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The Black Witch 15
🕑 Added 2025-11-30 06:17:57 +0000 UTCChapter 15:
– Amara –
My head was still buzzing as I started threading my way through the club.
The Cauldron’s Kiss felt even louder tonight—like the music had crawled inside my bones and decided to set up shop there. Bass thumped up through the soles of my stilettos, rattling my ribs and humming along my spine.
The dance floor was a writhing knot of bodies. I slipped into the flow of it, dodging between sweaty backs and flailing arms, the slick brush of bare skin and too-warm breath hitting me at every angle. A couple of idiots had their wands out, firing random sparks and low-grade charms into the air like fireworks.
A jet of blue stars shot past my head and burst somewhere near the ceiling. Someone shrieked in delight. Someone else started hurling glittering bubbles that floated down and popped on contact with skin, leaving behind a faint tingling sensation. At least half of them were too drunk to cast anything properly, thankfully.
One guy stumbled into my path, tall and broad-shouldered, his shirt half-unbuttoned and sweat sticking it to his chest. His hair was damp and curling at the edges, his pupils blown wide. He put a hand out to catch my arm
“Oi, gorgeous,” he shouted over the music, leaning in far too close. “Dance with me. Come on, just one song.”
I slid sideways. , “If I dance with you, you’re going to get ideas you can’t afford.” I let my eyes drag down his body and back up again, deliberately slow. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
He blinked, mouth opening and closing once like a confused fish. His brain tried to decide whether I’d just flirted with him or insulted him, and by the time he figured out it was mostly the second, I was already gone.
I pushed forward, narrowly avoiding a witch who spun blindly into my space, wand in hand, hair flying. She flung out an arm to steady herself, narrowly missing my chest. The spell that had been building at her wand tip went off in a burst of pink smoke.
“Watch it,” I said, stepping around her, batting away the drifting pink cloud with a swipe of my hand.
“Sorry!” she giggled, absolutely not sorry at all. Her eyes slid shamelessly down my dress. “Nice outfit.”
“Likewise,” I lied, and kept moving.
And then I finally found the people I came here to meet. Dick, Ginny, Hermione.
I slowed my pace just enough to take them in.
Dick looked good, he was wearing a blue Armani that fit him like it had been poured onto his frame.
Ginny Weasley had clearly stepped up her daring as well. Tonight’s dress she was wearing was downright sinful—for a good little former-Gryffindor, anyway. Deep emerald green, cut low in the front to show off the soft swell of her breasts, the neckline held up mostly by ambition and good luck. The skirt hugged her hips and thighs, then flared out just enough to move when she did.
And Hermione…
Gone was the conservative brown dress. Tonight, she’d shown up in something that made my eyebrows rise and my mouth go a little dry. It was dark purple, tight through the torso, the fabric clinging to her waist and the surprisingly generous curve of her chest. The neckline wasn’t exactly plunging, but it dipped low enough to draw the eye and then some. The hem stopped mid-thigh, exposing long, smooth legs I definitely hadn’t appreciated properly yesterday. She’d tamed her hair more tonight too, curls pulled back from her face just enough to show off her lovely face.
The fact that Hermione Granger had consciously picked out a dress like that to meet me again sent a hot little curl of satisfaction sliding straight down my spine. So did the way her eyes flicked to me the second she caught sight of my figure moving through the crowd.
She froze, just for a heartbeat—like a deer caught in the glow of a runaway broom. Her gaze travelled from my heels all the way up, slow and involuntary, lingering on every strategically exposed inch of skin. By the time her eyes reached my face, her cheeks were already pink, and she snatched her drink up, taking a long sip to hide it.
“You made it,” Ginny said, stepping forward eagerly to greet me. Her gaze trailed appreciatively down my revealing white dress, lingering openly on the generous curves of my hips and chest. “Merlin, Amara, you look absolutely incredible.”
“Speak for yourself,” I chuckled softly, allowing my fingers to lightly brush her shoulder in greeting. I enjoyed the slight shiver that passed through her at the casual contact. “You certainly decided to make a statement tonight.”
Ginny laughed, clearly delighted by the compliment. She spun playfully in place, causing her skirt to swirl enticingly around toned thighs. “I figured tonight was worth dressing up for,” she teased warmly, eyes sparkling with obvious mischief. “Who knows what trouble we might get into?”
My gaze shifted purposefully toward Hermione, who stood awkwardly, looking adorably self-conscious. I took a deliberate step closer, lowering my voice into a gentle, teasing purr. “And you, Hermione—I must say, I’m surprised. Pleasantly so, of course.” I let my eyes drift slowly down her slender frame, intentionally lingering in a way that made her blush even deeper. “I didn’t realize you had such a daring side.”
She bit her lip nervously, glancing away with embarrassment, but didn’t shrink from my nearness. Instead, her fingers twisted anxiously together as she struggled to find words. “Ginny convinced me to step outside my comfort zone,” she admitted shyly, voice barely audible over the music. “I'm still getting used to it.”
