Chapter 2 (~13k words):
– Heather –
By the time I found the women's shelter, my skin felt clammy beneath the filthy, garbage-soaked clothes clinging to me. It was cold in London this early in the morning, and I was shivering violently from both exhaustion and anger that still boiled quietly beneath the surface.
The fact that I'd murdered two potential muggers and rapists barely crossed my mind however.
The shelter was tucked discreetly at the end of a narrow street, a humble building with faded brick and peeling paint on the wooden door. I hesitated for a second outside, my heart hammering with uncertainty. But the gnawing ache in my stomach and the stench clinging to my body made the decision easy. Swallowing my pride, I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
Immediately, warm air and the soft hum of voices washed over me. At the front desk, a woman sat scribbling on some paperwork. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her kind eyes widened with shock and concern the moment she looked up and saw me standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Oh my goodness," she said, rising quickly from her seat and hurrying over to me. "You poor dear! What happened to you?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it again, the right words lost somewhere behind the lump in my throat. I glanced down at myself and suddenly realized just how terrible I must look. My clothes were stained and torn, my skin streaked with grime, and my hair matted and filthy.
"I…" I tried again, my voice breaking. "It's been a really long night."
Her expression softened immediately, and she shook her head gently, waving away my attempt at explanation.
"No, no. You don't have to tell me anything right now, sweetheart," she said softly, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Let's just get you cleaned up first and maybe put some warm food in you. After that, if you feel like talking, we can."
The relief washing over me nearly made my knees buckle. I nodded silently, my throat too tight to say anything else. The kindness in her voice and eyes tugged painfully at something deep inside me. After everything I'd just been through, after everyone had turned their backs on me, this small gesture of genuine compassion felt overwhelming.
The woman guided me down a narrow hallway toward the back of the shelter. Doors lined each side, and I could hear soft voices behind them, muffled conversations and quiet crying. My heart clenched. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who had ended up here after a terrible night.
We stopped in front of a doorway marked 'Communal Showers', and she gently pushed open the door. The sound of water running echoed softly from inside, along with the faint smell of soap.
"Here you go," she said gently, reaching over to grab a neatly folded towel from a stack by the door and handing it to me. "I'll get you a fresh set of clothes and leave them just outside the door for you. Take as long as you need, honey."
I took the towel gratefully, clutching it to my chest as though it could somehow protect me from the reality of my situation. The woman squeezed my shoulder once more, then turned and disappeared back down the hall.
Thankfully, the showers were empty when I walked in. It felt oddly quiet, with just the soft echo of water droplets hitting tiles. The steam in the air was warm against my cold, filthy skin, and I let out a slow sigh of relief.
I didn't waste time getting undressed. I peeled the disgusting clothes from my body, dropping them onto the floor with a wet slap. The stale scent of garbage and dirt clung to the fabric, making me wrinkle my nose in disgust.
I stepped under the shower and gasped as the warm water washed over me. It felt amazing, instantly soothing away the deep chill and tension that had built up in my muscles. For a moment, I closed my eyes, just standing still and enjoying the sensation as streams of warm water flowed over my bare skin.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw a mirror mounted against the far wall of the shower room, partially fogged by the steam. Curious, I reached out with my hand, wiping a clear space with my fingertips, and my breath caught in my throat at what stared back at me.
"Holy shit," I whispered out loud, stunned at what I saw.
Staring at me from the mirror was a face so perfect it seemed almost impossible it was mine. Gone was the awkward pug-nosed, round-faced plainness I'd spent my whole life hating. Instead, I now had a beautiful heart-shaped face with delicate, high cheekbones, and large, expressive eyes framed by long dark lashes. My eyes glittered with a brilliant emerald-green color—deep and captivating, almost glowing.
My hair, soaking wet, clung to my neck and shoulders, a shiny, raven-black cascade of silk. It hung straight and smooth down my back, slick and heavy with water, framing my new gorgeous face perfectly. My lips were now fuller and softer-looking, tinted naturally a deep, inviting shade of red, like ripe cherries begging to be kissed.
"Holy fucking shit," I muttered again, utterly awed.
My eyes traveled downward, taking in the rest of my transformed body. My skin was creamy and unblemished, completely smooth. Not a single imperfection marked my soft, pale flesh. I trailed my fingers slowly along my collarbone, feeling the silky texture beneath my fingertips, marveling at the sensitivity there.
My new breasts were bigger—much bigger—full, round, generous D-cups that sat high and proud on my chest. I cupped them gently in both hands, biting my lip slightly as my nipples immediately hardened beneath my touch, sending an electric spark of pleasure down between my legs.
"God, I'm sensitive," I breathed shakily, feeling heat bloom deep within me.
My gaze moved further down, drinking in my now perfect figure. My waist was tight and tiny, accentuating my dramatically flared hips and full, firm ass. My thighs were shapely, strong, and curvy, meeting snugly between my legs. I shifted slightly, pressing my thighs together, feeling the slick heat and wetness begin to build at the apex between them.
I let out a soft groan, realizing just how sensitive I truly was now. My pussy was already tingling insistently, throbbing slightly as arousal quickly pooled low in my belly. With mild curiosity, I let my hand wander downwards, feeling between my legs, and gasped softly as my fingertips brushed over my smooth, completely hairless pussy.
Wait—hairless?
I looked more carefully, eyebrows rising. There wasn't a single hair anywhere on my body except my head. My skin felt impossibly silky, smooth, and soft. Slowly, tentatively, I ran my fingers along my newly bare mound, a tremor shooting through me at the gentle touch.
"Oh fuck," I whispered softly, my voice trembling. Just the barest touch had my thighs shaking. I had become incredibly sensitive.
It suddenly hit me, hard and undeniable. I truly was a succubus now. A creature literally built for pleasure, who thrived off touch and desire. Just the smallest caress felt heightened, unbearably intense. I swallowed thickly, realizing just how much this was going to complicate my life.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I forced myself to continue showering, grabbing a bar of soap and working up a thick lather between my hands. Slowly, carefully, I began running my soapy hands over my body, feeling every inch of my new curves beneath my palms.
My nipples hardened even further as my fingers brushed across them, the slight friction sending shockwaves straight to my swollen clit. A small moan escaped my lips, echoing softly through the empty showers.
"Jesus," I muttered shakily, pressing a hand to the tile wall to steady myself. Every single touch, every slick stroke of my own fingers, felt dangerously good. I could already sense how easily I could lose control of myself, how quickly this new demonic hunger could take over.
With effort, I focused on getting myself clean, determined not to spiral into masturbating here in a women's shelter shower. My body clearly had other ideas, though, and by the time I finished rinsing the soap from my skin, my pussy was swollen and aching badly. I desperately ignored the throbbing, shutting off the water and stepping out from beneath the warm spray.
Dripping wet, skin flushed pink with heat, I grabbed my towel and began drying myself off, my breathing still uneven. My reflection in the mirror continued to stare back at me, impossibly beautiful, eyes hooded with obvious lust.
"This is going to be a fucking nightmare," I muttered darkly.
But beneath the frustration, and beneath the simmering arousal, there was something else—something darker and more powerful. As I dressed in the clean clothes left for me and prepared myself to face whatever came next, I felt it building again.
My rage. My hatred. My burning determination to make everyone who'd fucked me over regret it.
I took one final glance at myself, freshly clean and irresistibly beautiful, and let a dangerous smirk slide across my lips.
Maybe being a succubus wouldn't be all bad. Perhaps it was exactly what I needed to finally claim everything I'd ever wanted and get sweet revenge.
How was I going to do that? I was still working things out, but I would get there…
The kind woman had left out a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a clean white t-shirt for me. They weren't fancy, but at least they smelled fresh and didn't stink of garbage and piss like my old clothes. I tugged the soft cotton shirt over my head.
As I fastened the button, I noticed the jeans hugged my hips and ass tightly, accentuating every generous curve I'd just gained. I sighed softly, brushing a hand through my damp, silky hair, and forced myself to calm down. Now wasn't the time to get worked up again.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. To my surprise, the woman from earlier was still standing there, leaning against the wall as if she'd been patiently waiting the entire time. Her eyes lit up warmly when she saw me.
"There you are, dear," she said gently. "Feeling a little better?"
"Yeah, much better," I admitted softly. "Thank you for the clothes."
