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Chapter Text

The clouds drifted away and crystal moonlight spilled over the ritual circle. The edges were drowned in unicorn blood, a chaotic break to the coherent geometric symbols that Severus set up prior. Not for the last time, he wished he had delayed his arrival or found an opportunity to sneak away. After a summer of doing nothing, Voldemort finally decided to act.

And Severus was here, stuck, unable to warn the Order. The anti-apparition wards lay heavy across his skin.

He didn't even know what the Dark Lord intended to do tonight.

A somber silence swept over them as the Dark Lord stepped into the clearing. Rat bones cracked beneath his bare feet as he walked to the edge of the circle and waved his ivory wand. Nagini slithered up behind him, ready to strike. A few Death Eaters took a nervous step back.

"Pettigrew," hissed Voldemort. "The book."

Pettigrew rushed forward, a flaking book held in his silvery hand. His hair was plastered to his face as beads of sweat glistened in the moonlight. Trembling, he opened the book and bowed, passing it to the Dark Lord.

A rush of flame erupted through the air, and Severus shivered as the weight of dark magic slammed into him. He buckled beneath the pressure but forced himself to stand upright as others crumbled around him.

Ahead, the Dark Lord raised his wand, cut through moonlight, and began to chant. An unearthly echo of screams and agony greeted them. The unicorn blood rose in small droplets. One brushed against a Death Eater who had the misfortune to stand too close. He fell to the ground with a blood curdling scream. His body rippled and a wave of blood erupted, dragging more souls into its sacrifice.

The ritual, satisfied, coalesced in the center, beginning to take form.

Severus slammed his occlumency shields into place, finally giving him a moment to think. Dumbledore had asked him to keep his cover no matter the cost, unless Harry's life was in imminent danger. It wasn't, but he had to stop this madness regardless.

The air shivered around him, the fabric of the universe fracturing.

An explosion ripped through the clearing, throwing them to the ground. With it, the apparition wards shattered in a deafening bang.

Gritting his teeth, Severus stared at the dark cloud in the center of the circle. His magic buckled and writhed beneath his skin, tender and delicate, objecting to his demand. Whatever the Dark Lord had summoned, he could not be allowed to take command of it.

And with a crack, he was there, grabbing blindly. The Dark Lord's eyes widened. The betrayal registering. The world twisted away. A blind jump to somewhere. Anywhere, but here.

For the record, Lelouch would like to say he fully intended to accept his punishment in Hell with all the grace he could muster. But then, he found sweet, innocent Euphie in Hell, suffering for his mistakes. So he tried to plead her case to the gates of Heaven. It was an ongoing process—the bastards.

And of course, if Euphie—who had been so pure before he broke her—was in Hell, then his other angel of a sister would land here as well.

One thing led to another, until he found himself on the throne. It hadn't been entirely accidental, but he hadn't planned it either. Hell was better off for it, and he even enjoyed the job. He was good at organizing things and picking apart contracts. Best of all, his parents' eternal punishment was entirely in his hands.

Unfortunately, it came with one downside. Lelouch was quite sure that Satan had determined some solution for the issue, but he was, as his name suggested, Satan, and thus not very forthcoming. The bastard probably found the entire thing amusing. Regardless, Lelouch ultimately blamed Milly for having managed to summon him first... to give a speech of all things.

So in the midst of his meeting on making Hell more accessible with wheelchair ramps and auditory cues, he felt the annoying tingle. It always started at the back of his skull. Then the worst itch developed between his toes. Next thing he knew, he was falling through darkness and cursing the afterlife.

He woke to the taste of sand in his mouth, and a half dead man on top of him. Fruitlessly, he tried to push him off. When that didn't work, he glanced to the side where the sun slowly peeked over the treetops. Strangely, there were no entrails around, even if the man rather stank as if he were of Hell himself.

Bored, he poked at the man's soul. It was definitely going to be one of his subjects soon, but Lelouch wasn't one to judge. Heaven wouldn't accept Nunnally, which half tempted him to declare war to correct this egregious miscarriage of justice. Prudence won. Also, Heaven didn't have access to the internet, and Lelouch wasn't particularly keen on giving up that connection to his former life.

Finally, the man groaned. He pushed himself off him and patted his robes, which weren't tailored quite right. The material was also subpar. His brow furrowed, and he stared at Lelouch before suddenly grabbing a... stick?

