Harry Potter: Goetian Beginnings
Prologue: A New Beginning
In the quiet hum of a silent neighborhood, the house at Godric's Hollow stood hauntingly still, its tranquility disrupted by the tangible grief in the air. It was here, amidst the ruins, that Stolas found himself, lured by the unique aura of magic that had drawn him from the depths of Hell to the mortal realm.
The modest home, once filled with warmth and joy, was now a chilling tableau of devastation. Books and toys lay scattered, remnants of a shattered life. Traces of a battle, the last stand of desperate parents, were etched into the scorched walls and shattered furniture. It was a place of heartbreak, where the echoes of laughter and love had been brutally replaced with the specter of death.
And there, amidst the ruins, lay Lily and James Potter, their lifeless forms a brutal reminder of the atrocity that had taken place. The life they had made, the love they had shared, all tragically ended, leaving behind an innocent life, a child who had yet to understand the cruelty of the world.
The sight of the small baby nestled in the lifeless arms of his mother was heart-wrenching. The contrast between the innocent green eyes, wide and wondering, and the lifeless gaze of the fallen parents was a poignant testament to the senseless tragedy that had occurred.
Stolas, for all his demonic nature, felt an unusual sting in his chest, a stir of empathy that the suffering of the mortal world could invoke in even a prince of Hell.
Stolas, a prince of Hell, a figure of the Goetia, had heard tales of a prophecy spoken amongst mortal wizards: a child, born as the seventh month dies, marked by the Dark Lord, yet destined to vanquish him. He recognized the infant as the centerpiece of that prophecy. This was Harry Potter. Harry Potter, the child of prophecy, left parentless, his fate thrown into uncertainty, drew Stolas in.
An idea sprung into his mind, one which would bind this child to the legions of Hell, all the while preserving the integrity of the prophecy. With a flash of his eyes, Stolas conjured the Grimoire, a book containing ancient demonic rituals, and held Harry gently in his other arm.
Stolas stood in the cold silence, looking down at the baby in his arms. His heart was a strange storm of emotions. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to, a sensation that was, in many ways, foreign to a prince of Hell.
Harry Potter, the baby who now clung to him, was the mirror image of the tragedy that unfolded in this house. His innocent eyes bore a heartbreaking resemblance to the lifeless gaze of his parents. A pang of sympathy stirred in Stolas's heart as he thought of the fate this child had to endure. An orphan now, yet destined for something far greater, far more dangerous.
In this moment, Stolas's thoughts wandered to his own daughter, Octavia. His heart ached with the thought of her, his precious girl, a light in the grim vastness of Hell. The overwhelming love he felt for his daughter now reflected onto the child in his arms. He realized that while this mortal child might be vastly different from Octavia, he was now, through a twist of fate, bound to Stolas in much the same way.
The demon prince found himself taken aback by his own feelings. His experience in the mortal realm had been limited, detached, always from the perspective of an observer. But the scene before him, the lifeless forms of Lily and James Potter, the orphaned child— it forced him to confront feelings he'd rarely had occasion to experience.
With a deep breath, Stolas fortified his resolve. He would change the child's fate. He would protect him, just as he would protect Octavia.
The Grimoire's worn pages rustled under his fingertips, stopping on a page that described a ritual involving blood. A blood ritual that could bind the son of the prophecy to become the son of Goetia.
Baring his arm, Stolas let the sharp tip of one of his talons pierce his skin, blood welling up from the small cut. He glanced down at Harry, still peacefully unaware, whispering soothing words as he started the incantation, his voice echoing through the hushed air.
As the words of the ritual filled the air, the Grimoire started to glow. Stolas carefully drew a circle with his blood on Harry's forehead, intertwining it with his lightning-shaped scar. The glow became brighter, the room filled with an ethereal red light, pulsating in time with the incantation.
Suddenly, it was over. The glow dimmed, and the room plunged back into its original somber state. As the blood ritual concluded, a pulse of dark energy rippled through the air. The room seemed to hold its breath as an uncanny transformation took hold of the infant in Stolas's arms. His tiny body shivered, caught in the throes of a change so profound, it transcended the boundaries of the mortal realm.