She smiled warmly and nodded, her eyes kind and sincere. "You're welcome, sweetheart. My name's Kaitlyn, by the way. I'm one of the volunteers here. And believe it or not, I've been right where you are now."
I felt my lips twist into a cynical smirk, unable to hide my skepticism. Somehow, I doubted she'd ever been fucked over quite as spectacularly as me. Betrayed and discarded by birth parents who hated me, thrown onto the streets after my only caring guardian was murdered?
Yeah, sure—totally relatable.
But Kaitlyn was kind. Her soft voice and gentle eyes held nothing but genuine empathy, and I didn't want to lash out at someone who didn't deserve it.
Instead, I forced myself to nod politely. "Thank you, Kaitlyn. Really, I mean it."
She smiled again, eyes twinkling warmly as she placed a comforting hand lightly on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay, love. Come on, let's get some hot food in you."
The gentle pressure of her touch sent another warm shiver straight down my spine. Fucking hell—every single touch now felt like foreplay, no matter how innocent.
This was quickly becoming annoying. And I had a feeling I knew the only way to get a temporary reprieve from these sensations.
By getting laid…?
And fuck, I was a virgin in both lives. How did I even go about doing that? I never exactly been very outgoing either…
Kaitlyn guided me gently down another corridor and into a larger open room filled with round tables and chairs. The smell of hot food immediately hit me, causing my stomach to loudly protest. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Kaitlyn just laughed softly.
"Someone sounds hungry," she teased gently. "Don't worry, sweetheart, there's plenty here."
The other women seated around the room glanced up, smiling at me kindly as we passed. There were women of all ages here, each quietly talking or eating, offering gentle nods of welcome as we walked by.
Everyone here seemed genuinely nice—far nicer than I'd ever been used to. I felt an unfamiliar warmth rising in my chest, mingling with the lingering anger and bitterness. Kindness felt strange and alien, like something fragile that could disappear at any second. I wasn't used to people caring about me.
Other than Sirius.
Kaitlyn handed me a tray, piling it generously with hot scrambled eggs, sausages, crispy bacon, and slices of buttered toast.
"Eat as much as you want, honey," she urged gently, motioning to an empty table by a small TV mounted on the wall. "I'll be around if you need anything, okay?"
"Thank you," I said softly, sincerity slipping easily into my voice. For once, I genuinely meant it.
I carried the tray over to the empty table, settling down carefully into a hard plastic chair.
My stomach growled loudly again, demanding attention. Giving in, I picked up the fork and immediately dug into the hot food. The taste exploded in my mouth, and I let out a soft moan of relief. Fuck, I'd been starving.
…I leaned back in my chair and set my fork down, savoring the last delicious bite of food I'd scraped from my plate. The warmth of a full belly brought a welcome sense of relief, and I sighed softly, stretching my aching muscles beneath the too-tight jeans.
I glanced around the quiet dining area. Several of the women were chatting softly at other tables, their voices soothing.
Exhaustion tugged at me, making my eyelids heavy. I was about to stand up and find Kaitlyn, intending to ask where I could rest, when a sudden shift of the TV caught my attention.
The quiet murmur of voices faded as everyone in the room turned to watch the television above. The nightly news was playing, showing footage of some big city that wasn't London.
"…and in breaking news, citizens of Metropolis can breathe a sigh of relief," the news anchor announced with excitement. "A giant meteor, which experts said would have devastated the heart of Metropolis and caused countless deaths, has been safely diverted by Superman!"
The fork I'd been gripping slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the tray. Several nearby women turned to glance at me curiously, but I barely registered their stares. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else as shock paralyzed me.
"—the Man of Steel has once again performed a miracle!" the anchor continued cheerily, oblivious to my growing panic. "People across the city are now wondering if it's finally time to officially give Superman his own holiday."
"Fuck me," I whispered softly to myself, gripping the edge of the table tightly, my knuckles turning white. "Metropolis…Superman…?"
[Cursed Knowledge] kicked in again…
Suddenly, like a battering ram smashing into my mind. I gasped softly, clutching my forehead, my vision swimming for a moment as the images overwhelmed me. Comics. Movies. Animated shows. All about superheroes and villains. All about Metropolis, Gotham, and other places I'd once assumed were fictional.
Oh God. Oh, holy fucking shit. I wasn't just a genderbent Harry Potter trapped in a fucked-up AU magical world. No—this was much bigger.
I was in the DC Universe.
"Are you alright, dear?" a nearby woman asked kindly, glancing over at me with mild concern. "You look pale."
I swallowed thickly, trying to calm my pounding heart. "I'm…I'm fine," I managed weakly, forcing a shaky smile onto my lips. "Just a little overwhelmed."
She nodded sympathetically, turning back to her food, but my mind continued to race frantically.
How the fuck had I not realized this sooner? Granted, I'd only had access to these past-life memories for a few insane hours now, and I'd mostly been drowning in anger and grief over my own fucked-up situation.
But seriously—Superman!? How had this slipped my mind until right fucking now?
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly, logically. My trembling hand reached up, brushing my silky dark hair back behind my ear as I tried to regain control.
This news changed everything…
I was no longer just dealing with a bunch of asshole wizards. Now, I'd have to navigate a dangerous world filled with literal gods, supervillains, and cosmic-level threats. People who could obliterate entire cities or planets just by sneezing wrong.
The stakes had just gotten infinitely fucking higher.
But beneath the fear and uncertainty, a darker feeling bloomed slowly inside my chest. Excitement, maybe. Anticipation. Or perhaps it was just sheer determination. Either way, I felt stronger and more motivated than ever. If I was going to survive in this universe, I'd need to adapt—fast.
But this was also amazing news! I could learn more than just Harry Potter magic! I could be so much more powerful as a DC witch.
Granted, I sorta figured I would be able to do that since I had a System, but now I had options.
…The next morning, Kaitlyn walked me to the shelter's front door, her expression warm and reassuring. Kaitlyn stood beside me, her gentle eyes scanning me carefully as though checking that I'd be okay. "You sure you're going to be alright, love?" she asked softly, placing a caring hand on my shoulder.
Her touch sent a faint shiver through me, but I ignored it. "Yeah," I nodded firmly, giving her a faint smile. "You've already done way more than enough. Thank you so much, Kaitlyn."
She smiled kindly, squeezing my shoulder one last time. Without another word, she slipped her hand into her pocket and took out a small fold of notes, pressing them into my palm gently.
"This should be enough to get you wherever you're going," she whispered, her eyes sincere. "Just be safe, okay? And if you ever need help again, you know where we are."
My throat tightened slightly. I wasn't used to such kindness. It felt strange and foreign, but also comforting. I nodded silently, tucking the money into the pocket of my jeans. Then, before I could turn away, Kaitlyn stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a brief, gentle hug.
I hesitated for a second, feeling awkward, but then relaxed slightly into her comforting embrace. She didn't ask me questions I didn't want to answer, never prying into my messy life. For that, I was extremely grateful. We stood there for a moment. Then I pulled away carefully, giving her one last genuine smile before turning and walking away toward the nearest bus stop.
I already knew exactly where I needed to go.
The Leaky Cauldron.
I'd been there several times before with Sirius when he'd first shown me glimpses of the wizarding world. Back when I'd been nothing more than a miserable squib, I'd always felt ashamed and awkward. But now, I was returning after his death on my own terms, fully awakened as both a witch and a succubus.
Of course, that second little detail wasn't something I'd be sharing. Wizards were notoriously racist and xenophobic bastards when it came to non-human creatures. If any of them ever figured out exactly what I had become, things would probably get messy.
Meaning, I would probably have to kill them. Still, I wish there was someone I could share my secret with. Someone trustworthy…
When the public bus finally arrived, I climbed aboard quickly, sliding into an empty seat near the window. After several stops, the bus finally arrived near Charing Cross Road. I climbed off and made my way down the familiar street.
I approached the inconspicuous little pub nestled discreetly between a bookstore and a record shop. Muggles walked right past without giving it a second glance. Taking a slow breath to calm my nerves, I pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside.
Instantly, the atmosphere of the place washed over me—the scent of old wood, musty parchment, smoke from pipes, and something delicious simmering in the kitchens. Witches and wizards sat around worn wooden tables, nursing drinks and talking quietly. The soft murmur of voices filled the cozy space.
However, the moment I stepped fully inside, the room fell noticeably silent. I could feel eyes—dozens of eyes—snap towards me immediately. I paused briefly, startled at the sudden scrutiny.