"Ash wood isn't going to do anything. I checked," Lelouch informed him helpfully. He wiped the sand off his school uniform. It was always nice to have something familiar when embarking on unexpected interdimensional expeditions. "I'm rather glad you are alright, sir. It would have been very embarrassing to be found stuck under your corpse."

"Don't move." The man raised his stick.

"Look. Wood isn't magical. It does not ward off evil or whatever ridiculous notions you have. The worst you are going to do is poke me in the eye. Now, can we get to the next part? I do have somewhat of a schedule to keep."

A red light hit him in the face. Well, that was new.

Severus wasn't quite sure what he expected the Dark Lord to summon. An eldritch monster perhaps. But most definitely not a teenage boy. Still, knowing how deceptive appearances could be, he stunned him. Then, he apparated to Grimmauld Place.

"Severus?" Molly greeted "You were gone for so long, and so unexpectedly. We were worried that something might have— Is that a child!"

"Maybe." Severus dropped him into a nearby chair and took a step back, flicking his wand. Ropes and chains crawled up the chair, firmly securing the boy. He wouldn't be getting out of those. Strangely enough, he didn't have a wand or any other kind of weapon he could find.

"What is happening here?" Molly demanded.

"Yes. I would like to know that myself," Alastor grunts. His eye spins rapidly as he glances at the supposed teenager. "What is he?"

"The Dark Lord summoned him."

"And you brought him here!" Molly screeched.

"My cover is blown. My house is not safe anymore, and I have no idea what it is capable of."

Alastor waved his wand. "It's bathed in dark magic. Rennervate."

The creature gasped and jerked in the seat. It's eyes narrowed at them upon realizing it was chained. Then, to their surprise, it slammed its head backwards. "Why can't it ever be simple?"

Alastor stalked forward on his peg leg. "Who are you?"

"You summoned me. You tell me."

"We did not. We don't practice those kinds of Dark Arts," Molly said haughtily.

"You didn't summon me? Then... You interfered with the ritual?" For a moment it brightened, and an unsettling feeling washed over Severus, like the world was about to fracture once more. Then it settled, and Alastor had kicked over the chair, shouting, demanding to know what it had tried. The creature didn't even seem to notice. Instead, its unnatural, purple eyes focused on Severus. "Did you complete the ritual?"

"I interrupted it. We will determine how to dispose of you soon enough."

"But he's a child," Molly protested.

"It's not human," Alastor assured her, for once coming to Severus's defense. "We have no idea what it can do."

The creature raised an eyebrow. "While I'm all on board the sending me home train, there is a slight problem with your plan: I am already dead."

"Then how do we send you back?" Severus asked. The creature was strangely reasonable; it had to be a facade. The Dark Lord wouldn't go to such elaborate extents if it did not lead to death and destruction.

"Well," the creature began, his voice rife with teenage attitude. His students had better sense than to take that tone with him, but from a demon, the familiar tone sent shivers down his spine. "Normally, someone summons me. They complete the ritual, and tell me what they want. I do the thing if I'm feeling generous. Then they send me home. There's really no other way out of it."

"You are not returning to the Dark Lord's custody."

"Dark Lord?" the creature scoffed. "Who even calls himself that? I get Satan, but he invented the entire dark and gloomy bit."

"Satan?" Alastor echoed, and he finally stepped back. "Show your true self, demon!"

"This is my true self."

The spell hit the demon. His clothes rippled, growing longer, black turning to white stained red. A gaping, gushing wound grew on his chest, and the demon looked at them exasperatedly before taking a deep breath.

The wound faded. The clothes shrunk and darkened. The demon sighed. "Pardon me for not wanting to walk around like I just died. This form is close enough. I wore this uniform more than any other."

"But you're a demon." Alastor raised his wand. The entire nauseating process repeated again.

"Will you stop that? I do not wish to be here either. And yes, I am a demon, but I am still technically a damned human soul."

Molly staggers. "You died? At..."

"Eighteen." He shrugged and tapped his bindings. They fell away. "Anyway, if you could point me in the right direction that would be much appreciated. I was supposed to help with the amusement park later today. And then I have to blackmail some angels into attending the debate club, so they can finally get around to updating their three thousand year old justice system. Sending babies to Hell just to make our life worse is not fair. The daycare is overflowing."