His skin, once soft and pink, began to darken and harden into an ashen gray hue, while patches of violet feathers sprouted, glimmering under the dim light. His hair turned a shade darker, mimicking the same inky black of Stolas', albeit adorned with an unusual violet sheen. As the transformation continued, a thin layer of the same feathers began to cover his small body, replacing the soft baby fuzz. They were luminating, reflecting the dim light with a luminescent glow, reminiscent of a night sky, studded with stars.
His fingers, once small and pudgy, lengthened, the nails sharpening into talons similar to those of Stolas. His toes, too, morphed into curved talons, his small feet taking on the semblance of an owl's.
The transformation reached its crescendo as the child's eyes shifted, the brilliant green irises engulfed by a fiery red glow, creating a mesmerizing contrast against the newfound violet feathered features.
When the transformation finally subsided, Stolas looked down at the small creature cradled in his arms. Harry was no longer a mere mortal, but a Goetic demon - an owl demon, like himself. His cherubic face was now a fascinating juxtaposition of soft human features and fierce demonic attributes, all beneath a soft glow of iridescence.
Harry Potter, the prophesied child of the wizarding world, had become a son of Goetia, possessing an enchanting otherworldly charm and a destiny entwined with realms known and unknown.
Stolas studied the transformed infant in his arms, his heart swelling with an unexpected, yet profound, sense of attachment. This child, who was no longer purely Harry Potter, deserved a new name, one that symbolized his new lineage, his new destiny, his new essence.
"From this day forward," Stolas intoned, his voice echoing in the desolate house, "you shall be known as Octavius Goetia. Harry Potter is a name of the past. It is a human name, one that is tied to the mortal world."
The child, now Octavius, blinked up at him, the fiery glow of his new eyes reflecting in Stolas's own. The Goetic prince felt a strange sensation stir in his chest. It was as though he had not just created a new demon, but also a profound connection, a bond, a responsibility.
Stolas brushed his talon lightly over the child's violet feathers. "Hello, my dear Octavius."
As Stolas held Octavius Goetia securely in his arms, he spared one last glance at the desolate house in Godric's Hollow. The silent, solemn air seemed to hold the memory of what had been Harry Potter's past - a past that was no longer relevant to the creature cradled in his arms.
The heartbreaking scene at Godric's Hollow conjured within Stolas a feeling of unease, a dread he had rarely experienced in his immortal existence. The lifeless forms of Lily and James Potter were a harsh reminder of the fragility of mortal life, something he, as a demon, was far removed from. Yet, as he cradled their orphaned child, his thoughts strayed to his own beloved Octavia.
The idea of his daughter being left alone in the world without him was a haunting notion. A pang of fear gripped his heart, a father's fear for his child. He had never considered the idea before, for as a demon, death wasn't a companion as it was to the mortals.
But seeing the scene unfold before him, seeing the child orphaned in such a horrific manner, it ignited a dreadful thought. What if he were to be gone one day? What if Octavia was left alone, bereft of her father's love and protection?
Stolas cradled the mortal child closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly. He looked down at Harry, now Octavius, with newfound determination. As a father, he could fathom the desperate love Lily and James must have felt in their last moments. They had fought to their last breath to protect their child, their love echoing in the still ruins.
If it came to it, he would do the same. He would fight, claw and howl against whatever threats came to his own. His daughter, Octavia, and now this child, Octavius, were under his protection. A reflection of a very human sentiment within his demonic existence, a testament to the profound nature of paternal love.
With a resolute nod, Stolas turned his attention to the task at hand.
With his free hand, he drew a shimmering circle in the air, a portal that began to swirl with shades of red and orange, a vortex that led directly to Hell. A gust of heat washed over them, the air filled with the distinctive, sulfuric scent of their realm. The portal pulsed, as if awaiting its travelers.
Stolas, the prince of Hell, stepped towards the portal, his every movement measured and deliberate. He felt Octavius stir in his arms, the infant's red eyes wide and curious as they took in the swirling mass of energy before them.
"Home awaits, Octavius," Stolas murmured, his voice a comforting rumble against the din of the portal. With one last glance at the mortal world they were leaving behind, Stolas stepped into the portal.
Heat and wind whipped around them as they passed through the threshold. The sensation was disorienting yet familiar to Stolas, but for the first time, he felt the grip of concern. He held Octavius tighter, shielding him from the brunt of the passage. His paternal instincts, though newly awakened, were powerful, a testament to the bond the ritual had forged.