Every wizard and witch in the pub stared openly, their eyes widening, mouths slightly agape. The men practically gawked, their gazes dragging hungrily across my curvy body and beautiful face. To my surprise, quite a few of the witches were doing the exact same thing, staring at me with clear, undeniable interest.
Warmth flooded my cheeks, but I couldn't help the smug little smirk that formed on my lips. Fuck, this felt amazing. This was exactly how I'd always been meant to look, how I'd always deserved to be admired—if only Dumbledore hadn't fucked me over and magically ruined my life from day one.
Ignoring the stares, I strode confidently across the room, my hips swaying gently beneath the snug jeans. I made my way straight to the bar, where old Tom stood polishing a glass. The elderly bartender's eyes widened dramatically as he watched me approach, his hands trembling as he almost dropped the glass.
"G-good morning, my lady," he stammered nervously, his wrinkled cheeks flushing red. "W-what can I do for you today?"
I flashed him a charming, fake smile, enjoying the effect I had on him. "Good morning. I'm new to this country, and someone recommended I check out Diagon Alley. Would you mind terribly showing me the way?" My voice sounded musical, lilting, seductive. It was another perk of my transformation, I realized with delight. No one would ever connect this sensual, confident voice to the awkward, dull girl I'd once been.
Tom practically stumbled over himself in his haste to help me, his gnarled fingers fumbling nervously as he rushed out from behind the bar. "Of course, miss, of course! Right this way—allow me!" he blurted quickly, leading me toward the rear courtyard of the pub. He threw a smug, almost proud look towards the rest of the pub, clearly feeling honored to be the one helping the new, mysterious beauty who had captured everyone's attention.
I followed him closely, giving a subtle, self-satisfied toss of my silky black hair over one shoulder. As I passed, the heated gazes of every wizard and witch lingered on me, trailing hungrily along every new curve I'd gained.
Walking through Diagon Alley was a strange, surreal experience. Every step I took, heads turned towards me, eyes widening, mouths dropping open. Men openly stared at my curvy body, trailing their hungry gazes up and down my snug jeans and tight shirt. Women also watched me—some with envy, some with intrigue, and some clearly just as interested as the men.
My cheeks warmed from embarrassment at all the attention, yet strangely, it also sent a subtle thrill coursing through me. My thighs tightened involuntarily, heat pooling embarrassingly between my legs from the lustful looks aimed my way. Fucking succubus nature—I was getting turned on just from people staring at me.
I did my best to keep my composure, forcing my chin up and striding confidently forward, even though my heartbeat quickened with nervous energy. I felt eyes following me from every shop window and street corner. A young wizard leaned out from the doorway of Flourish & Blotts, giving a low wolf-whistle as I passed by.
"Hey there, beautiful! Need any help today?" he called hopefully, his eyes lingering suggestively on my chest.
I ignored him, not even slowing my pace. Another older wizard tried calling out from a shop selling cauldrons, his voice leering and raspy. "Merlin's beard, you're lovely! Care to have tea later, miss?"
I sped up slightly, ignoring them both completely, determined to reach my destination without causing a scene.
Gringotts loomed ahead, tall and imposing, gleaming white marble glinting in the sunlight. My heart fluttered nervously as I climbed the steps toward the entrance. Two heavily armored goblin sentries stood guard, sharp spears held at attention.
I felt a small stab of unease. Could they sense what I really was? Would they care if they knew I was a succubus now?
But the goblins barely glanced at me, their expressions bored and indifferent.
I breathed a small sigh of relief as I walked past them and entered the grand lobby of Gringotts.
Inside was busy, witches and wizards lined up impatiently in front of the main counters, many wearing shabby robes and fidgeting nervously. My eyes moved past the crowded common area, settling on the elegant desk marked clearly as the special booth for nobility.
Confidence surging again, I strode past the commoner line without hesitation. Several people turned to glare at me, clearly annoyed by my blatant disregard for waiting. But none of them spoke up. Apparently, my new beautiful appearance was enough to silence complaints.
Behind the elegant polished wooden desk sat a goblin wearing neat robes embroidered with gold thread. He lifted his head as I approached, black eyes gleaming sharply.
"Name?" he asked crisply, his voice smooth and far more respectful than what he'd use with those common witches and wizards.
"My name is…" I began, then hesitated suddenly, an unexpected lump forming in my throat.
Did I really still want to be Heather?
Heather Potter, the unwanted daughter abandoned by James and Lily? Heather, the pathetic squib who'd spent years discarded and alone?
Fuck no, I decided firmly. I refused to be their worthless cast-off anymore. From now on, I would choose my own identity.
"My name is Amara," I said clearly, feeling strength in that simple declaration. "Lady Amara Black. Current head of the Ancient and Noble Black family."
The goblin arched one thin brow slightly, clearly surprised by my surname or the title I gave myself. But goblins were nothing if not professional, and after a second he simply nodded, scribbling something quickly on a ledger.
"And your business here today, Lady… Black?"
I squared my shoulders, meeting his steady gaze calmly. "I'd like access to the Black family vaults. I need to collect some gold and settle a few personal matters."
He dipped his head in acknowledgment, writing something else in his ledger. But suddenly, another thought struck me—sharp and urgent.
"Actually," I spoke up again quickly, causing the goblin to lift his gaze back to me. "There is something else. My family manor—Grimmauld Place—I think certain wizards may have tampered with my memory. I don't recall its exact location anymore."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Your family property should certainly be recorded within our files. Memory alteration is an unfortunate practice some wizards indulge in. Do you require our assistance in updating the wards or protections on the estate, Lady Black?"
My heart leapt excitedly. "Yes," I said eagerly, hope flaring brightly. "Yes, that's exactly what I need. If Gringotts can help me secure my family home against… unwanted visitors, I'd be very grateful."
The goblin nodded briskly, standing smoothly from behind his desk. "Then follow me, Miss Black. I'll take you directly to your private account manager. He will handle everything from here."
I felt a burst of relief wash over me as I followed him past the common counters toward a discreet hallway at the back of the bank. As we walked, several goblins glanced briefly up from their tasks, but quickly returned to work, entirely uninterested in the beautiful young witch walking by. Unlike wizards, the goblins seemed unaffected by my enhanced appearance and aura.
That suited me perfectly. I hoped I was as unattractive to them as they were to me.
– Amara Black –
I couldn't help the smug, satisfied smile that lingered on my lips as the goblin account manager and I wrapped up our discussion. After all the shit I'd gone through lately, finally getting some real vindication felt fucking incredible.
Proving my identity as a Black turned out to be surprisingly easy. The goblins had ancient, powerful blood magics in place specifically to verify heritage, and apparently my newly awakened succubus blood hadn't changed the core Black family bloodline running through my veins. The goblins barely blinked an eye at the test results. To them, blood was blood, and gold was gold.
After verifying my identity, I told my goblin account manager, a gruff older goblin named Ruknuk, a carefully edited version of my recent experiences. I explained in passionate detail how I'd been attacked by thieves trying to invade my ancestral home and steal all the priceless treasures within. Technically, that was entirely true—I just casually neglected to mention the thieves were actually my bastard birth parents, James and Lily, along with their manipulative old puppet-master Dumbledore.
Ruknuk's sharp eyes had practically glowed with outrage as I described the attempted theft. Goblins might not give a shit about wizard drama or family feuds, but thievery was another story entirely. Goblins absolutely fucking hated thieves.
"For an appropriate fee, we can offer you our strongest possible protections," Ruknuk said, his lips pulling into a nasty goblin sneer as he wrote the sum onto a crisp parchment and slid it towards me. "It will not be cheap, Lady Black, but I promise you—no unauthorized thief will ever set foot in your home again. Well, they won't live to tell anyone about it—at the very least…" his sneer turned into a chuckle.
I liked the way these goblins did security. I was a firm believer that if someone broke into your home, you had the right to kill them. That was even before I became a demoness.
My heart skipped a beat at the number—100,000 galleons. Roughly a million pounds in Muggle money. My fingers shook slightly as I picked up the parchment, quickly scanning the large amount. It was a staggering sum, but hopefully the Black family vaults could handle it.
Sirius had once mentioned that the family was quite wealthy. Even if it wasn't at its peak it had been decades ago under his grandfather.
I forced my voice to remain calm and casual. "Fine. Take the gold from the family vault. Do whatever it takes to secure Grimmauld Place."
