Story Title: The Black Witch
Harry Potter / DC Crossover /
Chapter 1:
– Heather –
My name is Heather Black, and I have not had an easy life. But this might in fact be the worst day of my life so far…
Tears blurred my vision, and my heart beat so hard against my ribs that it felt like it'd burst out. This couldn't be happening…
Albus Dumbledore stared at me calmly, hands clasped neatly in front of his colorful robes, his voice steady and devoid of real emotion. "I'm sorry, Miss Potter, but Sirius Black has been slain by Bellatrix Lestrange. It's a true tragedy." His tone was so goddamn casual, as if he'd just told me tomorrow would be rainy.
He spoke about my father—my father, for fuck's sake—as if he were some distant acquaintance, not someone who'd just died violently at the hands of a psychopath.
I felt something snap inside me. Rage burned through my veins, pushing aside the grief and confusion, clawing up my throat in a scream that echoed off the stone walls. "My name is NOT Miss Potter!" I shouted, my voice cracking from the pain and fury. "My name is Heather Black! Not Heather fucking POTTER! And what the hell do you mean my father is dead?!"
Before Dumbledore even opened his mouth, James Potter stepped forward, pointing a finger straight at my chest. His face was twisted into a sneer I recognized too damn well. "Hey! Don't you talk to Dumbledore like that, you stupid girl! You should be grateful a busy man like him took time out of his day to come here personally. And I don't even know why you're crying. Sirius was MY best friend, not yours!" The arrogance in James's voice made me want to punch him in his arrogant, smug face.
"I'm upset because he was my fucking adoptive father, you arrogant piece of shit!" I spat at him, stepping forward until our faces were inches apart. "Not that you'd know anything about that after you abandoned me!"
"Heather, please," Lily Potter spoke softly from behind James, stepping closer with that gentle voice I'd secretly resented for as long as I could remember. "Let's not fight like this right now. We're all grieving—"
I cut my eyes toward her, hating how perfectly calm she appeared even now. Lily Potter, my birth mother. Who was annoyingly beautiful, with that flawless heart-shaped face, flowing red hair cascading down her shoulders, and a perfect figure despite pushing toward her late thirties. Damn wizarding genetics meant she still looked barely twenty-five.
And me? Of course, I ended up with genetics like Aunt Petunia's. Fucking random DNA lottery. I had inherited Petunia's stupid pug-shaped face, instead of Lily's perfect features. Why couldn't I look like Lily?
"You don't know a damn thing about grieving," I said harshly, trying—and failing—to blink away fresh tears. My voice shook, the anger melting into aching sorrow. "He was the only man in my life who ever gave a shit about me. Even with all the problems Azkaban left him with, at least he tried! More than I can say for either of you…"
Unlike my twin brother, James Potter Jr., I'd been born a squib. A fucking squib. I never got my letter to Hogwarts, never felt the thrill of holding a wand or casting a spell.
Hell, I didn't even know magic existed for most of my life.
All because Lily and James Potter had dumped me like unwanted garbage when they realized their precious daughter wasn't magical enough for their perfect wizarding family. While my brother grew up famous, spoiled, and adored—the miraculous Boy Who Lived—I was left alone to rot away in some shitty, overcrowded orphanage, clueless about who or what I really was.
I was Heather Smith then, just another unwanted, unloved orphan. No identity, no parents, no future. I spent eighteen years with kids nobody wanted, in a building full of peeling paint, lumpy mattresses, and food that tasted worse than cardboard. Always overlooked, always passed up for adoption.
Who the hell would want a girl like me? The universe had clearly dealt me a bad hand, and I didn't even know why. Then, a year ago, everything changed.
It happened on a gloomy afternoon when a ragged, haunted-looking man showed up at the orphanage door. I'd seen his face before, splashed all over the news as an escaped convict.
Sirius Black, the infamous murderer. He stood there, hair wild and eyes haunted, looking straight at me as if he knew exactly who I was.
Of course I was fucking terrified at first. Who wouldn't be? Some guy the media had labeled a dangerous psychopath suddenly shows up claiming he knows you? But instead of killing me, he sat me down and told me an impossible, insane story about my past.
According to him, I wasn't Heather Smith. I was Heather Potter, twin sister of James Potter Jr.
He explained everything about the wizarding world and the Potter family's decision to abandon me. Although he never knew WHY they did that. It's not like they ever tried to get him out of prison for 18 years either when they should have known it wasn't him that betrayed them and almost got them killed when the Dark Lord went after my twin brother.
I was eighteen, aging out of foster care with absolutely no future waiting for me. No home, no money. I was probably gonna end up on the streets, because my grades weren't very good either. I always had trouble in school, trouble focusing on things in general really.
And yet, Sirius wanted me.
Sirius brought me into his run-down but cozy house and treated me like a real human being, like family. He even attempted to perform a blood adoption ritual, thinking it might somehow turn me from a squib to a real witch. It didn't work, obviously, because nothing good ever did for me.
Well, almost nothing. The spell did manage to change my appearance slightly. My gross messy, dull-brown hair that I'd inherited from the father that abandoned me turned smooth, shiny black, like Sirius' hair. A tiny silver lining in a lifetime of shitty luck.
