smile broke through as she spotted them.

“Harry!”

She ran forward and wrapped her arms around him in a wolfish hug. He caught her easily, squeezing her close.

Daphne stood aside, watching carefully—this wasn’t just a palace. This was a family.

Hadrian turned and offered her his hand.

“Come on,” he said softly. “I want you to see where I actually grew up.”

She took his hand without hesitation.

And in the center of a kingdom ruled by devils and pride, she walked willingly into the core of who he truly was.

The dining hall in the Goetia Manor was grand without being gaudy—long walls of shifting celestial glass framed the starry sky of Pride’s realm. A wide obsidian table stretched beneath a floating chandelier of enchanted crystal, glowing softly with astral light.

Stolas, ever the perfect host, sat at the head of the table with his four eyes glittering across the spread—flame-roasted meat, steaming Hellfruit, buttered bones, and crystalline wine that shimmered red-gold.

Stella sat opposite him, sipping her drink with measured grace, her icy gaze drifting between the guests.

Hadrian, Daphne, and Loona took the side seats—comfortable, relaxed, but not without subtle tension.

“So,” Stolas said, gracefully cutting into a slice of phoenix beetroot, “tell me more about Hogwarts. The letters only paint the outlines. I want the real picture.”

Daphne answered first, folding her napkin neatly. “It’s a school built on arrogance and tradition. The people in charge care more for legacy than progress.”

Stella raised an eyebrow. “So—unchanged, then.”

Loona muttered, “Sounds like a nightmare. Too many books and not enough blood.”

Hadrian smirked but added, “It’s worse now. The Ministry is stirring… and they’re watching Daphne closely. Especially since the soulbond’s legal status came out.”

Stolas exhaled. “Typical mortals. They always fear what they can’t control.”

Then, with a casual flick of his fork, he turned toward Hadrian. “Speaking of control… I had a recent inconvenience.”

Hadrian tilted his head. “What kind?”

Stolas smiled—not the charming kind. The lethal kind.

“An imp. Name’s Blitzo—spelled with an ‘o,’ somehow. Stole into my library and attempted to make off with my Grimoire.”

Loona snorted. “Oh, that guy.”

Stella set down her goblet with an audible clink. “That reckless little fool again? He’s lucky I didn’t feed him to the marrow larks last time.”

Stolas waved a hand. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. But more useful alive than vaporized.”

Then his tone shifted—slightly formal.

“Would you care for him as a servant, Hadrian?”

Hadrian blinked. “You’re offering me an imp?”

Stolas shrugged. “I find he responds best to chaotic authority. And he’s surprisingly resourceful… in the way rats sometimes are.”

Stella’s voice dipped low. “You’d give him to the heir of our house?”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her composure. She knew from Hadrian’s letters what Imps were: lesser-born, expected to serve nobles in Hell’s hierarchy. Still, this one sounded... dangerous in a different way.

Hadrian leaned back, thoughtful.

Then he gave a slow nod.

“I’ll take him.”

Loona grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Daphne raised a brow toward Hadrian. “You’re going to leash a walking disaster.”

“Or set him on the Ministry,” Hadrian replied, smirking.

Stolas chuckled.

Stella narrowed her eyes again. “Just don’t let him near my things.”

The I.M.P. Office – A Bad Mood Meets Royal Paperwork

The headquarters of the Immediate Murder Professionals was a warzone of clutter—papers everywhere, scorch marks on the walls, and a suspicious trail of blood leading toward the weapons closet.

Blitzo was behind his desk, angrily arguing with a crystal ball. “No, you owe me for the last target, I don’t care if she was a demonic duchess—she exploded, didn't she?! That counts!”

The front door swung open with a solid thud.

Hadrian, in his formal infernal coat, strode inside like he owned the place. Loona followed, arms crossed and smirking, and Daphne, sharp and poised in her new Hellhound form, stepped in like Hell's finest diplomat.