"So you can help the Dark Lord take over England?" Alastor asked. "And kill all the muggles? We will stop you."

Strangely, the demon paused. "Muggles?"

"Non-magicals," Severus explained. "You don't know about magic."

"No, not your kind. Sticks are by far the least creative kind I've seen."

Alastor huffed. "They're wands."

"Sticks." The demon crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "A genocide then? Even a demon has standards. I was always quite fair to everyone. Well, then there is only one way to resolve this dilemma. You shall simply have to kill him, and I will be sent back to Hell."

Lelouch had thought these strange people—wizards, he learned—would be elated by his offer. It was a simple solution, and surely they were already invested in killing this Dark Lord—seriously, who called themselves that?—of theirs. Instead, he was hit by a red light and woke up again with his hands tied behind his back and the most obnoxiously dressed old man before him.

His wardrobe belonged in Hell... in the lava chambers where it could burn for eternity.

He was also, most definitely, insane.

"To clarify," Lelouch said slowly, "you want me to teach?"

"You want him to help me teach potions?" the dour man spat—and thank you! That was the appropriate level of disbelief for the situation. "That is an unknown dark creature with no knowledge of our magic, and you want to put it in a classroom filled with dunderheads who can barely refrain from blowing themselves up without demonic interference."

Lelouch leaned forward. "Is it like chemistry?"

"The demon knows chemistry. Of course the demon knows chemistry."

"Severus, my boy," the insane man began soothingly. Finally, a name! "We cannot risk the creature falling into the wrong hands, but you and I both know we cannot contain him. A man dies when the soul is disconnected from his body. That is why we cannot kill a ghost although they may be temporarily injured. That creature is a soul who made a body out of sheer force of will."

Had he? Lelouch closed his eyes, trying to remember the first moments of waking in Hell. He remembered realizing he was still aware. And then he opened his eyes. The new souls had bodies too, didn't they?

"The risk is too great. Lock it up in the dungeons until we finally kill the Dark Lord."

The old man sighed. "The risk is too great. We have no idea what he is capable of. You're quite capable of freeing yourself, aren't you?"

Pulling at the slight thrum beneath his skin, he nodded, and the chains fell to the floor. "I figured you would be more comfortable with the illusion."

"As you can see, Severus, our best chance is to entice him to stay here and make sure Voldemort's followers cannot reach him."

Lelouch snorted. Voldemort?

"Does death amuse you?" Severus snapped.

"Your Dark Lord failing French? Yes."

The edges of the old man's mouth quirked, and he pulled out a bowl. "Lemon drop?"

Warily, Lelouch accepted, surprised to find the delicate candy melting over his tongue. "Surely it isn't that difficult for you to kill one man. You are welcome to use me as bait and then drop a building onto both of us. It should solve your problem nicely, and I can finally return home without dealing with this ridiculous charade."

"I am afraid that is much too risky. What if Voldemort"—Lelouch stifled his snort—"has a way to bind you? Besides, if it only took a building, he would have long since perished and not risen from the dead."

"I was overdue for a vacation anyway," Lelouch grumbled, mind racing at the implication that a soul escaped from hell. He didn't count. As far as he knew, this was a problem limited only to him and had to do with his (accidental!) takeover of Hell. Unfortunately, the old man had a point. In the infinite multiverse, there very well could be a way to enslave him to the will of a mad man.

"Excellent!" The old man extended a hand. "Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. And may I ask for your name?"

Lelouch sighed, fishing through his pocket, and passed over his student ID. "I was Lelouch Lamperouge."

Dumbledore removed his glasses and wiped them before examining the card. "It says here you are the Vice President of Ashford Academy?"

"Quite the model student," Severus snarked. "You went straight from your graduation to Hell."

"Actually, I never did graduate."

"What did you do?" Severus demanded—a question which honestly should've been asked much earlier. Lelouch was beginning to be rather worried for the general safety of the students at school.

"In my defense, apparently my entire family for the last thousand years or so has landed in Hell. We may be cursed. For myself, I imagine the patricide had something to do with it. The bastard deserved it."

While Dumbledore turned grave, Severus merely nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes before it quickly vanished.

"May I have your word that you will not harm the students?"