But the biggest miracle of all was Sirius himself. Yeah, he had his demons. Azkaban had fucked him up badly. He had nightmares, anger problems, and a lingering paranoia that made living with him unpredictable at times. Plus, he was still technically a wanted criminal—both in the Muggle world and the magical one—which meant our lives were hidden, secretive, constantly on edge. But he was genuinely kind to me. He never once cared about my lack of magic.
In fact, he'd even named me his official heiress in the magical world! I was Heiress Black, despite being a squib!
For the first time in my fucked-up life, someone actually gave a shit about me. I finally had something like a father, someone who worried if I was hungry or scared or lonely. Someone who loved me.
And now, less than a year after I'd finally found family—real family—that man was gone.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, breaking the bitter silence that hung thick in the air. "We will, of course, need to discuss what happens now," he said calmly, as though the entire exchange had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
I whirled around to glare at him, my hands shaking violently with anger and grief. "What happens now is you can all get the fuck out of my house and never talk to me again."
I jabbed my finger toward James and Lily, who both looked stunned and indignant. "You two abandoned me when I was just a baby. You're not my parents—you never were. I don't want you here. Get out."
Then I turned sharply to Dumbledore, eyes narrowed with suspicion and mistrust. "And you," I spat at the old wizard, "I hardly even know you. I've only met you a couple of times, and I've hated every fucking second of it. You're not welcome here either. Just leave me alone."
Dumbledore's clear blue eyes twinkled softly, which only pissed me off even more. How could he be so fucking calm at a time like this?
"I'm afraid that's not what I was referring to," he said mildly, a small, irritating smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Potter—"
"My name," I hissed through clenched teeth, "is Miss Black."
He carried on smoothly, as though I hadn't spoken at all. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Potter, squibs are no longer permitted to own magical properties within the wizarding world."
My mouth dropped open in shock, and a sharp pain twisted through my chest. "That's complete bullshit," I snapped, my voice shaking slightly. "That law doesn't exist. Sirius would have told me! He wouldn't have named me his heiress if that were true."
Dumbledore calmly adjusted his glasses, entirely unaffected by my anger. "It is a relatively recent law, I'm afraid. It passed merely a couple of weeks ago."
My mind raced frantically, memories surfacing sharply through my rage. Sirius had warned me about Dumbledore's influence. He'd told me, over late-night conversations in hushed, paranoid whispers, how this kindly-looking old man was a high-ranking member of the wizarding government—Wizengamot or whatever it was called. He'd said Dumbledore's reach went deep, that he controlled far more than anyone knew.
Suddenly, clarity hit me like a lightning bolt.
I pointed accusingly at him, my whole arm trembling. "You're the one who freaking passed that law, weren't you?" My voice cracked as realization and dread filled me. "Was this all some twisted fucking ploy? Did you have Sirius killed just so you could get your filthy hands on his properties? He always warned me about you! He said he never trusted you, that you never even tried to get him out of Azkaban even though you had the power!"
James Potter stormed forward before Dumbledore could respond, his face purple with rage. "How dare you make up such disgusting lies, you pathetic little squib! This is none of your business anyway. Squibs can't own wizard property, so this house and everything in it rightfully belongs to my son, James Jr.!"
A bitter, hateful laugh bubbled from my throat before I could stop it. "That's fucking bullshit! I've never even met the spoiled little prick!"
James Potter's eyes flashed dangerously, and his voice rose to a furious roar, veins bulging on his forehead. "Don't you dare insult my son, you ungrateful monster!"
Suddenly, before I could even process it, James had his wand drawn, pointed straight at my chest, his expression twisted with pure hatred and disgust.
My heart pounded wildly, breath catching in my throat as I stared down the tip of his wand. I felt frozen in place, shock and fear colliding inside me.
I never could understand why my birth parents seemed to hate me so fucking much. They'd been livid months ago when they discovered Sirius had tracked me down at the shitty orphanage they'd dumped me in as a baby. You'd think after eighteen years they'd at least feel some guilt for leaving their own daughter abandoned, unwanted, and utterly alone, but no.
They were just pissed off I'd come back into their perfect wizarding lives, tainting their pristine fucking reputation by existing as a squib.
James had even stormed into Sirius's shabby little house not long after I'd moved in, screaming at him—actually fucking screaming—that I was nothing but a filthy stain on their family name. He'd demanded Sirius throw me back out onto the streets like garbage. Lily had been there too, silent behind James, eyes downcast. I'd seen a flicker of shame in her eyes then, something that almost made me believe she felt bad. But it wasn't enough—never enough for her to speak up and defend me from James's hateful tirade. Sirius hadn't even blinked at James's threats. He'd calmly stood his ground, looking James dead in the eye and growling that I was his daughter now, and no one—not even my so-called biological parents—would ever take me away from him again.
Now Sirius was dead, murdered by some psycho bitch, and there was no one left to stand up for me.
