THIS CHAPTER IS UNDER COMPLETE OVERHAUL | THIS AUTHOR MOST LIKELY HAD A BRAINFART MAKING THIS CHAPTER
IF YOU FIND MORE INCONSISTENCIES, PLZ DM THE AUTHOR FOR A QUICK FIX
Review Time:
KlinglerWolfGirl: Here's a funny thing, and I hope you take this seriously. When writing some parts of Blitzo's eye color (a shade of red), I had the hardest time writing the description mainly in due part to my color blindness. If there is an error in that coloration, I will correct it or leave it as an example of my own shortcomings.
RandomName41: I was hoping that question wasn't asked just yet lmao! In all seriousness though, I have a plan XD
Str1k3r00: It was one of the biggest dilemmas I had to diagram out, I can say that having that Divination idea, paired with Stolas's mythos makes looking ahead far easier to handle. You'll see why in this chapter.
Mitkon2001: Shit, I was not prepared for this one ha-ha! Honestly, I can say for sure that in the latter part of this chapter, I am happy that Octavius is encouraged not to hit on one pair, this IS Hell we are talking about.
Just, don't ask for immediate pairings, these characters are barely ten as of this writing; lmao.
Harry Potter: Goetian Beginnings
Chapter 3: Parties and Revelations
Hogwarts, Book of Admittance
July 31, 1990
Late at night, tucked away in the stone-carved depths of Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonagall was meticulously assessing a stack of student letters. The flickering candlelight danced on the parchment, illuminating the constellation of inked words, a testament to her students' questions or familial concerns.
An unexpected, sonorous hum echoed through the room, breaking the tranquil silence. McGonagall's heart skipped a beat. She knew this sound too well; it was the herald of the Book of Admittance. Yet, it was a week too early to scramble names into the parchment.
Pulled from her letters, her gaze swiveled toward the large, ancient tome that sat atop a wooden pedestal. The book fluttered open, its pages rustling with an anticipatory energy that filled the air. A quill, bathed in the glow of enchanted emerald ink, rose with purpose.
In the silence that filled the room, the quill scrawled an all-too-familiar name: Harry Potter. McGonagall read it out loud, her voice barely more than a whisper that echoed off the stone walls. She froze, shock carving lines deeper into her face.
Harry Potter. The boy declared missing, his name echoing through the wizarding world with a palpable mix of hope and despair. But why was the Book of Admittance recording his name now? Even now he would be ten, a full year too early?
Puzzlement transformed into deep concern as she read the location listed next to his name. "Undetermined location." Her mind raced, confusion brewing a storm of unanswered questions. What could possibly be so indescribable?
The mystery deepened, making her heart heavy with concern. Harry Potter, the missing boy, now admitted into Hogwarts, a year too early and from an unknown place. It was a riddle wrapped in an enigma that left her uneasy, her mind swirling with worry and curiosity. The Wizarding World was still desperately searching for him, and here was his name, etched in emerald ink, signaling his arrival at Hogwarts, yet still veiling his whereabouts in uncertainty.
After a moment of frozen shock, Professor McGonagall swiftly gathered herself. She knew there was only one person in Hogwarts who might make sense of this perplexing development. With a swiftness that belied her years, she whisked out of her office and hurried down the stone corridors, the words 'Harry Potter' and 'undetermined location' echoing ominously in her mind.
The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet and empty, lit only by the dim glow of scattered torches. She made her way towards the Headmaster's office, her footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent halls.
Upon reaching the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance, she hastily uttered the password, an assortment of magical sweets. The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase that led to the Headmaster's office.
Riding the moving steps, she found herself before the ancient oak door. Without hesitation, she rapped her knuckles against the wood. "Albus," she called out, the urgency clear in her voice.
The door swung open, revealing Professor Albus Dumbledore seated behind his desk, his half-moon spectacles perched on his nose as he studied a parchment. He looked up at her, his blue eyes twinkling inquisitively. "Minerva?" he queried, a touch of surprise in his voice. "What brings you here at this late hour?"
"Albus," she began, stepping into the room, "it's the Book of Admittance. It's added a new name, a year early for a student." She paused for a moment, steeling herself before continuing, "It's Harry Potter."
The mention of the name brought a visible change in Dumbledore. His cheerful eyes turned serious, and he placed his quill down. "Harry Potter?" he echoed. "But he's..."
"Still missing," she finished for him. "And that's not all. The location next to his name... it's 'undetermined'."
Dumbledore looked at her, his gaze deep and thoughtful. A silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the gentle hoot of a sleeping phoenix. Whatever this meant, it was clear that the mysteries surrounding Harry Potter were far from over.
He turned to his phoenix, Fawkes, who perched on his stand, observing the Headmaster with wise, understanding eyes. "We need to gather the Heads of Houses, Fawkes," he said, his voice firm with decision.
Soon enough, Professors Severus Snape, Pomona Sprout, and Filius Flitwick were gathered in his office. They sat in silence, casting occasional glances at each other and their Headmaster, a palpable sense of unease permeating the room.
"My colleagues," Dumbledore began, his voice steady and his gaze meeting each of theirs in turn. "We find ourselves in the midst of a mystery that has profound implications for both our school and the wider wizarding world."
Dumbledore paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing, "Harry Potter's name has been recorded in the Book of Admittance a year early, from an undetermined location." The news was met with a stunned silence. "I believe it is our duty to unravel the mystery behind his disappearance."
He turned to look at the enchanted instruments on his desk, each one whirring or clicking in its own unique rhythm, as if trying to decipher the conundrum themselves.
"I propose," Dumbledore said, returning his gaze to his fellow professors, "that we prepare for unexpected events and make a journey to uncover this mystery. We shall go to him directly, wherever he may be."
Goetian Palace
July 31, 1990
Octavius jerked awake, pulled from the depths of his sleep by a sudden, sharp pain that shot through his forehead. He blinked rapidly, orienting himself in the dim light filtering through the curtains of his room in the Goetia mansion. He reached up, his fingertips tracing the skin of his forehead, searching for the source of the discomfort.
However, as he probed his forehead, he found nothing out of the ordinary. There was no cut, no bruise, not even a bump. Yet, the throbbing sensation remained, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat. It was as if the pain was coming from beneath his skin, rooted deep within his skull.
Confused and slightly alarmed, Octavius swung his legs over the edge of his bed, planting his feet firmly on the cold floor. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging on his wall. His usual carefree expression was replaced with a crease of concern.
He leaned closer to the mirror, scrutinizing his forehead. The silver light from the moon outside cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting his furrowed brow and the faint outline of the Goetia mark on his neck. But on his forehead, there was no visible mark.
His fingers traced his forehead again, the sensation of pain still lingering even though there was no evidence of it on his skin. With a last lingering look at his reflection, he sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes. It was a mystery, another unexpected puzzle in the ever-growing list that seemed to follow him in his new life in the wizarding world. He would even sit down on his bed, trying to recall what was happening.
As Octavius sat there, the chilling sensation from his dream began to creep back. He closed his eyes, and like the rewind of a film, the images began to play. The darkness of his dream world was so stark, so tangible, it made the shadows in his room seem light by comparison.
In the dream, a figure loomed over him - a man, or perhaps, something that was once a man, now transformed into a chilling semblance of humanity. His skin was pallid, a sickly white that glowed ominously in the dim light, his bald head giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The figure's nose was flat, two slits instead of nostrils, and his eyes...his eyes were a vibrant, unnatural red, glowing with a malice that seemed to consume everything in sight.
That man was gazing at him, his gaze cold and unyielding, bearing a hint of curiosity mixed with disdain. Octavius wanted to move, to scream, to do anything to ward off the menacing presence. But he was frozen, as if trapped within his own body.
The figure, the dark wizard, leaned closer, his serpentine eyes boring into Octavius. A sense of impending doom clawed at him, making his heart pound against his ribcage like a caged bird yearning for escape.
Then, the silence was broken. The wizard opened his mouth, and out came a voice as cold as winter winds, a voice that seemed to resonate with the darkness around them. "Avada Kedavra," he hissed, the words echoing, bouncing off the walls of Octavius' mind.