Ruknuk's dark eyes glittered sharply with professional satisfaction. "As you wish, Lady Black. I assure you—your home will become impregnable," he boasted.
I don't know if that was exactly true, but my Potter knowledge told me that goblins were pretty good with wards, weren't they?
…Or was that Fanon?
And that was how I found myself, a short time later, strapped securely into a Gringotts cart, speeding wildly through dimly lit underground tunnels. The cool, earthy wind whipped through my silky black hair as the cart raced along the rails, dropping steeply downward in sharp, stomach-flipping plunges. I'd never been to an amusement park or ridden a roller coaster before, but I couldn't imagine anything could be more exhilarating than this.
"Oh, fuck!" I cried out, laughing wildly as the cart took a particularly sharp corner, slamming my curvy body roughly against the side. I gripped the handrail tighter, my heart pounding excitedly in my chest, nipples embarrassingly hard beneath my thin t-shirt from the adrenaline and cool air whipping past me.
The goblin steering the cart gave me a sideways glance, his expression clearly amused by my excitement. Goblins probably didn't get many witches who openly enjoyed the wild cart rides deep into the vaults. But I couldn't help it—this was fucking fantastic.
My stomach fluttered again as the cart suddenly accelerated, plunging deeper and faster into the earth. Lanterns flashed past in a blur, lighting up ancient stone walls and thick iron doors lining the tunnels. Just when I thought we couldn't possibly go any faster, the cart jerked roughly to an abrupt halt.
"Shit, that was pretty fun!" I gasped, panting slightly, eyes wide and exhilarated. My chest rose and fell quickly as I took a moment to catch my breath. My heart still hammered from the adrenaline rush.
The goblin beside me gave a shrug. "Black family vault number four hundred and twelve," he announced, climbing gracefully out of the cart and moving towards the massive iron door set into the rock wall. "This is one of your family's more secure vaults, Miss Black. Only those with direct bloodline or explicit permission from the account holder may enter."
I followed him carefully out of the cart, steadying myself slightly on shaky legs as I stepped onto the stone platform. The goblin took a sharp silver knife from his belt and gestured toward my hand.
"I will require a small drop of your blood for verification before opening the vault," he said simply.
I nodded without hesitation, extending my palm. The goblin quickly sliced the sharp blade across my fingertip, causing a brief sting. A bright drop of crimson blood fell onto the vault door, and instantly the iron began to glow softly, humming with magic as it confirmed my identity.
"Access granted," the goblin stated, stepping back politely. The heavy door slowly swung open with a deep rumbling sound, revealing a cavernous room filled to the brim with glittering piles of golden galleons, sparkling gems, silver artifacts, and countless priceless treasures.
"Holy shit," I breathed softly, stepping inside and staring in awe at the staggering wealth spread out before me. My heart quickened, excitement and relief surging powerfully through me. I'd never imagined the Black family vault would be quite this rich.
A wicked smirk slowly spread across my lips.
This was mine. All of it. And from now on, no one would ever fucking take it away from me again.
Except for the goblins I'd just agreed to pay of course…
But that was going to be money well spent. I hope?
The goblin began methodically counting out the hundred thousand galleons for Ruknuk. He scooped the glittering gold coins efficiently into a heavy, enchanted bag, his long fingers moving quickly and professionally. Time was money for these guys after all.
Taking advantage of the moment, I grabbed one of the special bottomless pouches the goblin had provided earlier. He'd explained that these bags were magically enchanted, secure, and basically impossible to steal from. Exactly what I needed. I knelt carefully beside a large heap of gold and began scooping handful after handful into the pouch.
After I'd stuffed about ten thousand galleons into the bag, I paused, looking around at the vault. A noticeable dent had been made in the massive pile of gold, though it was still huge. Quickly estimating, I figured there was around twenty million galleons here, which was roughly two hundred million pounds in Muggle money. My heartbeat quickened slightly. Even though I'd always known the Blacks were wealthy, seeing it all with my own eyes was overwhelming.
It wasn't just gold, either. Priceless jewelry, silver heirlooms, gems, and ornate antique artifacts filled the vault. Some items looked hundreds of years old and were probably worth fortunes of their own.
As my eyes drifted slowly over everything, something caught my attention at the very back of the vault.
In a shadowy corner, atop a carved, ancient-looking stone pedestal, lay a single scroll of parchment. The scroll seemed fragile, yellowed with age, and its edges curled delicately. Despite its humble appearance, I felt a strange tug in my chest the longer I stared at it. It was as if it radiated a subtle yet powerful magic, beckoning me.
My curiosity quickly turned to suspicion. Why the hell was this scroll placed so prominently on an ancient stand, alone and separate from the rest of the treasure?
"Hey," I called out to the goblin as he finished gathering Ruknuk's gold. He glanced up sharply. I nodded my chin towards the scroll. "What's that parchment over there?"
He followed my gesture with his gaze, narrowing his dark eyes at the scroll briefly before giving a casual shrug.
"Gringotts does not inquire about the specific items wizards choose to store," he said in his gruff, indifferent voice. "We merely secure and protect. Whatever that scroll is, it has sat untouched in this vault for generations."
I chewed nervously on my lower lip. It was probably stupid, and the rational part of me was practically screaming at me to leave it alone—it could easily be cursed or trapped. Yet, something deep and instinctive within me whispered urgently that I needed to see it. It was as if the scroll itself was calling out to me, pulling at the edges of my consciousness.
Before I fully realized what I was doing, my feet were already carrying me forward. My pulse quickened, and my stomach twisted in nervous excitement as I approached the pedestal. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out, touching the parchment gently.
Instantly, a warm tingle spread through my fingertips. The scroll trembled softly beneath my touch, then slowly began to unroll of its own accord.
"Oh, shit…" I murmured quietly, half-afraid but unable to tear my gaze away.
Dark inked symbols and words sprawled across the parchment in a language I'd never seen before. The strange letters swirled and twisted, possibly Gaelic or some ancient wizard dialect. As I stared, heart pounding, the letters suddenly began glowing, burning pitch black as if alive with magic.
I inhaled sharply, stepping back. "What the hell?"
Behind me, the goblin stiffened, looking up sharply. "Lady Black? Is there a problem?"
"I—I don't know yet," I whispered, swallowing hard. The symbols on the scroll shifted slightly, arranging themselves into neat rows. And then I let out a yelp as it burst into flames, the fires started to expand in the shape of a circle in the middle of the air. It almost looked like some kind of portal was forming.
– Morgana –
Morgana le Fey sat on the thin, uncomfortable mattress, glaring hatefully at the glass wall of her prison cell. Her emerald-green eyes burned with fury, grief, and deep, hopeless despair. Everything had gone catastrophically wrong, and now she was trapped.
A sharp, taunting voice broke her from her angry musings.
"Morgana, welcome to Belle Reve," said Amanda Waller, standing smugly on the opposite side of the reinforced glass. She was flanked by heavily armored guards, their weapons aimed firmly at Morgana. The woman smirked cruelly. "Your new home. Forever. I'm your warden—Amanda Waller."
Morgana slowly stood, her long, silky black hair falling gracefully around her pale shoulders. She stepped forward until her fingertips touched the cool surface of the enchanted barrier. Her gaze was filled with venom as she glared straight into Waller's cold eyes.
"You arrogant mortal bitch," Morgana spat, her voice dripping with disdain and venom. "Do you truly think your pathetic little prison can hold me forever? I will make you regret every moment of this humiliation."
Waller only laughed coldly, unfazed by Morgana's threat. "Save your breath, witch. This cell was specially enchanted by Doctor Fate himself. You can't so much as spark a match in here."
Morgana clenched her fists tightly, her jaw trembling slightly in rage and frustration. Unfortunately, she knew the woman spoke the truth. Powerful runes etched deep into the prison walls blocked every scrap of her formidable magic. No matter how fiercely she tried to summon even a flicker of power, her magic refused to obey.
Her thoughts turned dark again, and despair crashed down upon her. Morgana had lost everything—her pride, her freedom, but worst of all, her son. Mordred, her precious child who'd stood faithfully at her side for a thousand long years, was dead. Murdered. Killed by those damnable arrogant bastards of the Justice League.
All she'd done was try to reclaim Morgana's own magical artifacts, stolen from her centuries earlier by mortal fools and put on display in a fucking museum—as if they were cheap trinkets. That was her birthright! Those relics belonged to her by right of power, blood, and birth.