Lelouch smiled. "You do not have to worry. I have no interest in harming them."

"Well then, Taffie!" Dumbledore didn't even flinch as a warped creature landed on the table. "Please take our guest to the teacher quarters in the dungeons. He will be assisting Professor Snape."

As the door shut and the demon's sickly presence vanished, Severus relaxed in his chair. "Why my class?"

"He will have to sorted," Albus explained. "It's easier for a Slytherin to teach under their Head of House. Also, if anyone can manage him, it would be you."

Severus nodded solemnly. "The demon is dangerous. He killed his father at, what, eighteen? His true form also had a rather grisly wound. While alive, he was clearly accustomed to violence. And now he is a demon with unknown power at his fingertips."

"Yes..." Albus closed his eyes, and Fawkes flamed into the room. It crooned anxiously before huddling next to him. Stroking his phoenix's back, Albus continued, "He is a demon, and while it may seem unusual, he is bound by their rules. He cannot lie, only mislead and torture us with twisted truths. And if we extract a promise from him, he will be forced to keep it."

"And if he cannot?" Severus asked.

"Well, then he will no longer be a problem. A much simpler solution, is it not?"

Chapter Text

The painted sky overcast, Severus entered the Great Hall and slid tiredly into his seat. The term would be beginning in a few days, filling peaceful halls with endless screams and destroying whatever shred of his patience remained. He was already counting down the days to the next summer break.

McGonagall joined him soon after and idly stirred her tea as she worked on her embroidery. He grimaced at the sight of Potter's face. The term hadn't even begun yet and the brat was already haunting him. At least, his very public defection meant he was allowed to hole up in the castle for the remainder of the summer. Albus himself couldn't drag him to the Order's safehouse. He had a demon to guard—or rather, keep busy.

"Do you think your assistant will be prepared?" McGonagall asked. "He is quite far behind on the curriculum. The Japanese schools are certainly subpar."

Ah yes. Not only did the demon know muggle chemistry, he was also fluent in Japanese, French, Chinese, Russian, and German. It was convenient for passing him off as a student from abroad, but absolutely infuriating because the demon swore none of his knowledge was due to demonic interference.

"He is adept at potions," Severus grudgingly admitted.

McGonagall froze, tea sloshing over the edge of her cup. "Adept? I was worried he was a charlatan, but to hear such praise from you, Severus..."

He scowled. "I have gone through more cauldrons these past few weeks than my entire time teaching here."

"I thought you said he was skilled?"

"When he wishes to be. He always brews the potion near perfect on the first try. Afterwards, he takes delight in creating controlled detonations. He has the most remarkable ability to make even the most inert substances volatile."

McGonagall winced. "Yes. I almost fear him meeting our dear Mr. Finnigan. Our transfiguration lessons have been... subpar, to say the least. Even when he finally manages a successful transfiguration, it will inevitably combust before the end of the lesson. I do not understand what is wrong with that boy. And Filius says charms are much the same."

"I ask that you refrain from having him cast spells on other students."

"Well, he is quite skilled at confounding live subjects. I asked him to transfigure a mouse into a cat. The mouse then spent the next three days stalking other mice and attempting to meow before the spell finally wore off."

Demonic influence, it had to be.

Severus frowned. They still had no idea what the demon was capable of. His inability to be restrained by magical ropes was certainly not the end of it, and Severus had a suspicion that locks didn't phase the demon either. The case of the magically unlocking cabinets in his classroom and office certainly suggested so.

"At least he is a bright student," McGonagall said. "As long as his brewing is acceptable, his lack of proper spell work should not deter him from his job. Academic types are so often lopsided. I expect he will be going to Ravenclaw. He has the mind for it."

Severus paused. The demon was as Slytherin as they came. "Albus is thinking Slytherin."

"Really? Your house does not have a monopoly on good brewers, Severus. He is quite charming and helpful. Even Mrs. Norris likes him! I never thought I would see the day she warmed up to someone else."

Why hadn't Albus told the rest of the staff that their newest member was a literal demon? He was bewitching them and worming into their hearts. This was Quirrell all over again, with only Severus on guard and his concerns falling on deaf ears.

"He's a schemer," Severus warned.

"Oh, you do like him!"

No. He did not.