James's wand tip glowed dangerously red, pointed directly at my chest. My heart slammed violently against my ribs, fear burning like acid in my throat. I could feel the familiar weight of my pocket knife pressing against my thigh through the fabric of my jeans. Sirius had insisted I carry it everywhere for protection, a small comfort in the fucked-up magical world that hated people like me. But as my fingers twitched, preparing to reach for it, I knew I'd never be fast enough. James was a trained wizard, a war hero and Auror captain.
I was just a helpless squib with nothing but a cheap knife and a lifetime of shitty luck.
My muscles tensed, but I forced myself to remain standing tall. I wouldn't give James Potter the satisfaction of seeing me cry or beg. I straightened my shoulders, glaring defiantly at him and Lily, hating every single goddamn thing they stood for.
Lily at least looked uneasy, her eyes wide and troubled, placing a delicate hand cautiously on James's arm. "James," she murmured softly, "please lower your wand. You don't need to do this."
He shook her off roughly, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with pure, unchecked hatred. "No," he growled back sharply, voice ice-cold and merciless. "She's nothing but a squib. A pathetic waste of space. She doesn't deserve this house. It belongs to our son!"
I summoned every ounce of strength left inside me, even though I felt shattered into a thousand pieces. "Get the fuck out of my house," I said slowly, clearly, my voice trembling with barely-contained fury. "Now."
James sneered at me, eyes darkening with disgust. "No, Heather," he snarled viciously. "You get the fuck out of MY son's house!"
He flicked his wand aggressively, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Stupefy!"
A bright burst of fiery red light exploded from the tip of his wand, shooting toward me faster than I could even blink. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Lily's horrified face, finally looking truly afraid, and James's eyes—cold and unfeeling—as if he was merely swatting an irritating fly rather than cursing his own blood daughter into oblivion.
…
I woke up freezing cold and soaking wet, my head throbbing so hard I felt like I'd been slammed with a sledgehammer. The stench of rot and mildew hit me immediately, a disgusting blend of garbage, piss, and stagnant rainwater. My eyes fluttered open slowly, squinting against the flickering streetlight overhead.
What the hell?
I was lying sprawled across a pile of garbage bags, soggy cardboard boxes, and god knows what else, in the middle of some filthy, deserted alleyway. My clothes were drenched, sticking to my skin in a sickeningly clammy way. The cold seeped into my bones, making my whole body shiver violently.
Did they actually toss me out like fucking trash in some random London alley? Those bastards.
My pulse quickened, rage burning away the fog of confusion still lingering in my head. I forced myself upright, garbage sliding noisily off my back as I stumbled to my feet. Fury pounded through my veins as I clenched my fists tightly, fingernails biting painfully into my palms.
Oh, I'm gonna fucking kill them! I'm gonna march right back to Grimmauld Place and stab those house-stealing fuckers in their smug faces.
But when I took one furious step forward, my legs froze beneath me. My stomach twisted painfully, dread washing through my chest like icy water. My heart slammed frantically against my ribs as the realization hit me full-force.
I—I can't remember how to get home!
My breath caught sharply in my throat, panic swelling up inside me so quickly that my vision blurred for a moment.
Grimmauld Place.
I knew that name, knew it was the place Sirius and I had lived, but its location, directions, even the neighborhood name…everything had been ripped out of my head.
Did they mess with my fucking mind?
"They fucked with my head," I hissed aloud to no one, my voice shaking with raw desperation. "Those motherfuckers actually fucked with my memories!"
A surge of helpless fury exploded through me, and I spun around, violently kicking a nearby garbage can. It toppled over with a loud crash, trash scattering across the filthy alleyway.
"Well now, isn't this all quite unfortunate?"
My breath caught sharply, and I jerked around wildly. The voice I'd just heard was unsettlingly smooth and androgynous, echoing through my skull like an alien whisper.
"What the fuck?" I muttered aloud, head spinning frantically as I scanned the alley. There was no one there. "Who the hell said that?"
The voice chuckled, a low, amused sound that sent a chill crawling down my spine.
"So, this is truly the worst day of your life, Heather? That's rough. Too bad you're not from a certain other universe—otherwise, you'd have just triggered some nice little superpowers right now."
"Great, just fucking great," I growled bitterly, my whole body trembling. "I'm losing my goddamn mind now too? Is this more fucked-up wizard magic screwing with me?"
The voice didn't respond right away, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope that it was just stress-induced hallucinations. Then, it spoke again, clearer and more deliberate this time.
"Thankfully for you, I've got something far more interesting in store. Your game was rigged from the very start. How about we change that, hmm?"
"What game? What the fuck are you talking about?" My voice rose sharply in frustration and fear, echoing off the wet, grimy walls of the alleyway.
Before I could get another word out, blinding pain suddenly exploded inside my head. I doubled over, clutching my skull and gasping raggedly for air. My vision blurred and flashed wildly with neon colors as agony radiated outward, spreading through my limbs.
"W-What are you doing—stop!" I begged, my voice ragged and desperate, echoing off the empty alleyway.
Witch System uploading directly to host's mind, initiating soul binding as well.
Those strange, robotic words echoed ominously inside my skull, and then the world around me shattered completely, plunging me headfirst into darkness.
