"I won't let you fall, pet. Besides, we did it before right?" Lucifer said, a knowing, wicked smirk spreading across his handsome face as he reminded her of their hidden history.
He used a silent 'Accio' to bring the Firebolt straight back to his waiting palm and mounted the smooth wood. "I'll have my arm wrapped firmly around your midriff, holding you completely securely against me the entire time."
Hermione's face instantly burned a deep crimson with intense embarrassment as a flurry of lewd thoughts rushed through her mind. In the end, her desire to be close to him won out, and she agreed. "Okay," she whispered.
She mounted the broomstick right in front of him, sitting with her soft back pressing flush against his hard, toned chest, her fingers gripping the polished broom handle in vice grips.
She tightly closed her eyes the exact millisecond the broom took off, but the ascent was slow, smooth, and steady, not the jerky, violent motion she had been dreading. Hermione slowly opened her eyes and saw the grey sky getting closer, or maybe it was just her fear of flying making her mind a bit iffy. Whatever the case was, she had zero intention of letting go of the handle, not until both her feet were safely planted back on the grass.
Hermione thoroughly hated flying, even if this was technically her second time sharing a broomstick with him; she vividly remembered the last time she had been completely fucked right on her boyfriend's old Nimbus 2000, a thoroughly perverted, intense encounter hidden under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, no less.
Not even including their first-year flying lessons.
She suddenly felt his strong arm lock firmly over her stomach, his large hand resting gently on the right side of her waist, holding her spine against his ribcage. Her rapid breathing instantly slowed down to a normal pace, her mind not even realizing it had quickened in the first place.
She looked around carefully at the landscape, finding the sprawling view of the glowing castle windows and the dark forest to be oddly beautiful. She still hated the concept of flying, but if it was executed strictly with her boyfriend holding her, she could handle the height with no problem.
Lucifer looked straight down at the top of Hermione's thick, wild hair. "A beautiful sight," he murmured.
"It really is," she replied softly, completely unaware that his compliment was directed entirely at her, rather than the horizon.
"Whenever you're ready to descend, let me know and we will go straight back down to ground level," Lucifer said against her ear. "There's no rush."
Hermione didn't say a single word right away. She was going to consciously consider this entire ride as a small, exclusive date, just the two of them, completely alone, suspended on a broomstick with his arm wrapped around her waist to hold her securely.
This was absolutely wonderful to her.
It was only after ten full minutes had passed in the quiet air before she finally said anything. "Can we go back down to the ground now, Lucifer?" she asked him.
"Of course, pet," Lucifer said smoothly. Even though he couldn't see her face from behind, he had absolutely no doubt her skin was burning a deep pink.
They touched down safely on the grass, and the moment they dismounted, Hermione turned her body to face him, looking straight up into his dark eyes. "Kiss me..." she whispered.
Lucifer didn't say a single word. He bent his tall frame down and captured her soft lips with his own. The kiss lasted only a few beautiful seconds, but it carried enough heat to fully satisfy them both for the time being.
They separated slowly, and Hermione instantly grabbed his large hand, her fingers locking tightly through his. He quickly shoved his 'Firebolt' safely into the extension pouch of his robes and let girlfriend lead him up the sloping lawn back toward the stone steps of the castle.
"Do you want to patrol the corridors for an hour or two tonight?" She asked, her voice dropping as they crossed the Entrance Hall. "Just to have a proper, legal Prefect reason for being out so late?"
"Sure," he said with a relaxed shrug.
They simply wandered the quiet, torchlit first and second floors for the next hour, their boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. During the quiet walk, Hermione brought up the conversation from the night. "So... you were completely serious back there? About teaching us practical magic?"
"Of course I am, pet. I'd be more than happy to start the curriculum this very weekend," Lucifer said smoothly. "But you explicitly stated you want it to be a joint effort between Harry and myself. He has at least fought Voldemort in the flesh... so there is that value."
"That's exactly why I want him to act as a teacher for us alongside you," Hermione explained, her eyes widening as she laid out her logic. "You practically know every single advanced spell in existence by now, Lucifer. You know exactly how each spell learned at Hogwarts works, and you can correct our movements the second we fail... Harry can assist too, but he doesn't know any of the advanced Sixth and Seventh Year spells."
Lucifer remained quiet for a long moment, his boots slowing as they neared a grand arched window. "Okay... so far you've only given me highly logical reasons for why I should teach y'all. Why exactly do you want Harry involved as an instructor? Besides his history of having fought Voldemort, of course."
"Mainly so the boy has a chance to take his mind off---" She abruptly stopped herself, her jaw tightening as she nearly revealed the bleeding secret Harry had begged her to keep from his knowledge. "—h-how incredibly difficult and stressful the year has started for him, that's all."
Lucifer looked down at her face for a long, calculating beat. "Okay, that's fair. The boy has had it rough this term. But if he simply learned to stop aggressively talking back to Umbridge's face, he wouldn't be so terribly behind on his schoolwork."