“Come on,” I said, letting a crooked little smile curl my lips, “let’s have some fun tonight.”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I laced my fingers through Hermione’s and hooked my other hand into Dick’s lapel, tugging all three of them with me toward the thumping heart of the dance floor.
The bass swallowed us as soon as we stepped back into the crowd. Bodies pressed around us. It was perfect. Chaotic enough that I could finally shove Potter Manor and Lily’s simpering voice out of my head for a while, and just drown in noise and touch.
Dick moved instinctively into position behind me, one hand settling at my waist like it belonged there. Ginny slid in on my left, Hermione on my right—both of them close enough that their bare shoulders brushed mine.
“Rule one! No thinking. Just dancing.”
Ginny laughed, already half-obeying, her hips rolling to the beat, red hair catching the light in flashes as she moved. Hermione looked… hesitant, but not reluctant. Her teeth worried at her lower lip as she glanced around the pulsing crowd, then back at me, cheeks flushed a soft pink.
She was so fucking adorable when she was out of her depth.
I stepped in close, my body brushing hers, my hand finding the small of her back. Her shiver went straight through both of us.
I let my magic slip with the touch—soft at first, a thin thread of dark warmth flowing from my fingertips into her skin.
[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch!]
I felt it take root in her instantly. Hermione’s breath hitched, her pupils blowing wide, her chest rising faster as I felt heat prick beneath her skin.
On my other side, Ginny leaned in, sliding an arm around my waist. “Merlin, I love this song,” she shouted, head thrown back for a second as the beat dropped.
I let my free hand trail down the length of her spine. When I hit the exposed strip of skin at the small of her back, between the dip of the dress and the swell of her ass, I pushed a pulse of magic into her next.
Ginny gasped, the sound getting lost in the music, hips jerking forward. Her fingers dug into my hip, nails biting through the thin fabric of my dress.
She shivered, her eyes going hazy for a second.
The bass climbed, the tempo picking up, and I turned again, this time with purpose, backing into Dick. His hands came up automatically, catching my hips. I rolled my body back against him in a slow, deliberate grind, feeling the heat of him through his trousers, the strength in his fingers as they tightened reflexively.
“You sure this is just dancing?” he muttered into my hair, voice lower than normal, breath hot across the side of my neck.
“You complaining?” I glanced back at him over my shoulder, arching one brow.
His grip tightened. “Not even a little.”
I laughed and shifted again, bringing Ginny to the front and dragging Hermione with me so the four of us fell into an easy loop—my body brushing Dick’s as he moved behind me, Ginny pressed against my front, Hermione beside us, shoulders and hips and thighs connecting in shifting combinations.
….By the time the third song bled into the fourth, all three of us were sweating.
The music never really stopped, it just blurred from one pounding track into the next, like the club itself refused to let anyone pause long enough to think. I’d fallen into a rhythm without realizing—pressing my body between Ginny and Hermione, rolling my hips into Dick every time the beat dipped low, feeding little pulses of [Lewd Touch] into whichever hand or waist I happened to be touching.
It showed.
Hermione’s chest was heaving under that tight purple dress, each breath stretching the fabric over her breasts in a way that made it very hard not to stare. A fine sheen of sweat made her skin glow under the club lights—along her collarbones, at the hollow of her throat, at the edge of the cleavage she kept trying not to hunch over. Her curls, so carefully tamed at the start of the night, were rebelling again, clinging damply to her temples and the back of her neck.
Ginny wasn’t faring much better. Strands of red hair stuck to her forehead, her cheeks were flushed a deep, delicious pink, and her lips were parted as she sucked in breaths between laughs. The green dress hugged her like a spell gone too far—her nipples were visibly hard against the thin fabric now, and every time she shifted her weight, the skirt rode up higher on her thighs.
I saw it then, the proof of what my magic was doing to them.
Even in the dim, shifting light, both of them had a telltale shimmer along their inner thighs. Ginny’s dress clung just a little too tightly between her legs when she squeezed her thighs together. Hermione’s hand kept drifting toward the hem of her skirt as if she wanted to tug it down and then thought better of it.
“I—I need the loo,” Hermione blurted suddenly, voice pitched high.
Ginny laughed breathlessly. “Me too,” she admitted, pressing her thighs together.
They extricated themselves from the tangle of our bodies with all the grace of two people desperately trying to pretend nothing was wrong while absolutely everything was wrong. Hermione tried to sidestep without brushing her thighs together too much, Ginny kept tugging at her dress as they moved. They walked away quickly but not quickly enough to hide the stiffness in their gait or the way they kept glancing back over their shoulders at me and Dick.
I watched their backs until they disappeared into the crowd, my lips curved in a satisfied little smile. That was when I felt a familiar hand close firmly around my hip.
Dick didn’t give me a chance to turn. One moment I was watching the girls thread their way toward the bathrooms, and the next I was being tugged backwards, my spine pressing into something solid.
He pulled me flush against him, his palm splayed low over my stomach, just above the knot of fabric at my waist. My ass settled instinctively against his hips, my body recognizing the shape of him from this morning much faster than my brain did.