Every summer Harry seemed to be involved in some sort of small, unpleasant adventure. Nearly being expelled after having his soul almost sucked out by a Dementor was the worst by far. At least the trial had gone his way, but Dumbledore continued to not talk to him! Suffice to say, Harry was frustrated, and Grimmauld Place was never cleaner in the face of his misplaced wrath.

Across the hall, the perpetually locked door of the adults' secret meeting taunted him. Voldemort was after him, yet they couldn't bother to give him the simplest bits of information.

What were they even doing? Voldemort was out there, and they had done nothing!

The only tidbit he overheard was that Snape had blown his cover. Harry doubted it was anything too serious. Snape was too much of a coward.

The twins, somehow looking shiftier than normal, peeked around the corner of the hallway. Upon seeing him, their faces lit up in delight.

"Harry!" Fred exclaimed.

George grinned. "We heard something—"

"—which would of course interest—"

"—our charming little investor."

Fred clasped a hand over his mouth and pulled him into a stuffy side room. Despite having cleaned it two days ago, dust had already settled. He motioned for him to wait, and the twins disappeared.

Three minutes later, they returned, having kidnapped Ron and Hermione.

Ron crossed his arms. "I'm not eating anything."

"Not to worry, Ronniekins." Strangely, Fred grew sober.

George stepped forward and his voice dropped to a whisper. "We overheard Mum talking to Dad. You know how Snape defected?"

"Apparently," Fred cut in, "You-Know-Who summoned a demon, and Snape brought it here-"

"—and it's going to teach at Hogwarts!"

Hermione sniffed. "Don't be absurd. Demons are a category of dark creatures according to the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. There is no singular creature known as a demon. Perhaps, Professor Snape secured a Grindylow for DADA—"

"No, there are actual demons," Ron said, squashing any hope Harry had that Miss Weasley meant a metaphorical demon. "They're incredibly dark creatures. Grindylows are said to be their descendants—"

"—or humans they cursed," Fred added.

"They have to be summoned from across the Veil," George explained. "Last time it happened was in the 14th century and wars broke out all across Europe. That's why they created the first Order of Merlin, to commemorate the lives lost of wizards who dared to face it."

"They say a demon was responsible for the Black Death," Ron whispered. "It wiped out thousands of wizards."

Hermione crossed her arms, brow furrowed. "Then why isn't that in any of the books!"

"They're children's stories, Hermione." Ron winced. "Everyone grows up hearing them. Like the Tales of the Beatle and the Bard."

"Well, I don't know! I'm a Muggleborn. All I know about demons is the fire and brimstone stuff and how they live in Hell."

"Muggles have demons too?" Fred asked, horrified. "But how can they defend themselves?"

"Um," Harry interrupted before Hermione blew a gasket. "So there's a demon teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," George said. "Dumbledore must have some way of controlling it—"

"—but we should keep an eye on it regardless," Fred said.

"I bet it's a Slytherin," Ron grumbled.

"Well, the Defence Professor never lasts longer than a year anyway," Harry tried to reassure them—but mostly himself.

Lelouch twirled his wand—sixteen inches, extremely flexible, made of Cypress with thestral hair—between his fingers as he sat in his office. Situating himself in the wizarding world so he could pass as one of their own had initially staved off the pangs of boredom, but now the summer was coming to an end, and the other Professors had grudgingly deemed him acceptable.

He really needed to get back to Hell. There were so many things to do, and Nunnally's inevitable arrival to prepare for. Despite his best effort, most of Hell was not wheelchair accessible, and the lack of guard rails meant bathing in hellfire was one simple misstep away.

Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, he had not been able to summon a portal and slip through the cracks in reality and return home. It was truly a shame.

Killing their stupid dark lord was quickly moving to the top of his priority list. Dumbledore assured him they were doing their best in trying to track him down, yet there had been no progress on that front despite the weeks which had passed.

At this point, Lelouch was seriously considering writing the wannabe terrorist a letter.

He brightened. Yes, he could do that.

A pair of hair clips which he had found abandoned in a dusty corner made quick work of the lock on the storeroom. Lelouch wasn't quite sure what the wizard's magical locking charm was supposed to do. Lockpicks—and explosives when that didn't work—were hardly stopped by some simple magic.

Smirking, he grabbed the ingredients he would need. Unfortunately, Severus kept his more poisonous materials hidden in his office. Explosives would have to suffice.