"That's exactly what I told him last night by the fire," Hermione said, both of them resuming their walk up a flight of moving stairs.
"Well, he better not take too long to make up his mind," Lucifer said as they reached the corridor housing the Gryffindor Tower, "Because as I stated this Dinner, the sooner we officially start these secret lessons, the better chance everyone can have at actually passing their 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' O.W.L. next June."
They spoke the current password to the Fat Lady portrait, and she grumbled as she swung forward to let them into the warm common room, fussing about students staying out late for Umbridge's 'Squid-lapping,' though neither of them paid any attention to her canvas.
They had minimal homework left to do, given that it was only Wednesday night, but they were both incredibly disciplined about getting their assignments completed early. Lucifer, especially, seemed to finish his rolls of parchment with an inhuman speed that Hermione still couldn't logically figure out.
As they sat down at their usual corner table to work, bushy haired girl looked down at the Potions essay Snape had returned earlier. If her last assignment had apparently only been deemed 'Acceptable' by O.W.L. standards, maybe she should swallow her pride and ask her boyfriend for direct help?
Even the mere thought of asking made Hermione feel slightly nauseated; she absolutely hated asking anyone for assistance, especially when it came to her schoolwork. She bit her lip, resolving that she would simply have to work ten times harder during their next Potions practical.
She knew Snape was just being his usual, malicious self anyway, and she felt completely confident that she would perform significantly better during the actual Ministry-proctored O.W.L. examination.
xxxxxx
The next day, Albus Dumbledore's temporary 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' professor finally arrived. During breakfast, under the utterly astonished gazes of numerous Weasleys and Lucifer, Headmaster stood at the podium and cheerfully announced her to the school.
"Many thanks to Mrs Molly Weasley for stepping forward during this difficult time to temporarily replace Professor Umbridge as our new 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' professor."
The Great Hall erupted into a wave of hesitant, thoroughly confused applause. The young wizards watched Molly waving cheerfully at her children from the staff table, unable to reconcile this middle-aged, comfortable, homemaker looking woman with concept of a Defense professor.
Down at the Gryffindor table, George and Fred were completely stunned, staring at each other wide-eyed as their forks hovered over their sausages.
"Fred, not only are my eyes violently hallucinating right now," George whispered, his face turning pale, "but my ears have gone completely bad, too."
"George, same here," Fred muttered back, his jaw dropping. "I am actually seeing Mum sitting in the Defense chair, and Dumbledore says she is going to be our new professor."
Simultaneously pulling faces far more miserable than tears, the twins chorused in perfect, tragic unison: "We're absolutely screwed!"
'Pfft!'
Nearby, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, and several others couldn't help but burst into loud laughter at their antics. Noticing the scene from the high table, Molly shot her twin sons an awkward, highly warning glare, making them immediately behave while they inwardly sighed in deep despair. For the next month, they realized they would have to keep their heads down completely.
Lucifer had considered many potential Order candidates in his head, but he had never once imagined that Mrs Weasley would be Umbridge's replacement. Dumbledore's operational choices... truly remained as unconventional as ever. Even inviting Remus Lupin or Alastor Moody back to teach would have been a thousand times better; why on earth choose Molly Weasley?
Wasn't the old man worried the Order members would literally starve to death without her presence at Grimmauld Place?
Turns out, his practical calculations were exactly right. At dinner time, she didn't stay at the school to sleep, but immediately returned to London via the Headmaster's Office fireplace to cook and clean for the secret headquarters. Working two grueling jobs, one completely unpaid, how exhausting for a mortal witch.
The next afternoon, Lucifer finally attended Molly's class. It was their first joint period with the Slytherins this year, who had initially looked down on a common housewife like her, whispering sneers behind their hands. But the exact second they saw Lucifer step through the door and greet her familiarly, and he passed the green-clad desks a heavy, predatory glare, the 'pure-bloods' immediately straightened up, sitting completely rigidly to avoid his wrath.
"Don't be so terribly nervous, children," Molly said, her voice dropping into a gentle, motherly cadence as she stood behind the desk. "I am simply a temporary substitute. Once Professor Umbridge returns from her medical leave, I will be leaving the post, so there is absolutely no need to treat me as a real professor."
When mentioning Umbridge's name, she didn't even bother hiding her deep disgust, her lips thinning. Noticing the copies of 'Defensive Magical Theory' sitting on their desks, she chuckled warmly. "You can put those useless things away right now. I am no good with heavy reading or intricate theory; I just know some practical little spells."
Instantly, the class's collective opinion of her rose several notches, books snapping shut down every row.
"I am a housewife, not well-versed in intricate combat charms," Molly explained smoothly. Drawing her wand, she flicked the wood with a casual, fluid motion. Instantly, a pristine porcelain teacup and a steaming pot of fresh tea materialized perfectly before each student. The teapots hovered smoothly on their own, elegantly pouring the liquid into their cups without spilling a single drop.
