The four of us emerged from Ollivander's shop, our new wands tucked securely at our sides, each one pulsing with a subtle energy that felt almost alive. The narrow, dimly lit interior had been suffocating, crammed but stepping into the open air of Diagon Alley was like drawing a fresh breath. The bustling street hummed with life—wizards haggling over cauldrons, owls hooting from perches, and the distant crackle of experimental spells.
Ollivander's parting words lingered in the air like a faint echo: "You four will stir up the world—for better... or for worse."
Professor McGonagall adjusted her spectacles, her stern gaze sweeping over us. She reached into the folds of her robes and produced four crisp envelopes, each sealed with the Hogwarts crest.
"These," she announced in her no-nonsense tone, "are your tickets for the Hogwarts Express. Departing September first from King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Do not be late. The barrier is between platforms nine and ten—walk straight through it, no hesitation."
She handed them out one by one, her fingers precise, but her eyes lingered on me a beat longer, a silent message etched in that piercing stare: I'm keeping an eye on you, lad.
"Any questions?" she added, her tone sharp yet laced with a hint of concern.
Enid shook her head vigorously, her blonde hair bouncing like sunlight on waves, "Nope! Sounds totally magical. I can't wait!"
Wednesday tilted her head slightly, her expression as impassive as ever, "How quaint."
Nitocris took her ticket with a graceful nod, "Understood, Professor."
With a sharp crack, McGonagall vanished, no doubt off to report this peculiar group to Dumbledore and the other professors. We were left standing amid the shoppers.
Enid was already fidgeting with excitement, hugging her wand close like a treasured gift. Wednesday seemed bored, as if acquiring a wand was as thrilling as organizing paperclips. Nitocris held hers with a quiet intensity.
I cleared my throat to break the moment, "Feel free to wander Diagon Alley. Explore, shop around, but keep your wits sharp. Not everyone here welcomes newcomers with open arms—some dark types might see us as easy marks."
Wednesday raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, "Then they'll be sorely disappointed when they discover we bite back."
A faint smirk tugged at my lips, "That's precisely why I'm not concerned about you three. If anything, I pity the idiot who tries anything."
Enid spun on her heel, her eyes lighting up at a window display of shimmering robes down the lane, "Ooh, shopping spree! Where do we meet up?"
"Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour," I replied. "I'll catch up after handling some business."
Nitocris cocked her head, a knowing glint in her eyes, "Gringotts again?"
I nodded, "Yes. More to sort with Gricko Grimgrin—without McGonagall breathing down my neck this time."
The girls shared a quick look, Wednesday's mouth quirking faintly.
"Don't start a war in there," she drawled.
Enid giggled, her laughter bright and infectious, "Or do! But bring back souvenirs."
"Try not to bring back pet owlbear," I added dryly.
Enid gasped dramatically, "Don't tempt me!"
They melted into the crowd, their voices trailing off amid the alley's chatter—Enid's excited squeals, Wednesday's deadpan quips, Nitocris's measured responses.
I watched them go for a moment before turning toward the imposing white marble facade of Gringotts, its grand steps rising like a throne. Time to handle the real work.
The bank's entrance buzzed with activity—goblins barking orders, wizards queuing with sacks of gold—but my focus narrowed as I spotted him. Gricko Grimgrin lounged near the doors, his toothy grin wide and mischievous, hands clasped behind his back like a kid hiding a surprise.
"Ah! Mr. Ashborn! Punctual as a goblin's ledger!" he crowed, his voice cheerful and booming. "Come, come. Hootsie's up and about—she's been rehearsing her little dance just for you."
I gave a curt nod and followed him through the halls. Hootsie perked up immediately, her owlbear eyes sparkling as she stamped a hoof in delight. I knelt briefly, stroking her soft feathers; they fluffed under my touch, and she responded with a contented hoot.
"Oh, she simply adores you more each visit," Gricko chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear she's scheming to stow away in your pocket."
Hootsie hooted affirmatively, leaning into my hand.
Gricko ushered me into his cluttered office, a chaotic haven of parchments, odd trinkets, and stacked ledgers.
"Have a seat, make yourself at home," he said, dropping into his chair with a flourish. "Tea? Or shall I serenade you with the ocarina while we talk?"
I declined with a shake of my head, settling opposite him as Hootsie claimed a perch on a nearby shelf, her tail feathers swishing curiously.