Returning to his office, he laid out the envelope and grabbed his quill. Wizards, much like demons, were ridiculously old fashioned. Lelouch much preferred fountain pens. He never had to sharpen the nibs with those.

Using a heavily stylized script, fit for an emperor, he wrote: The Dark Lord

The inside of the envelope he covered in wax. As he waited for it to harden, he pulled out his personal cauldron and began the brew. The mixture was then poured into the envelope and sealed. In the next ten minutes, it would settle. Afterwards, any sudden exposure to oxygen would set it ablaze.

Truly a shame that he wouldn't be able to see his handiwork.

He doubted it would kill the Dark Lord. It was a mediocre explosion, and his experiments in the lab had shown that the protective wards held despite his best efforts.

Perhaps Lelouch should apologise to Severus; the man was already greying... Or not. If Lelouch was dragged here from Hell against his will, he could simply recreate it here and have these fools suffer with him.

Now, the owlery.

Huffing, he reached the top and pushed his way inside. He missed demonic teleportation. Twenty school owls took flight, leaving one scarred owl glaring at him. He hadn't been aware owls could glare.

The owl hooted judgingly.

Lelouch scowled and held out the letter. "This makes no sense whatsoever, but I need to send a letter."

The owl warily extended its leg, and Lelouch secured it with a neat little bow.

"The Dark Lord, please?"

The owl hooted disapprovingly.

"Your job is to carry letters, not judge me for it."

The owl took to the air, gliding to the opposite end of the room and scraping its talon across his skull.

Lelouch's eye twitched. "I swear that I am not aiding your idiot of a Dark Lord. It will most likely severely displease him."

Appeased, the owl leaped out the window, plummeting to the ground before it rose and circled above the Forbidden Forest, growing smaller and smaller—and larger? The owl ruffled its feathers as it landed on the window sill before him and hooted.

"Let me guess, you have no idea where the Dark Lord is?"

The owl hooted.

"Perfect," he grumbled. Maybe titles didn't work with owls? Aliases had to work, or the headmaster would be confronting him about his little misdirection. Telling them his real last name would lead to so many uncomfortable questions.

Vi Britannia was such a pretentious name anyway.

This world had no need for Emperors. Despite their little terrorist problem, they were surprisingly peaceful.

He crossed his arms and glowered at the bird. How else could he draw the Dark Lord out of hiding. "What about one of his supporters?"

The owl began grooming itself.

"No?" He sighed.

Well, he could anger the Dark Lord through other means. His lack of presence in the papers either meant the government was hiding his activities or that he was purposefully keeping a low profile. Given how they were slandering the headmaster—who clearly was running some sort of counter-terrorism force and doing a terrible job of pretending he was not—Lelouch was leaning to the latter.

"What about the Ministry?"

The owl perked up and took flight before he could change his mind.

Lelouch stuffed his hands into his pockets. Did the wizarding world view explosives in the mail like Britannia? As terrorism?

Oops? Old habits died hard.

What were the chances someone would be harmed? They would be fools to not screen their mail.

When the Daily Prophet arrived the next morning, Lelouch eagerly asked for a copy, only to be disappointed. His little letter bomb wasn't mentioned anywhere.

"A sickle for your thoughts?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"A little experiment of mine failed." He spread some jam on his toast. "I need to change my approach."

The students perhaps? Some of them had to be sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause.

"I am sure Filius will be delighted to have you in his house," she said kindly. "You have such an inquisitive mind. Although, are you sure I cannot tempt you with some bravery? Your wand is certainly a tragic one, carried by some of the greatest in my house."

"Cypress for a heroic death," he whispered, echoing Ollivander's words.

For a moment, he was back on the float, watching Zero—his assassin, his best friend, his worst enemy—approach. And the blade pierced his heart as he finally dropped the act and smiled, because at last, it had all gone to plan.

Then Nunnally screamed, begged for him to come back.

He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He deserved the pain for all the suffering he caused. That was all he was good for, and even if Nunnally landed in Hell, she would soon realise the same.

A hero's death? He died a villain, like he intended.

The grand doors opened, and Lelouch raised an eyebrow as the Headmaster entered, followed by a woman dressed in the most hideous shade of pink.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "May I introduce Dolores Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

She humphed and stepped up to the High Table, grabbing the seat next to Lelouch. "I am most delighted to be working here and ensuring that the students receive an education up to the ministry's standards."