Heat rushed up my neck. I tilted my head to look up at him.
He was smiling, but it wasn’t the normal grin I’d grown used to. It was softer, smaller… and didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a little furrow between his brows that hadn’t been there before.
The song shifted into something slower, easing into a deep, rolling beat that lent itself more to swaying than grinding. Around us, the crowd adapted automatically—bodies turning, hands sliding, couples folding into each other. The air felt hotter without actually getting any warmer.
We slipped into the slower rhythm without really thinking. My hands found his forearms where they circled me, his fingers flexing against the fabric of my dress. We swayed together in a small pocket of space, the storm of the club humming around us.
“What are you doing, Amara?” he asked quietly.
The question cut through the music more sharply than it had any right to. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it that set my nerves on edge.
I frowned automatically. I didn’t like that tone on him. I liked him smug or flustered or panting into my mouth, not… serious.
For one terrifying moment, my mind jumped straight to the worst possible conclusion.
Did he know?
Had he somehow found out? About McFinnegan’s estate. About the Fiendfyre I’d unleashed. About the dozens of lives I’d burned away without a second thought.
There’s no way he knows. No one should… right?
I swallowed, forcing my voice into something breezy. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Grayson,” I said, tilting my head back against his shoulder, trying to make it sound like a joke. “I do a lot of questionable things.”
His grip on my hips tightened just slightly—not painful, not even rough, just enough to tell me he wasn’t going to let me slip away with a sarcastic deflection. He exhaled slowly, the breath warm against my temple, and when he spoke again his voice was pitched low, for me alone. “What are you doing with Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley?”
Relief hit me so fast my knees almost buckled. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, my muscles loosening under his hands.
So it wasn’t about the estate.
I schooled my face quickly, letting irritation creep into it instead. “What are you talking about?” I asked, twisting just enough in his arms to see his face better. “We’re just having fun. I thought that was the whole point of tonight!”
He didn’t smile. If anything, his frown deepened. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said quietly. “I’m not an idiot, Amara.” The way he said my name—flat and steady, no teasing—made something twist in my chest.
He shifted his hold so that one arm rested lightly against my middle, keeping me close as we continued to sway. His other hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, an almost tender gesture that made the disappointment in his eyes sting even more.
“Hermione doesn’t post much,” he went on. “She’s not exactly an influencer. But she does have social media…”
My brows rose slightly despite myself. “You’ve been stalking Hermione Granger online?”
“I call it recon,” he shot back dryly. “Batman’s paranoia rubbed off on me over the years…” His thumb brushed idly along my side as he talked, like he couldn’t decide whether he was trying to comfort me or keep me in place. “The point is,” he continued, “Hermione has photos. Not many, but enough. Her and Ginny. Her and that Ron guy she spoke about yesterday. Her and…” he paused, watching my face, “James Potter Junior.”
“...Oh? What a coincidence…” I said softly, obviously knowing I got caught.
“Was this the plan?” he asked. “From the second you realized who they were? Get close to them. Get them hot and bothered. Seduce them away from James. Corrupt them. Hurt him through them…?”
I bit my lower lip, hard enough to sting. The guilt that flickered up wasn’t about James—fuck James—but about the faint, disappointed edge in Dick’s voice. It scraped against something I didn’t want to name.
Yes, it was the plan. Or part of it, anyway.
Was I using them? Absolutely. Was I enjoying it? Also absolutely.
I forced a crooked little smile, even as my chest felt uncomfortably tight. “You make it sound so ugly,” I said lightly. “Corrupting is such a harsh word.”
He didn’t smile back.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” he asked. “Be honest with me, Amara. Just once. Are you doing this because you genuinely like them… or because you want to hurt him?”
I opened my mouth to say something flippant, something sharp. To toss the question aside like it didn’t matter.
Instead, the words stuck.
I looked up at him, at the serious lines on his face, at the concern and frustration and something annoyingly close to care in his eyes. The beat of the music slowed even more, the song fading into a sensual, thudding track that felt almost at odds with the conversation we were having.
My hand slipped from his lapel to his chest, resting over his heart. It was beating faster than usual. So was mine.
“…Can’t it be both?” I muttered finally, voice softer than I’d meant it to be.
His breath hitched just a little, his eyes narrowing in a way that said I’d hit the bullseye and he didn’t like the answer. “What happened with your family Amara? I can say that you're a beautiful and infuriating young woman, but I don’t think this is something you’d do unless you were really hurting…”
I didn’t want to tell him, tonight was just supposed to be my final distraction before I dealt with everything tomorrow. And then I’d go back home to Gotham where everything would return to normal. That’s how it was supposed to be anyway. Instead, I found the words spilling from my lips—
I didn’t tell him everything, I didn’t tell him about me murdering the house elves or me extinguishing an entire magical bloodline with fiendfyre, but I told him the most important parts. I told him how my non-existent family thought they had tricked me into returning. How they lived in decadence and yet they were apparently hurting for money. How the solution for that was for them to try and sell me off like a slave wife to one of the most revolting old men I’d ever seen.