And what had happened? Those so-called heroes killed her child in cold blood and tossed her in this enchanted prison like common filth.
Morgana slumped slowly to the floor in crushing despair, leaning back against the cold, smooth wall. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall—not here, not in front of these pathetic mortals.
Waller leaned close to the glass, her voice dropping low in cruel mockery. "Get comfortable, Morgana. Your sentence is one hundred years—minimum. I'd suggest you get used to shitty prison food and lots of solitary confinement. Heh heh heh." Laughing darkly, Waller turned on her heels and strode away down the corridor, guards falling in behind her.
The echo of Waller's taunts faded quickly, leaving Morgana alone again, consumed by grief and rage. She stared blankly into the empty air in front of her, lost and broken. No one from the magical community would come to save her. She was far too hated and feared by her own kind. No allies would risk freeing her and risking ire from the likes of Doctor Fate.
"Is there even a point anymore?" she whispered bitterly into the silence, despair heavy in her heart. "Mordred is gone. I have nothing left to live for."
And at that exact moment, a violent burst of flame exploded in the air before her. Morgana flinched back, gasping sharply. The flames rapidly swirled and twisted, burning brightly into a blazing circular portal in the very center of her cell.
Instantly, piercing alarms began blaring loudly through the prison complex. Red emergency lights flashed rapidly from the hallway. Guards raced toward her cell, weapons raised, screaming orders through the glass.
"Step away from the portal! Morgana, stay the fuck back!"
Morgana stared in shock at the swirling flames, utterly mesmerized. Beyond the burning portal was darkness, yet something—someone—on the other side seemed to be calling out directly to her heart and soul. The mysterious energy beckoned her urgently, insistently. It felt strangely familiar, as though some ancient and powerful presence had reached out specifically for her.
The guards' screams faded into meaningless noise. Morgana slowly rose to her feet, eyes locked firmly on the fiery portal before her.
"I guess I will be escaping this prison after all," she whispered softly, stepping forward. Morgana le Fey walked directly into the swirling flames and vanished into the unknown.
…Morgana le Fey stepped forward carefully, feeling the warmth of the flaming portal fade behind her. She paused, eyes narrowing as she took in her surroundings. She was inside a large, richly appointed vault overflowing with enormous piles of gold coins, glittering gemstones, and various priceless artifacts. Magical treasures hummed with power, scattered across ornate shelves and ancient stone pedestals.
More importantly, however, Morgana's gaze settled on the young woman standing directly in front of her, clearly shocked by Morgana's sudden appearance.
The girl's emerald-green eyes were wide with confusion and surprise. Morgana stared, stunned herself, realizing the young woman looked almost exactly like her. They shared the same elegantly beautiful face, full red lips, flawless ivory skin, and shimmering, raven-black hair cascading down their backs. If not for subtle differences in clothing and posture, they could almost be twins.
Before Morgana could speak, a harsh, nasally voice rang out from behind her.
"OH FUCK, WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE!? She's not supposed to be here!"
Morgana turned sharply, annoyed. Her emerald eyes darkened with disgust when she saw the small, ugly creature standing nearby.
"Ugh," Morgana said disdainfully. "A goblin."
The goblin flinched visibly beneath her contemptuous stare. Morgana's lip curled into a sneer. She remembered goblins quite well. One of the lesser species of fae who had foolishly allowed themselves to be tricked by that manipulative bastard wizard Merlin. They had betrayed her, swearing allegiance to King Arthur and becoming his loyal subjects instead of siding with Morgana herself—the true, rightful queen of Camelot.
"And how did that turn out for you miserable creatures?" she scoffed at the goblin bitterly, shaking her head with amusement and disgust.
Clearly not well at all. Morgana could sense immediately that this goblin possessed only a pitiful trace of magic compared to his ancestors. And from the look of the vault around her, she wasn't even in the Fae Lands, merely deep underground beneath mortal Earth.
Morgana's brows furrowed thoughtfully. Wait a minute. She turned back slowly toward the girl who shared her face, narrowing her eyes curiously. "Where exactly am I, girl?" Morgana demanded firmly.
The beautiful young woman swallowed, blinking nervously as she glanced around the vault. "Um... you're in Gringotts. Whoever you are?"
Morgana's frown deepened. "And where, precisely, is Gringotts?"
The girl hesitated slightly, clearly uncertain how to answer. "It's a bank. A magical bank in London."
Morgana's heart lurched painfully in her chest. London? The capital city of Britain itself? How could that possibly be?
A thousand years ago, she'd been banished from her ancestral homelands by Merlin himself. The bastard wizard had invoked powerful, ancient magics that forced Morgana and her beloved son Mordred into permanent exile. Neither of them had been permitted to step foot on British soil since that cursed day.
But now—impossibly—here she stood, deep beneath London itself. How in the name of the gods had she returned after all these centuries? And why now?
"You there, girl," Morgana commanded sharply, taking a step toward the beautiful young witch. "How exactly did I arrive here? Tell me immediately."
The girl straightened, annoyance flashing in her emerald eyes, eyes that mirrored Morgana's own so perfectly. She placed one hand defiantly on her hip, meeting Morgana's intense stare head-on. "You're the one who stepped out of that crazy fire portal after I touched that scroll," the girl retorted boldly. "Why the hell are you asking me? And besides, you still haven't even told me who you are."
The goblin, standing nervously off to the side, visibly trembled as he whispered hoarsely, "She is Morgana la Fey." The goblin seemed as if he might bolt at any moment, panic written plainly across his ugly features. "She's not even supposed to be allowed in these lands after everything she did."
Instead of looking alarmed or terrified like the goblin, however, the beautiful young witch merely tilted her head thoughtfully, staring at Morgana with intense curiosity and interest. Morgana's lips curled slightly into an approving smirk, appreciating the girl's composure and bravery.
"Morgana la Fey?" the young witch echoed quietly, clearly intrigued rather than afraid. "Interesting…"
Morgana's eyes drifted slowly toward the now-empty scroll resting on an ancient stone pedestal behind the girl.
Vague memories returned to Morgana's mind, hazy and distant but gradually becoming clearer. She'd signed dozens of magical contracts and agreements with various powerful wizarding families. Was this girl's family among them? Whatever was written on that scroll, Morgana realized, must have been a magically binding contract she'd agreed to over a thousand years ago.
Clearly, whatever obligations or magic woven into the parchment were powerful enough to shatter even Merlin's ancient curse and finally bring Morgana back onto British soil.
Morgana's heart raced excitedly. Merlin's hated spell had finally been broken. She was free again—free to reclaim her birthright and all she'd lost. Of course, grief for Mordred still weighed heavily upon her heart, but revenge against those who'd wronged her was suddenly within her grasp once more.
Her gaze settled again upon the beautiful girl before her, who still stared boldly back. Morgana took a step closer, lips curving slowly into a graceful, dangerous smile.
"I think, my dear," Morgana purred softly, eyes glittering, "that you and I have much to discuss…"
– Amara Black –
"I—I have to go report this!" the goblin suddenly shouted behind me, his rough voice shrill and panicked. He immediately turned and sprinted toward the vault entrance on his short, stubby legs.
Morgana's face twisted into a cruel, almost amused smirk as she leaned close to me. Her emerald eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't think so," she whispered coldly.
Without hesitation, she raised her hand, pointing a finger directly at the fleeing goblin's back. I barely had time to blink before a violent bolt of black lightning surged forth, crackling through the air and striking the goblin dead-on.
He screamed—a horrifying, high-pitched wail filled with agony. I watched in fascination and horror as his body convulsed violently, then literally began to disintegrate, skin and flesh crumbling to ash. Within seconds, nothing remained but a small pile of grey dust scattered across the stone floor of my vault.
"Holy fucking shit," I breathed out shakily, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. Instinctively, I took a step backward from her. Fuck, that was powerful. Way, way more powerful than my little fireballs. I could burn people, but she turned him to ASH.
And that was with one finger…
This wasn't just some random powerful witch. This was Morgana la Fey, the legendary enchantress straight out of the goddamn King Arthur myths.
And she'd just casually murdered a goblin right in front of me like it was nothing.
I gulped hard as Morgana calmly turned back toward me, looking completely unfazed. Her piercing emerald gaze met mine, and a small, dangerously seductive smile curved her full red lips. "My dear, you don't have to fear me," she murmured soothingly, stepping gracefully forward until she was mere inches from me. Her voice was soft, like silk brushing against my skin. "Even though I'm quite certain it was an accident, you are still the one who saved me from imprisonment, after all."