The dream shattered with the utterance of the curse, pulling Octavius back into the waking world. He opened his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked around his room, the familiarity of his surroundings doing little to quell the chill that had settled in his bones. The dream, the dark wizard, and the haunting echo of the killing curse lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over the start of his day.
Pushing aside his concern for the time being, Octavius decided to start his day, the pain in his forehead serving as a reminder of the unexplained mysteries surrounding him, mysteries that seemed to be growing more complex by the day.
Still shaken from the remnants of his dream, Octavius entered the expansive kitchen of the Goetia mansion, Octavia trailing beside him. The kitchen was usually a tranquil place in the early morning, but today it buzzed with an unusual energy.
As Octavius and Octavia stepped into the room, the lights flickered on abruptly, casting a warm glow throughout the room. "Surprise!" a chorus of voices rang out in unison.
Startled, Octavius and Octavia blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness and the sight that greeted them. The kitchen was packed with familiar faces, all beaming at them. Their father, Stolas, was there, grinning wide, while their mother, Stella, was beside him, a soft smile gracing her face.
All of the Hellhounds were present, their fierce demeanors replaced with looks of genuine happiness. Loona and Blitzo stood together, their usual sarcasm and cynicism nowhere to be seen. Francesco, ever the loyal servant, was holding a massive birthday cake, his face a picture of proud excitement.
Among the crowd were Octavius's friends, a group of fellow young demons who had grown up with him in the depths of Hell. There was Beleth, a demon known for his regal lion's form and his mighty presence, and Gaap, whose human form belied his real strength. Each of them was a prince in their own right, descendants of the mighty demons mentioned in the Book of Solomon.
Octavia's friends were there too, gothic in style with their feathers, their beaks, and their dark clothes. Octavia's friends, each a royal offspring from the renowned Goetic families listed in the Book of Solomon, added a touch of gothic glamour to the occasion. Their avian features set them apart, adding a unique blend of otherworldly charm to their personas.
First was Morrigan, the daughter of Amon. She wore her raven-black feathers with pride, her eyes a captivating blue that seemed to hold the vastness of the night sky. Named after a Celtic goddess, she lived up to her namesake with her powerful aura and sharp wit. Next was Bran, the son of Buer, who bore his father's famed healing abilities. His feathers were a soft grey, his eyes reflective of the wisdom beyond his years. A charm hung around his neck, the symbol of his lineage and a testament to his magical prowess. Lastly, there was Lailah, the daughter of Marax. Her feathers were an iridescent mix of purples and blues, casting a hypnotic light in the room. She was known for her proficiency in astronomy and her intricate knowledge of magical herbs and stones.
Even the Goetian Legionary tributes were there, standing tall in their ceremonial armor, their normally stern faces relaxed in celebration. They represented their units, each one a symbol of a particular legion of Hell's army. Their shared laughter echoed off the walls, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries and the warmth of familial affection. Despite his unsettling morning, Octavius found himself grinning, caught in the infectious joy that filled the room.
Octavia, too, was smiling, her usually composed face alight with happiness. They looked around, their eyes meeting those of their loved ones, friends, and protectors, feeling the love and warmth radiating from each of them.
For a moment, Octavius forgot about his dream, about the strange wizard, and the persistent pain on his forehead. In the laughter-filled kitchen, surrounded by the people he loved, Octavius felt a sense of belonging, a sense of home. Today, they were not just denizens of Hell, not just the Goetia family, they were simply a family celebrating the shared birthday of two beloved members.
As Octavius and Octavia were swept up in the excitement of the party, their laughter resonating through the grand kitchen, a spark of anticipation flickered in their eyes.
They had spent the previous day immersed in a divination lesson, taught by their father Stolas himself. Through it, they had learned to see not just the present but the impending future, the countless threads of possibilities that lay before them. And now, during the party, they decided to put their new skill to use.
As Octavius shared a joke with Beleth and Gaap, he found himself picturing an upcoming food fight, instigated by a mischievous joke from Blitzo, which would result in a splatter of birthday cake all over Francesco's usually pristine uniform. A chuckle escaped his lips at the imagined spectacle.
Meanwhile, Octavia, surrounded by Morrigan, Bran, and Lailah, foresaw a delightful twist. She saw Lailah presenting her with a magical constellation map, a gift that would lead to countless nights of stargazing and exploring the cosmic beauty of Hell's skies.
Sharing a glance across the room, Octavius and Octavia burst into laughter, their joy spilling over. The future, with its flurry of possibilities, seemed even brighter, their newly acquired divination skills painting a tapestry of events before their eyes. The love and laughter that echoed around them in the present found its reflection in the joyous scenes they foresaw in the future.
As Octavia continued to observe the room through the lens of her newfound divination abilities, her smile faltered. Amongst the swirling threads of possibilities, a dark tendril caught her attention. Her heart pounded in her chest as she saw an impending danger targeted at Octavius.
She saw an imp, his appearance unassuming, his intentions anything but. In his hand, a flask of a potent poison, his eyes fixed on Octavius's cup. A cold dread settled in her heart at the sight, her protective instincts flaring up.
Without wasting a moment, she gracefully maneuvered through the crowd, moving towards Octavius. As she neared him, she subtly nodded her head in the direction of the potential threat. Octavius, catching her eye, followed her gaze and in an instant understood the danger.
Their connection as siblings, coupled with their shared understanding of their recent divination lesson, allowed them to communicate the impending danger without words. Octavius's smile didn't waver, but there was a new determination in his eyes.
As the imp neared them, they moved as one. Octavia, with her characteristic grace, bumped into the imp. In the commotion, the imp's poisoned flask ended up in Octavius's hand, his grip firm and unyielding.
"Quite a fascinating drink you have there," Octavius said, his voice friendly but his gaze hard. "Perhaps, you should give us a taste."
Caught off guard, the imp hesitated. But with the expectant eyes of Octavia and Octavius on him, and the growing curiosity of the crowd, he had no choice but to oblige. Lifting the flask to his lips, he took a sip, his eyes widening as the potent poison coursed through his system.
The room fell silent, all eyes on the imp as he collapsed, the empty flask rolling away from his grip. The immediate danger averted, Octavius and Octavia shared a look of relief, their hearts pounding in sync with the shared adrenaline. The party, a celebration of life, had narrowly escaped being the setting of a deadly plot. But through their connection and foresight, Octavius and Octavia had managed to prevent the unthinkable, a testament to their bond and their burgeoning magical abilities.
As the fallen imp was carried away, a dark suspicion flickered in Octavius's mind. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his newfound divination abilities, not to see the future this time, but to gaze into the past. He saw the threads of possibilities reverse, guiding him back to the source of the sinister act. As he delved deeper into the recent past, an image began to form. A shadowy figure, his face obscured by a hood. The figure held a conversation with the now fallen imp, handing over the flask with clear instructions. A sense of dread washed over Octavius as he realized the implications of this scene.
When the figure finally lowered his hood, Octavius's breath hitched in his throat. The face was not unfamiliar; in fact, it belonged to a fellow Goetic royalty, King Vine. The revelation hit Octavius like a wave. King Vine, who had always seemed so unassuming, had plotted the assassination attempt on him.
Octavius opened his eyes, a new determination settling within him. This was no random act of malice. This was a calculated move, a silent declaration of war from King Vine. He looked at Octavia, who was observing him with worry. He gave her a reassuring nod, vowing to himself that he would not let this act go unpunished.
The celebratory ambiance of the party now held a tinge of solemnity for him. Yet, in the heart of danger, Octavius found a resolve he did not know he possessed. For now, he would celebrate his birthday with his loved ones, cherishing the peace and joy of the moment. But when the time came, he would confront King Vine, and the Goetic royalty would realize that he was not a prince to be trifled with.
Octavius took a deep breath, steadying himself. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his Hellphone. His fingers moved deftly over the screen, pulling up the contact information for King Vine. He paused, staring at the screen for a moment. Then, with a resolute nod, he began typing.
"King Vine," he began, his message clear and concise. "I know about the attempted assassination. I see this as a declaration of a challenge."
His fingers paused over the 'send' button for a heartbeat, then he pressed it decisively. The message was delivered, the challenge accepted. Octavius put his phone away, a new steeliness to his gaze. He didn't know what was to come, but he knew one thing; he was ready to face it head-on.