Perfect. The school was insane. Enforcing some sort of legal standards—such as not hiring newly summoned entities or having a forest with giant spiders—would protect the students in the long run.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lelouch said, holding out his hand as the other professors looked on in distaste. "I have numerous matters of concern."

Her clammy hand grabbed his. "I would be delighted to listen. The Ministry is naturally concerned by the—"

"Excellent. I would first like to discuss the moving staircases as they present an immediate safety hazard, especially the trick stair."

She flushed. "I meant—"

"I also have concerns over how accessible the Forbidden Forest is. I understand the acromantula are endangered, but surely, it is possible to relocate them to a more isolated area. It is only a matter of time until a student is eaten."

"Mr. Lamperouge," Dumbledore interrupted. "I assure you—"

"Safety aside, I must also ask how Hogwarts expects to accomodate students with disabilities. The sheer number of stairs with no alternate pathways puts any student with mobility challenges at a disadvantage. Furthermore, the dungeons lack proper lighting which will strain students with poor eyesight. If the staff fare is anywhere near representative of the student meals, I must also express concern over student health."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I assure you, Mr. Lamperouge, we have no student who needs extra care. Magic is truly miraculous."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lelouch snapped. "Your last defence professor was the insane man with the weird eye and a peg leg. While he may not have complained, moving around the castle was surely difficult. Various members of your staff have allergies, so I expect that to extend to the student population. None of the food is labelled with common allergens—"

"And if there is an issue, Madam Pomfrey will be able to resolve the issue."

Umbridge sneered at him. "Yes. These matters are hardly of concern. The Ministry wishes to tackle the curriculum which has been noticeably subpar."

"Yes, the account on the Goblin Wars is terribly one-sided," Lelouch agreed.

"No!" Umbridge snapped. "The ridiculous notion that You-Know-Who is back!"

"Who?"

"She means Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord," Dumbledore explained.

Pity. That would've been useful to know earlier when he had wanted to send the letter.

"I am not from here," Lelouch added helpfully. "The Headmaster was so kind as to offer me an assistant position in potions. It is an invigorating subject."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Where are you from?"

"I spent many years in Japan, and I started my magical education rather late."

"Your family?"

He hesitated. Geass was a type of magic. "My parents weren't wizards, if that is what you are asking."

Her lips curled, and she stormed away, taking the seat on the opposite end of the table.

Lelouch narrowed his eyes. A government meddler then—who, like everyone else, cared little for the students and their safety.

Sighing, he focused on his breakfast. His goal was to return to Hell. This was merely a little detour, a vacation perhaps. He shouldn't interfere; they could solve their own problems.

He watched the woman out of the corner of his eyes. But that didn't mean he couldn't have some revenge on his own behalf.

Entering the Great Hall, Harry immediately scanned the High Table for the new staff member—the demon. On the far right, was the woman from his trial. And on the far left, was a young man, who looked barely old enough to have graduated.

"Oh, I hope he's teaching DADA," Hermione said longingly.

Ron groaned. "He could be the demon."

"He doesn't look like one."

"Because he is in disguise," Ron spat.

"What about the woman? She's new as well," Hermione said.

"She works for Fudge. I saw her at my trial." Harry narrowed his eyes at the young man. "I bet he is a Slytherin. He has that same look like Malfoy."

"Who does he even think he is?" Ron spat. "The git is sitting there like a prince. How does he even manage it? It's a bloody chair."

Harry nodded, his eyes wandering down the table. The room was entranced, and while Dumbledore sat in his customary seat in the centre, it was the mysterious young man who drew everyone's attention by merely sitting there.

The side doors opened, welcoming a stream of new first years with Professor McGonagall in the lead.

Halfway through the sorting ceremony, the young man leaned over to Professor Flitwick, drawing him into a quiet conversation until Professor Sinistra silenced the two with a harsh glare.

As the last first year rushed off to her table, Dumbledore rose from his seat. "Before we begin the feast, it is my great pleasure to introduce Mr. Lamperouge who will be finishing his studies here at Hogwarts and also assisting our dear Professor Snape in potions. I ask that you all treat him respectfully and show him the best that Hogwarts has to offer. Now, shall we sort you, Mr. Lamperouge?"