This simple display made the young wizards' eyes light up in genuine appreciation. Ordinary summoning and 'filling' charms, sure, many of the fifth-years could manage those with a wand. But flawlessly serving dozens of students simultaneously, all through silent, non-verbal spellcasting?
That wasn't a simple feat at all.
"Surprised?" Noticing their expressions, she smiled proudly, her hands resting on her apron. "I am a mother of seven, children. My main job is feeding them and keeping a massive house in order. Spells like these? During the school term, it is perfectly manageable, but come the summer holidays, I am executing them dozens, even hundreds of times daily."
Soft, delighted laughter rippled through the classroom; clearly, many of the students recalled their own summer laziness and chaotic households. Molly didn't scold them, chatting amiably as she paced the front row.
"Every spell is technically different, yet fundamentally similar in design. Practice makes perfect. If you ask me to cast a massive Blasting Curse or a corporeal 'Patronus Charm' today, I would honestly struggle.. I hardly ever use those, completely unlike my household spells."
"But household charms can't actually protect you in a real fight," Pansy Parkinson interjected from her seat, emboldened by Molly's approachable, motherly demeanor. She figured if she could easily pick a few spells here, Draco would be thoroughly impressed, pay less attention to Potter's brooding, and finally agree to go on a proper date with her during the Hogsmeade weekend.
"Quite the opposite, Miss Parkinson," Molly shook her head seriously, her expression turning hard. "Master them thoroughly, and even simple household spells become incredibly formidable in a battle. In typical wizard duels, the destructive power of the chosen spells is rarely the decisive factor.... Rather, your casting speed and your proficiency are far more crucial to survival."
"Let me demonstrate exactly what I mean."
With a sharp flick of her wand, three empty wooden chairs flew over from the back of the classroom, landing in a neat row before her.
"In my view," Molly said, her eyes narrowing as she held her stance, "Your battlefield enemies are exactly like stubborn, deep stains during your spring housework, they simply require a considerable amount of concentrated effort to remove completely. So... 'we do this."
Three rapid spells, three brilliant red beams of light shot from her wand tip in a fraction of a second. The exact microsecond they made physical contact, the heavy wooden chairs instantly exploded into three clean puffs of gray smoke, vanishing completely into thin air without leaving behind even a single speck of sawdust or ash against the floorboards.
'Gulp!'
The young wizards collectively swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. Even Lucifer was no exception to the shock, his eyebrows shooting up.
Molly smiled sheepishly, tucking her wand back into her sleeve. "See? All perfectly cleaned up now."
The room fell utterly, completely silent. Just as the substitute professor began feeling awkward under the heavy stares, Hermione Granger started clapping furiously, prompting everyone else to snap out of their daze and follow suit until the dungeon classroom echoed with applause.
"Brilliant! I have honestly never seen such an exaggerated Scouring Charm before in my life!"
"That was absolutely mental! It's structurally more destructive than a Reductor Curse!"
"Masterful, truly masterful!"
Everyone was thoroughly impressed by Molly's practical display. With that kind of raw, efficient power at her disposal, who could possibly deny that this was real 'Defense Against the Dark Arts?' It was defense until not even the ashes remained!
Mrs. Weasely finally relaxed her shoulders, her earlier performance tension easing. She wrote the core incantation for the 'Cleaning Charm' on the blackboard, adding some of her personal insights regarding intent and speed before letting the students practice freely, utilizing their teacups and hovering teapots as active props.
Although her teaching methodology was blunt, lacking systematic Ministry theory or advanced academic techniques, and consisted entirely of repetitive, manual practice, everyone in the room agreed that this was proper, professional instruction. Isn't constant practical application exactly how a wizard truly masters a spell? Did anyone really believe, like Umbridge did, that pure theoretical reading could ever produce competent spellwork?
By the lesson's end, under Molly's direct guidance, everyone had made noticeable progress with their speed.
The exact second the bell rang, many of the girls lingered behind, crowding excitedly around her desk to ask about other unique household spells.
"Professor Weasley, do you know any specific charms to make basic food taste significantly better?"
"Professor, my Dehumidifying Charm never works properly during the winter—the clothes still need hours of air-drying. Do you have any personal tips for the wand motion?"
"Me too! How exactly do I make the cleaning brooms obey and sweep automatically without losing the enchantment?"
The lesson had instantly transformed into a lively Housewives' Symposium, leaving Lucifer utterly astonished as he watched the crowd from the back. Even his own girlfriend, Hermione, had violently bolted from their shared desk the second the lecture ended, rushing up to the podium to ask her own questions about Domestic charms.
Harry scratched his head sheepishly as he and Ron walked out into the corridor alongside Lucifer. "Mrs. Weasley is truly impressive," he muttered, a look of profound respect behind his glasses. "I am definitely going to keep working on the speed of my Reducto curse after seeing that. I finally understand how formidable she really is."