A new layer of determination had hardened the prince of the Goetia family. Octavius, son of Stolas, was not just a birthday celebrant anymore. He was a player in a deadly game of power and politics, and he would play his part to protect his family and his realm.
He returned his attention to the party, his eyes meeting Octavia's. His reassuring smile spoke volumes to his sister. They were in this together, no matter what. The path ahead was uncertain, but Octavius was ready to face whatever came his way. After all, he was a prince of Hell, and he wouldn't back down from a challenge.
A loud, resonating clap broke through the party's cacophony, silencing the chatter and drawing everyone's attention. Stolas stood tall, his majestic presence commanding the room. His eyes twinkled with excitement, a broad smile playing on his lips.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests," he boomed, his voice echoing through the grand kitchen. "I do believe it's high time we moved this celebration to where it truly belongs."
With a grand sweep of his arms, he gestured towards the imposing double doors at the far end of the room. "Our magnificent dancing hall awaits us. Come, let us bring life to its grandeur with our laughter and camaraderie."
His announcement was met with excited cheers. The crowd began to move, their anticipation palpable. This was the heart of every celebration, the moment when every tension evaporated into the rhythm of the music, every apprehension was drowned in the shared joy.
Goetian Palace, Ballroom
July 31, 1990
As the grand doors of the dancing hall swung open, a vision of enchantment met everyone's eyes. The ballroom was nothing short of a marvel, a testament to the grandeur of Hell's royal family.
A twilight theme dominated the spacious hall, a bewitching blend of twilight blues, purples, and deep blacks mirroring the eternal dusk of the infernal realm. The ceiling, bewitched to mimic the night sky, was a spectacular sight. An array of stars sparkled down from above, moving and twinkling, creating a captivating cosmic dance.
Magic was woven into every aspect of the room. Glowing orbs of magical light floated in the air, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the scene. These orbs pulsed in rhythm with the music that filled the air, the beat thrumming through the hall, inviting everyone to lose themselves in the dance.
Grand chandeliers, made of pure obsidian, hung from the ceiling, their crystals catching the magical light and casting a mesmerizing display of sparkles around the room. The walls, adorned with ancient tapestries depicting the grandeur and history of the Goetia family, pulsed with the same twilight hues.
In the center of the room, a grand dance floor awaited. The floor, crafted from polished black marble, seemed to shimmer and ripple under the ambient light, akin to the surface of a tranquil lake under the night sky.
Each table was decorated with elegant silverware and twilight-themed centerpieces, adding to the regal ambiance. The scent of otherworldly flowers wafted through the air, their hypnotic aroma adding to the magical atmosphere.
As the crowd stepped into the hall, a collective gasp filled the air. The magic, the grandeur, and the carefully orchestrated twilight theme created an ambiance of celestial elegance, an experience that was nothing short of divine. It was a ballroom fit for the Goetia family, a place where they could celebrate and dance away the night under the watchful eyes of their celestial ancestors, painted beautifully on the night sky above.
The music swelled, filling the twilight-themed ballroom with a vibrant energy that pulsed through the crowd. One by one, they took to the dance floor, their bodies swaying in rhythm to the intoxicating beat.
Octavius and Octavia found themselves in the heart of this swirling dance, their feet moving with an innate grace. Each movement, each step was not just a dance but a delicate maneuver through the intricate web of politics and alliances that made up their world.
As Octavius twirled Octavia around the dance floor, their eyes met, communicating a silent understanding. They were not just siblings sharing a birthday dance; they were two Goetic royals navigating a complex battlefield.
Octavius extended his hand in greeting as he passed King Paimon, a friendly smile playing on his lips. Yet, his eyes held a challenge, a subtle reminder of his newly accepted contest with King Vine. The Goetic king's smile tightened, understanding the unspoken message.
Meanwhile, Octavia found herself dancing with Aamon, the son of another influential Goetic family. The dance was a pretense for the negotiation, their light conversation filled with veiled discussions of alliances and loyalty.
They continued their dance, their steps guiding them through a minefield of intrigue and power play. With each interaction, each delicate maneuver, Octavius and Octavia asserted their place, their readiness to step into their roles as Goetic royals.
However, amidst the political intrigue and delicate negotiations, the spirit of the celebration remained undeterred. Laughter and chatter filled the air, the music's rhythm uniting everyone in a shared joy.
The ballroom was a whirl of colors, the twilight-themed decorations creating a magical backdrop for the dancers. The celebration was in full swing, a captivating blend of joyous dance and calculated intrigue. And at the heart of it all, Octavius and Octavia moved with a graceful determination, a shared resolve to protect their family and their realm.
They were the children of Stolas, and the dance floor was their battlefield. They would dance, they would celebrate, and they would stand firm in the face of any challenge. After all, they were not just royals; they were the future of the Goetia family.
The party had been in full swing for hours when the atmosphere subtly shifted. A quiet murmur swept through the crowd, the music momentarily losing its charm as heads turned towards the grand entrance of the ballroom.
Striding in with an aura of power and commanding presence was none other than Lucifer himself, the King of Hell. His dark eyes were like smoldering embers, carrying within them a hint of mystery and an inscrutable wisdom that came from eons of ruling the infernal realm. His regal bearing and charismatic charm were impossible to ignore.
His appearance was as unexpected as it was sensational. The undercurrents of surprise, respect, and apprehension ran through the crowd as the most influential figure in Hell made his way towards Stolas, extending a hand in greeting. Stolas, not missing a beat, welcomed the King of Hell with a warm smile and a firm handshake.
Lucifer's gaze then shifted to Octavius and Octavia. His lips curled into a smile, one that held a strange mix of pride and amusement. He approached them, extending a hand to each in turn.
"Happy Birthday, Octavius, Octavia," he greeted, his voice as smooth and entrancing as it was powerful. "You've grown into fine young royals. Your parents must be proud."
His words, though delivered with an easy charm, held an unspoken message. They were no longer children in the eyes of the most powerful figure in Hell. They were royals of the Goetia family, and they were expected to act as such.
The party resumed its lively ambiance soon after Lucifer's arrival, but the atmosphere had undeniably changed. The King of Hell's presence brought an added layer of intensity to the event, a reminder of the magnitude of their royal responsibilities.
As Lucifer stepped aside, two more figures stepped into the spotlight. Striding in behind the King of Hell were his wife, Lilith, and their daughter, Charlotte, better known as Charlie Magne. Each carried their own distinctive aura, further enhancing the unique presence of their family in the ballroom.
Lilith was every bit as elegant and powerful as her husband. She moved with a grace that was all her own, her radiant beauty enhancing the captivating charm of her persona. Her eyes, as keen and discerning as Lucifer's, swept across the room, taking in the grandeur of the Goetic celebration with an approving nod.
Charlie, on the other hand, was a blend of youthful exuberance and royal poise. Her smile was infectious, lighting up the room as she waved enthusiastically at the crowd. Despite her youthful energy, there was a firm resolve in her eyes that reflected her ambitious desire to bring about change in Hell.
The three of them approached Stolas, each extending their greetings. The King and Queen of Hell, along with their Princess, held a unique place in the hierarchy of Hell, and their presence only added to the magnificence of the celebration.
Lilith, with her grace and dignity, took Stella's hands in hers, complimenting her on the exceptional birthday celebration. At the same time, Charlie moved towards Octavius and Octavia, her excitement evident.
"Happy Birthday, you two!" Charlie exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "This party is fantastic, and you both look amazing!"
Octavia responded to Charlie's enthusiasm with a warm smile, her violet eyes sparkling. "Thank you, Charlie. We're glad you could make it."
Meanwhile, Octavius nodded, his eyes reflecting appreciation. "Yes, it's a pleasure to have you here, Charlie. Your presence makes the celebration all the more special."
Charlie's face lit up at their words, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Well, I wouldn't miss it for anything! You guys are doing great things in the Goetia family, and I admire that."
Octavius shared a glance with his sister, his gaze full of silent acknowledgment. They were both aware of the impact their family had, and having their efforts acknowledged by the princess of Hell was indeed an honor.