"Straight to business, then," I said. "First: any mansions for sale near Hogsmeade?"
Gricko's eyes gleamed, and he yanked a parchment from a drawer, "Ah, estates and manors galore! Warded against nosy intruders, enchanted kitchens that cook themselves, and—ooh, this one's a gem—self-maintaining gardens."
He jabbed a claw at the sheet, "There's a prime spot on the northern fringe of Hogsmeade. Secluded, with barriers that could stop a troll, and ceilings charmed to handle... enthusiastic guests or wayward dragons."
"Good," I said, nodding. "Second: house-elves for upkeep? Cooking, cleaning, the works."
His grin stretched wider, "The loyal little darlings! Plenty available—some even fancy estates with built-in perks for them. I can line up a few sharp ones; no biters, I assure you."
I arched a brow, "Fine. And one more... unconventional ask. Human-animal hybrids on the black market? Cat-girls, fox-girls, that sort?"
Gricko blinked, then let out a soft, knowing chuckle, reclining in his chair, "Oho, veering off the Galleon path, are we? Rare finds, those—magical lineages, benign and controlled. No curses like a maledictus; no slithering surprises. Discreet breeders keep them in line. Fox-girls or cat-girls? Loyal, quick-witted, perfect for household duties if trained right. I can connect you to a reliable source."
Hootsie chirped from below, and I absently scratched behind her ears, "Excellent. Start with mansion and elf details. Hybrids can come later."
Gricko's grin could have split his face, "As you wish, sir! This is the spice of my trade—mansions, elves, and a fox-girl tale or two for flavor."
He leaned in, eyes twinkling, "Luxurious first, or the quirky ones?"
"Both," I replied, arms crossed. "Unique appeals to me."
He clapped delightedly, nearly toppling backward, "Splendid! Hootsie, you hear? This'll be a riot!"
Hootsie hooted in enthusiastic agreement, and I permitted a small smile.
The office warmed with our discussion's energy as Gricko spread parchments across his desk—sketches of grand estates, ward diagrams, maps dotted with wizarding locales. Hootsie nosed at them occasionally, hooting her apparent approval.
"Ah, this is my passion!" Gricko bounced in his seat. "Ocean vistas, mountain retreats, utter seclusion... We'll craft the ideal haven for you, Mr. Ashborn!"
I leaned forward, "I envision a secluded mountaintop domain overlooking the sea. Fortified with top-tier enchantments for privacy and defense. Anti-Apparition wards mandatory—entry by permission only. Renovate for modern comforts blended with magic."
Gricko's grin flashed brighter, "Modern magic! Sweeping terraces, charmed gardens, invisible defenses... And a pool, perhaps?"
"Precisely. A circulating pool drawing from the ocean, flowing through the grounds, looping back. The salt waters will circulate into fresh water. Natural appearance, but warded against tampering."
His claws skittered over the papers, "Perfect! I've got a cliffside spot north of the bay, near hot springs—ideal for your pool. Existing wards block Muggles and snoopers; we can amp up the Anti-Apparition and key boundaries to your allies. Magnificent!"
I considered, arms still crossed, "Solid. Now, on the fox-girls or cat-girls—do they have innate household magic like elves?"
Gricko's eyes sparkled, "Some do, tied to their heritage. Wave a tail, and rooms tidy themselves; levitate plates, transfigure meals. Like elves, but... more engaging, more aesthetically pleasing."
My smirk deepened, "Perfect. Prioritize the hybrids with that magic over house elves. Looks and function both count. House elves as fallback."
He scratched notes eagerly, "Done! I'll vet candidates—their skills, loyalties, quirks. Essential to know if a fox-girl sparks when surprised or a cat-girl dozes in sunspots."
Hootsie stretched with a soft hoot, her tail approvingly flicking.
"I'll handle purchase and renos," Gricko sang out. "Contracts, inspections, wards, staff—all primed for your nod. This'll be the jewel of wizarding estates, Mr. Ashborn!"
I eased back, "Update me as it unfolds. Secure the estate and the household, then we can finalize."
Gricko bobbed his head, "You got it! Adventure in every spell! Hootsie and I will perfect it—no fox-girl too sly!"
A faint smile escaped me, "Discreet as always."
He saluted sharply, "Discretion's my creed! Your fortunes guarded by Gricko and Hootsie—the sharpest teeth and softest feathers in banking!"