…At some point during the story Dick had steered us away from the crush of bodies and into an empty corner booth. I barely remembered moving. One second I’d been talking over the music on the dance floor, the next I was slumped sideways against the cool leather, Dick’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, his free hand drawing slow circles on my thigh like he was trying to massage the tension out of me.
I’d told him everything I could stand to say out loud.
By the time the words ran out of me, I was half-lying against Dick’s chest, my fingers fisted in his shirt like he was the only thing keeping me from flying apart. His other hand was a steady, grounding weight at my hip, thumb moving in slow, soothing strokes that did absolutely nothing to calm the boiling anger in my chest, but helped with everything else.
“That’s completely horrible! I cannot believe the Potters were that vile all along! I thought I knew my friend!” Hermione’s voice cut in.
I flinched, my head jerking up so fast I nearly cracked my chin on Dick’s shoulder. For a second I had no idea where the fuck I was. The club lights strobed across us, the booth, the people swaying just beyond, and then my gaze landed on the source of the voice.
Ginny and Hermione were back from the bathroom.
They were standing at the mouth of the booth, half-leaning against the padded edge like they’d been there long enough to get comfortable.
My stomach dropped. “How long have you two been standing there?” I sat up a little straighter, pulling away from Dick without fully letting go.
Dick cleared his throat, his arm sliding off my shoulders but staying behind me on the backrest, his fingers brushing my neck from behind. “A while,” he admitted, wincing a little. “They came back from the bathroom and… well, you were kind of in the middle of something. I didn’t think interrupting would help.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. Of course I hadn’t noticed. I’d been so wrapped up in my own shit I hadn’t clocked two witches literally standing within arm’s reach.
“Oh,” I said lamely, then forced myself to look directly at them. “I’m… sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear all of that.” My fingers twisted in the hem of my dress unconsciously. “And I’m sorry about earlier, too. On the dance floor…”
Ginny’s eyebrow arched, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, about that,” she said, folding her arms loosely over her chest as she stepped closer. The club lights above slid along the curve of her cleavage, catching for a second before moving on. “Did you use some kind of sex magic on us, Amara?”
Hermione moved in beside her, cheeks flushing a slow, spreading pink. “Because we both… ah…” She trailed off, eyes flicking away in embarrassment before she forced herself to push through it. “We both accidentally orgasmed in the middle of the dance floor.”
I bit my lower lip hard enough to sting and nodded once. “Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “That was… me.” I gave a weak, sheepish laugh. “It doesn’t mess with your minds or your consent or anything like that, I swear. It doesn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. It just… makes everything you already feel a lot more intense…”
Then they both smirked—almost in sync.
“I actually figured it out yesterday,” Hermione said, surprising me. Her voice went a little wry. “I noticed something was off.” A small, self-satisfied glint lit her eyes. “Ginny and I are pretty smart witches, you know. We can count one and one.”
Ginny snorted. “Yeah,” she said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “We worked it out eventually.” Her smirk curved wider. “And honestly? It was fun. I’m not… upset. And Amara? I’m really sorry about… all of that.” She jerked her chin slightly, clearly referring to the story they’d overheard. “What your so-called parents did to you? Selling you off like property? That’s—” she exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “That’s beyond fucked.”
Hermione nodded, her eyes darker than before. “I can’t believe James would hide something like this,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I thought I knew him. I thought I knew his family. But this…” Her gaze flicked toward Dick briefly, then back to me. “This is monstrous.”
“They’ve always been a bit much,” Ginny added bluntly, “but this? I had no idea. And the fact that James Junior had a twin sister this whole time—a beautiful one—and no one ever knew? That’s going to cause a massive scandal when it comes out!”
I huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about? The scandal?”
Hermione tapped her fingers absently against the table, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “You know,” she said slowly, “it does raise a question. If they lied about you, what else did they lie about?” Her gaze sharpened, focusing on me like she was solving a puzzle. “Is James even really the Boy Who Lived? Or… what if it was you?”
For a second I just stared at her. “What?” I asked, blinking.
“It’s not an unreasonable theory,” Hermione pressed, voice quickening with academic excitement. “If you were twins, both present the night of the attack, and one of you was discarded while the other was paraded as the savior of wizarding Britain—”
“I don’t care about the title,” I cut in automatically, more sharply than I’d intended. My nose wrinkled. “The ‘Boy Who Lived’ is a stupid name. I don’t want it.”
The-Girl-Who-Lived wasn’t any better either.
I looked carefully at Ginny and Hermione, my expression growing serious. A sense of vulnerability and discomfort twisted uneasily in my stomach, but I forced the words out anyway.
“Look,” I said quietly, glancing around the crowded club to ensure no one else was within earshot, “everything I just told you—my birth name, my connection to the Potters—it’s supposed to stay under wraps for now, alright?”