"Thank you, Charlie," Octavius replied sincerely. "That means a lot, coming from you. We've been following your initiative for the reformation in Hell, and we think it's incredible."
Charlie's face bloomed into a smile at his words, a soft blush tinting her cheeks. "Thank you, Octavius. That's really kind of you to say."
Octavius paused, a contemplative look crossing his face. He respected Charlie, admired her even for her ambitious initiative. However, there was one point he had been pondering over, and he felt it was important to voice it.
"Charlie," he began, his voice carrying a serious undertone. "Your initiative to reform sinners, it's a noble endeavor. It's a goal that commands respect and admiration. But there's something I've been meaning to discuss."
Charlie tilted her head slightly, her eyes reflecting curiosity. "Oh? What's that, Octavius?"
Octavius took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "The part where the reformed sinners are sent to Heaven... I find myself questioning that aspect of your initiative."
Charlie blinked in surprise, but didn't interrupt. Octavia, too, turned her attention fully to her brother, interested in his line of thought.
Octavius continued, "Heaven, from what we've observed, seems to be chaining itself, becoming increasingly stringent in its rules and judgments. In their so-called purity, they've been discarding more souls, sending them to Hell. Souls that were innocent, undeserving of such a harsh fate."
His voice held a steady conviction, his words echoing through the lively ballroom, momentarily stealing the attention of those closest to them. His eyes met Charlie's, the seriousness of his words mirrored in his gaze.
"I respect your goal, Charlie," Octavius said, his voice softer now. "But, perhaps, instead of aspiring for Heaven, we should be striving to make Hell a better place. Not a stepping stone to Heaven, but a realm where souls, reformed or otherwise, can exist in harmony."
Silence ensued, his words sinking in, and then Charlie smiled. It wasn't a dismissal but an acknowledgment, an understanding of the profound sentiment Octavius had just shared.
Just as Charlie was about to respond to Octavius's profound sentiment, a new figure stepped into the fray. Tall, with an imposing air, the young avian prince strutted toward them. His feathers were an intense shade of emerald green, resembling vines, a testament to his heritage. His sharp, eagle-like eyes were as cold as they were captivating, and his beak was sharply curved, giving him a haughty appearance.
This was Prince Vitis, son of King Vine. Named after the Latin word for vine, he was the living embodiment of his father's legacy. A charismatic yet stern figure, his presence was as captivating as it was intimidating.
"Octavius," he greeted, his voice as cold as his gaze. His curt nod was more an obligatory acknowledgment than a sign of respect. "Happy Birthday."
"Thank you, Vitis," Octavius responded, his voice steady, his expression unreadable. He was well aware of King Vine's disdain for him, a sentiment that Vitis seemed to have inherited.
Despite the tension, Octavius made no move to escalate the situation. Instead, he looked at Vitis with the same steady gaze, giving him a polite nod. After all, they were at a party, a celebration of his and Octavia's birthday. There was no need for unnecessary hostility.
Vitis's sharp gaze flickered from Octavius to Charlie, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his beak. He extended his hand, and with a smooth movement that was both graceful and practiced, bowed low before the princess of Hell.
"Princess Charlie," he greeted, his voice carrying a cordial tone that contrasted starkly with the cold reception he had given Octavius. He straightened, a coy grin playing on his beak as he continued, "It's always a pleasure to see you."
There was a subtle jab in his actions, a deliberate omission of the customary bow to Octavius, reflecting the frosty relationship between the two princes. It wasn't an outright act of disrespect, but the insinuation was there, clear for anyone looking close enough to see.
Charlie, who had been watching the exchange with a keen eye, raised an eyebrow at Vitis's actions. But she said nothing, only returning his greeting with a polite nod, her eyes shifting subtly between the two princes.
Despite the veiled insult, Octavius remained composed, his features betraying nothing of his thoughts. He had long since learned to navigate these intricate nuances of royal politics, and a slight from Vitis was not something that would unsettle him. After all, in the grand scheme of things, actions spoke louder than any courtly bow.
Just as Vitis finished his greeting to Charlie, the ballroom seemed to buzz with a different kind of energy. All eyes turned to the entrance, where a man with a magnetic aura had just appeared. His slick hair, an elegant shade of pink, was perfectly styled, his devilish grin captivating the crowd.
This was Asmodeus, the charming King of the Lust ring. He moved with an alluring grace, his steps brimming with confidence and a certain brand of sultry charm that only he could pull off.
As Asmodeus stepped forward, Vitis receded into the crowd, his sharp eyes still lingering on the exchange. However, Asmodeus seemed unfazed by Vitis's frosty demeanor, his attention solely on Octavius.
"I must admit, Octavius," Asmodeus began, a playful twinkle in his eyes, "I've been meaning to extend an invitation to you. You're always welcome to visit my club, Ozzie's. It's always lively, and I think you'd find it...interesting."
Octavius chuckled at Asmodeus's hearty invitation, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "I appreciate the invitation, Asmodeus, truly. But I'm still a bit young for the... diversions Ozzie's is famous for, wouldn't you agree?"
Asmodeus laughed, a hearty, genuine sound that bounced around the opulent ballroom. "Well, Octavius, when you put it like that, I suppose you have a point," he conceded, a good-natured grin on his face.
"But," Octavius continued, his gaze flickering to the opulent gift from Asmodeus, "I would be interested in the recent renovations I've heard about. I understand there was quite a bit of artificing involved?"
Asmodeus's grin widened, a hint of surprise and appreciation flashing across his eyes. "Indeed, there was. We brought in some of the best artificers in Hell to give the place a facelift."
Octavius nodded thoughtfully. "You know, I've been delving into artificing myself. I find it a fascinating subject, the way you can imbue objects with magical properties and spells. If it's not too much trouble, perhaps I could come by sometime to see the artificing work that's been done?"
Asmodeus looked taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Octavius, my dear boy, you continue to surprise me! Come by anytime you like. You're always welcome in the Lust ring. Just... perhaps steer clear of the main floor until you're a bit older, hm?"
As Octavius engaged in a lively conversation with Asmodeus, Vitis turned his attention to Octavia. He approached her with a suave confidence, a roguish smile dancing on his beak. "Octavia," he purred, bowing elegantly before her. "You look as radiant as ever."
Octavia, however, was not taken in by his charm. Having been privy to his past actions and having seen glimpses of the future he brought, she was well aware of Vitis's nature. His attempt at flattery was met with a cool, unimpressed gaze.
"Vitis," she greeted him, her tone polite but distant. "You need not put on a show for my sake."
Despite her rejection, Vitis's smile didn't falter. He merely shrugged, maintaining his roguish charm. "Can't blame a prince for trying, can you?"
"Yes, you can," Octavia retorted, her sharp wit shining through her cool exterior. "Especially when his attempts are as transparent as yours."
Vitis was taken aback by her frankness, his grin faltering slightly. He attempted to regain his composure, but Octavia had already moved on, leaving him standing alone amidst the crowd.
And so, as the party continued around them, Octavia demonstrated her own strength and discernment. Unwilling to be swayed by Vitis's charm and well-versed in the intricacies of Hell's politics, she made it clear that she was no easy prey to be won over by a few sweet words.
As the festivities continued, Vitis seemed determined not to take the hint. He once again approached Octavia, his persistence bordering on audacity. A renewed charm seemed to have taken over him, his grin brighter, his words smoother.
"Octavia, surely you can't deny..." he began, but his words fell on deaf ears as Octavius stepped into the conversation, positioning himself between his sister and the persistent suitor.
"Vitis," he greeted, a polite but firm edge to his voice, "I believe my sister has made herself clear."
Vitis, taken aback by the interruption, stiffened, his grin faltering slightly. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension palpable as Vitis locked eyes with Octavius.
"And I believe," Octavius continued, a hint of challenge in his gaze, "That there are other guests you should attend to."
A ripple of silence passed over their little group. Octavius's protective intervention had shifted the power dynamic, his authority making it clear that Octavia was not to be disrespected.
Vitis stiffened at the intrusion, his eyes narrowing at Octavius. The challenge was clear in his gaze. The room seemed to freeze, its inhabitants holding their collective breath as they awaited Vitis's reaction.