Despite the despair that clouded Godric's Hollow, Stolas felt a flame of resolve light within him. These children, his children, would never know the abandonment that Harry Potter had faced. He would see to it, even if it meant standing against the heavens and the hells themselves.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the sensation of translocation subsided, and they emerged on the other side. Hell, in all its chaotic glory, sprawled before them. Stolas, with Octavius Goetia held close, had returned home - a journey marking the beginning of an uncharted chapter in the annals of Hell.
Stolas arrived back at his palace in Hell, carrying with him not just an unspoken promise, but also a child. As he walked in, he met the chilling gaze of his wife, Stella.
Her intimidating demeanor filled the room, her towering presence making her unapproachable. She looked at the unexpected addition in Stolas's arms, her sharp, piercing eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts. However, her stance, rigid and unyielding, gave a hint of her disapproval.
"Stolas," her voice was as cold as the icy caverns of the ninth circle of Hell, "care to explain why you're holding an infant?"
Stolas, aware of her frosty temperament, tread carefully, "This is Octavius. Our son."
"Our son?" Stella's laugh was as cold as her gaze. "That is a human child, Stolas. He is not of our blood, not of our realm. I can smell the humanity in that boy. You bring a mortal into our world and expect us to treat it as our own?"
Stolas elucidated the metamorphosis, detailing the ritual he'd implemented to convert the child into a Goetic demon. He fabricated a narrative around a prophecy, alluding to the abundant magic nestled within the young boy that was now linked to their family. Regardless, Stella's eyes maintained their steely demeanor, her words remaining unswayed and firm.
"Do not fool yourself, Stolas. This child is not ours," Stella's voice was clear, cutting through the room like a shard of ice. "And don't you dare believe this will endear me to you. This desperate attempt to play father to a child who isn't ours, it's pathetic."
She paused, her gaze fixed on the baby with a strange gleam in her eyes. "However," she began, her voice taking on a devious edge, "if this child is as powerful as you claim, then perhaps he can be of use. When he grows older, he could be an asset, a pawn."
Stolas watched Stella, struck by the raw ambition in her words. Yet he had no grounds to object. After all, in this realm of chaos and deceit, power was everything. As Stella swept from the room, Stolas was left with the infant, and the unsettling realization that the course he had chosen for Octavius Goetia was going to be far more complicated than he had initially believed.
Carrying Octavius close to his chest, Stolas made his way through the vast palace to the nursery where Octavia slept peacefully. The room was a calming oasis amidst the often chaotic realms of Hell, bathed in a soothing magical glow that mimicked the light of a thousand distant stars.
As he entered the room, Stolas's eyes fell on Octavia. His heart swelled at the sight of his daughter, her violet feathers rustling gently as she stirred in her sleep. Even in the harsh realms of Hell, his precious girl brought a warmth that softened his world.
Setting Octavius down gently on a plush rug, Stolas turned his attention to the space next to Octavia's crib. With a flick of his wrist, he started the incantation, the words rolling off his tongue in the ancient language of the Goetia.
Hellish flames sparked around his hands, their glow casting long shadows in the nursery. As the magic swirled and danced, it began to take shape, manifesting into a crib identical to Octavia's. The flames cooled down to reveal the crib, glowing with the same enchanting light.
With a satisfied nod, Stolas picked up Octavius again, his tiny form snuggling closer to his chest. He moved to place Octavius in the newly created crib, his movements careful so as not to disturb the sleeping child.
As he lay Octavius down, he could not help but marvel at the sight before him. His children, Octavia and Octavius, both resting peacefully side by side in the heart of Hell. A wave of protective affection washed over him. He would shield them, guide them, and love them. After all, they were his family now.
Leaning down to plant a tender kiss on each of their foreheads, Stolas whispered a soft lullaby that echoed the melodies of the Hellish night. As he finally retreated, leaving his children to their dreams, the echoes of his song filled the room, a lullaby of love and promises for his newborn son and beloved daughter.
Nine Years Later…
In the splendid quarters of the Goetia palace, the fierce luminescence of Hell's unique sunrise slipped through grand window panes, filling the room with an intense, warm radiance. It was within this royal chamber that the young Octavius stirred from his dreams, his brilliant red eyes gradually welcoming the new day.