The blueprint illusion shimmered above us, but I conjured my vision: cascading glass-and-stone terraces down the mountain, warm lights glowing, eternal cherry blossoms framing ocean views, reflections dancing in crystalline waters, a distant skyline hazy on the horizon.
Gricko gaped, jaw slack, "By the Stonefather's whiskers... That's no mere house—it's a fortress of dreams!"
He thumped the desk. "A veritable palace!"
"This is the model," I stated calmly. "Replicate every element. Import Japanese cherry blossoms, enchant them for year-round bloom—petals never wilting. Nature magic to sustain their vibrancy. Ancient runes melded in the modern concepts, impenetrable to uninvited Apparition."
Gricko squealed, scribbling madly, "Eternal spring! The old pure-bloods'll choke on their envy."
I shifted the illusion, shadows rising into disciplined ranks—the Shadow Army, poised and silent. "My forces will aid construction. Tireless and exact—stonework, enchantments, all. Anet will supervise the work."
Gricko's grin mixed awe and envy, "Goblins and shadows building an empire... Stories awaits us, my lord."
I nodded faintly, "Build a cottage for you and Hootsie nearby too. Close enough for counsel, but distant for your own peace. A loyal reward. No drafts, no pests—Hootsie deserves such luxury as well."
Gricko paused, quill frozen. His eyes widened in shock and warmth. Hootsie trilled softly, feathers puffing.
"A home... for us?" His voice wavered.
"Yes," I affirmed. "I believe you earned such a reward for helping me."
He laughed heartily, pounding his chest, "Lord Ashborn, I'll forge it myself—goblin steel, mountain stone. Finest goblin abode in this wretched town!"
"Good," I said. "One final matter."
His ears perked, "Name it, my lord. Anything."
"Not elves for attendants. Source fox-women, cat-women from Eastern lands—Japan, China, beyond. Shrine maidens or Nadeshiko ideals: graceful, loyal, disciplined. Magical bloodlines preferred, no curses. Household spells like elves? Top priority."
Gricko's quill halted, a sly smile creeping up, "Ah... companions, not mere servants. Refined, exotic gems—far from elven groveling."
He leaned closer, voice hushed, "Magical contracts to bind them?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "Absolute ties to my service and safety. They will be parts of my house—my harem. Loyalty, allure, and strength as one."
He chuckled lowly, noting it down, "Contracts forged in bed. They'll pledge body, soul, magic for you. Shrine maidens? You'll hold their hearts, not just hands."
His gaze burned with ambition, "I'll raid Eastern shadows—Yokohama ports, Shanghai depths, Himalayan temples. They'll arrive loyal and eager for you."
I leaned back, the pact's gravity thickening the air, "Then it's settled. Start the estate first. Then, a household of my chosen ones."
Gricko bowed low, reverent, "Your will, Lord Ashborn."
Hootsie trilled proudly, as if endorsing the epic story unfolding.
Gricko dove in like a whirlwind. By midday, ledgers bulged with seals; evening brought manifests, receipts, vendor nods from awed suppliers. The cliff estate was held quietly, Vault 12 claimed under House Ashborn, whispers sent to global contacts.
"You'll be thrilled, my lord," he said in a check-in. "Smooth as a vault's tumblers."
House Ashborn was official: crest—the Noxus emblem—shimmering under light, livery a deep, unyielding purple. Ledgers stamped, a signet ring commissioned for my pinky, arriving a week pre-school.
Gricko recited triumphs: Property secured swiftly, holds on Hogsmeade's northern parcel, wards veiling it from prying eyes. Neighboring plot for his cottage—"No more trudging like a messenger boy," he beamed.
Vault 12 etched with the crest, ledger inked purple, banners and plaque ordered.
Materials procurement: Goblin stone, shadow mortar; warded glass, runed beams; ley anchors, hematite posts; moonstone wards, lattices; aqua-runes for the pool; enchanted tools, phoenix resin; sakura saplings charmed vital.
Labor: Goblin teams, Shadow Army for night shifts—foundations and runes.
Requirements clear: mature hybrids with household magics, refined looks, unshakeable competence.
Searches launched:
Kitsune fox-women via Kyoto shrines, Yokohama brokers.
Nekomata/Bast cat-women from ports, Alexandria ties, Asian breeders.
Moon rabbit-women: voluptuous matron, petite nimble—Oriental networks, forest clans.
White snake-women: benign lineages only, subtle magics—cool poise.