He shook his head, looking back at the classroom doors. Truly, the only complete fool in that entire family was Ron, who was still looking slightly traumatized by his mother's destructive cleaning power.
xxxxxxx
London, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
After subduing Barty Crouch Jr. and ending his lesson on the 'Unforgivable Curses' at the end of the previous school year, Lucifer hadn't forgotten his self-imposed duty to treat the Longbottoms. The intricate mental dreams he had painstakingly woven for Frank and Alice were nearly complete, but a frustrating new biological barrier had emerged: their severely damaged brains had lost the fundamental ability to dream, rendering even his branch of Mystic Arts ineffective.
It was exactly like attempting to cast a nightmare curse on a common piece of stone; the stone simply wouldn't register the magic. To bridge this gap, he knew he would eventually need to repair their physical brains to restore their ability to dream, a task that required he tap into primal, shifting conceptual aid of the Sandman.
"That is enough for today," Lucifer murmured, slowly drawing his hands back. "I've successfully reconnected a critical part of their core mental faculties.... A few more sessions like this, and their minds should finally be strong enough to withstand the full weight of the dream. Make sure to keep up the continuous supply of the vitality and energy potions, Augusta. Absolutely no breaks in their daily medication."
After two grueling hours of intense, non-verbal manipulation, Lucifer opened his dark eyes and directly addressed Madam Longbottom, who had been waiting anxiously nearby. Though his reservoir ensured he still had immense energy to spare, the tragic couple had reached their absolute physical threshold for the day and needed quiet time to consolidate the neurological progress.
Since finally seeing a true, undeniable glimmer of hope for her son and daughter-in-law, Lady Augusta, Neville's formidable grandmother had warmed considerably toward the mysterious fifth-year boy. Even though he was chronologically her grandson's age, her tone now carried a distinct, heavy hint of genuine respect.
"Mr. Morningstar, you've worked exceptionally hard today," Augusta said, her sharp eyes softening behind her stuffed-vulture hat. "Shall I arrange for an official Ministry car to oversee your return to the castle?"
"No need at all," Lucifer rose from his chair with an easy, charming smile, dusting off his robes. "Since I'm already here in the building, I might as well head up a few floors to visit an old acquaintance of mine."
"A friend currently in the hospital?" the old lady asked, looking slightly surprised.
"Not a friend, no. Dolores Umbridge," Lucifer replied smoothly, a cold glint in his eyes. "I simply want to see how the High Inquisitor is faring after her recent... swim."
"Her." A sudden wave of understanding dawned on Augusta's stern features, followed immediately by an intensely peculiar, grimly amused expression. She knew this wasn't a standard, polite visit to an injured professor; it was a calculated move designed to rub agonizing salt straight into a fresh wound.
xxxxxxx
Down on the second floor, inside the 'Creature-Induced Injuries' ward, Lucifer easily navigated the bustling corridors. After confirming the exact room number for Umbridge's private quarantine, he marched straight there and leaned casually against the open doorframe.
"Not bad at all. A fully private room?" Lucifer's voice sliced cleanly through the quiet room.
Umbridge, who had been lying thoroughly dazed and heavily sedated on the hospital mattress, turned her head sharply at the sound. The exact second her bulging eyes locked onto his tall frame, they widened in absolute, breathless shock and terror. "Morningstar..." she whispered, her voice cracking as her pale hand instinctively hovered over the bedside emergency call button, ready to press it the millisecond he took a step forward. Was the terrifying boy here to permanently silence her?
"Just handling some private business here at St. Mungo's. There is absolutely no need for you to be so terribly nervous, Professor Umbridge," Lucifer said smoothly. He remained leaning against the threshold, deliberately choosing not to cross into her personal space, though his intense, piercing gaze swept the layout of the room before settling heavily back onto her bandaged face. "I heard from the staff that you've managed to secure multiple deep lacerations, heavy bruising, and slime-induced burns from... your encounter with the lake. Needing a full three week's worth of bed rest, are we?"
"You seem exceptionally pleased with my misfortune, boy," Umbridge narrowed her eyes into cold, venomous slits, her pasty face twisting as she forced a sickeningly saccharine smile onto her lips. "It is just sixteen days more. Don't worry your arrogant head, I will be returning to the castle very soon. Hogwarts' administrative reforms will not be stopped by a common beast, not even halfway."
"You must be completely out of your mind," Lucifer chuckled dryly, shaking his head at her stubborn delusion. "Have you completely forgotten? The Ministry's Department of 'Magical Law Enforcement' hasn't even officially started their formal investigation into your records yet."
Umbridge's face darkened instantly, her plastic smile fracturing into a hard scowl. This was indeed a troublesome, dangerous variable for her career. But deep down, her pride reminded her that she was Cornelius Fudge's right-hand operator. What could Amelia Bones truly do to her without causing a full-blown civil war within the Wizengamot?
"Professor, you'd better make absolutely certain that no one discovers you've been creatively manipulating and embezzling the school's historical funds," Lucifer 'kindly' reminded her, his tone dripping with a mocking pity. "Because under the old charter, even if Fudge manages to keep your body out of an Azkaban cell, the financial compensation demanded by the Board of Governors would be tenfold your entire personal vault."