Ginny reached out, her slender fingers gently brushing against my hand in silent reassurance. “Of course, Amara,” she promised softly. Her bright eyes held a sincerity that momentarily eased my tension. “Your secret is safe with us. Right, Hermione?”
Hermione nodded solemnly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she met my gaze. “Absolutely. Neither of us would betray your trust, especially not after everything you've shared tonight.”
I let out a breath, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
Ginny smiled gently. She stepped closer, voice dipping into a tender murmur. “I really hope you find some peace, Amara. Merlin knows you deserve it after everything.”
Before I could respond, she leaned in, her lips softly pressing against my left cheek. Her mouth lingered for just a heartbeat, warm and gentle, sending a faint tingle sliding beneath my skin. My lips parted in surprise, a blush rising involuntarily to my cheeks.
When Ginny pulled back, Hermione was watching carefully, clearly gathering her own nerve. I barely had time to recover before she stepped forward, tentative and blushing fiercely, and pressed a shy, feather-light kiss to my other cheek. Her breath brushed my ear, soft and warm, before she quickly retreated, face redder than I’d ever seen.
I stared at them both, genuinely caught off-guard by their sweet affection. My chest felt tight in a way I didn’t entirely understand, but I managed to offer a small, crooked smile.
“You two are far too sweet for someone like me,” I teased softly. “But thank you.”
Hermione smiled shyly. Ginny smirked slightly wider. They glanced at each other, some silent understanding passing between them before they turned and slowly began weaving their way out through the club's growing crowd.
I watched their backs until they vanished into the sea of bodies, my fingertips lightly touching the spots where their lips had just been.
The club was far from empty. In fact, it seemed to be growing even more packed as midnight approached. Bodies filled every available space, dancing and writhing, the air thick with heat and perfume and barely restrained desire.
Dick shifted closer beside me, his shoulder brushing mine softly. He gently touched my wrist, drawing my attention away from the girls’ retreating figures.
I glanced up, meeting his clear, calm eyes.
“I’m proud of you, Amara,” he said gently, his voice warm and sincere. “What you just did, being open and honest… it took courage. Kara and Rachel would be proud too.”
My cheeks warmed. I ducked my head briefly, feeling an awkward vulnerability settle over me. “You think so?” I murmured softly.
His lips curved into a gentle, encouraging smile. “Definitely. Should I tell them about this when we get home? Or would you prefer I keep it to myself?”
I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment before nodding quietly. “You can tell them. It's fine. Actually, I'd like that. It's good knowing they’re there for me.”
Dick squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Always, Amara.”
I sighed softly, then deliberately changed the subject, turning slightly in my seat to better face him. “Speaking of sharing things—what about you and Batman? Any progress on your little investigation into the wizarding government?”
His eyes immediately lit up, expression sharpening into the intense, focused look he always got when talking about his investigations. “Actually, yes,” he admitted, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “We made a breakthrough. Turns out the goblins—Gringotts, specifically—have secret tunnels. Leftover from some rebellion back in the late 1800s. We managed to negotiate access for a generous enough bribe.”
I raised my eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Impressive. So, what’s the hold-up?”
He grimaced slightly, running a hand through his dark hair. “That’s the tricky part. We’re waiting for an opportunity—a distraction big enough that most of the Ministry’s Aurors will be pulled away. Otherwise, sneaking around would be nearly impossible.”
I tilted my head thoughtfully. “And what exactly would count as a big enough distraction for you two?”
Before he could answer, a booming voice echoed sharply from just outside the club!
It was magically amplified, powerful enough to cut cleanly through the heavy bass of the music and bring the entire room to an instant halt. The music abruptly died mid-note, leaving deafening silence and a sudden oppressive tension in its wake.
“This is Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! To the criminal responsible for burning down the McFinnegan estate—we have tracked you to this location. Exit the building immediately and surrender yourself!”
Every head in the club swiveled instantly toward the entrance, faces wide-eyed and frozen in shock. Whispers began erupting all around, panicked murmurs and fearful glances exchanged throughout the crowd.
Dick turned his head toward me slowly, his expression completely deadpan. “Really, Amara?” he asked quietly, eyebrows climbing high on his forehead. “You neglected to mention the whole murder-and-arson part of the story..”
I stared at him blankly for a moment.
I’d been nervous about him finding out earlier, worried about his reaction—but the timing was so ridiculously comedic I couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the entire situation slammed into me all at once, and a sudden, helpless laugh escaped my lips!
“Woops?” I said, trying—and failing—to keep the playful innocence from my voice. “Would you believe I honestly just… forgot to mention that part?”
Dick sighed, eyes briefly squeezing shut in mild exasperation. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I expected anything different from you.”
I grinned mischievously, my hand slipping softly onto his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my fingertips. “Well, you said you and Batman needed a distraction, right?” I murmured teasingly. “This seems perfect, don’t you think?”
Before he could respond, I leaned upward, rising slightly off the seat and capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He stiffened in surprise for only a second before melting into it, one hand sliding instinctively into my hair as his mouth moved against mine. His pulse quickened, thudding fast and hard beneath my touch, as I let myself enjoy the sweet heat of his lips for several long moments.
