Happy Thanksgiving! Also, a slightly more realistic version of a Bel/fem Harry story.
Belphegor was in a royal mood. Namely he had received a rare missive from his grandfather and it had pissed him off.
His grandfather made it abundantly clear that he was expected to find a proper wife before his twentieth birthday in order to sire legitimate heirs, or one would be found for him. Likely a sycophant that had earned the position though no little amount of backstabbing and would likely piss him off in short order.
Knowing his grandfather, they'd likely include a clause that kept him from killing the bitch, if only so they could continue producing heirs.
To that end, he decided to cast his net into the magical communities. The mundane nobility had become rather lackluster in the past century, as most of their actual power had been stripped. Most of them might receive etiquette lessons, but the mundane nobility was far less inclined to tolerate his little quirks without pissing him off.
Magical nobility had a slightly larger tolerance to his quirks and habits and they would fully understand the need to sire an heir and continue the magical lineage.
Belphegor skipped most of the local stock...any magical families that originated in Italy or mainland Europe would almost certainly have ties to the local mafioso. He was not in the mood to sort out who was in bed with the mafioso and for how long. Too much work.
To that end he cast his eye on the UK stock. Sure, they were somewhat inbred, but there was a lower chance of them being in bed with the mafia and there would at least be some heiresses who had a suitable lineage for what his grandfather would demand.
The trick would be finding a female that had both the right bloodline and wasn't already tied down to a marriage arrangement by their family.
Three weeks later...
"Greengrass?" asked Belphegor.
"They're in bed with the Cavallone partially," said Mammon after a moment. When Belphegor had informed them of the issue, they had offered their assistance. They had certain magical contacts and they knew Belphegor wouldn't quibble about the price. "While they have two daughters, only one is your age."
"Pass," said Belphegor. He didn't want anyone who had mafia connections. "Chang?"
"Triads."
"Pass. Patil?"
"No known connections officially, but they do have ties through various dummy businesses. It's unknown if they are aware of their business partners being mafia."
Belphegor was growing impatient.
"Potter," he said.
"Zero mafia connections, but their mother was a muggleborn and there's the whole girl-who-lived nonsense."
"What do we know about them?"
"Very little, surprisingly," said Mammon. "What little is known is mostly hearsay and gossip. Potter is a rather private person who's known address is a mundane aunt. However her grandmother on her father's side was a Black and she's the nominal head of two ancient and noble bloodlines. As far as I'm aware neither ring has been claimed, but that could be because she's waiting until her majority. There's also no known marriage contracts active."
She had the right bloodline, was unaffiliated, and was the right age. She would likely need royal training, but that was little consequence.
He'd keep her on the increasingly short list of potential candidates.
"Lovegood?" he asked, changing the subject.
"No mafia connections, but the current heir to the family is known to be a bit...loopy. It's possible she has the Sight, but there's no way to know for sure without testing," said Mammon.
They continued down the list, throwing out the majority of the candidates. So far Potter was looking to be his best option out of the lot.
Fortunately there was a hit in England. It was in a very suburban area that would make his skin crawl if he had to be in there any longer than he had to be, and it was for a man who was stupid enough to try and embezzle from the Vongola. Normally he would have been killed already when the money was taken, but apparently there was some potential interference that kept whoever was in charge of the idiot from killing him.
Belphegor took it only so he had an excuse for why he was in England tracking down the females on his list. The last thing he wanted to deal with was explaining to anyone in the main house the internal headaches of being royalty. They still doubted his claim of being a Prince.
Belphegor was tense. It wasn't the magic that he could vaguely sense...it was the stifled Cloud flames that felt like it was one good push from snapping and going on an absolute rampage.
Belphegor might be a Storm, but no one with active flames and a hint of training could miss it.
And if that wasn't bad enough, it seemed his target was in the center of a potential clusterfuck.
He did not want to deal with the Vindice on his ass for intruding in a Cloud's territory! Suddenly the "potential interference" warning on the hit made far too much sense, though a warning would have been nice.
Belphegor was going to skewer the peasant who issued the hit for their incompetence. He swore it.
Taking a deep breath, he decided to scout the area a bit to try and find out where the Cloud was so he could kill the pig and hopefully get out before they realized there was an intruder nearby.
His luck was not in. Not only did he run into the active Cloud about to go off, but it was the female at the top of his potential list of possible Queens.
How the hell did Mammon miss this?
Potter eyed him warily. Unlike the peasants around her in the cheap diner, she recognized a predator instinctively.
"You don't belong here," she said calmly, ignoring the fact that Belphegor sat down in the booth she was occupying without asking. "And you seem to recognize me without bothering to stare at this stupid scar of mine."
Belphegor wanted to roll his eyes at that. Still, she wasn't offended by the fact he wasn't kowtowing or acknowledging that ridiculous title of hers.
"I could care less about that ridiculous nickname you've acquired."
There was a flash of irritation, but she didn't look pissed. More like she was resigned to the nickname but didn't particularly like it. Interesting.
"Why are you here?"
"Running into you was coincidence," said Belphegor bluntly. He originally planned to scout her from afar first. "I'm here for something else."
She eyed him for a moment.
"There's a watcher on the neighborhood. If you cast any magic, they'll blame me first."
"I don't need magic to deal with the pathetic peasant I'm here for," said Belphegor.
Potter seemed to be considering something.
"Tell me who it is, and maybe we can come to an arrangement."
Something told Belphegor there were hidden depths in Potter. Depths that might increase her chances at becoming his future queen if he played this right.
"I'm after someone name Dursley."