Umbridge violently waved her short arm through the air, her sheets rustling angrily. "How dare you! Morningstar, you are actively slandering an upstanding, senior Ministry official in a public ward!"
He nearly gagged at the pure hypocrisy of her words. Seeing absolutely zero reason to waste another single molecule of his time on her, Lucifer turned his back to leave the room. But after taking exactly two slow steps down the empty corridor, he suddenly spun around on his heel, dark eyes staring directly through her doorway one last time.
"Oh, I nearly forgot to share some excellent news with you, Dolores," Lucifer smiled, a sharp, predatory expression breaking through his features. "I am not entirely sure about the exact mechanics of it, but Harry Potter has been coming out of your private evening detentions looking remarkably... pained and clutching his right hand. If you ever try anything 'funny' like that with him again, and I find out about it..."
Umbridge's pasty face paled to a translucent, ghostly white, her fingers freezing over her call button.
Lucifer's grin widened into a lethal, terrifying line. "Whatever it is you're having him write with those lines... I've already formally reported the suspicious physical trauma directly to the highest levels of the Ministry. The 'Law Enforcement Department' will be aggressively investigating that little secret tool of yours as well. Have a wonderful recovery, Professor."
Perfect.
Watching her completely panicked, breathing-shortened expression through the glass, Lucifer finally turned and walked away down the hall, thoroughly satisfied with the interaction. Even when the pink toad wasn't physically present at Hogwarts, she could still be beautifully tortured within the white walls of St. Mungo's.
In just two short weeks, the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' curriculum went from being the least popular, dreaded subject in the castle to the single period that students most eagerly looked forward to. Many upper-years even openly remarked over their meals that Mrs. Weasley was easily the best, most practical professor of the cursed subject they had ever had, ranking her curriculum significantly better than Moody's wild antics and Lupin's lessons combined.
Not only was she incredibly approachable and motherly in the classroom, treating the fifth-year practical lessons like casual, encouraging chats with children, but she also frequently rewarded those students who showed significant improvement in their casting speed with massive, homemade pastries and tarts.
Her lessons involved minimal textbook lecturing, focusing instead on repeated, hands-on physical exercises to build raw muscle memory. As she had stated clearly on her very first day, practice makes perfect. No ordinary student at Hogwarts was so fundamentally inept that they couldn't master a few defensive spells given enough repetition.
Even Neville Longbottom, after hundreds of frantic attempts under her patient gaze, could now successfully conjure a highly respectable, whirling wind with the 'Ventus' Charm.
Beyond that, Mrs. Weasley's effortless, everyday use of magic to handle multiple tasks simultaneously had quickly transformed her into an idol to the vast majority of the school's female population.
While the boys obsessed over destructive power and flashy hexes, the girls paid close attention to life's practical little details. Thanks to her guidance, they had learned countless useful, time-saving spells for daily life and couldn't help but deeply envy the Weasley children for having such a kind, immensely capable mother.
'They must be so incredibly happy at home,' the girls sighed wistfully over their tea.
The Weasleys, meanwhile, were on the absolute verge of tears. Having one's own mother serve as a senior professor at school was far from an ideal, romantic situation; she could discipline them in dual, capacities both as a parent and a faculty member.
Especially a fierce mother like Mrs. Weasley, who reserved her soft gentleness for the other students and her strictness strictly for her own bloodline. These past two weeks had been easily the most subdued, terrifyingly quiet periods of Fred and George's entire school lives.
No unauthorized mischief, no flashy pranks; only within the safety of the Gryffindor dormitory did they dare to relax their shoulders even slightly. Even then, they held back their inventions, terrified Angelina Johnson might report their bedroom inventory directly to their mother's desk.
Ginny wasn't faring much better under the heavy maternal radar either. Previously, she had been well on her way to becoming the undisputed, popular 'Unofficial Queen' of the fourth-year Gryffindors. Now, she had transformed into a total model of quiet, ladylike decorum whenever she walked the corridors.
But Ron undoubtedly had it the absolute worst of all. Mrs. Weasley monitored his practical progress relentlessly in every single lesson, her sharp eyes boring into his wand movements. Objectively speaking, Ron flew and casted slightly above average among the Gryffindors, he wasn't bad at his spells at all.
That evaluation depended entirely on the comparison. The twins, once they actually focused their chaotic minds, learned new magical structures with a frighteningly rapid speed. Ginny, meanwhile, was easily one of the most naturally gifted, fluid witches in the entire institution. This high-tier family baseline only served to highlight Ron's absolute mediocrity.
If not for the literal fact that he had come directly from her own womb, Mrs. Weasley might have seriously suspected Arthur of some dark infidelity.
"Mum just manually confiscated another twenty of our fresh Canary Creams and an entire batch of Puking Pastilles," George groaned heavily, leaning against the wooden table inside the Hogwarts kitchens. "When on earth will this bloody maternal nightmare finally end?"