I floated aimlessly in an endless sea of pure darkness. I felt weightless, my body suspended like some discarded doll drifting in a pitch-black ocean. I tried to remember what the fuck just happened. Was I dreaming? Or maybe hallucinating?
One moment I'd been freezing cold, standing in a disgusting, piss-filled alleyway, and now I was...here.
Wherever 'here' was.
I blinked rapidly, twisting around awkwardly as I searched for anything recognizable. But there was nothing, just blackness stretching out endlessly in every direction, suffocating and absolute.
What the hell is this?
Suddenly, my eyes caught something glowing softly in front of my face. A glowing screen floated lazily in the void, hovering a few inches away. Startled, I jerked back instinctively, but the screen followed, fixed firmly in place no matter how I moved my head.
Would you like to roll for perks and drawbacks?
I stared at the words glowing gently in front of my eyes, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. I had no clue what the fuck this was supposed to mean. A "system"? What the hell did that even mean? Was this more weird wizard shit, or was I really just losing my goddamn mind?
Still, it didn't seem like I had much of a choice here. I hesitated for just a moment before awkwardly answering aloud into the emptiness, "Um, yes?"
My voice echoed strangely around me, distorted and distant as though coming from somewhere far away. The floating text blinked brightly in acknowledgment.
First roll initiating…
A sudden burst of light exploded in front of my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I threw up my arms in shock, flinching backward, but nothing hit me. When the flash faded away, new words now hovered in front of me, pulsing softly in vibrant blue letters.
Congratulations! You have rolled: [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!
Wait?
Wand? I could use a wand? I HAD MAGIC NOW!? Was this REAL!?
Drawback has been rolled: [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.
I snorted quietly to myself. Hell, that wasn't even a drawback as far as I was concerned. Forgiving those fucking bastards who ruined my life wasn't exactly high on my to-do list. James Potter, Lily, Dumbledore, the whole damn wizarding world that tossed me aside, they deserved every ounce of rage and hatred I had to give.
I refocused back onto the glowing screen, biting my lip uncertainly as I considered what to do next. This had to be the strangest dream or vision or whatever-the-hell-it-was I'd ever experienced, but at least it distracted me from my fucked-up situation. Maybe if I rolled again, something even better would come up? Or at least distract me a bit longer from the cold, harsh reality I'd soon wake up in.
Clearing my throat awkwardly, I spoke into the empty void again. "Um…roll again?"
…
Congratulations! You have rolled the perk: [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.
"Holy shit," I muttered breathlessly, staring at the glowing words floating gently in the empty blackness around me. If this really wasn't some messed-up dream or twisted hallucination, then it meant something truly incredible. For the first time in my shitty, miserable life, I might actually have magic. Real magic.
I'd spent nearly two decades feeling utterly worthless and broken, but now? Now I might actually have a chance to fight back.
Before I could revel too deeply in my newfound power, another line of text flashed up on the screen, glowing ominously red:
Drawback has been rolled: [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.
"Wait, what the fuck does that mean?" I asked aloud, my voice echoing nervously into the empty void.
Without warning, a blinding surge of pain exploded through my head, like thousands of knives stabbing directly into my brain all at once. My eyes widened in shock, my mouth falling open in a silent scream as images, feelings, entire memories flooded through my mind in a relentless torrent.
It felt like drowning, the sheer weight of these new memories crushing me from the inside out.
Harry Potter? I was in the world of Harry Potter? Was I the female version of Harry Potter?
My life was nothing more than fiction in another universe? I wasn't even real…? I was already dead. I died in that plane crash—
"No," I gasped out sharply, desperately shaking my head as panic rose like bile in my throat. "Fuck no. I'm real. My life is real, dammit! I'm living it right now!" Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, burning with frustration. How dare this fucked-up "system" try to strip away my reality?
I shoved it all aside, locking it away to deal with later. I could sort out all those memories later. Was that mentally healthy, probably not, but I wasn't exactly the most stable individual anyways.
At least now I knew exactly what the hell this weird-ass "system" was. It was something straight out of a videogame or some shitty web novel, a bizarre cosmic force granting me powers and messing with my head for its own fucked-up amusement. Well, fine. If the universe wanted to screw me over yet again, I'd take whatever power I could squeeze from it.
I fixed my gaze defiantly on the glowing screen again, squaring my shoulders and setting my jaw in grim determination. "Roll again," I demanded.
Congratulations, you have rolled: [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.
My eyes widened in disbelief, heart pounding with stunned excitement and uncertainty.
Wait, what the actual fuck?
Before I could even process what the hell was going on, my skin suddenly felt warm—almost burning—as something shifted and twisted underneath it. An electric tingling danced across my face, spreading quickly down my neck, across my chest, and racing through my body.
"Oh my god," I whispered breathlessly. It wasn't painful exactly, but it was definitely intense. Like thousands of tiny sparks lighting beneath my skin.
Was I actually changing right now?
I'd spent my whole fucking life as the ugly duckling nobody wanted, wishing desperately I could look even remotely like Lily Potter, but now the universe had apparently decided to swing wildly in the opposite direction and make me supernaturally hot?
Was this real?