Blitzo looked up.

His expression soured instantly.

“What the HELL is this?" Seeing them enter his office.

Loona smirked but said nothing.

Hadrian walked forward and dropped a sealed scroll onto the desk.

Blitzo blinked. “What is this? Some edgy fanmail? Is this a prank? I swear if this is that nerdy succubus again, I’m gonna—”

Then he saw the wax seal.

The blood-red crest of House Goetia shimmered ominously under the light.

He froze mid-rant.

“…Wait. Is that—?”

Hadrian gave a single nod.

“Stolas signed over your contract. You work for me now.”

Blitzo’s jaw dropped.

“No way. No way no way no—WHAT?! He can’t just—!”

Loona snorted. “He did.”

Daphne crossed her arms. “And now you’re yelling at a royal heir.”

Blitzo looked at all three of them… and very visibly shut up.

He opened the scroll. Read it. Read it again. Looked at the signature. Looked back at Hadrian.

“…You’re serious.”

“Very,” Hadrian said calmly. “I’ve got work that requires someone unpredictable, shameless, and expendable.”

Blitzo blinked. “You had me at shameless.”

Moments later, Millie and Moxxie entered the room, both half-armed and confused.

“What’s going on?” Millie asked, her axe over her shoulder.

Blitzo pointed at Hadrian with a stiff finger. “We’ve been reassigned. Royal service. House Goetia.”

Moxxie paled when he saw the crest.

“Wait… he’s Goetia?”

Hadrian gave a subtle nod. “Hadrian of Pride.”

Daphne stepped forward. “And we’re here for more than blood contracts. There's a world above that needs watching. Starting now.”

Loona just grinned.

The back room of I.M.P. was dimly lit, though it flickered between torchlight and neon signage from some questionable enchanted fixture. Blitzo sat backward on a chair, chewing the end of a quill. Millie and Moxxie sat across from the new trio—Hadrian, Daphne, and Loona—with the tension of people trying to figure out if this was a job interview or an interrogation.

Millie spoke first, tilting her head slightly. “So... who exactly are you three?”

Hadrian’s eyes glowed faintly as he leaned forward. “I’m Hadrian. House Goetia, by bond. These are my soulbound—Loona and Daphne.”

Moxxie choked on air. “Soul—soulbound? As in magically locked for eternity?”

“Precisely,” Daphne said, serene and composed.

Millie blinked and looked toward Loona. “You’re a Hellhound? I thought only royal lines bonded with nobility—”

Loona rolled her eyes. “I didn’t exactly sign up for it the normal way. I escaped a magic pound, clawed my way through a portal, and was nearly torn apart by bounty demons.”

Millie winced. “Yikes.”

“Then he showed up.” Loona nodded toward Hadrian. “Took down the whole squad chasing me. Gave me food. A room. I’ve been living with the Greengrasses ever since.”

Moxxie frowned. “Wait, as in the British Greengrasses? Magical Britain?”

“Yup,” Loona said. “Nobles. Ministry insiders. Swanky manor. Shockingly nice food.”

Daphne smirked slightly. “She’s not wrong.”

Millie glanced between them, then smiled softly. “Well, that’s sweet.”

Blitzo groaned. “Ugh, adorable found-family garbage—can we get back to the important part? My agency. What exactly are we supposed to do under your command, Your Infernal Royal Bitchiness?”

Hadrian didn’t smile.

But he did speak.

“Observe the wizarding world. Track Ministry officials, nobles, and any movements tied to Hogwarts or the Triwizard Tournament.”

He stood slowly, shadows clinging to his frame like smoke.

“And if someone gets in my way…”

He glanced toward the board on the wall—targets, pins, threads.

“…they vanish. Quietly. In a way that looks like misfortune.

You’ll be compensated extremely well.”

Blitzo blinked.

“…I’ve never been so insulted and turned on by a job description.”

Moxxie coughed. “We do clean hits. But we’re not butchers.”