Lucifer smoothly polished off a roasted chicken wing, downing a chilled glass of fresh lemonade before offering a calm response. "I think the arrangement is great for the school's ecosystem. Sacrifice the freedom of a few Weasleys for the general happiness of the student majority. Because the second... She leaves the castle, Umbridge will be right back in that chair."
"Honestly, at this point, I think I'd rather have Umbridge," Fred muttered gloomily, resting his chin on his hands. "Our Skiving Snackboxes haven't sold a single unit since she arrived on the staff."
"Say that loud enough where the other houses can hear you, Fred, and you will get punched right in the face," Hermione remarked absently. She stepped closer, placing a fresh golden plate of perfectly sliced steak directly in front of her boyfriend. It was well past midnight.
The twins had snicked down to the kitchens for a late-night snack, only to run straight into Lucifer and Hermione executing the exact same mission or, in the bushy-haired girl's professional words, they were here to check on the physical working conditions of the house-elves, warmly meeting with Dobby and Winky as well, who had slowly started to make friends now that her entire Crouch family connection was permanently gone.
Barty Crouch Jr. had officially received the absolute finality of the Dementor's Kiss, a punishment personally brought down by Cornelius Fudge to destroy his soul and leave him an empty, breathing shell. Both his mind and his memories were gone forever, rendering the man entirely unable to ever testify before the public about Lord Voldemort's true return.
"Don't get your hopes up about a replacement, though. Umbridge really is coming back to the school soon," Lucifer said suddenly, chewing a piece of the succulent beef.
Hermione's face fell instantly, a look of deep worry crossing her eyes. "Is she... is she truly not in any real legal trouble with the Ministry after the audit?"
"Not enough to break her," Lucifer shook his head, swallowed, and leaned back. "If the Aurors chose to dig deeper into her historical accounts, they would find plenty of incredibly shady dealings, but Fudge is actively blocking that from happening anytime soon."
"Great. Just brilliant," Hermione sighed, looking just as thoroughly dejected as the twins.
After finishing their food, Fred and George sneaked quietly back up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower, while Lucifer smoothly took his girlfriend back to their private, warded quarters for some much-needed... physical comfort.
A week later, 'The Daily Prophet' officially published the news of Umbridge's final punishment. As Lucifer had expertly predicted, there were no major criminal consequences for her career, but she did not emerge from the scandal unscathed either.
The primary issue cited by the Auror office was severe financial misconduct. Umbridge hadn't directly pocketed the school gold for her personal vault, but she had creatively and illegally justified extravagant personal decorations using Hogwarts' emergency repair funds, such as the hundreds of Galleons spent importing the moving 'feline' porcelain plates to adorn her office walls from Beauxbatons, she had done it being hooked due to Vector's gift.
While Hogwarts professors were technically allowed to utilize a small portion of school funds to customize their workspaces, the level of her extravagance was galling compared to the current shortages in core teaching resources. Her formal penalty? A massive, tenfold 'financial fine' paid directly back into the Hogwarts vault, alongside her immediate, permanent removal as the 'Financial Inspector' of the school.
There was also the minor matter of Lucifer's anonymous report regarding her use of a dark artifact to physically punish students during lines. 'The Daily Prophet' didn't cover the disturbing detail to protect the Ministry's reputation, but Wizengamot did send Albus Dumbledore a private report.
Umbridge had claimed total ignorance during her interrogation, swearing she thought the blood quill was an ordinary piece of stationery and hadn't intentionally given it to Harry Potter to inflict harm.
With absolutely no physical evidence remaining, thanks to Hermione's Murtlap essence successfully healing Harry's right hand for weeks until the skin was unblemished, Amelia Bones was forced to settle for a stern, written warning on her profile.
The real underlying reason she escaped a trial? Her actual magical skills and intellect were deemed far too pathetic and mediocre to convincingly craft or curse such an advanced dark item herself. Thus, she slipped through the cracks of the law.
Her public reputation, however, was left in absolute tatters, exactly the outcome Dumbledore had wanted all along. The old Headmaster spent his morning playing happily with Fawkes, treating his magnificent bird to a collection of highly precious, rare herbs in a thoroughly excellent mood.
xxxxxxx
Because Umbridge was out of commission, Harry's grueling evening detention was gone, which meant Lucifer only had to report to the Quidditch pitch for team practices on Mondays and Fridays.
There, under the vast sky, he also kept a sharp eye on Ron. The ginger boy flew with a sudden precision, blocking the Quaffle repeatedly and doing much better than he had during his nervous trials. But there were no mocking Slytherins on the pitch to deliberately distract him yet; game day would be the true test of how he would handle the intense pressure of being Keeper.
It was now the middle of October, the castle drafts turning crisp as autumn deepened. Lucifer was sitting in the library, seamlessly cross-referencing rare potion ingredients for Snape, when Hermione suddenly brought up the exact question she had been patiently awaiting an answer for.
