The two pairs of brogue wingtips insisted on screaming, leather creaking, and wood groaning over the polished oak floor. Vincent, a child no older than three, wore a traditional green robe. Dressing like this was quite different from the rough, monotonous uniforms of the orphanage.
Perhaps this was a privilege of having been adopted?
His feet carried him toward the long, arched windows. His gaze caught the imposing stained glass above. Outside, the gothic balcony seemed to invite him out. But it was far too comfortable inside; he allowed himself a moment to watch whatever the night revealed to him.
Until a need stirred him to act.
He opened one of the windows and stepped forward to feel the cold of a single raindrop falling on him, soon followed by countless others.
The abrupt contrast with the warm, well-lit mansion made him almost regret it. The cold rain summoned a growing instinct to retreat, an instinct he resisted only because he knew he could return to comfort whenever he wished.
And when he did, there would be dry clothes waiting, a warm cup of milk tea, and perhaps a goodnight kiss from Rose as she lulled him to sleep.
Perhaps this was what it meant to have a home, he thought. After three years. To belong somewhere, to a family with the name Greengrass.
Vincent allowed himself to be drenched as his violet eyes sharpened, glowing while he observed beyond the dark. Black masses materialized into ravens, their eyes bearing the same faint violet, threaded through the black.
They were extensions of him.
They rose into the sky, each flying to its own destination, sharing their sights with Vincent.
The boy climbed atop one of the stone pillars of the balustrade and sat with his legs dangling freely.
It would have frightened any other child, but a fall of a few meters posed no challenge to a demon.
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Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor
The bird cleared the tall iron gate by a narrow margin, diving toward the long rectangular artificial pool. The flock of white peacocks awoke in panic, screeching their protest. The creature ignored them, soaring toward the towers and settling on a gargoyle near one of the paned windows.
It was still surprising how much the interior had changed: the warmer tones of Persian rugs, the more vibrant upholstered furniture, the double curtains in green and pale yellow. The grand piano gleamed, and the fireplace burned with vigor.
And something even more unusual: Narcissa Malfoy knelt on the carpet among scattered toys. Draco crawled away in a clumsy escape, and Elise seemed delighted by the chase.
Could anyone have imagined Narcissa so proactive in spending intimate, quality time with her children just months ago, when Lucius ruled the household?
"No. Impossible."
The messenger noticed how especially happy Elise looked. It felt strange not having the girl in the Greengrass house; her cheerful presence had become familiar.
He tapped the window with his beak three times, a discreet signal. Narcissa lifted her gaze in concern and moved gracefully to the window, opening it. She was greeted with an acknowledging croak as the bird raised its talon, a letter tied to it.
Elise called out, "Birbie!" She ran toward the bird but stopped just short of the open window.
Narcissa took the letter, and once the mission was complete, the creature circled the girl's head, croaking a few times as if saying farewell, then ascended back into the sky.
Elsewhere, at the Greengrass residence, Vincent, soaked through by the rain, smiled and whispered to himself, "It's good to see they're well."
The rain grew heavier, masking Lord Greengrass's arrival. He wore a long black cloak and carried an umbrella. He glanced at the balcony where Vincent sat, a worried frown passing quickly before he continued inside.
His name was Alastair Greengrass. Vincent did not feel the need to call him father, at least not yet.
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Diagon Alley and Yorkshire
Elsewhere, a second bird flew over rainy Diagon Alley. Despite the downpour, cheerful shouts echoed, vendors calling discounts, and a few wizards danced in the street.
Quite different from the fearful, distrustful alley of months ago, under the terror of Voldemort's Coming. Posters on the walls still featured the hero, James Potter. People walked in high spirits despite the rain. The creature croaked in disdain at their cheerful ignorance and continued its flight.
A third messenger reached Yorkshire, specifically an orphanage in a town that was relearning how to live.
No, they lived as if they did not remember who they had lost. Those who died were forgotten in all their tragedy, erased by the Obliviate spell.
Vincent had promised he would not forget the erased.
The bird reached the children's wing of Vincent's old orphanage. They had all gone to sleep. All except the Matron, stern as ever, rocking in her chair, half-awake.
The bird made its way toward a particular room: Vivian's, the painter. He saw portraits of himself everywhere: at least fifteen, some unfinished.
The messenger dropped a pouch of pounds onto her desk, along with a sealed letter.
He touched one of Vincent's favorite paintings, one of himself sleeping beneath an ancient oak. As he did, the painting vanished along with the bird.
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The Apothecary
A black bird perched silently inside the apothecary, watching Helena Voyfear attend a client he had sent her.
"I understand this is your wish, Mr. Arthur Goylier," she said, holding a crystal vial shaped like a heart. The potion inside glowed with a pearly sheen.
"One drop a day, and your love will become desperate for you," she whispered. The man took the vial, clearly fascinated.
"I accept." He wrote his name on a strip on the table. A perfect butterfly appeared on his arm. Something precious now belonged to another.
After dismissing the client, Helena turned away with disdain toward the love potion. She had once known true love, and it had ended poorly. If genuine love could fail so tragically, what hope did false, magically forced love have?
Finally, she raised her eyes to the bird and bowed.
"Welcome, my lord."