Loona gave him a look. “Then you’ve never seen what the Ministry does behind closed doors.”

Daphne added, “Consider this a cleansing. A more efficient purge.”

Millie gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Alright. You give us names—we’ll do the rest.”

Blitzo grinned, sharp and excited. “Welcome to Team Goetia Murder Squad, I guess.”

Hadrian simply said:

“Don’t disappoint me.”

The crystalline timepiece on Hadrian’s wrist let out a faint chime—arcane runes glowing softly.

He glanced down, expression shifting from relaxed to sharp.

“It’s time.”

Loona, already leaning against the wall, stood upright immediately. Daphne brushed off her coat, sensing the shift without needing words.

Millie, Moxxie, and Blitzo all looked up from the planning table where they'd been sorting enchanted equipment and surveillance records.

“Time for what?” Blitzo asked, eyebrows raised.

Hadrian turned toward them, voice calm but leaving no room for argument.

“We’re portaling back to the mortal world. You’re coming with us.”

Blitzo blinked. “Wait, right now?”

“Yes. Grab what you need—gear, enchanted kits, weapon belts. Leave anything expendable.”

“Whoa, whoa, we didn’t even pack our spare explosives!”

Millie was already on her feet. “Moxxie, get the Hellbag. I told you to keep it ready!”

Hadrian continued without pause.

“Your flats and private quarters in Hell will remain under protection. Rent paid. Assets untouched. Your operations in the Pride Ring are officially under my seal for the duration of your surface deployment.”

Moxxie looked up from the satchel he was stuffing. “Wait—paid rent? That’s... honestly terrifying.”

Blitzo, already strapping on a shoulder rig, muttered, “So we’re basically Hell’s MI6 now. Sweet.”

Hadrian’s voice dropped lower, eyes locking on them.

“One more thing—manners.
You’re not heading into the chaos of Lust or the Bone Pits. You’ll be staying on the Greengrass estate, where there’s structure. There’s a child present—Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria.”

He gave them a look.

“Swearing, violence, and anything remotely unfiltered around her will not be tolerated.”

Daphne added with a smirk, “She’s sharp. She’s observant. She’ll learn your worst habits faster than you can lie about them.”

Loona just shrugged. “Just don’t be you, Blitzo.”

Millie held up a pinky. “Swear jar system?”

“Ten galleons a word,” Daphne replied smoothly.

Blitzo gasped. “That’s extortion!”

“That’s nobility,” Hadrian said dryly, already opening the rune-circle portal with a flick of his fingers. The vortex shimmered with violet lightning and Hellfire energy, stabilizing against the manor walls.

Moxxie looked between his packed bag and the glowing gate. “So... when do we leave?”

Hadrian turned back to them.

“Now.”

The rune portal opened with a thunderous hum, casting shimmering purple light across the trimmed hedgerows and marble columns of the Greengrass Estate. The elegant serenity of the grounds rippled slightly—like reality itself bracing for what stepped through.

Hadrian emerged first, cloak trailing behind him like a wave of shadow-stitched silk. Loona followed, nonchalant as always. Daphne stepped through beside them, already smoothing her jacket and scanning for familiar wards.

Then came the newcomers.

Blitzo, Millie, and Moxxie—in full gear, red skin gleaming under the overcast sky, weapons strapped across their chests and grins caught halfway between nervous and smug.

Standing at the top of the steps were Lord Orion and Lady Selene Greengrass, composed and unreadable, both in midnight-blue robes that shimmered faintly with protective enchantments.

Their eyes immediately locked onto the new arrivals.

Orion’s brow arched. “Hadrian… who are these red gremlins you’ve brought to our lawn?”

Selene didn’t speak. She just tilted her head slightly, calculating.

Before Hadrian could reply, a small voice from the entrance hall piped up:

“Are they… devil house-elves?”

Astoria Greengrass, ten years old and just bold enough to be dangerous, was standing near the doorway, her curious eyes fixed on Millie—specifically her horns.