Rising from his luxurious bed, an opulent creation from Hell's finest artisans, Octavius stretched languidly, his violet plumage glinting in the soft morning light, reflecting his noble Goetic heritage.
He surveyed his immaculate chamber, his gaze sweeping over the gleaming furniture, the sumptuous drapes, and the priceless artifacts that adorned the room, each piece telling a story of his princely lineage.
The morning air held an electrifying charge, a palpable sense of anticipation that Octavius embraced with youthful gusto. He found joy in the anticipation of the day's lessons, in the magical spells he was yet to master, the extraordinary plants he was yet to study, and undoubtedly, the thrilling adventures he was to embark on with his sister, Octavia.
Regardless of the foreboding aura of their infernal abode, Octavius was a wellspring of effervescence, his infectious enthusiasm breathing life into the grim surroundings. With an energetic bounce in his stride, he readied himself for the day, his spirit echoing with the harmony of his undying optimism.
As Octavius stood before the grand mirror that adorned his royal chamber, he was greeted by the reflection of his own intimidating presence. Standing as the living testament to his Goetic lineage, he embodied the regality of his princely status, his every feature contributing to an aura of commanding grace.
His feathers, as dark as the deepest abyss of Hell, framed his face in untamed locks, the raven-black strands contrasting against the soft hues of his violet shade that were spread over his body. These feathers, meticulously groomed, shimmered with an ethereal glow, reflecting the rich purples and deep indigos characteristic of his father, Stolas. His glowing red eyes, as bright as Hell's fire, held an intensity that belied his age. They were portals to a realm of wisdom and innocence, the windows to a soul that had been changed irrevocably by the ritual that transformed him into a Goetic demon. He never knew this truth, but as a son of Prince Stolas, he would not care if he did.
His frame, although still growing, hinted at the strength he was to gain as he matured. He moved with the grace of a predator and the elegance of royalty, his every gesture exuding a sense of quiet power.
Adorned in rich, noble attire, his style reflected his royal status. The luxurious fabrics, tailored perfectly to his form, highlighted his regality, while intricate silver adornments glinted with an otherworldly brilliance.
Above all, it was his aura that truly distinguished him. He radiated an intense magical energy, a testament to the potent magic coursing through his veins. This unique energy, combined with his physical appearance, gave Octavius an air of undeniable charisma and intrigue. His every presence in a room, his every step, bore the weight of his royal lineage and the unique destiny he was born to fulfill.
Born into the illustrious Goetia lineage, Octavius was no ordinary demon child. As third in line for the throne, he was, in many ways, the backup plan for the backup plan in royal succession, a safeguard to ensure the continuity of their family's rule over their dominion in Hell. His status was more than just a title; it was a heavy mantle of responsibilities and expectations, and understanding this was crucial for Octavius.
From the moment he was old enough to comprehend, Octavius learned to navigate the intricacies of his noble position. He was quick to grasp the unspoken rules and regulations, the subtle nuances that governed their royal lives. This understanding was not gifted to him by chance; it was meticulously nurtured by his father, Stolas, who took great pains to educate him about their family's history and the delicate balance of power within the circles of Hell's nobility.
Yet, the sternest lessons and harshest realities came from his mother, Stella. With her unforgiving standards and cold demeanor, Stella was a formidable matriarch. She instilled in Octavius a deep respect for their lineage and a clear understanding of his place within it.
Therefore, Octavius didn't just grow up in the lap of luxury; he was sculpted into a prince, a possible future prince, and a representative of the Goetia family. His life was a complex tapestry of lessons learned, challenges faced, and responsibilities shouldered, all in preparation for the day he might need to step up and take his place at the helm of their family's legacy.
Standing before the grand mirror of his chamber, Octavius carefully regarded his reflection. He was beginning to see the prince he was raised to be staring back at him, the Goetic heritage unmistakably reflected in his very being. His vibrant red eyes were ablaze, holding a depth of wisdom and a spark of youthful curiosity. They served as a window into his soul, a soul transformed and shaped by the potent magic that now coursed through his veins.
His growing frame, refined by the strength he was beginning to gain, was reflected back at him. The mirror image moved with the grace and power befitting a prince of Hell, embodying a quiet confidence and an unspoken promise of the formidable demon he was yet to become.