My fingers reached up instinctively, desperately wishing I had a mirror. I couldn't exactly see my reflection floating here in this empty black void, but I could feel it. My fingertips traced along my jawline, feeling the previously awkward, slightly pudgy shape suddenly becoming defined, graceful, and delicate. My cheekbones rose higher, more prominent, my lips becoming softer, fuller, perfectly shaped.
"No fucking way," I gasped, utterly astonished.
I glanced down frantically, struggling to catch a glimpse at myself through the thin, dirty fabric of my now ill-fitting shirt. My heart slammed erratically as I realized my breasts were actually growing, pushing outward gently yet noticeably, rounder and fuller than ever before. My stomach contracted subtly, flattening and tightening as my waist cinched inward dramatically, forming curves I never imagined my scrawny, pathetic body could ever achieve. A gentle warmth flushed through my thighs and hips, filling them out until they flared seductively, creating a perfect supernatural hourglass figure I'd only ever dreamed of.
I swallowed thickly, shaking my head in disbelief. Was this what it felt like to win the genetic lottery? Before I could revel too deeply in my newfound beauty and magical power, however, another flash of text suddenly appeared before me:
You have rolled the drawback: [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.
I blinked in disbelief, a blush flooding my newly flawless cheeks. "Oh, fuck," I muttered, grimacing in embarrassment and frustration.
Of course, the universe had to throw a wrench into my victory. My heartbeat quickened, blood pulsing hot beneath my skin as I realized exactly how much this drawback was going to seriously fuck with me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the new and unfamiliar heat pooling low in my belly. Even now, the slightest shift of my thighs rubbing together sent jolts of distracting pleasure up my spine, making me bite my lip involuntarily.
Goddammit, was this really going to happen all the fucking time? How the hell was I supposed to deal with being constantly horny on top of everything else that had just gone spectacularly wrong with my life?
"I'm done with rolling," I hissed loudly, embarrassment and anger warring fiercely inside me. My voice echoed strangely through the endless dark void, bouncing back mockingly. "Now what the hell is happening?!" I shouted into the empty abyss.
The voice from before suddenly appeared again, rippling through the endless darkness around me. "Those were some pretty fantastic rolls you got there, Heather," it teased gently, voice echoing inside my head. "But are you really sure you want to stop now?"
I had a sinking suspicion that none of this was random. Those "rolls" had come a little too neatly packaged, too perfectly tailored to my fucked-up life.
"Yeah," I growled bitterly, voice tight with tension. "I'm pretty damn sure. Somehow, I don't think those perks and drawbacks were ever random in the first place, were they?"
The voice chuckled softly again, sounding genuinely entertained by my suspicion. "Very perceptive of you. And very correct." It paused dramatically, as if savoring my confusion and frustration. "Tell me, Heather, how does your head feel right now?" it suddenly asked, voice deceptively casual.
I frowned uncertainly, lifting my fingers instinctively to touch my temples. Oddly enough, I felt pretty clearheaded at that moment, despite the earlier agony of the memories flooding my mind. My headache was gone, replaced with strange clarity.
"Fine, actually," I said cautiously, still mistrustful. "Why? Is there something wrong with it?"
The voice chuckled darkly once more, repeating my words mockingly, voice dripping with dry humor. "'Is there something wrong with it?' Oh, Heather, the real question here isn't what's wrong with your head. The real question is—what wasn't wrong with it?"
"The fuck do you mean by that?" I demanded nervously.
"You see, dear Heather, you've had multiple mental and magical blocks placed on you for nearly your entire life. Powerful enchantments designed specifically to make sure you'd fail at anything you ever attempted. It's why you struggled so badly in school, why you couldn't focus properly or remember things clearly. And most importantly…" It paused again. "It's why you were a squib."
"Wait—wait, are you seriously saying I was never actually a fucking squib?" I hissed in shock, voice trembling uncontrollably. "I was always magical?"
"You got it," the voice confirmed softly, almost sympathetically. "Somebody really has it in for you. Three guesses as to who that might be."
A harsh, bitter laugh burst free from my throat. "I don't fucking need three guesses," I snarled coldly, fury boiling like molten lava through every fiber of my being.
"Oh, that's right," the voice said dryly, sounding amused again. "I did gift you with all those memories from your past life. And you've certainly read enough Harry Potter fanfiction to put the pieces together already, haven't you?"
"Motherfucking Dumbledore," I spat hatefully into the darkness, teeth grinding painfully together. "Of course, it was fucking him. Fucking typical! Binding a goddamn baby to sabotage their potential is just so generic. And he fucking did it to me—my entire life was one massive, pathetic lie." I could feel tears burning at the corners of my eyes, but my simmering fury kept them firmly at bay. I would not cry for this. I refused. "Wait—" A horrible thought suddenly struck me, voice catching as dread flooded my chest. My heart thumped painfully hard as I nervously asked out loud, "Was I even ugly then? Was my appearance a lie too?"
"Yep," the voice casually answered, sounding almost bored by now, as if this revelation was nothing special at all. "That succubus blood trait you rolled is actually real here. It exists in this world. In fact, you would've awakened your beauty and power much, much sooner—years ago even—but Dumbledore's twisted little spell caused it to backfire spectacularly, turning you into a pale shadow of what you were meant to be. In short, you became even uglier because he fucked around with your magic."