When we finally broke apart, I smirked up at him, breathless and flushed. “Don’t worry,” I whispered playfully, brushing my thumb gently across his jaw. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll make sure to be a very loud, very entertaining distraction for the two of you. Consider it my thank-you gift, Dick—for keeping me from doing something with Hermione and Ginny I might actually have regretted.”
He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head fondly even as a small, worried crease appeared between his brows. “Just try not to kill anyone, alright?” he pleaded gently. “These are just magic cops.”
My lips twisted in a cynical half-smile. “Magic cops who casually erase the memories of innocent people on a daily basis just to hide their own existence,” I pointed out dryly, arching one eyebrow.
Dick rolled his eyes. But before I could sass him further, his hand gently cupped my cheek, pulling me back in for another kiss—slower this time, tender and lingering, making my heart flutter traitorously beneath my ribs.
When he finally pulled back, his thumb stroked my flushed cheek softly. “I should go. Need to put on my other suit and let Batman know the distraction we’ve been waiting for is finally here.”
“Good luck, Nightwing,” I whispered teasingly.
He smiled crookedly, eyes warm and affectionate. “You too, Amara. Try to behave yourself.”
“Absolutely no promises,” I shot back playfully, watching him slip away through the rapidly panicking crowd toward the exit.
I stood up from the booth and prepared myself to face the chaos I’d unleashed.I let out a slow breath and summoned my wand.
It slid into my palm in an instant, black and warm and familiar, the soul-bond between us humming faintly under my skin. Just feeling it there steadied me. Whatever was waiting outside, I wasn’t going out there in a tiny white scrap of a dress and heels like a drunk extra in some cheap porn parody.
Right. Time to switch from “fuck-me” to “fuck-around-and-find-out.”
With a thought and a flick of my wand, the tight white dress melted away from my skin like spilled milk, reforming in a rush of cool fabric—black denim wrapped snug around my legs, clinging to my thighs and ass like a second skin, and a black tank top hugged my tits and stomach, giving me full range of motion while still showing plenty of skin. My stilettos softened and thickened, reshaping into simple black sneakers.
Not glamorous, or my best transfiguration work, but a hell of a lot easier to fight in.
The club was dead quiet now, the music cut off mid-beat, leaving only the sound of pounding hearts and nervous whispers. Color-changing lights still pulsed overhead, but without the soundtrack they just made everything feel strangely distant, like a party someone had hit pause on.
Everyone was staring at everyone else, trying to figure out who the Ministry was here for.
They didn’t have to wonder for long.
I rolled my shoulders back, slid my wand down to hang casually at my side, and put on my best budding Dark Lady face—chin high, lips relaxed into a faint, amused curve, eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. Then I started walking. As I moved through the crowd, people shrank back instinctively, parting around me like water. They all knew. You could see it in their faces—the way they tried so fucking hard not to look right at me.
The club doors were still shut. When I pushed the doors open, cold night air slapped me in the face and the alley outside exploded into view.
At least twenty wands snapped up in my direction at once!
And there were all the Aurors. Green-robed witch-coppers, some in standard Ministry uniforms, some in more practical dueling gear. Every single one of them looked tense, faces hard and pale in the flickering lamplight.
The alley behind the club was wider than most—enough room to herd people out if they had to evacuate. Right now, it was just me, a wall of Ministry muscle, and the distant muffled thudding of panicked witches and wizards still trapped inside.
The nearest Auror—a jittery-looking bloke with thinning hair and a nasty scar along his jawline—stabbed his wand toward me. “There she is!” he shouted, voice cracking with a mixture of fear and triumph. “It’s her! Magical signature’s a perfect match!”
Standing slightly behind him was a woman I recognised vaguely from my [cursed knowledge.] Although she was never a very big character.
It was Amelia Bones herself.
She was older than the others, but not fragile. Her hair was short and iron-grey, cut in a no-nonsense bob that framed a strong, square jaw. A monocle glinted in her right eye, and the magical glass shimmered faintly with enchantments. Her DMLE robes were tailored to her figure, and fuck me, she filled them out. The fabric pulled tight across her chest, straining faintly over a pair of absolutely massive tits that even my current crisis couldn’t stop me from noticing. A silver badge glimmered on her left breast—Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Her wand was already in her hand, pointed straight at my heart.
“You!” she called, voice magically amplified, cutting clean through the murmurs of the Auror line. “You are under arrest for the murder of twenty-three people at the McFinnegan estate and the use of illegal cursed flames. Surrender your wand and come quietly, or we will use force.”
They miscounted, I thought, a hysterical little giggle threatening to bubble up. It was more than that…
Instead, I let my lips curl into a slow, lazy smirk and stepped forward until I was clear of the doorway. “I think,” I said, my voice smooth and light, “there’s been some kind of mistake, officers.”
A ripple of disbelief ran through the line. My tone alone had at least three wands twitching higher.