My breath hitched sharply as she lifted her delicate hand, gently placing her fingertips under my chin. My skin burned where she touched me, heat blooming beneath her gentle but firm grip. She tilted my head upward slightly, forcing my gaze to meet hers.
God, her eyes were just like mine, a vibrant emerald green that seemed to look straight into my very soul. It was unnerving yet strangely captivating. My cheeks flushed hotly under her gaze, embarrassment and arousal mingling uncomfortably deep inside my core.
Fuck. Was I seriously getting turned on by a woman who looked almost exactly like me?
A small, teasing chuckle escaped Morgana's perfect lips. She clearly noticed my blush, and I felt my face heat even more. Her thumb moved slowly, caressing the curve of my lower lip. The touch sent sparks of electricity straight down my spine and between my thighs.
I shivered involuntarily, squeezing my thighs together tightly. My fucking succubus sensitivity was definitely making itself known.
"Like I said, my sweet benefactor," Morgana whispered playfully, her breath warm against my face. "There is no need for fear."
I swallowed roughly, fighting hard to regain some measure of composure. Her nearness was intoxicating, and I struggled to clear my thoughts. I finally forced out the question I'd been meaning to ask. "Th-that scroll," I stammered slightly, my voice embarrassingly shaky. "What exactly was written on it? And—and how did you even appear in my family's vault?"
Morgana tilted her head thoughtfully, her thumb never stopping its gentle caress of my lip.
"To be perfectly honest, darling, I can't quite remember," she admitted with a sigh. "After so many centuries, the details blur together. But whatever it said, it must have been a magically binding contract. Strong enough to shatter even Merlin's powerful spell that had banished me from these lands. Fascinating, isn't it?"
I nodded slowly, my mind spinning from her closeness and the implications of her words.
"I'm sure we'll figure it all out eventually," she added, her fingers now lightly tracing the outline of my jaw, my cheekbone. I bit my lip hard to suppress a tiny moan as pleasure flared beneath her touch.
She smirked knowingly, obviously enjoying how easily my new succubus body responded to her slightest touch. Her eyes gleamed with mischievous delight as she took another slow step closer, pressing her ample breasts firmly against mine. Fuck, her body felt just as perfect as my own. Her soft curves molded perfectly into me, making my nipples painfully erect beneath my thin shirt.
"For now, though," Morgana purred seductively, lips mere centimeters from mine, "I'd much rather learn about you, my dear. Who exactly are you, and what brought you here?"
I shivered again, my breath coming faster now. I turned my face slightly to avoid her gaze, embarrassment and discomfort washing over me at her intense scrutiny.
"My—my story isn't exactly happy," I admitted hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Morgana's emerald eyes softened slightly, her teasing smile fading into something almost gentle, sympathetic. She reached up again, fingers cupping my cheek tenderly, guiding my gaze back toward hers.
"My dear, neither is mine," she murmured softly. For just a moment, beneath her seductive bravado and cruel strength, I saw something raw and genuine in her eyes. A fleeting glimpse of pain, loneliness, despair, and grief.
I swallowed thickly, knowing instinctively she wasn't lying. For a brief moment, I felt an odd kinship forming between us, both of us fucked-over by the cruel twists of fate and magic.
"You can trust me," Morgana whispered gently, her thumb stroking my cheekbone tenderly. "Tell me, beautiful girl—tell me who you are."
My heart hammered fiercely in my chest, but despite my nerves, I met her gaze steadily. "My name is Amara. Amara Black..."
– Morgana –
Morgana listened patiently to Amara Black's entire tale, genuinely intrigued by the twists and turns of the young witch's troubled life. As Amara spoke, Morgana's emerald gaze moved carefully over the girl's beautiful face, lingering on her full lips, flushed cheeks, and eyes shimmering with emotion.
The parallels between them were startlingly clear—almost unsettling.
Cast aside and abandoned by a worthless father. Rejected and left to rot while others thrived. Morgana knew that feeling intimately—deeply. Uther Pendragon, her own bastard father, had treated her the very same way centuries ago. The bitter sting of rejection and betrayal still felt raw to Morgana even now.
But it wasn't just a worthless father tormenting Amara. There was also the meddling old wizard—Albus Dumbledore—constantly sabotaging and ruining her life from behind the scenes. That struck a particularly nasty chord with Morgana. It reminded her far too much of Merlin, the hateful bastard wizard who'd constantly undermined her for over a thousand miserable years.
Yes, Morgana could definitely sympathize with her pretty young doppelgänger.
She wasn't exactly certain yet what magic had summoned her from imprisonment. Alright—that wasn't entirely true. Morgana had some strong suspicions about that mysterious scroll and the ancient contract it represented. But it had been centuries, after all. Until she conducted some careful, proper tests, she couldn't be entirely sure.
But testing and theories could wait a while. For now, Morgana found herself captivated by the lovely young woman standing before her, a witch whose story resonated so powerfully with her own life.
As Amara spoke, Morgana continued gently caressing the young woman's flawless skin, letting her fingertips slowly trace the delicate lines of Amara's jaw, her cheek, the sensitive curve of her throat. Morgana's practiced touch easily teased out subtle reactions, noting every sharp intake of breath, every soft tremble, every gentle shudder running through Amara's curvaceous body.
Morgana wasn't oblivious. She immediately noticed how extraordinarily sensitive the younger witch seemed to be, how Amara squirmed slightly under her fingers, biting her lip, desperately squeezing her thighs together.
The poor girl was clearly very turned on and trying hopelessly to hide it.
That delicious little mystery resolved itself quickly when Amara, with flushed embarrassment, quietly admitted the truth—she'd recently awakened the bloodline of a succubus.
Morgana's eyebrows rose in surprise and genuine amusement.
Well, wasn't that just perfect?
A sly smile spread slowly across Morgana's full lips. Merlin had his insufferable pet demon, Etrigan, who had plagued Morgana for so many centuries—an annoying creature of fire and brimstone that she'd fought endlessly.
Perhaps now, it was time to even the odds a bit?
Morgana's gaze sharpened, assessing Amara anew. This lovely young creature, so clearly aroused and vulnerable beneath Morgana's touch, wouldn't just be some simple demonic pet, of course.
No, this girl was special.
Beautiful, very strong willed—and with incredible magical potential. Morgana could feel powerful energies thrumming beneath Amara's soft, smooth skin, just waiting to be properly harnessed and guided!
Hmm... when was the last time she had taken on an apprentice? A true apprentice, not just some temporary pawn or expendable tool?
Far, far too long ago. Time to change that!
"You poor thing," Morgana purred softly. Morgana leaned in until her lips brushed teasingly against Amara's ear, whispering low and seductive, "You must be so lonely, darling Amara—so weary from fighting alone against those who wronged you. Well, you don't have to be alone anymore…"
The younger witch sucked in a sharp, trembling breath, her cheeks burning a delicious crimson, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden closeness.
Morgana's fingers drifted lower, tracing gently along the slender column of Amara's neck and collarbone, grazing the sensitive skin just above her generous cleavage. The younger witch whimpered softly, squirming helplessly beneath Morgana's relentless teasing. Amara's hips twitched instinctively, grinding ever so slightly forward, betraying just how incredibly aroused she was. Morgana delighted in the reaction, feeling heat pulse insistently between her own thighs.
She trailed her fingertips slowly downwards, caressing just above the curve of Amara's round breasts, noting the rapid rise and fall of the younger witch's chest. Amara's nipples were stiff and swollen beneath her shirt, clearly visible through the thin fabric, begging to be touched more. Morgana's smile widened, wicked and pleased. She deliberately brushed the pad of her thumb directly across one erect nipple, causing Amara to gasp sharply, shuddering at the intense sensation.
"M-Morgana," Amara whimpered softly, eyes hooded and hazy with lustful need. Her thighs clenched tightly together, hips trembling. "Please..."
Morgana chuckled low in her throat, pleased with how quickly and thoroughly Amara surrendered to her touch. "My sweet Amara, there's no need to beg just yet. This is only the beginning of our partnership. I'm going to teach you so much—so many things you've never even dreamed possible."
Amara's breathing hitched sharply, her pulse pounding visibly beneath Morgana's fingertips. Morgana smiled softly, almost gently, feeling genuine affection mixing with her desire and ambition.