But instead of retreating, Vitis decided to flip the game. His eyes flickered with a cunning glint as he turned to Octavius. "Is that so? Perhaps, then, you would be more interested in a challenge. A little spar, perhaps?"
The silence deepened as his words echoed through the grand hall. He was not backing down; instead, he was attempting to provoke Octavius, to draw him into a fight. The challenge laid down by Vitis echoed around the room, its meaning sinking into the minds of the onlookers. Octavius, the recipient of the taunt, was silent for a moment. Then, a slow, confident smile bloomed on his face. His green eyes met Vitis's in a steely stare-down.
"Vitis," he began, his voice composed and self-assured. The room fell silent, hanging onto every word. "Your father's attempts to challenge me were similarly disappointing. Even as a nine-year-old, he could never quite get the better of me."
He paused, his words hanging in the tense air of the grand hall. The underlying implication was clear: if King Vine, a mature Goetian ruler, had failed to best him, what hope did his less experienced son have?
"Considering those attempts, I think I'll accept your challenge," Octavius continued, his smile widening slightly. "After all, it's only fair to give you a chance to match up to your father's illustrious record, don't you think?"
His words, laden with biting sarcasm, drew a gasp from the crowd. The tension spiked sharply, the stakes of the evening suddenly becoming much higher.
Vitis stood, his expression hardening under Octavius's thinly veiled taunt. Before either prince could make a move, however, a powerful presence made itself known.
King Paimon, grandfather to Octavius and a figure of immense power, made his way through the crowd. His birdlike features were stern, the gleam in his eyes stern. As he approached the princes, his grandeur was palpable, effectively dousing the tension with an air of authority.
"Enough of this," he announced, his voice resonating through the grand hall. Every eye turned towards him, respect evident in their silence.
He turned his gaze to Vitis, his stern look intensifying. "Vitis, King Vine," he addressed them, his tone as cold as ice, "I believe your presence is no longer desirable here."
With a curt nod, Paimon dismissed them. Vitis, unable to retaliate against the older and powerful king, was left with no choice but to retreat, his father following suit. The confrontation was effectively ended, the party saved from descending into chaos, all thanks to King Paimon's timely intervention. As Paimon dispelled the brewing confrontation, the room lapsed into a charged silence.
Amidst the guests, Lucifer, the King of Hell himself, was watching. His crimson eyes followed the dismissed guests, a hint of satisfaction gleaming in his gaze.
As King Vine and his son Vitis retreated under Paimon's commanding decree, Lucifer offered the Goetic king a nod of approval. His acknowledgement carried weight; it wasn't every day that the King of Hell approved of one's actions.
His approval seemed to ripple through the crowd, easing the tension that had gripped them. Lucifer's silent agreement with Paimon was a clear endorsement of his decision. It affirmed that the confrontation had been handled justly, and that the party could now return to its intended merriment.
With a shared understanding glance between Paimon and Lucifer, the grand hall breathed a collective sigh of relief. The party resumed, the previous tension becoming nothing more than a mere ripple in the evening's grandeur.
Octavia moved to Octavius, her relief evident. She hugged him tightly, her arms encircling him as she whispered her gratitude. "Thank you, Octavius," she said softly. Her brother, surprised but pleased, returned the hug, a warm smile spreading on his face.
The moment was disrupted, however, by the approach of King Paimon. He stood tall before them, a solemn expression on his avian features. The siblings shared a glance, curiosity piqued at their grandfather's uncharacteristic seriousness.
"I must apologize for their behavior, no granddaughter of mine should be forcefully swooned by another King's spawn," Paimon began, his deep voice carrying through the slight noise of the ongoing party. His apology, the first they could recall receiving from him, was delivered with sincere regret.
Both Octavius and Octavia stared, taken aback by this unexpected display of contrition from Paimon. A silence fell between them, the sincerity of Paimon's apology and the unexpectedness of it all leaving them momentarily at a loss for words.
Paimon offered a soft smile, a stark contrast to his usual stern demeanor, furthering their surprise. This brief interaction hinted at a shift in their relationship, leaving both Octavius and Octavia intrigued and pleasantly surprised by the potential of closer bonds with their grandfather.
While the siblings were still processing Paimon's surprising display of humility, their parents made their way through the gathering. Stolas and Stella, both decked in resplendent attire, moved towards their children with evident pride. Their elegant figures radiated parental warmth, a sight that temporarily stole the attention of the surrounding crowd.
Stolas was the first to reach them. "Octavia, Octavius," he called, his voice filled with a rare warmth that was reserved only for his children. He pulled them both into a hug, his wings extending to wrap around them in a protective and loving embrace. They could feel his pride, his love, resonating through the hug.
Stella was not far behind. She arrived just as Stolas pulled away from the hug, her usually stern expression softened by the sight of her family together. With a small smile, a sight as rare as a comet, she pulled her children into another hug. For a moment, everything else faded into insignificance. It was a moment of pure familial affection, one that left Octavia and Octavius feeling cherished and valued.
As the party started winding down, the time for the presentation of gifts began. A table had been set aside for this purpose, now laden with an array of intriguing and peculiar presents. The anticipation was palpable as Octavia and Octavius prepared to open them, their eyes glinting with the excitement of the unknown.
King Paimon, after his heartfelt apology, came forward with his gifts. He handed them each a large, rugged egg. The eggs had a unique luster, an iridescent sheen hinting at their extraordinary origin - they were dragon eggs, a truly majestic gift for the royal siblings. Octavia and Octavius accepted the eggs with surprise and delight, the unexpected nature of the gift adding to their intrigue.
A myriad of other presents followed from the various guests. From Beleth, there came a pair of ornate obsidian daggers, their hilts inlaid with rubies that glowed with an eerie, internal fire. Asmodeus, in addition to the earlier gifts, handed over a pair of passes to his club, a nod to their approaching adulthood.
Dusk presented a pair of intricately woven feather pendants, each one carrying the unique shimmer of the twilight hours. They were symbols of protection, meant to guide them safely through the shadows of the night. Noctus gifted them a set of star maps, an invaluable tool for those venturing into the uncharted expanses of Hell. Gylfie bestowed upon them a set of intricately crafted quills, each made from a different avian species. These quills were not just writing tools but also symbols of knowledge, wisdom, and creativity.
Blitzo, the eccentric imp and close family ally, had his own unique gift. He presented them with a pair of custom-made weapons, their designs reflecting the imp's quirky sense of humor and unusual craftsmanship. But despite their appearance, these weapons were no joke – their keen edges and intricate engravings indicated their high-quality make and lethal potential.
The Goetian Legionaries, represented by various commanders, presented a collective gift – a series of sharp, ornate sets of Legionary Armor, embossed with the insignia of each legion and designed to grow with the wearer. It was more than just a piece of armor; it was a symbol of unity and loyalty, a promise that the legions stood firmly behind their royal family.
Amon, another Goetian king, provided a box each of rare infernal spices, their fragrant aroma seeping through even the closed containers. Buer, known for his healing abilities, gifted them with unique, healing elixirs crafted from the most precious infernal herbs.
From Charlie, there came a beautifully painted portrait of them both, done in the unique style of Hell's artists. Lucifer and Lilith presented a set of infernal scriptures, a book of ancient Hellish lore that would surely serve the young royals well in their future endeavors.
Each gift was a testament to the giver's relationship with the twins and a symbol of their goodwill. The gifts varied, from the practical to the sentimental, from the rare to the precious, each one reflecting the eclectic mix of the gathering.
As the final guests started to depart and the party was reaching its conclusion, Octavius and Octavia found themselves sharing a similar vision. In the hazy uncertainties of the future, they saw the sudden appearance of human wizards, apparating directly to their location, their collective attention focused on Octavius. Their conversation carried mentions of a certain "Harry Potter", their tones implying a search for the person who bore that name.
The implications of their vision were unsettling. The twins exchanged a concerned glance before deciding to seek their father's counsel. Navigating through the lingering guests and decorations, they led Stolas to a secluded room away from the prying eyes and ears of the party-goers.
"Dad," Octavius began, his voice hesitant, "we need to talk."
Stolas, noting the serious expressions on his children's faces, nodded, "Of course. What is it?"