Dressed in his noble attire, the luxurious fabrics fitting him like a second skin, he admired his reflection. The intricate silver embellishments added a touch of otherworldly elegance, mirroring the high status he held in Hell's hierarchy.
As he continued dressing, fastening the final pieces of his princely attire, he felt a surge of powerful energy course through him. It was a potent reminder of the magic within him, a magic that not only defined him but also set him apart from the rest.
Having finished his preparations for the day, Octavius gracefully exited his chamber, moving with an unhurried stride down the grand corridors of the Goetia palace. The scent of breakfast, a curious amalgamation of Hellish delights, tickled his nose as he neared the kitchen, the comforting aroma growing stronger with each step.
As he pushed open the heavy, ornately carved door, the warm, inviting atmosphere of the kitchen washed over him. The hearth was blazing with a cheery fire, illuminating the grand room with its dancing flames. The sight of Stolas and Octavia, already engrossed in their meal at the lavish dining table, brought a sense of familiarity and warmth to the room.
Stolas, the noble and ever-attentive patriarch, sat at the head of the table, his elegant violet feathers casting shifting hues in the flickering firelight. His sharp red eyes, similar to Octavius's own, lifted to meet his son's gaze, a subtle nod of acknowledgement passing between them.
Seated by her father's side, Octavia was busy sampling her breakfast. Even in the morning light, her own violet plumage sparkled with an iridescent gleam, a clear reflection of their shared heritage. She looked up as Octavius entered, her eyes brightening with a familiar warmth, her lips curving into a welcoming smile.
Octavius made his way over to join them, his heart filling with a familiar comfort. This was his family, a peculiar one by mortal standards, but a family nonetheless. As he settled into his chair, taking in the cozy scene of his father and sister enjoying their meal, Octavius couldn't help but feel a profound sense of contentment. It was the promise of another ordinary day in the extraordinary life of a prince of Hell, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
As Octavius took his place at the table, Octavia's soft voice chimed across the breakfast spread. "Good morning, Octavius," she greeted, her warm smile adding a glow to her already sparkling eyes.
"Good morning, Octavia," Octavius returned the greeting, his tone matching his sister's cheerfulness. His gaze fell on the varied spread before him, his stomach giving an approving grumble.
"How did you sleep?" Octavia inquired, spooning some porridge onto her plate.
"Very well," Octavius responded to Octavia's query about his sleep, his gaze wandering pensively across the spread. "Had an odd nightmare though, about two people... dying," he admitted, his words trailing off as he tried to recall the vague images. The dream had left an unsettling feeling, the identities of the people remaining elusive.
"Two people dying?" Octavia echoed, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. "Do you know who they were?"
Octavius shook his head, the grim scene still fresh but the faces frustratingly indistinct. "No. It was just... unsettling, you know?" He implied, taking the chance to take a drink of Hell-infused apple juice. "It was more vivid, like a vision."
Across the table, Stolas had been listening to their conversation. At the mention of the dream, his crimson eyes flickered with recognition. The nightmare Octavius described bore a striking resemblance to the tragic events at Godric's Hollow.
Yet, he said nothing of this, merely watching his children converse, hoping that Octavius's dream was nothing more than a fleeting nightmare and not a foreshadowing of the truths he was yet to discover.
Hiding the flicker of concern behind his regal countenance, Stolas cleared his throat, deciding to steer the conversation away from the dark territory. "Speaking of unsettling dreams, Octavius," he began, drawing the attention of his children. "It might be a good time to learn about calming potions, like the Draught of Peace."
Octavia shot a surprised glance at Stolas but quickly masked her expression, turning her attention back to her brother. Octavius mirrored the curious gaze, his interest piqued. Unsettling dreams were common in Hell, especially for those with a magical lineage as strong as theirs.
"The Draught of Peace?" Octavius queried, tilting his head.
"Yes," Stolas confirmed, taking a sip from his cup. "They are useful remedies for disturbing dreams or stress. They also happen to be an essential part of our magical knowledge."
A spark of interest lit up in Octavius's crimson eyes. He was always eager to learn new things, particularly when it was something as fascinating as potions.