Three each for fox, cat, snake; two rabbits—eleven total, vetted for consent, skills, temperament.
Darker hunt: Gorgon's heart, risky and rare.
House Ashborn filed minimally with Ministry—enough to stir whispers, not alarms from the Pure Bloods.
The signet ring arrived: cool purple band, crest engraved. It settled on my pinky with a fitting charm.
As the Shadow Army and goblins build, we savored and toured London: Reunited post-Gringotts—Wednesday with Thing as sentinel, Enid glowing, Nitocris serene.
Hotel evenings, market wanders, sweets sampled; lab kits bought for experiments, mansion trinkets gathered.
I teased a pre-Hogwarts surprise;
Enid squealed, "Puppy? Unicorn?!"
Wednesday mused, "Deadly surprises never fail."
Nitocris smirked faintly, "Useful, I hope."
In the middle of the week, a parchment was delivered to my hands: "The estate is ready. The candidates also arrived safe and sound and are awaiting your inspection. Servants' hall set. Wednesday suite complete. Your arrival, Lord Ashborn."
Professional, no frills. I visited that day.
The cliffside marvel exceeded my visions: sleek terraces of glass and stone, ocean-ribbon pool, rune-lit stairs to ponds. Cherry blossoms eternal in vivid pink, petals drifting scented on breezes. Wards hummed, the framework hidden; gate bore dark purple-lacquered Noxus crest. In Wednesday's wing: plenty of shelves, alcoves for her study and her laboratory should she experiment.
Candidates waited in the sunlit hall: tall windows, central mat, crest looming. Escorted respectfully, they lined up—adult, poised, robed elegantly.
Fox-women: warm eyes, silk-wrapped tails—adept in hearthcraft, spirits, wards.
Cat-women: sleek, precise—levitation, transfigurations.
Rabbit-women: voluptuous matron curvaceous; petite one agile—both hearth-magic, botanicals.
Snake-women: tall, shimmering scales—purification, charms.
The hall's sigils ready, but Ashborn's rite demanded intimacy, forging bonds in essence.
I guided groups to my chamber: a warm grandeur, purple lantern glow, with incense of sandalwood and jasmine filled the air.
They knew the risks and came anyways: They were willing to devote their body and spirit for their future and if willing, their children's future.
The branding ritual lasting for hours. One by one, pairs—soft laughs, eager touches and bodies entwining in my rhythm.
Vows whispered seductively, sealing each union:
Fox-women coiled with grace, tails quivering, magic flaring.
"My lord," one husked, breath scorching my neck as she ground teasingly, "take me... bind me. Let my flames envelop you, burning solely for your touch."
Another's tail caressed my thigh, voice sultry: "Taste me, Master... my body your hidden realm, yours to unravel."
Cat-women purred languidly, claws grazing in surrender.
"Purrr... yes, like that," one sighed, eyes lowered, hips undulating sultrily, "Mark me, Lord. Your pet, servant... all. Delve deeper, claim this yearning heat."
Another nipped my ear playfully: "Mmm, deeper, Master... fill me till I arch, purring your name in bliss."
Rabbit-women contrasted: matron smothering in bounty, guiding hands to her fullness, husky: "Fill me, lord... nurture your house with my essence. Feel my yielding warmth, blooming for you."
Petite one writhed frantically, breathless: "Faster, Master! Leap with me eternally... bind me, make me tremble, unending ecstasy!"
Snake-women coiled hypnotically, undulating feverishly.
"Sss... yesss, entwine," one hissed seductively, squeezing close: "Infuse me, Lord. Blend our essences, feel my grip."
Another's tongue trailed along my body: "Shed my skin for yours, Master... ensnare me forever, savor every drop."
My essence released inside them as my magic surged: violent ecstasy sinking their bodies as the Crest branded their lower bellies in fierce purple.
Ripples of their orgasms drew gasps, sighs, moans: "Master~"
Some tender and drawn-out. Some clung, glow fading; while others gazed breathlessly.
Hours passed by, their bodies slick, sheets in a chaotic mess. The lanterns dimmed as last brand set in. Eleven bore the Ashborn crest, glowing slightly at my touch—loyalty and love etched in all their eyes.
They clustered in sheets, spent yet eyes fulfilled. Their bonds hummed—House claimed, with their new master's consummation.
They sat up, their beautiful bodies in full view, they murmured together, subdued: "We belong to you, Lord Ashborn... Master."
Their crests pulsed in accordance their vows.