Octavia took a deep breath before saying, "We had a shared vision. Human wizards, apparating into Hell, looking for... us, specifically Octavius. And they were talking about someone named Harry Potter."
Stolas's eyes widened a fraction, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he schooled his expression back into neutrality. "Harry Potter," he murmured, as if tasting the name, "What else did you see?"
Octavius continued, "They seemed to believe that I am this Harry Potter they are searching for. Dad, what does this mean? Who is Harry Potter and why would they think that I am him?"
Stolas sighed, his gaze flicking to the floor before returning to his children's questioning faces. It seemed that some secrets could not be kept indefinitely. It was time to reveal a truth that would undoubtedly change their lives forever.
Stolas steeled himself, looking into the eyes of his children. He had hoped to keep this from them a bit longer, but their own abilities had hastened the reveal. Taking a deep breath, he began.
"Many years ago, there was a prophecy in the human world, about a boy who would have the power to defeat a dark wizard," he started, his voice steady. "That boy was Harry Potter. But his parents were killed, and Harry was left an orphan."
Seeing Octavius' eyes widen, he continued, "I... found Harry as a baby, alone, in his parents' destroyed home. I couldn't leave him there. So, I brought him to our world. I performed a ritual that bound him to our family - by blood, rite, and name."
Octavius' breath hitched. "So, I... I'm...?"
Stolas reached out to grip Octavius' hand, "You were Harry Potter, yes. But, more importantly, you are Octavius, my son. Your blood is mine. You are a Goetia in every sense that matters."
Octavius stared at him, the information sinking in. He was Harry Potter, the boy in the prophecy. He had a different life, a different name, a different world that was looking for him. But, as his father's words echoed in his mind, he realized that, despite this shocking revelation, one thing remained unchanging - he was Octavius, the son of Stolas, the Prince of Goetia.
Octavia was silent during this revelation, her hand finding her brother's. She didn't need words to express her support. Whatever the name, whatever the world, they were in this together, as they had always been. They were siblings, bound not just by blood, but by shared experiences, shared love, and now, shared secrets.
Octavius turned his hand to grip his sister's, his other hand still held by his father's. He gave them a nod, an unspoken promise - he may be Harry Potter, but he was, and would always be, Octavius. Their Octavius.
Without another word, Octavius stepped forward, his gaze never leaving his father's. The room held its breath as the young demon prince closed the distance between him and Stolas. And then, in a move that surprised Stolas, he wrapped his arms around his father in a warm embrace.
It was a simple gesture, but one that carried a profound message. A statement of acceptance, of understanding, and most importantly, of love. The Boy Who Lived, the Demon Prince - all of these were parts of him, but none of them defined him. In this moment, he was simply Octavius Goetia, the son of Stolas Goetia and the brother of Octavia.
Stolas returned the embrace, a look of deep affection and pride for his son evident on his face. The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of robes as Octavius buried his face into his father's shoulder. The love between them was palpable, a beacon of warmth and comfort in the midst of the revelations and uncertainties.
Just as the room began to settle, a softer, yet equally determined voice echoed throughout. "And you're my brother, too," Octavia said, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
Without any hesitation, she stepped forward, closing the small distance that remained between her and her family. Wrapping her arms around both her brother and father, she joined in their shared embrace, her heart swelling with a mixture of love, relief, and a hint of defiance against the world that dared to challenge them.
As they pulled away from each other, Octavius met his father's gaze once more, a determined look in his eyes. "I don't care about being the Boy Who Lived," he said firmly. "I am Octavius Goetia, your son. That's who I choose to be."
Just as Stolas was about to speak again, the air in the room suddenly shimmered, twisting and folding in on itself. With a sound like a whip cracking, five figures appeared, as if from nowhere, startling the Goetians.
Professor Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Severus, Snape and Pomona Sprout stood in their ornate robes, each looking around in disbelief and surprise. Their eyes landed on Stolas and the twins, widening at the unfamiliar sight.
"Who... who are you? Where are we?" Albus Dumbledore's query echoed through the air, his normally twinkling eyes replaced with a cloud of confusion and caution. Standing beside him, the Heads of the four Hogwarts houses were equally disoriented, their gazes darting around the strange, unearthly carvings along the architecture and the magic binding them. This was a far cry from the familiar stone walls and enchanted landscapes of Hogwarts.
"I am Stolas," the figure before them responded, his voice resonating with an ancient timbre. He stood tall and formidable, his appearance an amalgamation of the avian and the human. His blue, star-filled eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages, and his countenance exuded an authority that demanded respect.
He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the dark chamber around them, with only a glint of the reddish hellscape outside. "Welcome to Hell," he said, a touch of irony in his voice.
Stolas rose to his full height, stepping protectively in front of Octavia and Octavius. "However, I believe we have you at a disadvantage," he replied, his voice a low growl. "You have entered my realm, my home, without permission. I should be asking the questions."
Shock and disbelief were etched into Minerva McGonagall's face as she took in the sight before her. As a seasoned witch and a professor at Hogwarts, she had seen her fair share of extraordinary creatures and magical phenomena. Yet the beings that stood before her were unlike anything she had ever encountered. McGonagall cut in, her voice sharp with urgency, "We are here for a reason. We are searching for a boy, Harry Potter. The magical trace led us here. Do you know where he is?" She uttered with quickness and crass, her eyes falling upon Stolas, who exuded a formidable aura of authority and power. His features were distinctly non-human, much as to her concern that gripped her so swiftly.
Stolas glanced at Octavius, who had tensed at the mention of his human name. With a silent nod from his son, Stolas faced the headmasters again, "You have come to the right place. Harry Potter is here."
There was a tense silence, before Stolas moved aside, revealing Octavius to the wizards. "Meet Octavius, the one you seek. He is Harry Potter."
Dumbledore, his eyes shifting thoughtfully between Stolas and Octavius, absorbed the surprising information. His usually calm demeanor showed a hint of uncertainty as he found his voice. "A demon? How...how did this transpire? And why did it involve Harry Potter?"
Stolas responded, his tone carrying a distinct warmth that reflected his paternal affection for Octavius. "It's a tale of fate, Albus. The universe has a mysterious way of orchestrating its course. Octavius was destined for a life beyond the human realm. His existence as Harry Potter was a meaningful but temporary phase."
Dumbledore's next question revealed his deep-seated concern for Harry. "Why Harry? Why would you take a child under great protection and turn him into a demon?"
Stolas met Dumbledore's gaze, his eyes reflecting the protective instincts of a father. "Harry Potter was a vulnerable child in a world that posed great dangers for him. I was present in Godric's Hollow on that fateful night, Albus. I saw what 'protections' he had at the expense of his family. I felt the tug of destiny and I offered him a sanctuary, a realm where he could truly belong and be shielded from the grim future he was prophesied to face. The prophecy created a bond between us, a bond that couldn't be ignored."
Dumbledore's expression hardened as he moved onto the next pressing issue. "And what of the prophecy? And Voldemort?"
Stolas raised a hand, exuding a calming aura that silenced any further inquiries. "Those concerns are part of Harry Potter's past life. As for Voldemort, let me assure you, he poses no threat to Octavius."
The professors retreated into a thoughtful silence, grappling with the revelations. The room was filled with an uneasy quiet, punctuated by the soft crackling of the magical fire in the hearth. They had come searching for Harry Potter, only to discover that the boy they knew was no more, replaced by a prince of demons living in a realm far removed from their understanding.
As the silence stretched, Octavius finally broke it. His voice was calm and resonant, reflecting his acceptance of his dual identity. "I am aware of my origins. Stolas, my father, has told me about my life as Harry Potter. It was a life I no longer remember, but it is a part of who I am."
He paused for a moment, his dual-toned eyes reflecting deep wisdom and understanding. "I knew that fate would come knocking at my door one day, pulling me back to the mortal realm. That is the nature of prophecy, is it not? It weaves its threads through time, connecting lives and destinies across realms. It is inevitable, unescapable."
His gaze met each of the Hogwarts professors in turn, his voice firm and resolute. "But I am not the Harry Potter you once knew. I am Octavius, a prince of Hell. And while I am prepared to face whatever fate has in store for me, I will do so on my own terms. I am not a pawn in a cosmic game, but a player in my own right."