"The most basic of these potions would include ingredients such as Valerian sprigs, Chamomile, and a dash of Lavender. Each of these has calming properties. However," Stolas continued, leaning back in his chair, "the real mastery in potion-making comes from understanding the balance and synergy of these ingredients. It's not just about throwing things together."
As Stolas continued to expound on the complexities of potion-making, Octavia and Octavius listened attentively. Their father's knowledge was vast, and his ability to explain even the most intricate subjects in an understandable way was a talent they admired. The conversation about the nightmare seemed to fade into the background as they delved into this new topic, their focus shifted from the darker aspects of the dream to the prospect of learning something new and exciting.
Just as Stolas was explaining the delicate balance required in brewing a successful potion, the grand kitchen door swung open with an unmistakable air of authority. Into the room strode Stella, her presence filling the kitchen with an undeniable chill that seemed to douse the warmth from the hearth.
She was a figure of elegance and beauty, her white plumage reflecting the morning light with an almost ethereal glow. Her sharp, crimson eyes swept across the room, finally settling on the family gathered around the table.
"Good morning," Stella's voice was cool, her tone as crisp as a winter's morning. Despite the detached greeting, there was a sense of command that accompanied her words. It was a reminder, albeit subtle, of her status within the household.
Stolas offered her a cordial nod, a clear recognition of her entrance. "Good morning, Stella," he responded, his own voice effortlessly maintaining its warmth. Octavia echoed her father's sentiment with a soft "Good morning, mother," while Octavius gave her a respectful nod, his crimson eyes meeting hers.
Stella's gaze fell upon the young prince, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than usual. There was something unreadable in her stare, a complexity that added another layer of intrigue to the morning's gathering.
With the family now complete at the breakfast table, they continued with their meal and conversations, Stella's entrance having added a new dynamic to their morning routine.
As they continued their morning meal, Stella's cool voice sliced through the familiar chatter. "Andrealphus will be visiting later today," she announced, casually placing a delicate silver spoon back onto her plate.
Stolas tensed at the announcement, his violet feathers fluttering uneasily. Andrealphus and Stella were two peas in a pod, sharing a common disregard for him. They often stood united against him, especially when he dared challenge Stella's questionable methods. Yet, in a twisted sense of balance, Andrealphus often found himself playing the calming counterpart to Stella's aggressive temperament.
"Andrealphus?" Octavia echoed, her innocent eyes reflecting a glint of curiosity. Octavius, on the other hand, merely nodded, his crimson eyes moving between his parents, quietly observing the subtle shifts in their demeanor.
"Yes," Stella responded, her gaze steady on her children. "He's expressed a desire to see you both. He is, after all, your uncle."
Stolas managed to keep his emotions in check, nodding in agreement. "It will be a valuable experience for Octavia and Octavius to familiarize themselves with more of our family," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
As the specter of Andrealphus's visit hung over them, Stolas resolved to remain watchful. His children were precious to him, and he would shield them from whatever games Andrealphus and Stella might have planned.
At the mention of their uncle's impending visit, Octavius, although young, was sharp enough to sense the undercurrents. He had inherited his father's intuition, that strange knack for perceiving things beneath the surface. He had observed his mother and father, their reactions subtle but telltale, their body language speaking louder than words. And with his innocent curiosity, he put the pieces together.
"Do you think Uncle Andrealphus has a specific reason for his visit?" Octavius asked suddenly, his crimson eyes flickering with a thoughtful glow. "I mean, beyond just seeing us."
His question hung in the air, the implication clear. Octavius, in his innocent way, was hinting at the idea that Andrealphus might have ulterior motives for his visit. It was a sharp observation, one that proved he was not just an ordinary child but a prince with an emerging understanding of the complex politics of Hell's nobility.
Stolas couldn't help but smile at his son's perceptiveness. "It's possible," he conceded, choosing his words carefully. "Nobility often has multiple reasons for their actions. But no matter what, remember this: you are the son of a prince, Octavius. Be polite, be respectful, but also be watchful."
Stolas's gaze then shifted towards his daughter. Octavia, with her violet feathers slightly ruffled and her red eyes wide with curiosity, was watching the exchange between her father and brother attentively. "Octavia," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "the same goes for you, my dear. You share an incredible status, so please mind your manners."
As the day wore on, the moment of Andrealphus's arrival approached. It was a grand affair, befitting a prince of Hell, as Stella's brother made his entrance into the Goetia household. Andrealphus, with his flamboyant demeanor, commanded attention, his snobbish personality on full display.