"Become my apprentice, Amara," Morgana whispered seductively, locking gazes deeply with her lovely doppelgänger. "Let me guide you. Train you. Teach you how to master your incredible powers. Together, you and I will punish those who've wronged us. And when we're finished, no one—not Dumbledore, not Merlin, not even the gods themselves—will dare to stand against us."
Amara stared up at Morgana, emerald eyes wide and shimmering. Morgana saw a deep longing there, a desperate yearning for love, acceptance, power, and revenge.
All things that she was more than happy to offer!
A wicked, victorious smile slowly curved Morgana's full lips. Oh, yes. This beautiful young witch was going to be utterly perfect.
– Amara –
God, was I stupid for letting her seduce me so damn easily? I pretty much melted into a needy puddle after just a few teasing touches and sweet whispers. Morgana knew exactly what she was doing, playing my incredibly sensitive body like a finely tuned instrument. With a few strokes of her fingertips and some whispered promises, I was embarrassingly ready to surrender to her completely.
"Yes," I breathed softly, desperately, nodding quickly without even trying to hide my need. "I'll be your apprentice. Please teach me."
Morgana's lips curved into a wickedly pleased smirk, and she slowly pulled back, leaving me standing there flushed, dizzy, and embarrassingly aroused. Her eyes glinted with amusement as she chuckled softly.
"Very good, Amara. From now on, you are officially my apprentice," Morgana declared with smug satisfaction.
At that exact moment, the familiar robotic voice of my system practically screamed inside my head.
Congratulations on acquiring a legendary dark witch as a teacher!
You have awakened the talent [Disciple of Dark Magic]! You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!
I barely managed to keep my expression neutral and avoid reacting visibly. My heart fluttered nervously at the implications of that announcement. So, did this mean I was destined to become an evil witch too? Not that I'd ever really planned on being "good," exactly, but still…
Taking a shaky breath, I forced myself to think practically. Morgana had just casually murdered a goblin, and I was pretty sure Gringotts wouldn't just let that slide. My pulse quickened as reality crashed back in.
"Um, Morgana?" I asked hesitantly, fidgeting nervously with the hem of my t-shirt. "What should we do now? You just killed that goblin, and I have a feeling the others won't exactly be thrilled about it. Also, I kind of hired them to ward and protect my house, and I'm pretty sure that's not happening anymore…"
Morgana rolled her eyes dismissively, looking utterly unconcerned. She waved one slender hand in a gesture of disdain, scoffing lightly.
"Please, my dear. Don't worry yourself over those miserable, sniveling goblins. I can handle protective wards far better than those weak little fae traitors. Never forget—they are Merlin's subjects and cannot be trusted. In fact," Morgana's eyes narrowed seriously, "you should completely empty your vault here immediately."
I blinked in surprise. "Wait—Merlin's subjects? Merlin is actually still alive?"
Morgana's perfect lips twisted into a sneer. "Unfortunately, yes. Merlin is half-incubus, my dear, just as you have become part-succubus. It's exactly how that bastard tricked his fellow demon Etrigan into becoming his eternal attack dog and servant."
I felt my eyes widen in shock. "Merlin is half-demon?"
"Indeed," Morgana spat, bitterly. "He's been a thorn in my side for far too long. And then there's his pet—Etrigan. Ugh, he's almost as bad…"
I nodded slowly, trying to absorb that. I vaguely remembered Etrigan from my previous life's [Cursed Knowledge], but I'd never been a hardcore comic book nerd. I only knew Etrigan was some rhyming DC demon—definitely not enough detail. Clearly, I had a fuck-ton of catching up to do about this universe if I wanted to survive.
Before I could dwell further on that, Morgana suddenly turned, raising her hands elegantly. She began chanting softly under her breath in a language that sounded ancient, dark, and powerful. I watched in stunned awe as every single gold coin, sparkling jewel, and priceless artifact around us lifted gracefully into the air, floating weightlessly toward Morgana.
A swirling void of inky-black darkness appeared beside her, a kind of magical inventory space or pocket dimension. All my treasure streamed effortlessly into it, neatly vanishing from the vault until nothing remained but empty shelves and pedestals.
Morgana turned back to me with a calm, reassuring smile, clearly noting my astonishment. "Relax, darling apprentice," she purred soothingly, her eyes glittering mischievously. "All of this treasure belongs to you, after all. Once you've learned the proper spell, I will happily transfer everything directly into your care."
I actually had my own inventory from my system, and I wondered how much I could actually store in there? But I chose to keep that a secret for now—I hadn't told her about the existence of my system, just the fact that I had awakened a succubus bloodline.
I shook my head focusing back on her.
Morgana tilted her head playfully, taking a slow step toward me. Her eyes roamed appreciatively down my curvy figure, lingering deliberately on my overly sensitive breasts, hips, and thighs. "I can sense how much you crave pleasure, Amara," Morgana murmured seductively, licking her lower lip slowly. "A succubus' hunger is insatiable, isn't it?"
My cheeks burned hotly at her blunt observation. I bit my lip hard, nodding shyly in silent confirmation.
Morgana's smile widened wickedly, stepping so close our bodies brushed gently again. I trembled, feeling dizzy with lust. "Don't be embarrassed, my dear," she whispered silkily. "In fact, your powerful sexual energy will help you master dark magic far faster and easier. Trust me—I speak from extensive personal experience."
"I–If you say so…" I almost squeaked out.
Morgana glanced around the now-empty vault with a look of mild disdain, brushing a loose strand of her long dark hair elegantly over her shoulder. "It is long past time we leave this dreary goblin hole, my dear apprentice."
I blinked and nodded, still flustered from the intensity of everything that had just happened. My heart was pounding wildly. Morgana's nearness alone had left me embarrassingly wet and breathless. I cleared my throat awkwardly, forcing my mind back to the present.
"Alright. But—where exactly are we going?" I asked hesitantly. "Do you want to go back to my manor at Grimmauld Place? Can you help me take back Sirius' home from those bastards!?"
Morgana paused, frowning thoughtfully. Then she shook her head slowly, her emerald eyes serious as they met mine. "No, Amara. I don't think that would be wise right now," she explained firmly. Her lips pressed together into a grim line. "I have no doubt Merlin has already sensed my return to Britain. That meddlesome half-demon bastard will be hunting me sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, neither myself nor you, my lovely apprentice, are ready to face him yet."
I swallowed nervously, understanding the implication of her words. Fuck—if even Morgana, a legendary witch with millennia of experience, didn't feel ready to take on Merlin, then I certainly wasn't either. Just how powerful was he supposed to be?
Morgana reached out gently, cupping my cheek with surprising tenderness, forcing me to look into her eyes. My breath hitched softly at her gentle touch.
"You still have so much training ahead of you, Amara," she murmured softly, almost gently. "Training that you'll inevitably need if you're ever going to exact true vengeance upon those who've wronged you." Her eyes hardened slightly. "And training you'll absolutely require if you truly wish to uncover the truth behind why your beloved adopted father, Sirius Black, was murdered."
My chest tightened painfully at the mention of Sirius's name. I took a shaky breath, clenching my fists tightly. Morgana was right, I wasn't anywhere close to strong enough yet. I knew perfectly well I wouldn't stand a chance right now against powerful wizards like Dumbledore, let alone someone as legendary and dangerous as Merlin.
"You're right," I finally admitted softly, glancing away. "I'm nowhere near ready."
Morgana's eyes softened with sympathy and understanding. She gently lifted my chin again, forcing me to meet her gaze once more. "Do not despair, my sweet apprentice," Morgana purred seductively. "Under my guidance, you'll become more powerful than you ever dreamed possible. I promise."
Goddammit, this woman really knew exactly how to affect me. "Then... where should we go?" I asked breathlessly, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Morgana's full lips curled slowly into a mischievous, wicked smirk. Her emerald eyes glittered dangerously as she slowly stepped back, finally giving me space to breathe again. "My dear Amara," she said smoothly, amusement coloring her melodic voice. "We shall journey directly to the mortal world's very heart of darkness and chaos itself!"
I stared at her in confusion, waiting for her to clarify. She gave me a slow, deliberate smile, eyes gleaming with anticipation and dark amusement.
"We're traveling to Gotham City," Morgana declared dramatically, pausing for just a moment to let her words sink in. Then her piercing green eyes met mine thoughtfully. "However, I understand if you're hesitant to leave your home right now—especially with your enemies feeling so victorious over you. Perhaps I should give you a small taste of the powerful magics I intend to teach you?"