In the silence that followed his words, Octavius took a step forward, a strange light glowing in his eyes. He spread his arms wide, the air around him crackling with magical energy. Then, with a soft sigh, he let the power flow through him, a visible wave of energy sweeping outwards.
The transformation was swift and seamless. His demon form faded away, replaced by the small, slender form of a boy. The vibrant purple and emerald hues of his eyes dimmed, giving way to a striking shade of bright green, framed by round glasses. His hair, once a shimmering white, darkened to an unruly mop of jet-black locks, sticking up in all directions as if defying gravity. His skin, previously a shade of purplish-blue, lightened into a fair complexion speckled with freckles.
The being who stood before the professors was no longer the prince of Hell. Instead, he was a young boy, barely eleven, wearing a pair of patched and baggy clothes that were clearly several sizes too large for him. But despite his diminutive stature and plain appearance, his eyes held a depth of knowledge and experience that seemed incongruous with his age.
He was a living image of the boy from the stories - the boy who lived, Harry Potter. His lightning-shaped scar, previously hidden by his demon form, was now clearly visible on his forehead, a stark reminder of his past and the prophecy that had marked him from birth.
As Octavius stood before them in his human form, Octavia, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of curiosity and concern as she reached out, pointing at the lightning-shaped scar on Octavius's forehead.
"Octavius," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Your scar... it's still there."
All eyes turned to the scar, a sharp, jagged line marring the boy's otherwise smooth forehead. A silence fell upon the room, heavy with the weight of history and prophecy.
Breaking the weighted silence, it was Dumbledore who finally spoke. His voice was gentle, laced with the timeless wisdom borne from years of contending with the more enigmatic aspects of magic. "Ah, a scar..." he murmured, his eyes flickering to the mark in question.
He did not openly recognize it as the sign of the Killing Curse, for he did not have that knowledge. Instead, an unusual energy seemed to resonate from it, an energy that was unfamiliar yet tinged with an undercurrent of darkness. It was a mystery, one that demanded investigation.
"That mark... it bears an aura of dark magic, most peculiar. It seems to be a remnant of a tragic night," Dumbledore mused, his gaze thoughtful. He turned back to the others, his expression grave. "It seems to be a symbol of a great burden that Harry, or rather Octavius, carries."
Octavius's fingers traced the scar on his forehead, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Is it possible to remove it?" he asked, turning to Stolas.
Stolas sighed, shaking his head. "I've tried, my son. But this mark... it carries something more potent than a mere Curse. It's as if it is tethered to your very being, an indelible part of you."
At Stolas's words, Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a wide-eyed glance. The implication of what Stolas was suggesting hit them with the force of a Bludger. The scar wasn't just a physical reminder of the curse, it was something far more complicated.
It was Octavia who dared voice the unsettling possibility. "Could it be... a Horcrux?"
Octavius's reaction was not one of shock or fear, as might be expected from someone learning they were a repository for a piece of a dark wizard's soul. Instead, there was a moment of stillness in his eyes, a brief pause where understanding dawned. His usual playful demeanor seemed to fade, replaced by an unsettling calm.
His eyes, a reflection of the inferno he was born from, seemed to lose some of their fire as he processed the revelation. A horcrux. He was not just a demon prince, not just the reincarnation of a prophesied boy wizard, but also a vessel for a piece of one of the most feared dark wizards in history. It was a lot to take in.
He looked at his father, then at his sister, and finally at the Hogwarts headmasters. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at them all in turn. The silence was unnerving. Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"I see," he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. "I suppose that explains a lot." His words were nonchalant, but the weight of his newfound knowledge hung heavy in the air. It was clear that this revelation had changed things, had added another layer of complexity to his already tangled identity.
The revelation hung in the air like a Dementor's chilling presence. Dumbledore, usually the epitome of calm and wisdom, seemed momentarily stunned. His eyes, which had seen countless battles and sorrows, widened in disbelief. The idea of a Horcrux residing within Harry was a possibility that he had never considered.
McGonagall gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The stern, unflappable professor was visibly shaken, her eyes reflecting a mixture of shock and fear. Flitwick, the usually jovial Charms professor, looked stricken, his small stature seeming even smaller in the face of such a daunting revelation. Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, looked equally unsettled, her usually cheerful face pale.
"A Horcrux... in Harry?" Dumbledore finally found his voice, though it was laden with disbelief. "It... it cannot be. The process of creating a Horcrux is exceptionally dark and twisted. The idea that Harry might unknowingly harbor such a thing..."
His voice trailed off, leaving the room in a profound silence. The concept was unthinkable, yet the evidence was right before them.
"Dumbledore," she began, her voice echoing in the silence, "you knew, didn't you?"
Her accusation hung in the air, bringing an unexpected twist to the already tense atmosphere. Dumbledore's eyes met hers, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.
"I..." he began, but she cut him off, her voice unwavering.
"I see it," she said, her glowing eyes piercing through the layers Dumbledore had expertly woven around himself. "The knowledge, the suspicion. It was there, hidden deep within you. You suspected the presence of a Horcrux within Harry, didn't you; it is why you believe Voldemort isn't truly dead?"
The room was silent once more, the others turning to look at Dumbledore with wide eyes. McGonagall's expression was a mixture of shock and betrayal, Flitwick's usually cheerful demeanor replaced by a look of deep concern, and Sprout's face mirrored the disbelief shared by all. Snape, standing off to the side, looked at Dumbledore with a complex mix of emotions, his usually inscrutable expression revealing a hint of accusation.
Just as the room seemed on the verge of spiraling into chaos, a resonating voice cut through the tension, restoring a semblance of order. Stolas, until now a silent observer, stepped forward, his powerful presence impossible to ignore.
"I believe it is time to refocus our discussion," he began, his voice cool and controlled. "What happened in the past is of little consequence now. The fact remains that Harry Potter, the boy you were searching for, is standing before you as my son, Octavius; in this Hell."
His gaze swept over the Hogwarts staff, his dual-toned eyes glinting with an indomitable will. "The question you should be asking now is not about what has been done, but about what will be done. What are your intentions now that you've found him?"
Dumbledore, known for his wisdom and experience, paused and looked at each of the Headmasters present. His eyes were thoughtful, and the room was silent, waiting for him to speak.
"Headmasters," he began, "this is a predicament we have not faced before. We have a child, marked and chosen by an enemy who has proven capable of great evil. It is our duty to protect this child, to ensure that he grows in a safe environment, and yet we must also prepare him for the dangers that await him."
There was a murmur of agreement from the other Headmasters. Dumbledore continued, "Stolas, you have brought this child, your son, into this world, and it is clear that you have been doing all you can to protect him. We, the Headmasters of Hogwarts, stand with-"
Stolas, having listened to the deliberations of the Hogwarts Headmasters with a modicum of patience, finally felt the need for a firm decision. He straightened up, his gaze locked onto Dumbledore, his voice resolute, "Enough of speeches, Dumbledore. I ask for a clear answer. What is it that you intend to do?"
Dumbledore, even in the face of Stolas' formidable presence, retained his composure. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes meeting Stolas' stern gaze. "The child has one year left before he is due to enter Hogwarts," he began, his tone measured, "This is the time that the wizarding world has allotted him before he must start his education in magic."
Octavius, who had been standing quietly throughout the conversation, couldn't help but let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. He turned to face Stolas, his eyes sparkling with a hint of excitement and curiosity. "Father, Via," he began, his voice steady yet filled with anticipation, "Would it be permissible for me to explore this... Hogwarts for myself?"
His question hung in the air, a testament to his desire for knowledge and adventure, a trait that perhaps came from his human side. He was, after all, still Harry Potter, and part of him longed to understand and experience the world he had been born into.
Stolas turned his penetrating gaze to the professors of Hogwarts, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he silently gauged their reactions. The room fell into an almost unnerving silence, with everyone waiting to see what the esteemed educators would think of Octavius' request.
Despite his protective instincts, Stolas understood that this was not solely his decision to make. He was considering the interests of his son, of course, but he was also considering the demands and expectations of the wizarding world. After all, they had come seeking Harry Potter, and they surely had thoughts about his proposal.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "I believe it would be beneficial for Octavius to visit Hogwarts," he said slowly. "There is much he can learn from a tour of the grounds and perhaps meet some of the staff and students. He will not be officially enrolled as a student, given his age and unique circumstances, but we can certainly accommodate his curiosity."
McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. "We can arrange for a tour, ensuring his safety within the school's walls," McGonagall added. "He'll be under our watchful eyes."
Flitwick chimed in, his high-pitched voice serious, "And he will have the opportunity to get a feel for the school, understand the basics of magic, and see what life as a young wizard could be like."
Sprout smiled kindly, "It's important for him to understand his roots and to make an informed decision about his place in the wizarding world."
Stolas, after a moment of careful consideration, gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Very well," he agreed, "Octavius shall visit Hogwarts. But understand this, I expect him to be treated with fairness and respect; will all the formalities befitting a Goetian."
Before the relief in the room could fully settle, Octavia stepped forward, her hands clasped together as she spoke up, "If I may," she began, her voice steady and composed. "It is my belief that Octavius would benefit greatly from having familiar faces with him during this tour. New environments can be... daunting. I think it would be wise for him to have friends and family accompany him. It would provide a sense of comfort and support as he navigates this new territory."
Her gaze swept over the professors, her eyes glinting with a silent plea for understanding. "After all, Hogwarts is as foreign to him as Hell would be to you. It's only fair, don't you think?"
The professors shared another glance, the weight of Octavia's words sinking in. Dumbledore nodded slowly, giving her a thoughtful look. "A fair point. We shall make arrangements for a small group to accompany Octavius. Family and friends are indeed an invaluable source of comfort during times of change."
Stolas looked over at Octavia with a nod of approval. He could see the wisdom in her suggestion. For Octavius, this would be a journey of self-discovery, and having familiar faces around would indeed make it less daunting.
And there, amidst the silence, a singular sound rang through the room, a clap. The room shifted as all eyes turned to see Lucifer, the King of Hell himself, standing with a smirk on his face, clapping his hands in slow, deliberate applause. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and pride.
"Bravo, bravo!" he exclaimed, his voice resonating within the room. "What a touching family reunion. It's enough to bring a tear to the eye, isn't it?"
From behind Lucifer, Paimon, the elder Goetia, was observing the scene with an expression of surprise and realization. He didn't say anything, simply watching his family with a newfound understanding.
Beside Lucifer, Asmodeus, the Prince of Lust, sniffed loudly, dabbing at his eyes with an overly dramatic flourish. "Oh, I'm such a softie for family moments," he declared, his voice thick with teasing sarcasm, but his eyes glinting with genuine warmth.
And there, amidst the silence, a singular sound rang through the room, a clap. The room shifted as all eyes turned to see Lucifer, the King of Hell himself, standing with a smirk on his face, clapping his hands in slow, deliberate applause. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and pride. From behind Lucifer, Paimon, the elder Goetia, was observing the scene with an expression of surprise and realization. He didn't say anything, simply watching his family with a newfound understanding.
Beside Lucifer, Asmodeus, the Prince of Lust, sniffed loudly, dabbing at his eyes with an overly dramatic flourish. "Oh, I'm such a softie for family moments," he declared, his voice thick with teasing sarcasm, but his eyes glinting with genuine warmth.
With the room's attention once again on him, Lucifer's eyes twinkled with amusement. His lips curled up in a smirk as he addressed Stolas.
"Well, well, Stolas. I have to admit, I didn't think you had it in you," Lucifer began, his voice full of mischief and mirth. "Snatching something so precious right from under God's nose? And not just anything, but the so-called 'Chosen One'? Now, that's entertainment."
Turning his gaze towards the Hogwarts professors, he continued, his tone dismissive, "And you, the keepers of the magical world's future. The grand Albus Dumbledore and his esteemed colleagues, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Yet, here you are, playing a part in this drama. How quaint."
His words hung in the air, causing a visible ripple of discomfort among the professors. McGonagall was the only one who seemed to grasp the full gravity of the situation. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, she nodded slightly, her eyes reflecting the understanding and the fear of what was unfolding.
"But," Lucifer continued, once again addressing Stolas, "I must say I've enjoyed this little game of yours. You've made Hell a bit more interesting, for a time. And so, I'll allow this... excursion to continue."
His tone shifted then, becoming more serious. His eyes bore into Stolas's, the levity gone. "However, let this be a warning, my dear Stolas," he said, his voice low and threatening. "You've had your fun, and I've indulged you. But don't ever think of pulling a stunt like this again. Understand?"
Stolas nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of Lucifer's warning. His eyes met Lucifer's, acknowledging his words and the consequences they carried. He knew the precarious situation he had put his family in, and he understood the implications of Lucifer's words. His expression was one of comprehension and acceptance.
As the room fell silent, Asmodeus, the embodiment of lust, broke the quiet with his playful, provocative demeanor. His eyes were alight with mirth and mischief as he turned his gaze towards Octavius.
"Better start making some relationships, Octavius," Asmodeus teased, his voice full of innuendo. "After all, Hogwarts is known for its... close-knit community. Who knows what... connections you might make?"
Paimon, catching on to Asmodeus' provocative banter, added his own commentary, his tone full of kingly authority. "And speaking of relationships, Octavius," he began, turning his attention to his newly acknowledged grandson. His eyes held a new level of acceptance as he acknowledged Octavius as part of his lineage.
"I expect you to uphold the Goetia family name. It's about time we had some new blood in the family," Paimon continued, his voice filled with anticipation. "Even if you have to make cambions, I want to see some heirs. Our line is prestigious, and it should be preserved."
With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer, the King of Hell, along with Asmodeus, the embodiment of lust, disappeared from the room. Their parting left a lingering chill, a stark reminder of the power they held and the influence they exerted.
Paimon alone remained, his imposing presence a stark contrast to the absence of his companions. His eyes remained fixed on Octavius, as if calculating the potential his grandson held for the Goetia lineage.
Dumbledore and the other headmasters had been silent witnesses to the unfolding spectacle. The gravity of the situation had left them in a state of solemn contemplation. They exchanged glances, their faces revealing a mixture of concern, confusion, and a touch of fear. The presence of such powerful entities in Hogwarts was unsettling, to say the least.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore began, his voice steady despite the earlier revelations, "it would be best to conclude this meeting. We all have much to consider."
His statement was met with nods of agreement from the other headmasters. The room was quickly cleared with snaps, crackles, and pops.
Left alone in the room, Paimon, Stolas, Octavius, and Octavia exchanged glances. The day had brought many surprises, some more shocking than others. Yet, amidst it all, they had found a moment of unity, a moment of family.
Suddenly, Paimon began to chuckle. It started out low, a mere rumble, but soon escalated into a full-blown laughter that echoed around the room. Stolas joined in, his laughter mingling with his father's. Octavius and Octavia looked at each other, and with a shared grin, they too began to laugh.
Stella's presence was soon heard enough. She entered the room just as the laughter was subsiding, her eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of worry.
"What in the nine circles is going on?" Stella asked, her eyes darting between her laughing family. "Stolas, Octavia, Octavius? What's all this about?"
Her entry into the room marked a sudden halt to the laughter, the echo of their shared mirth still lingering in the air. All eyes turned to her, each carrying a different story. It was clear that she had missed something, something significant.
"Stella," Stolas began, a smile still tugging at his lips. "There's a lot to explain. It seems we have a rather interesting year ahead of us."
So, as a writer, I just started blasting!
Yeah, there is a lot to unpackage here, so I will get to the better point of this chapter! So, now the cat is out of the bag, assassinations were deflected, dumpy-superior pompous bird guy is denied, and Lucifer's entertainment and endorsement of Octavius's existence was a helluva (I shall be using these puns for as long as I like) experience, especially since my fingers are crying XD.
However, since we have hit the bar on political intrigue, next chapter is going to be a shift where we are leaning heavy on intel gathering! Once when next chapter is over, we shall resume this game that we have started! However, if you are a fan of Hogwarts Legacy, I left something there for you in the next chapter, just CTRL+F "revelio" once when the chapter is live!
Hoped you all enjoyed this chapter and please don't be afraid to Fav or Follow this story, means a lot!
Thank you for your time,
-True