"I was wondering, Harry," She whispered, leaning over the heavy mahogany table, "If you've thought any more about teaching with Lucifer and helping the rest of us with 'Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
She had asked this because on Tuesday, Mrs. Weasley had officially left Hogwarts amid heartfelt, tearful farewells from the student body. Umbridge had returned to the staff table the very next day, entirely unchastened by her medical stay and looking almost smug.
In fact, she had even dared to openly provoke Lucifer during their very first period back.
"Mr. Morningstar, if you so thoroughly dislike my lessons, you are perfectly free to leave the room," Umbridge had croaked sweetly, her bulging eyes locking onto him. "But if you choose to stay, you will read the assigned Ministry material like a proper student."
The entire classroom had gasped, a dead silence falling over the desks. Apart from her disastrous first lesson, she had always pointedly ignored the boy's imposing presence to ensure her own safety.
"What if I choose to stay..." Lucifer had smirked, leaning back as he casually closed his copy of 'The Quibbler', "...but simply refuse to read your rubbish book?"
"Then I must punish your defiance," She had said, her voice dripping with a sickening satisfaction. "Ten points from Gryffindor. I hear you are ruthlessly going for a fifth consecutive House Cup this term, Mr. Morningstar? Defy my authority further, and that little dream ends right here."
'Thank you, you pathetic toad,' Lucifer had thought gleefully, though he forced his handsome face into a mask of pure, tightly controlled anger as he returned to his papers. Her threat had brought back a fleeting glimpse of Cedric's death. Out of respect for the tragedy, no formal winner of the 'Triwizard Tournament' had been announced last year, but it was Gryffindor who had technically won the House Cup after Lucifer saved Gabrielle Delacour from the Merpeople in the Black Lake.
Umbridge, completely mistaking his calculated silence for a grand defeat, had smiled triumphantly. During her absence at St. Mungo's, she had studied Lucifer's school profile thoroughly through corrupt Slytherins and a few loose-lipped students like Zacharias Smith.
She had proudly realized his immense influence stemmed from Gryffindor's united support. Her grand plan was simple: isolate him by systematically turning his own housemates against him over lost points. But she fundamentally misunderstood the nature of the lions.
She saw Lucifer's staged rage, but she completely missed the other lions' blank stares, the look of utter, unbothered resignation on their faces. The Gryffindors didn't care about the points; they were terrified of 'him.'
In the library, Harry didn't answer her right away. He didn't even look up from the parchment he was reading or pretending to read, Hermione guessed. She watched him patiently, her fingers tapping against her knuckles.
"Well, yeah..." Harry started unsurely, his green eyes darting around the quiet shelves. "Of course I've thought about it..."
She saw Harry glance over at Ron, who instantly looked up when he felt the heavy weight of eyes on him. "Don't look at me for an excuse, mate," Ron muttered. "I thought it was a brilliant idea from the start."
"Look, Potter, it's a simple question with a simple answer," Lucifer said, his voice slicing through the boys' hesitation as he closed a leather tome. "Either you and I tag-team this curriculum, or I am going to do it entirely myself. And I think... we should extend the offer to more than just Hermione and Ron. You two aren't the only ones currently suffering that bitch's decrees. Anyone who genuinely wants to learn real magic should be allowed to join."
"Alright, alright..." Harry said, his voice rising loudly enough for Madam Pince to let out a sharp, venomous 'shush' from the next aisle over. He dropped his voice into a tight whisper. "Fine. I'll help you teach..." Then turned his face back to Hermione. "What exactly did you have in mind for the logistics?"
Hermione's face instantly became completely gleeful, her eyes lighting up. She figured she had a typical sense of protagonist responsibility. "Okay, so this upcoming weekend is a scheduled Hogsmeade visit, right?" The boys nodded in unison. "Well, I think we should host our very first open meeting there, away from the castle. I can manually ask a few specific people who I think might be genuinely interested."
"Why on earth do we need to host it outside the school grounds?" Harry asked her, his brow furrowing.
Lucifer was the one who answered, his tone flat and logical. "Because if Umbridge heard a single whisper about a secret magic club inside the tower, she wouldn't be happy, and it would become highly problematic for our scheduling."
The Hogsmeade weekend quickly approached, the autumn weather turning increasingly grey. Walking along the stone corridors, Harry had voiced his deep fears and anxieties involving his godfather's reckless behavior to his friends.
"Well, I can't find it in my heart to blame the man for being angry," Hermione said to Harry as they walked. "But until Voldemort is pushed completely out into the open and it's legally proven to the public that Sirius is innocent, he has to stay hidden... Firstly, because he doesn't carry the Dark Mark, and secondly, the exact second he starts actively attacking Voldemort's actual followers, it will be shown to the Wizengamot that he was never on his side."
"I know all that... and I'm sure he understands the politics too..." Harry said, his voice dropping as he defended his godfather's pride. "But none of you truly know what it's like to be locked in a dark house for extended periods of time..."