Later in the afternoon, Andrealphus found himself seated in the Goetia family's opulent sitting room, a cup of hot, aromatic tea in his hands. Across from him were Octavia and Octavius, both perched on the edge of their seats, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and wariness.
The flamboyant prince was every bit as ostentatious as Stolas had expected. His feathers were a resplendent blue, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and his demeanor radiated an air of self-importance. As he took small sips from his intricately crafted teacup, his eyes darted back and forth between the young prince and princess, probing and assessing.
"Octavia, Octavius," he began, setting his teacup onto the saucer with a soft clink. "It's wonderful to finally spend some time with you both. I've heard so much about you from your dear mother."
His words were laced with charm and flattery, but there was an underlying tone that both children picked up on. It was subtle, yet unmistakably calculated. They exchanged a quick glance, remembering their father's advice from earlier in the day.
"We're glad to meet you too, Uncle Andrealphus," Octavia responded politely, her young voice steady and composed. Octavius echoed his sister's sentiment with a respectful nod.
"Stella also tells me you've both been doing wonderfully well in your studies," Andrealphus started, his voice smooth and charming.
Octavia, the older and slightly more confident of the two, nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Uncle Andrealphus. Father has been teaching us a lot of things."
Andrealphus's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with an almost predatory delight. "And how about you, Octavius?" He asked, his gaze fixating on the younger prince. "What have you learned?"
Octavius, his crimson eyes reflecting the prince's gaze, considered his response. He remembered his father's words from the morning, and a sense of resolve solidified in his mind. "I've been learning to be watchful, Uncle," he answered, a hint of defiance subtly coloring his words.
The statement seemed to catch Andrealphus slightly off-guard, the prince's smile faltering for a fraction of a second. However, he recovered quickly, his charming demeanor slipping back into place. "A wise lesson indeed, young prince," he replied, raising his tea cup in a mock toast. "One that will serve you well."
Andrealphus, his face cloaked by the shadow of his elaborate headwear, studied the young prince and princess across the table. There was a moment of silence before he finally spoke, his voice smooth like honey, but with an underlying sting of cunning.
"I confess, my dear niece and nephew," he began, locking his eyes with theirs, "I didn't merely come for a family visit."
Octavia's gaze sharpened at that, and Octavius subtly leaned forward, their instincts piqued by the forthcoming revelation.
"I came," Andrealphus continued, "to see for myself the potential that resides within you both. Your mother speaks highly of your progress. The Goetia lineage is one of power and prestige, and it pleases me to see it continue through you."
The air around them seemed to thicken at his words, their implications lingering heavily. This was not just a tea time, and their Uncle was not merely an affectionate family member. This was a measure of their worth, an assessment under the guise of a cordial meeting. Andrealphus posed a series of complex inquiries about the upheavals in the various circles of Hell, expecting insightful responses. Octavia and Octavius, however, proved their keen understanding of the socio-political hierarchy in Hell by carefully constructing their responses to reflect the perspective of their noble lineage.
Andrealphus, stirring his tea nonchalantly, broached the topic of recent disturbances within the fifth circle. "Assuming you had the power to intervene, how would you deal with these issues?"
Octavia locked eyes with Octavius before taking the lead. "It is crucial to note," she started with a dignified air, "that we are of the Ars Goetia. Our actions, therefore, should primarily be centered around the well-being of our lineage. We must comprehend the essence of the discontent, yes, but we should also ensure any action taken doesn't compromise our standing."
Andrealphus's gaze then shifted to Octavius, awaiting his input. Without missing a beat, Octavius concurred, "My sister is correct. Our position in the hierarchy is a balancing act. While it is vital to acknowledge the concerns of the lower circles, our first responsibility is to the Ars Goetia. It is about fostering an open dialogue while maintaining our noble stature."
Andrealphus offered a nod of approval, and even a faint smile curled his beak. The siblings had navigated the convoluted matters with grace and discernment, indicating a nuanced understanding of Hell's power dynamics from a noble's perspective. "Indeed, my dear niece and nephew," Andrealphus said, raising his cup to them. "You're proving yourselves quite adept at understanding our world's complexities. I must say, I'm impressed."