The messenger nodded, approving her work, then took flight to find another client: someone desperate, someone near death, someone who loved too fiercely, someone who needed a bit of luck. And someone is willing to owe a small favor to get the object of their desire.
Meanwhile, Jonathan, Helena's husband, sat huddled with foul-smelling beggars under a makeshift rain tarp, all too drunk to stay conscious.
Birds brought them food stolen from a nearby restaurant, wrapped in thermal paper so it would still be warm when they woke.
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Godric's Hollow
In Godric's Hollow, a bird flying overhead caught the attention of a red-haired woman. When she noticed it, the creature drew closer, bringing a wave of nostalgic sorrow. As if it had known her in another time that felt like an eternity ago.
Lily Potter felt comforted by its croaks; she understood more than most what they meant, even if not what the one commanding the ravens intended.
Thinking of the day James was killed, she held baby Harry close against her black mourning clothes and began to tell him a story.
"Harry, I want to tell you a story. There is a raven who watches wicked men and reveals their secrets."
It was a tale recently made popular. It felt fitting that night.
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Back to Greengass Manor.
Time passed, and the rain grew heavier. Beyond the dripping on the wooden floor, he heard footsteps. Perhaps Alastair had alerted her. But he didn't mind; the footsteps were familiar.
Rose, the person with whom he shared a certain bond, who on paper would become his adoptive mother, but who also had a soul pact with him.
She didn't hesitate to step into the rain. She walked to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind. Before he could say anything, he heard her soft voice.
"It's all right now." The unhurried words marked his mind. "You can rest now."
'Can I rest?' He remembered faint memories from another life, from everything he had endured in this one, the dangers they survived, the victory they achieved. His hand drifted unconsciously to the grimoire. The demands to grow stronger and stronger, to expand contracts, to gather more demonic essence...
Her voice seemed to unearth something inside him: the truth of who he was. A demon obsessed with power. A young human who had lived a difficult life before reincarnating. A small boy who wasn't meant to solve every problem in the world, only to grow.
Slowly, his emotions settled. He allowed himself to feel the grief he had repressed: grief for James's fall, grief for the erased people, the wrongs he had done, and the things he believed were good.
Tears mixed with the rain for a moment. He relaxed in her embrace.
"Yes, it's all right now. Let's rest," he said in his small three-year-old voice. She carried him inside, helped him bathe, gave him a warm cup of milk, and laid him down with his head on her lap. He surrendered to the moment without a single word.
All the ravens across the world, hundreds of thousands of them, those gathering demonic essence, collecting secrets, exposing lives, dissolved into shadow and vanished that night.
"Sleep, child," Rose whispered.
And he did, surrendering to something familiar: laziness, dreams.
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Greengrass Manor -1989
A boy with a healthy build, neither too tall nor too short for eleven. Fine features, slightly sharp. A lazy look in his eyes, curly hair, white hair, currently being combed by nine-year-old Daphne Greengrass, the little sister he had grown to love as if by blood.
His eleventh birthday was approaching. She combed his hair as a small victory he allowed her; the girl had endless energy and seemed fascinated by his hair, always begging to touch it. Sometimes, he let her. It was a bit irritating.
"What do you want for your birthday?" she asked in her quick, high voice.
He was distracted and took a few seconds to understand. "What?"
She lifted the wooden comb from his hair and smiled.
"Your birthday is coming." Her smile became even more dreamy. "You know what that means, right?"
Not understanding what she was aiming at, he asked, "What about it, Daphi?"
"You're going to Hogwarts," she said, excited.
He finally opened his eyes and turned to the side with little interest. "Yeah, Hogwarts sounds fun."
He yawned broadly, almost bored.
She laughed.
"You don't sound like you want to go."
"I do. I'll go."
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A/N: I've been spending some time figuring out how the upcoming duel against the Church is going to work. They obviously will not have magic, but I still want their side to feel believable. After all, how could the Church ever push witches into hiding?
I decided to use artifacts of faith and faith itself as their source of power. I'm building the enemies right now, basically shaping an entire faction from scratch.
The Greengrass family also funds the orphanage. In this chapter, Vicente only brought enough money to buy a painting of Vivian, but he didn't abandon the orphanage, which he still considers his place.
Honestly, if I changed a few names, this would not even count as fanfiction anymore. And keeping a story going for almost three years, full of original elements, is a lot of work. I enjoy writing Vincent's journey, but sometimes I wonder if I should let it go. There are so many other story ideas I want to explore.
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For example, I.P. Imperfect Project. A dystopian future where society lives in corporate districts with zero crime, because every criminal is turned into an android with a control chip in their brain. They serve the public as security units, technicians, couriers, and analysts.
Wesk, a 17-year-old boy, is heading to school with his friend on hoverboards. During their stunts, they get caught in a clash between police and terrorists. While running, the terrorists drop a mysterious box. Wesk and his friend pick it up.
If it is inside, it forces the government to make a decision. Wesk and Peter are declared terrorists and sentenced to cyborgization. After the surgery, something unexpected happens: a miracle. The new cyborg has 95 percent integration. Project Perfect.
My story begins with an accident during a cyborg tournament, when Wesk hits his head. The impact damages his chips and triggers the slow return of his memory and humanity..
...
This is just a glimpse of another story I am working on.
But for now, here is another chapter of Slytherin Devil. Thank you, guys