I tipped my head to one side, letting my hair slide over my shoulder, and continued, “I am Lady Amara Black of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. I am also a duly recognised Duchess of the State of Britannia. Do you understand what it means to try detaining me without proper evidence?” I dripped as much entitled aristocratic bitch into my voice as I could manage. Let them choke on it.
One of the younger Aurors—freckles, hair sticking out at odd angles, absolutely not ready for this job—blurted out, “We’ve got plenty of evidence! We have your magical signature on the Fiendfyre! You murdered twenty-three people!”
“Did she say her last name was Black?” another Auror muttered loudly enough for half the alley to hear. He was a big bloke, thick-necked and red-faced, the type who definitely punched down whenever he could. “Dark witch for sure. Just like that scum Sirius Black!”
My vision went red at the edges. My wand was up before my brain caught up with my body.
“Sanguinem Ebullio,” I hissed, flicking my wrist sharply. A lance of sickly crimson shot from my wand tip, streaking toward his chest with vicious speed.
He had just enough time for his eyes to widen in shock. But Amelia Bones moved faster.
“Protego!”
Her shield erupted from nowhere—huge, solid, shimmering like translucent glass. My curse slammed into it with a wet, ugly hiss, the air suddenly raining a fine spray of red steam where the spells collided. The shield held. The Auror stumbled back, yelping as his life was barely saved.
All twenty wands in the alley snapped up another inch. The temperature in the air seemed to drop ten degrees.
I blinked once, then smiled sweetly, tilting my head like I hadn’t just committed attempted murder in front of all of them. “Oops,” I said brightly. “Sorry about that—my hand slipped. I don’t like people insulting him.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“‘Him’?” someone behind Amelia echoed, voice shaking. “She means Black—Sirius Black. She must know him!”
“Could she be his secret daughter?” another Auror muttered, this one a woman with braided dark hair and pinched lips. “He never had any legitimate heirs on record, but with that surname—”
I snorted softly. Secret daughter. Sirius would have howled laughing to hear that. Blood adoption wasn’t biology, but in every way that mattered, they weren’t wrong. Yes, I was his daughter!
“As if she is!” A woman’s voice yelled out above us!
A surge of dense black smoke poured downward, swirling and coiling like a living shadow. The Aurors immediately recoiled, half of them raising shields, others barking half-panicked incantations that fizzled uselessly against the sheer raw power riding the smoke.
The magic was dark and made my skin prickle deliciously.
Flying around in an intimidating black smoke form? That’s some pretty badass magic.
I also knew it was a spell only known by Death Eaters.
The smoke slammed into the cobblestones beside me with enough force to rattle the ground and then it started to condense. The coils of darkness folded inward, shrinking, twisting, until they were wrapping themselves around a humanoid shape—the outline of windswept hair, a narrow waist, the flare of a long robe. With a final crackle, the last of the smoke bled away.
A woman stood there.
Her hair was a wild, tangled mass of inky black curls tumbling past her shoulders. Heavy black-rimmed eyes, wide and fever-bright, burned with a mad gleam that made my succubus instincts sit up and take notice. Her lips were full and stained dark red, stretched into a feral grin that was far too sharp to be kind. Her body was lean but curved in all the right places, encased in black, figure-hugging robes that looked more like a cross between mourning wear and evening wear—torn at the edges, sleeves hanging ragged around her wrists.
It was Bellatrix Lestrange?
I wondered what she was doing here?
Her mad, glittering eyes locked directly onto the Auror line and she bared her teeth. “Get away from her, you worthless Auror scum!” she screamed at them all hatefully!
For a heartbeat, all I could do was stare.
Every wand in the alley swung toward her now.
Amelia’s eyes went huge behind her monocle. “Lestrange,” she breathed, horror and fury twisting her mouth. “Why are you here?”
“Aw, Bonesy,” Bellatrix cooed, tilting her head to one side, curls bouncing. “Still playing police in that ugly little office of yours?” Her eyes slid sideways to me, and when they met mine there was a flash of something sharp and assessing there. Pride. Possessiveness. “Don’t you know it’s very rude to gang up on a young lady before she’s had a proper introduction to her mummy?”
…The fuck did she just say?
Bellatrix fucking Lestrange just called herself my mother.
For a second, I honestly thought I’d misheard her. But nope. I’d heard that right.
What. The. Fuck.
Of all the insane ways tonight could have escalated, Bellatrix Lestrange arriving and then announcing to a street full of Aurors that I was her and Voldemort’s love child was nowhere on the list.
My brain did that useless thing where it tried to make sense of it in real time.
Why is she saying that? She can’t seriously believe—
And then it clicked.
I’d sent Dumbledore Moody’s head in a box, under the fake little persona that stubborn old bastard had cooked up in his own mind—Voldemort’s hidden daughter. He’d believed it so hard he’d probably told half his little Order of the Phoenix. Word got out—proably from that spy Severous Snape...
Now here was Bellatrix, Lady of Knifeplay and Bad Decisions, hearing there was a girl running around Britain calling herself Amara Black and being credited as Voldemort and Bellatrix’s daughter.