"Don't be so incredibly sure about that..." Lucifer said, his dark eyes looking distant.
A heavy, memory flashed through his mind. In the previous timeline, he had already cleanly proven Sirius's total innocence to the public by capturing Peter Pettigrew alive, forcing a full Wizengamot trial and everything. But he and Snape had ruthlessly murdered the rat on his way to Azkaban out of Lily's revenge, only for the magic of the world to reset the timeline and wipe out the progress.
"Lucifer, I-I didn't mean to---" Harry started quickly, realizing his mistake.
"Don't," Lucifer said, his dark eyes locking onto the boy with a finality that brooked zero argument. "Just don't."
"So," Hermione cut in, shifting the dangerous topic quickly as she sensed sudden temperature drop in the air. "I have been carefully sounding out a few people who I feel would be highly interested in learning practical magic from you both, and a good number of them seem eager.... We told them to meet us secretly at Hogsmeade."
"Good," Lucifer answered her, his expression smoothing back into a calm neutrality as they neared the exit doors. "Hopefully, they can actually manage to retain that interest after we start the real training."
xxxxxxx
The following morning dawned bright but incredibly windy, the harsh autumn gales rattling high windows of the Great Hall as the students finished their breakfast.
After checking their bags, the fifth-years queued up in the Entrance Hall in front of Argus Filch, who was meticulously matching their names to a long, rolling list of students who had secured official permission from their parents or guardians to visit the village.
When Lucifer finally reached the front of the line, he abruptly stopped him, his breath wheezing as a wicked, ugly smile formed across his weathered face.
"Hang on a moment, Morningstar," Filch sneered, tapping the parchment aggressively. "Your name's completely missing from this sheet."
"Bullshit," Lucifer said calmly, his dark eyes locking onto the caretaker. "Let me see the list."
Filch tried to jerk the paper back to keep him from seeing the ink, but Lucifer was far too fast. With a fluid, blinding movement, he snatched the top of the clipboard and quickly scanned the lines. To his complete surprise, his name was genuinely not on the sheet.
"I told you you weren't on here," Filch cackled, his smile widening sickeningly as he reached for the clipboard. "You're not going anywhere, boy. You'll be staying right here inside the castle walls today."
Before Lucifer's knuckles could whiten, Professor McGonagall walked up briskly from the Great Hall, her sharp eyes scanning the sudden hold-up. "What exactly is going on here, Mr. Filch? Why has the queue stopped moving?"
"He is attempting to slip out to Hogsmeade without his name being on the parental permission list, Professor," Filch said triumphantly.
"Mr. Filch, have you completely forgotten that Mr. Morningstar does indeed possess permanent permission from his guardian to visit the village, or shall I go and manually drag the Headmaster down here to correct your books?" She challenged the caretaker, her voice laced into a razor-sharp edge.
Filch conceded almost too quickly, his shoulders slumping as he shrank back under her fierce gaze. "No... no, that won't be necessary. Get going, then," he muttered jerkily to Lucifer.
Lucifer didn't offer him another glance. He casually walked past the desk, Hermione falling into step right beside him as they cleared the grand oak doors, "Stupid, petty fuck..." He muttered under his breath once they were safely out on the gravel path, losing respect for Squid he previously held.
"I have absolutely no idea what that display was about... why on earth wouldn't your name have been registered on the sheet?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing into a deep scowl as they walked down the sloping lawn to meet Ron and Harry, who were already a few yards ahead of them on the road.
"Probably something to do with Umbridge's lingering," Lucifer mused, his eyes tracking the carriage tracks in the mud. "She clearly hates my guts, yet she hasn't dared to give me a single evening detention since she got out of St. Mungo's... why do you think that is, pet?" He looked down at his girlfriend, searching her face for a mildly curious answer, hoping she would finally spill the beans regarding what exactly had undergone during her Detentions.
Lucifer knew the Ministry's quick dismissal of charges was incredibly shady, but to what extent the bargain went he wasn't entirely sure, since Amelia Bones had passed Umbridge off with just a warning after meeting Harry.
The girl in question instantly felt a little lightheaded, her chest tightening with a sudden wave of panic as she gripped her bag. "Pr-probably... she probably just doesn't want to risk... to risk another accident," Hermione stammered, failing to think of a logical, legal reason to hide her tracks.
"Is she genuinely terrified of me, you think?" he asked her, a slow smirk playing on his lips.
"Yes! Yes, that's it, that's got to be it," Hermione agreed frantically, her words coming out just a bit too quickly to arouse his suspicion.
xxxxxxx
Author's Note
If you want to Read my Complete book, including 8th Year, Marriage and having kids, ahead of everyone.
Support this novel, join me on Patreon!
Link - patreon.com/SmutDxddy
We have a stockpile upto Chapter 1030 for you to binge-read! 😋
Playing Cards with Pregnant Hermione on a n*de beach, if you'd like to Read now! 🍼