The voice went silent, letting me process this fresh betrayal, letting me stew helplessly in my rage and grief. Finally, I took a deep, shaking breath, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I actually felt. "So...what the hell am I supposed to do now?"
"Now? Now, you use that shiny new system of yours to become the greatest witch who's ever walked this miserable earth—and perhaps far beyond." It paused meaningfully for a moment. "Oh, and here's one last hint for you. Don't just settle for revenge, Heather. Take back everything they stole from you—and then take even more."
Before I could respond, my entire body jolted violently, like I'd just been dropped from a great height. I snapped my eyes open with a startled gasp, frantically looking around, heart racing. I was back in the filthy, piss-stinking alleyway. Alone. Shivering cold.
And absolutely fucking furious. And a bit horny to my annoyance…
Name: Heather Potter-Black
Age: 19
Race: Succubus-Witch
System Spells 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].
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: empty
…
"Hey there, sexy lady, are you okay?" A low, slurred voice echoed from the other end of the dark alleyway, followed by a disgusting chuckle. "Hehe, if you're not, we know a way we can cheer you right up."
I spun around, my eyes narrowing sharply at the source of that vile greeting. Two men stood at the mouth of the alley. Both were visibly drunk, swaying on their feet as they stumbled slowly toward me. The closer they got, the stronger the stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies wafted over.
Their clothes were dirty and ragged, mismatched in that hopelessly run-down way that screamed they'd fallen off life's edge long ago. One wore a torn denim jacket, stained with something dark and greasy, while the other sported a grimy flannel shirt buttoned only halfway up. The way they both stared was anything but kind.
Those eyes raked over me with nauseating slowness—traveling deliberately from my now longer legs, up my wider hips, lingering hungrily on my newly expanded breasts, and finally settling greedily onto my face.
Even with my [Major Sin of Lust] I felt nothing but disgust. At least my Sin allowed me to have standards…
"Go the fuck away," I hissed sharply, voice full of icy venom. "I'm not interested."
Instead of backing off, the first one just grinned wider, showing me teeth stained yellow from booze and neglect. He stumbled closer, eyes glazed but fixed firmly upon my chest. "Hehe, no can do, girly," he slurred, elbowing his companion suggestively. "You see, my friend John's here in a bit of a dry spell. And you're just so fucking pretty. Maybe you should help him out."
My lips curled into a sneer. I was already balancing on a knife's edge emotionally, and these bastards just had to push me further.
Before I could react, the second guy—the one named John—took another step closer, pulling something metallic from his pocket with a swift, practiced motion. It was a switchblade.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," John growled softly, voice heavy with false reassurance and hunger as he flicked the blade open with an audible click. "We promise we'll be gentle. And if you go with it, we won't hurt you two badly!"
Something inside me snapped completely at that exact moment.
Fury and disgust rose sharply, burning hot and fierce within my chest, fueled by every fucked-up injustice I'd suffered in the past few hours—and the entirety of my fucked-up life before that. James and Lily Potter, Dumbledore, the wizarding world itself, and now these two scumbags—All of it surged together into one molten ball of uncontrollable, searing rage.
Instinctively, without thinking, I lifted my right hand, and held my palm outward toward the approaching threat."Burn," I whispered fiercely, pouring every ounce of anger, hatred, and fear into that single word.
Instantly, scorching orange flames erupted from my outstretched palm—washing over both men. The two men collapsed to the dirty, wet pavement, thrashing wildly as fire licked hungrily over their clothing, igniting booze-soaked fabric and melting flesh with horrifying ease. They begged me to stop, to have mercy.
But I didn't stop.
A dark thrill surged through me. I continued to pour flames onto their bodies, even as their panicked screams twisted into high-pitched, broken sobs of agony. Their limbs twitched, fingers desperately clawing at themselves in a futile attempt to smother the flames. Their eyes bulged in their sockets, mouths gaping open in wordless shrieks of pain.
And then… silence.
Only the quiet crackling of flames and my harsh, ragged breathing filled the alleyway as I lowered my trembling hand.
I stood frozen, staring numbly down at the smoldering remains of two men I'd just killed—burned alive—without hesitation or remorse. The acrid stench of cooked flesh filled my nostrils, but instead of gagging, I felt only a strange detachment.
Empty. Hollow.
Slowly, the reality of what I'd done sank in, seeping coldly through my veins. I'd just taken two human lives, yet my heart remained calm. No grief, no horror, no guilt.
Was this how it felt… to be a demoness?
I flexed my fingers slowly, staring down at the now-perfect skin of my palm that had unleashed that deadly torrent of flames. A strange certainty settled within me, chilling yet undeniable.
I wasn't truly human anymore was I? And this all wasn't some crazy dream after all…
Congratulations! You have made your first kill and have been rewarded 1 magical roll!
Congratulations! You have rolled a [Minor health potion!] A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.
Oh? I get more rolls for… killing people? Or is it just doing things in general? I suppose I'll have to test my System a lot more.