"Uncle Andrealphus," Octavius began, his voice clear and thoughtful, "we are learning and growing every day, under the guidance of our parents. We strive to uphold the Goetia name and will continue to do so."
Andrealphus gave a nod, a shadow of a smile playing on his beaked face. He hadn't expected less from Stolas's children, but hearing it from the young prince was satisfying nonetheless.
"And we appreciate your visit," Octavia chimed in, her eyes reflecting a maturity beyond her years, "and hope to learn from your experiences as well."
Stolas, watching from a distance, felt a surge of pride. His children were navigating the treacherous waters of Hell's nobility with an astute sense of diplomacy. The game was on, and Octavia and Octavius were proving to be worthy players.
With the tea party finally drawing to a close, Andrealphus made his departure with a flourish. "I look forward to our next meeting, my dear niece and nephew. Until then," he said, his voice echoing in the grand hall as he exited.
The moment the door closed behind Andrealphus, Octavia and Octavius exhaled in unison, a collective sigh of relief filling the room. They shared a knowing look before breaking out in soft laughter, the tension from the meeting finally dissipating.
"Stylish Occults?" Octavia suggested, perking up at the prospect of a well-deserved reprieve. "I think we've earned a bit of a treat."
Octavius grinned in agreement, his red eyes brightening at the idea. "Yes, but this time, I want to bring along my friends. It'll be more fun, don't you think?"
Octavia, always the protective older sister, hesitated for a moment before a small smile appeared on her beak. "As long as they behave themselves, why not? But I get to veto anyone too... unpredictable."
Octavius chuckled at his sister's remark. "Agreed, Octavia. I think they'll be on their best behavior. After all, not everyone gets to hang out with the Goetia siblings."
With the plan in place, the siblings looked forward to their outing, leaving the high-stakes conversation with their uncle behind. Their roles as the Goetia heirs were important, but for now, they were simply Octavia and Octavius - two siblings, eager to enjoy their day at Stylish Occults. After a change of clothes, Octavia and Octavius rushed out in their clothing.
Octavia's ensemble consisted of a long, violet velvet dress that fell in gentle waves around her legs. The dress was embroidered with silver thread that depicted constellations, their shapes glistening subtly against the rich fabric. Her cloak, a darker shade of violet, was adorned with mystic runes, creating a captivating pattern of ancient symbols.
Octavius, on the other hand, was dressed in a similar fashion. His outfit was a tastefully tailored waistcoat and trousers set, the color a harmonious blend of deep purples and blacks. His clothing, like his sister's, was accentuated with silver embroidery - this time, astrological symbols were woven along the hemlines and seams, offering a gleaming contrast against the dark fabric. His cloak mirrored Octavia's, complete with the runic designs, lending him an air of mystique.
Just as Octavia and Octavius were ready to depart, their father, Stolas, materialized in the room, his presence as grand as always. The tall owl demon, dressed in his royal attire, bore an affectionate smile on his beak, his glowing red eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in his children's outfits.
"My little stars, you both look radiant," Stolas praised, his voice echoing around the grand foyer. "I must say, your choice in clothing truly suits the both of you."
Octavia and Octavius exchanged a pleased glance. "Thank you, father," they chimed in unison. The pride in Stolas's voice was clear, and it only added to their excitement for the day ahead.
"Shall we, then?" Stolas suggested, extending his arms out to his children. The siblings nodded, moving to stand at either side of their father. With a swift motion of his hand, Stolas conjured a portal, the swirling gateway of violet energy illuminating their gothic attire.
Without a second thought, they stepped into the portal together, ready for their trip to Stylish Occults. The portal closed behind them, leaving their royal residence momentarily vacant, ready to welcome them back after their day of shopping and amusement.
Good evening everyone,
I would happily like to state that in my garnered interests in writing and by the very notion that the semester is over; I would like to happily introduce a new crossover idea I have been inspired to make based on a roleplay that I have been writing with a friend for a while. With their permission, I wrote a good chunk of our rp and placed it into presentable format!
As a note in this FanFiction, some things will not be 100% exact renditions of the show or the books/movies of both series. However, this series was made to be a world produced by a couple of roleplayers having some fun. Besides, I just graduated with my BBA and I will have more time and energy to contribute to writing more FanFictions in the future!
Stay tuned,
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