And she’d believed it…?
Wouldn’t she know if she ever gave birth to me or not?
Then I remembered—she’d been in Azkaban for years, fucked in the head long before that, and knew full well her mind had holes carved into it at the Dark Lord’s command.
So yeah, I could see her being told, “Oh, by the way, you had a kid and forgot,” and going, “Yes, that tracks!”
She was crazy. She was also hot. A combination I unfortunately had a real weakness for.
I couldn’t help it, my eyes slid over her almost on their own. Wild black curls, eyes like a storm of madness and eyeliner, slim waist, dangerous hips, and a chest that filled out those ripped, morbidly sexy robes in exactly the right way.
She stepped slightly in front of me, like she was staking a claim, her wand twirling between her fingers as she laughed in Amelia Bones’ face. “Did you not hear me, you dim, ugly cows?” she shouted, her voice ricocheting down the alley. “Step away from my daughter before I start redecorating this street with your organs!”
One of the younger Aurors flinched so hard he nearly shot himself in the foot with his own wand. Bones herself did not flinch, but I saw the slight tightening around her mouth, the way her knuckles whitened around the grip of her wand.
Bellatrix tilted her head, curls falling, grin going even wider. “Oh, that’s adorable,” she crooned. “She’s trying to be brave.” And then she moved. Her wand snapped up with a speed that almost blurred, arm flicking forward in that vicious little stabbing motion she was infamous for. “Avada Kedavra!” The words rolled off her tongue. Sickly green light exploded from the tip of her wand, a beam of pure, humming death slicing through the air toward Amelia Bones.
Bones was good. I’ll give her that. She didn’t try to block it. She threw herself sideways instead, her shoulder slamming into the ground as the Killing Curse missed her by inches and smashed into the brick wall behind her.
The Auror line broke.
“Engage! Take them both down!” someone shouted—Dawlish, maybe?
It didn’t matter. More than a dozen wands whipped up in unison, tips blazing with light. A heartbeat later the alley exploded into a storm of spells—red, blue, white, sickly yellow, jagged streaks of violet electricity, bolts that looked like compressed chunks of pure force.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
Bellatrix just laughed. Full, wild, absolutely delighted laughter, like this was the best show she’d seen in years.
I snapped my wand up, instinct taking over. “Protego Maxima!” I snarled. A massive, translucent barrier of shimmering black energy roared into existence in front of us—wide enough to cover both me and Bellatrix shoulder to shoulder. The first spells hit it almost immediately.
The shield flared under the impact—red hexes splashing across its surface like hot oil, blue bolts skidding along it in hissing arcs, the force spells slamming into it with concussive thuds.
I had to admit it and give grudging respect. These British Aurors were actually competent. Way better than those MACUSA clowns Morgana and I had wiped off the map. These bastards could coordinate, and their spells packed real punch. But there was still no way they were going to win.
Bellatrix’s delighted cackle cut through the roar of spellfire. She half-turned, enough that I could see her profile, eyes wide and shining with manic pride—even as curses continued slamming into the shield in front of us.
“Ohhh, look at that,” she cooed, voice practically vibrating with excitement. “What a beautiful shield. As expected of my daughter!” She sounded like a proud mum at a school recital. A really fucked-up one. She stepped in closer, shoulder brushing mine, her own wand flicking lazily as she sent a random curse back through a gap in the barrage, not even bothering to take cover. “Don’t you worry, little Amara,” she sang happily, over the sound of another explosion against my shield. “Mummy’s here now. We’re going to wipe out all these disgusting Aurors together, yes? We’ll make such a lovely mess of them!”
I actually found myself getting swept up more and more in her enthusiasm. Dick had asked me not to kill all of these aurors—and maybe before coming out here and facing them I would have agreed just to make him happy.
But as I saw all the expressions of pure hatred on their faces—as I blocked lethal curse after lethal curse, I realized I could never be the perfect hero girl he would want me to be.
And that was because I didn’t want to be like that.
““DIE!”” Bellaxtrix and I shouted at the exact same time. She fired off a curse that was sickly orange and mine was dark purple. Hers hit a female Auror that started screaming in agony as blisters formed all over her skin and then popped with acid that started melting her even further. Now that was a dark spell!
If not a bit redundant…
My spell hit a slightly pudgy Auror who clearly was now regretting not working more on his cardio as he failed to dodge. He was especially regretting it as he dropped to the ground and screamed himself hoarse as all the blood in his veins began to boil before he gave one last twitch and stopped moving.
The fighting came to a slight pause as the other Aurors all realized they were now genuinely in a fight for their very lives, although Bellatrix was still cackling happily.
“That’s my girl! The way you made him writhe and scream was so beautiful!”
XXX
Comments
Headshot Gaming
I hope Bellatrix adopts her through a ritual given to her by Morgana, so she will become her biological daughter.
Basically God
Since her master isn't filling the parental role... I kind'a hope Bellatrix does.
PlagueSpreader64
Bella is going to be either the best character or the worst.