After I find a place to sleep tonight. And that will require money, unless I go to a shelter. I kind of regret completely incinerating those men now, because at least I should have tried to save their wallets or something…
– James Potter –
James Potter strode quickly through the stone corridors of Hogwarts, his jaw clenched tight and his hands balled into fists. Every footstep echoed loudly against the cold walls, ringing sharply through the empty hallway.
Beside him, Lily hurried to keep pace, her emerald eyes wide with concern as she tried to reason with her husband. "James, please," Lily pleaded softly, reaching out to gently grasp his sleeve. "What you did to Heather…it was too much. It was cruel and unnecessary. There had to be a better way, a peaceful way—"
James stopped abruptly, whirling around to face her with eyes blazing angrily behind his glasses. "No!" he snapped harshly, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Don't you dare say that, Lily. You heard the prophecy yourself. Dumbledore was clear that night! Heather was always meant to become a monster. A scourge upon all wizardkind. We can NEVER help her!"
Lily winced, visibly pained by the cold harshness of his words. "She's our daughter, James. Our flesh and blood. Maybe… maybe if we find her again, we can still help her. We could undo some of the damage, give her another chance—"
James shook his head violently, cutting her off once more. His expression twisted with disgust. "Stop it. Heather is not our daughter. If it were up to me, she'd already be dead."
He meant every word. He'd lived with this grim truth for years now, ever since Dumbledore had shared that horrific prophecy about the twins born to Lily Potter. James had stood there that dark evening years ago in Dumbledore's office, listening in numb disbelief as the old wizard calmly explained that James Jr. would become the savior of the wizarding world… while Heather, his daughter, would become its destroyer.
He'd been ready that very night to take matters into his own hands, to snuff out that dangerous, dark seed before it had the chance to bloom.
But he couldn't—because the ancient Potter family magic strictly forbade kinslaying. They would instantly turn upon James if he tried it, striking him down—and probably Lily as well—if he killed Heather or allowed someone else to do it. James Potter had been forced to stay his hand.
So, they'd done the next best thing.
They allowed Dumbledore to bind her mind and her powers under the strongest spells they could use. And then James and Lily had abandoned their daughter in a filthy, run-down Muggle orphanage. They had walked away, leaving her to live out her miserable life, powerless, broken, forgotten.
It should have ended there.
But then, nearly two decades later, Sirius Black—his once-trusted best friend who had recently escaped Azkaban—somehow found Heather. Not only had Sirius brought her back into the wizarding world, but he'd had the gall to officially blood-adopt her!
James had nearly gone mad from fear when he heard about it, terrified the magical ritual would unravel all those delicate seals that Dumbledore had worked so painstakingly to place. But somehow—thank Merlin—it hadn't. The bindings had held firm, and Heather had remained powerless, a squib.
James turned abruptly away from Lily and resumed his angry pace toward the infirmary. Lily said nothing more, but he could feel the silent disapproval radiating off her in waves. He didn't care—he couldn't afford to care. His family's safety and honor were more important than sentimentality.
That was part of the reason why they lied to Sirius after James' friend escaped Azkaban. They were able to convince him that Peter had messed with their minds, making them think Sirius had been the Secret Keeper and betrayed them.
The truth was, before Dumbledore told them that prophecy about his children, they had made Sirius Heather's godparent through a ritual. Sirius had to stay in prison otherwise he would have always tried to seek Heather out and to free her. That couldn't be allowed to happen, so James had been forced to betray his best friend for the "greater good" as Dumbledore would say.
At least he didn't have to keep up that lie anymore after Sirius died in the ministry of magic, saving James' son and friends after they stupidly rushed off to their to stop Voldemort from acquiring that bloody "other" prophecy!
James pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the infirmary, striding in quickly with Lily just behind him. He saw his son, James Jr., sitting upright on one of the beds. He was surrounded by his friends.
Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. All of them looked exhausted and battered, with minor cuts and bruises covering their faces and arms, but thankfully they were alive and safe.
James's eyes softened slightly as he took in his son's slumped shoulders and downcast gaze. It was clear the boy was upset.
Lily, however, didn't wait to voice her disapproval. She hurried to their son's bedside and immediately scolded him. "James Potter Junior!" she snapped sharply, her emerald eyes blazing with a mixture of relief and frustration. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking, going off on such a reckless, stupid stunt? You could've gotten yourself and your friends killed!"
James Jr. cringed visibly under his mother's fierce glare, lowering his eyes even further. "I know, Mum," he murmured softly, his voice shaking slightly with remorse and sadness. "I didn't—I didn't mean for it to end like this. Voldemort tricked me. It's all my fault. Sirius… Sirius is dead because of me."
His voice cracked, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. James felt a faint stab of discomfort in his chest. He wasn't a man who showed much vulnerability, and seeing his son like this unsettled him deeply.
Hermione, noticing the guilt-ridden look on James Jr.'s face, spoke up softly from the other side of the bed. Her brown eyes were earnest and sincere as she glanced from Lily to James. "We're all terribly sorry," she said, her voice shaking slightly with genuine remorse. "We never intended to cause trouble or make everyone worry…"
Lily softened almost instantly at Hermione's apology, moving to embrace her son tightly, pulling him into her arms. James Jr. allowed himself to relax into his mother's hug, burying his face in her shoulder as quiet tears slipped free. Lily stroked her son's messy hair gently, murmuring comfortingly, "It will be okay, sweetheart. None of this was your fault. We'll get through this together."