"Yes," I said. "Please."
Morgana suddenly reached out and took my hand firmly in hers. I gasped softly as she slowly lifted my hand to her lips, pressing a tender kiss gently to my fingertips.
Just as I was trying to calm my pounding heart, Morgana's teeth suddenly bit down hard on my index finger!
"Ahh!" I yelped sharply, jerking my hand slightly in surprise. Pain flared through my finger, sharp and stinging. Morgana's lips wrapped around my fingertip, gently sucking at the small wound she'd created, licking up the tiny drops of blood.
"What the fuck?" I gasped, staring at her in shock.
Morgana calmly continued to lap up my blood, her eyes locked onto mine. When she finally released my finger, she gave a slow, wicked smile.
"Tell me honestly, Amara," she purred softly, her voice smooth as velvet. "Do you hate the Potter blood flowing in your veins? Do you wish it gone forever?"
Her emerald gaze held mine intently, waiting patiently for my answer. My finger throbbed softly from her bite, but my heart ached far worse as her words struck home. Did I hate my Potter bloodline? The family who'd cast me aside as worthless garbage, the parents who'd never wanted me?
The answer was obvious and easy.
"Yes," I whispered fiercely, clenching my jaw tightly. "I hate it. I want nothing to do with them ever again. But—where exactly are you going with this?"
Morgana's smile widened slowly, her eyes glittering dangerously as she gently licked another stray drop of blood from my finger. "IN EXCHANGE FOR PERMANENTLY GIVING UP YOUR MAGICAL RIGHTS AND CLAIM TO THE POTTER BLOODLINE—AND ALL THE PRIVILEGES AND ENTITLEMENTS IT CONTAINS—I HEREBY CURSE EVERY SINGLE POTTER ALIVE WITH TOTAL IMPOTENCE!"
The moment she finished speaking, an intense wave of dizziness slammed into me. I stumbled, gasping sharply as black spots danced wildly across my vision. My chest tightened painfully, and my body swayed dangerously as I struggled to remain upright.
It felt as if something bright and light inside me was suddenly being violently ripped away—my connection to the Potter bloodline, perhaps. At the same moment, the darker, demonic magic within my succubus blood seemed to awaken fully. It surged and roared through me with fierce triumph, practically singing with ecstatic joy!
Impotence? I thought hazily, Morgana's strange curse echoing dimly in my dizzy mind.
Did she seriously just curse the entire Potter family line with infertility, or was she talking about something even more… embarrassing? A slow, wicked smile spread across my lips, despite the dizziness overwhelming me. Maybe both, I thought with dark amusement.
My knees buckled suddenly beneath me, and I began collapsing forward helplessly. But Morgana quickly stepped forward, catching me smoothly and gently in her soft, slender arms. Her breasts pressed comfortingly against my cheek, her silky dark hair brushing lightly over my flushed face.
"Sleep now, my sweet apprentice," Morgana whispered gently into my ear, cradling me protectively against her chest. "All shall be well. I promise you…"
– James Potter Sr –
James Potter closed the bedroom door behind them. He felt satisfied with how things had turned out today at Hogwarts. James Jr. was safe, and already over the unfortunate death of Sirius Black. It wasn't as if they'd been that close, anyway. James himself had moved on within minutes. Sirius had been useful enough in the past, but now the man was gone, and James was focused on the future.
His wife Lily, however, still appeared upset. She'd barely spoken to him since leaving the school, her expression a mixture of sorrow and frustration.
James moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they stood near their bed. "Hey, cheer up, love," he murmured, kissing the side of her neck gently. "Everything turned out fine."
Lily pulled away slightly, turning to look at him with sadness in her emerald-green eyes. "James, I still don't feel right about how you handled things with Heather. She's still our daughter, and we—"
James silenced her by placing a finger gently on her lips, giving a patient smile. "No, Lily. That thing is not our daughter—not anymore. Not after what Dumbledore warned us about. Let's not dwell on her."
He moved closer, his hands sliding down to Lily's hips. Her body, even after two decades of marriage, was still utterly perfect. Witches aged far slower than normal humans, and Lily Potter still looked barely twenty-five. Smooth, flawless skin, perfect curves, and full, pert breasts that fit perfectly in his hands.
James's eyes grew darker with desire as he leaned forward, brushing his lips softly against Lily's, coaxing her slowly into a deep, passionate kiss.
When he pulled away slightly, breathing a bit heavier, he smiled at her warmly. "Our son is growing up fast. He'll be finished with Hogwarts in just a couple more years, and then we'll have an empty home. We're both still young, Lily. What would you say to having another child?"
Lily hesitated, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. "James, I'm not sure. Would that even be fair? To just… replace Heather like she never existed? After everything—"
He cut her off again, capturing her lips with his own, this time more forcefully. He knew exactly how to silence her doubts. After twenty years of marriage, James knew Lily's body better than she knew herself. She melted into the kiss, her body relaxing into his arms as desire overtook her hesitation.
Slowly, he slid his hands up to her shoulders, gently sliding the robes down until they fell softly to the bedroom floor, leaving Lily completely naked before him.
James stepped back, appreciating the incredible view. Lily was fucking gorgeous. Her perfect breasts rose and fell gently with each breath, pink nipples already stiffening under his gaze. Her slim waist and curvy hips led down to a neat patch of fiery-red curls between her smooth thighs. James moved forward again, kissing hungrily along her exposed neck and collarbone, while one hand slid up to squeeze her firm breast roughly, fingers pinching and teasing her sensitive nipple.
His other hand moved down over the softness of her stomach, sliding lower until he gently traced his fingertips through the neatly trimmed red hairs and over her pussy lips. She was already hot and moistening beneath his touch.
Lily shivered, letting out a breathless moan.
James grinned against her neck, smug satisfaction filling him. "Come on, Lily," he whispered huskily, still gently teasing her moist slit, drawing more gasps from her pretty lips. "Having another child would be great for our family."
Lily's breathing quickened beneath his teasing fingers, her thighs trembling. "O-okay, James," she finally sighed softly, giving in to his touch and gentle persuasion. "You've convinced me."
James's grin widened triumphantly as Lily slowly stepped backward, sitting gracefully on the edge of their large bed. She leaned back slightly and slowly spread her creamy thighs, giving James a perfect, explicit view of her wet, pink pussy, glistening invitingly. Lily gazed up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy with desire. "Well? Aren't you going to join me?"
James quickly stripped off his own robes, eagerly stepping forward until he stood fully naked before his wife. Lily was the sexiest witch he'd ever known—certainly the hottest girl from their Hogwarts days. He still felt proud that he'd managed to make her his.
True, he sometimes strayed to sample other witches who offered themselves to him, but Lily didn't need to know about those occasional indiscretions.
What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
"Come here, James," Lily urged softly, smiling up at him. But then her eyes narrowed slightly, confusion filling her lovely face as she glanced down at his body. "James—is something wrong?"
James frowned, not understanding her sudden confusion. "What do you mean? Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect," he said.
But then he followed her gaze downward and stared in confusion at his own body. A strange chill suddenly raced down his spine. His cock, usually hard and aching whenever he saw Lily naked, remained completely limp. Not even the slightest stir of arousal stirred in his groin, despite his wife's stunning nude form spread out before him.
His brow furrowed deeply in confusion. "Huh," he muttered aloud, baffled. "What the fuck—why am I not getting hard right now?"
XXX
And that wraps up chapter 2 of my newest story! Morgana is a cool villain and I think she'll be a good teacher for Amara. Amara will have to quickly learn how to keep her cool, at the very least, and not get so easily seduced by a pretty face due to her new succubus nature.
Name: Amara Black / Formerly Heather Potter-Black
Age: 19
Race: Succubus-Witch
System Spells, Talents and Magic Powers:
[Basic Flames] You can summon a jet of basic flames at will. No incantation needed, only intent. Costs slightly more magic and is slightly less powerful if used without your [Soul-Bound Wand].
[Disciple of Dark Magic]! You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!
Perks:
[Daughter of a Succubus]. Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.
[Blessed by Fire]. Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.
[Soul-Bound Wand]. When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!
Drawbacks:
[Major Sin of Lust]. You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.
[Cursed Knowledge]. You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.
[Simmering Fury]. Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.
Inventory:
[Minor health potion!] A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.