Complete shock filled her features, before a familiar form of cunning crossed her face.
"Petunia barely leaves the neighborhood and she's not stupid enough to say or do anything that would earn attention from someone like you. You're too noticeable and she would have said something if you had visited before. I'm guessing you're after Vernon," she said flatly.
"Shishishi..."
It was surprising she guess it so quickly. However the expression on her face said that she might prove to be a valuable resource in dealing with this hit with far less fuss than he expected. Somehow he sensed there would be little love lost between Potter and his target.
"What do you want in return?"
"I want out of England," she said flatly. "I'm sick of the bullshit here."
Belphegor's eyes gleamed. He might be able to kill two birds with one stone if he played his cards right.
"Why not leave then? With your fortune it would be child's play."
"I'm being watched," she replied. "Ever since that hypocrite revealed himself, people will be expecting me to deal with him again. I'd rather leave those fools to clean up their own damn mess. However if I attempted to leave, there will certainly be no end of people who will try to stop me for one reason or another."
"Shishishi... then it seems fate favors you. As it happens, I happen to be in need of someone willing to make an...arrangement."
Potter stared him down.
"What sort of arrangement?" she asked.
"A betrothal," he said bluntly. He could sense her Cloud flames rise in irritation. "My grandfather has made it clear he expects me to find a suitable female of proper breeding, or else he'll force me to marry a female of his choosing. You just happen to be on the list of females that would fit the profile."
"You made a list?" she said sharply.
He was definitely on thin ice, but he was a Genius. He would need to word this carefully.
"You're a female of close enough age to myself, come from an acceptable magical bloodline, have no none ties to the type of people I work with, and have no arrangements with other families regarding who you marry," he said bluntly. "You only made the top of the list because you are the nominal head of two ancient and noble lines and are strong enough to produce a corporeal patronus...a feat most adults have great trouble with."
Something seemed to settle down at his blunt reply.
"Why not one of the pureblood girls like Greengrass?"
"I work for a certain group. I didn't want to deal with any potential ties to an unfavorable family to my own," said Belphegor bluntly. "If they were to discover my connections, they might try to use me to their own advantage."
"What would be in it for me?" she asked.
"You'd gain asylum in the controlled lands of the group I work for as well as my kingdom, proper training to insure you're prepared to handle the political pressures of your new status as well as any magical training you wish, and knowing the local stock of fools you would be caught up on your mundane education as well. I have no need of your titles, money or the fact that people seem to see you as some sort of 'savior' because you survived being killed by a fake Lord," said Belphegor, before adding "There's also the fact that we are most certainly not related in any way, and the local peasants would likely expect you to settle down with one of the local stock and start producing heirs. The English enclaves have become notorious in recent generations for marrying heavily in-house with the much closer stock rather than look abroad."
"What do you get out of this deal then?"
"I don't have to deal with some simpering female forced upon me by my grandfather, and this way I won't have to look for a suitable wife before I turn twenty," he replied. "As long as you produce an heir for my royal line, I could care less what you do on the side so long as it doesn't impact my kingdom or my group."
Potter looked like she was seriously considering the idea. Then she asked something that made her far more interesting as a potential queen.
"Would you be able to guarantee that I could receive proper combat training? I'm sick of being defenseless without a wand, and most places that would offer it locally would ask too many questions if I wanted to learn lethal methods of dealing with pests."
Belphegor's smirk became unhinged.
"Shishishi...if you agree to a contract I can not only guarantee you'll get proper training, but that no peasant would dare cross you again by the time we're done with you."
Potter's eyes flashed with purple light.
"Then I see no reason why I should ignore your offer. As for Vernon, I know where and when he sleeps."
Bel's grin was almost disturbing. On the plus side, it seemed he wouldn't have to worry about the Cloud reacting badly to the intrusion on the home like he feared.
He was still going to skewer the idiot who failed to warn about the potential disaster though.
Killing the peasant was ridiculously easy, and Bel's estimation of Potter rose when she dispassionately watched him dispose of the wife who had the bad luck to wake up during the process.
The son was out, likely sleeping away at a friend's house.
Potter was surprisingly quick at packing the things she wanted to keep. The owl gave Bel a sharp, distrusting look.
"We'll need to leave quickly. Once the watcher finds out Petunia and Vernon are dead, someone will be here to remove me to a more...secure...location."
Bel nodded, saying nothing. The owl flew off with an empty letter...mostly to create the ruse it was delivering a letter. It would track it's master down later.
Under the cover of an invisibility cloak, Potter followed him without a word out of the house. She did pause long enough to spit in it's general direction.
Bel was in a surprisingly good mood. They boarded the private jet with ease, and Potter crashed once she was in the chair and the realization she might be rid of the peasants trying to cage her hit. Fortunately the plane was more or less empty.
Assured she wasn't going to wake up for a few hours, Bel went to make a call.
"Mammy, I want you to track down who placed the hit on the pig in England," said Bel. "Also, I'll need your help drafting a contract."
"What happened?" they demanded.
"The idiot neglected to warn about a potential Cloud about to snap, and I may have found a worthy queen candidate."
"Explain in detail. Now."
Belphegor gave Mammon a run-down of what happened, including the fact that Potter was actually an active Cloud that had gone completely unnoticed. Mammon was silent for several minutes.
"Wait for the girl to adjust to the info dump we're going to give her before we draft any contracts. At the very least she'll need to be watched. As for the idiot, I'll track them down personally," said Mammon. Missing the fact there was a Cloud about to snap was a major infraction they should have been warned about. At the very least there should have been more on the hit than an addendum for "potential interference"!