Watching them, James cleared his throat, stepping forward a bit awkwardly. Showing emotion wasn't exactly his forte, but he knew it was necessary now to restore his son's spirits. He placed a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder, gripping it firmly. James Jr. looked up slowly, meeting his father's eyes.
"Sirius was a good man," James said solemnly, hiding any hint of lies. "He gladly gave his life for you. I promise you, son, he wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself. He had NO REGRETS." He paused deliberately. "Besides, Sirius named you his heir. You've inherited everything from him—his house, his gold, all his possessions. It's all yours now, James!"
That wasn't true at all, of course. But with Dumbledore doing them a solid and changing the laws, it might as well be. Besides, James Jr didn't know he had a twin sister and he never needed to know.
James Jr.'s eyes widened in shock at the revelation, his sadness was quickly overtaken by astonishment. "Wait, seriously?" he exclaimed, a tentative grin spreading slowly across his face. "I got… his entire house and EVERYTHING?"
James nodded with proud satisfaction, glad to see his son's spirits lifting. "All yours, James. Grimmauld Place now belongs solely to you!"
"Wicked!" James Jr. breathed excitedly, suddenly sitting straighter. "A whole bloody house!"
Ron let out an awed whistle, eyes shining with admiration. "Bloody hell, mate. That's brilliant!"
Hermione rolled her eyes slightly at Ron's enthusiasm, but smiled nonetheless. "Congratulations, James. That's really wonderful!"
– Lucifer –
Lucifer Morningstar reclined comfortably on the expensive leather couch in his luxurious penthouse above Lux, his private nightclub nestled in the pulsing heart of Los Angeles. The club below had been thumping all night with music and the scent of sweat, alcohol, and sex. It was everything he enjoyed most.
Now, as the morning sun streamed in through the enormous panoramic windows, Lucifer nursed a mild yet satisfyingly throbbing hangover. He lounged lazily, one leg casually crossed over the other, a crystal tumbler filled with expensive whiskey. He could have easily healed his body with a mere thought, washing away the dull ache behind his eyes. But why ruin such delightful, mortal suffering? Pain, after all, was a rarity for an immortal being like him.
He savored every sharp stab in his skull as if it were the finest of wines.
Chuckling softly, Lucifer glanced across the room to where Mazikeen—his closest friend, confidante, and ruthless demoness—lay naked and unconscious amid a tangled mess of equally naked human bodies. The remnants of her wild night of pleasure, debauchery, and orgies were sprawled shamelessly around her on the plush Persian rug. Lucifer shook his head slightly.
He lifted his whiskey to his lips, savoring the amber liquid's burn as it trickled down his throat. And then suddenly, Lucifer felt something shift in the fabric of the mortal world—something powerful, dark, and utterly fascinating.
His eyes narrowed in surprise and curiosity, his glass hovering frozen inches from his mouth. Something new had just emerged into existence. Something exceptionally rare and enticing. He allowed his senses to stretch outward, scanning effortlessly across the globe until he pinpointed the exact source.
'Well, well, well,' he thought with a pleased smirk tugging at his lips. A brand-new demon—no, a demoness—had just been born into existence, freshly awakened on Earth. Now this was an unexpected surprise. Demonic births among humans were incredibly scarce events, happening perhaps only once every few centuries, or even millennia.
He tilted his head thoughtfully, reaching out invisibly with his power, eager to catch a glimpse of this intriguing new creature. Who was she, he wondered, and what chaotic delights might she bring?
But just as he prepared to look closer, something utterly bizarre happened!
Out of nowhere, a pale, slender, and unmistakably feminine hand appeared beside him—literally popping through reality itself—and delivered a sharp, resounding slap directly across Lucifer's handsome face.
"No!" came a fierce, feminine voice from somewhere beyond. "She's mine! Stay away from her!"
Stunned into temporary confusion, Lucifer blinked slowly. His cheek actually stung rather intensely—something that was nearly impossible. He rubbed his face in bewilderment, muttering quietly, "Ow. That…that actually hurt."
It hurt a lot!
Did Lady Death—the infamous Didi herself—really just appear out of thin air, slap him in the face, and vanish just as swiftly…?
Lucifer stared blankly at the empty space beside him, processing what had just transpired.
A sudden burst of laughter bubbled up within him! "Well, wasn't that just the most wonderfully absurd thing?" He grinned wickedly, his hangover now entirely forgotten. It appeared today was definitely going to be one of those days. Chaos, drama, and heavenly (or rather, hellish) intrigue. With a carefree shrug, Lucifer poured himself another generous glass of whiskey. After all, what better way to enjoy this new twist than with a drink? "Oh yes," he murmured to himself, leaning back comfortably once again. "This is going to be very, very interesting…"
XXX
So yeah, that's the first chapter for now… I'm thinking she will probably change her name to something more demoness sounding.