Millie blinked. “Oh! I—uh—no, sweetie. I’m not a house-elf.”

Blitzo leaned in, whispering loudly to Moxxie, “I like her. Chaos energy.”

Hadrian cleared his throat.

“These are Imps. From Hell’s Pride Ring. They work under me directly as a contracted assassination unit.”

Orion’s eyes sharpened. “Killers?”

“They’re efficient,” Hadrian replied. “Precise. And completely loyal. They serve as my hands in the mortal world when subtlety or silence is required.”

Daphne added, “They’re under the same restriction as Loona—professionalism, restraint, and no language unfit for Astoria’s ears.”

Millie gave a wide, polite grin. “We brought cookies to soften the image.”

Moxxie elbowed her. “We didn’t bring—”

Millie hissed, “Just smile!”

Blitzo gave an exaggerated bow. “Blitzo, head of I.M.P. That's Immediate Murder Professionals. Full-service infernal execution and mess-cleaning squad. We work cheap, clean, and with hellish flair.”

Selene’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You’ll find that this house has very little tolerance for flair.”

Hadrian raised a hand. “They’ll behave. Their loyalty is not in question.”

Orion’s voice was low. “And their presence?”

Hadrian met his gaze evenly.

“Necessary.”

There was a long pause.

Then Selene stepped forward, nodding once—accepting the facts, if not yet the guests.

“We’ll arrange quarters in the west wing. Away from the library.”

Astoria moved closer to Millie. “Do your horns grow every year?”

Millie smiled, genuinely charmed. “Only when I’m excited.”

Astoria beamed. “Cool.”

Blitzo blinked. “Did… we just get accepted by a tiny wizard?”

Loona smirked. “She’s more dangerous than you, Blitz.”

The west wing of Greengrass Manor had been hastily enchanted to house I.M.P., and remarkably, the manor hadn’t burned down yet.

Blitzo’s room was already plastered in skull-themed posters and “Do Not Summon Without Permission” stickers. Moxxie had converted a study into a map-and-files command desk. Millie was currently teaching Astoria how to throw a butter knife with surprising accuracy (under supervision).

Through it all, Hadrian remained focused.

He stood now with Orion Greengrass in the family’s private office, a quiet chamber shielded from outside eyes by layers of ancestral magic.

The fire crackled. The Greengrass crest flickered in the stained-glass window above the hearth.

Orion looked up from the notes he was reviewing. “Something’s bothering you.”

Hadrian nodded. “This hiding act. The constant evasion, secrecy, tiptoeing. It’s worked. But it’s… exhausting.”

Orion didn’t speak—he knew better than to interrupt a boy who carried more fire in his chest than most wizards held in their blood.

Hadrian’s voice was steady, but there was conviction behind it now.

“I want to walk into Hogwarts alongside Daphne. As her bonded, as her guard, and as her equal—in full sight of the students, staff, and the Ministry.”

Orion slowly set down his quill.

Hadrian continued.

“I’m not just her protector anymore. We’re tied by magic, by blood, and by choice.
I want it official.
I want the Minister and Dumbledore to sign off—not just tolerate me, but acknowledge me.”

Orion exhaled slowly, absorbing the words.

Then Hadrian said the part that truly mattered.

“I want to actively court Daphne Greengrass.
With public knowledge, with House approval, with her name spoken alongside mine without whispers or scandal.”

Silence hung for a moment.

Then Orion sat back in his chair, folding his fingers together.

“…That will rattle the Ministry. And Dumbledore.”

“I know.”

“They’ll resist.”

“They can try.”

Orion studied him for a long, thoughtful moment.

Then he stood.

“I’ll send the notice to the Minister's office first. Dumbledore won’t like being second, but it’ll force him to respond, not stall.”

Hadrian inclined his head. “Thank you.”

Orion nodded once. “You’ve earned it.”