Gracefully, Mr. Lamperouge rose and inclined his head. His sharp eyes—were they purple?—swept across the Great Hall and dreamy sighs floated from each table. "Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore."

A flash of pain burned through Harry's scar, and he bit his tongue to stifle the scream. Yes. That was most definitely their demon, and the headmaster was letting him loose in Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was no longer safe.

Again.

With unbelievably confident steps, Mr. Lamperouge strode to the stool and dropped the raggedy hat on his head.

"How does he look so cool?" Ron whined. "It's impossible."

Fred grinned. "Demonic you could—"

The room fell abruptly silent as the woman in pink lurched to her feet and drunkenly stumbled forward.

"Professor Umbridge, is something the matter?" Dumbledore asked.

She wheezed, followed by a loud pop and a plume of pink smoke. A few students screamed, and Harry leaned forward, waiting for the smoke to dissipate.

A giant robin—its chest and head bright pink—charged out, squawking angrily. The hall exploded with laughter.

"Silence!" Dumbledore ordered, raising his wand. "This behaviour is most unacceptable. Mr and Mr—"

"It wasn't us!" Fred yelled. "We swear upon our collection of Dungbombs."

"I think I'm in love," George whispered, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Such daring and audacity. At the Welcoming Feast too. It's inspiring."

The hat dropped over Lelouch's eyes, bathing him in darkness. He held perfectly still despite the sudden uproar around him—posing for portraits turned out to be good for something after all. His welcome gift to Umbridge was clearly well appreciated.

The din faded, leaving him trapped in a prison of silence, utterly exposed. He suppressed his instinctive unease.

Despite his best efforts, Filius had refused to explain what enchantments allowed the hat to speak and sort. This was something Lelouch couldn't control. His lips curled in distaste.

"What do we have here?" a voice echoed in his head. "A demon? But a mortal soul as well? I most certainly haven't yet had the honour."

"Get out of my head."

"Now, now, calm down, dear Demon Emperor. I am merely here to do my job: sort the students where they fit best. And you are such an interesting specimen. Children get so tedious after a while. Their thoughts are so simple. But you— Well, you're not a child, yet not an adult, despite all the years you've lived."

"I'm dead."

Painful memories flashed by. His sister begging and crying. His mother's betrayal. The Black Knights turning against him. His sister declaring him a demon. Suzaku betraying him, dragging him before the Emperor. His father casting him out. The sword plunging through his chest, finally bringing him contentment. Euphie, drenched in endless corpses piled on top of one another as he carried Nunnally though a war zone.

He clenched his teeth. "Stop it!"

"A hero's death?" the hat mocked. "You are truly an interesting specimen. Abandoned and betrayed at every turn, so you schemed and plotted, fought for revenge and justice. You were a saviour and then a villain of your own creation. So the question becomes, where to put the man who has been lost among masks for so long."

"Just get it over with", Lelouch thought tiredly. Simple school houses meant nothing. They were artificial divisions anyway. He already had an office to call his own. He needed nothing else.

"Do you regret it? Dying?" The hat paused. "You could have lived and ruled with absolute power at your fingertips. With the power to break minds to your will, you would have faced no opposition."

"No." His resolve hardened. "The only ones who should kill are those prepared to be killed. My time came. I accomplished everything I set out to do. The last piece standing in the way was myself, so I removed it."

A contemplative aura surrounded him. "You would fit in well among Slytherin—ruthless, ambitious, cunning. Yet you threw it all away, sacrificed your life in the greatest scheme. Perhaps it is ambition to topple an Empire, or perhaps it is an ideal. Slytherins play the game, but they are never willing martyrs, because the dead can play no longer. What drives you, Demon Emperor, if it is not personal desire?

"Ravenclaw? You certainly have made great strides since you have come here, but you never learn for learning's sake. Always an ulterior motive, seeking to make knowledge of use or to leverage it to gain what could be of use. No. Ravenclaw is not for you.

"Yet you would be a poor fit for Gryffindor. I might enjoy the resulting show, but I do have a responsibility to this school, and they wouldn't last a week. Regardless, you lack the heart of chivalry needed.

"What drives you? You disowned yourself because of your mother and your sister. You vowed to fight when you saw grievous injustice — your sister's wish was merely an excuse. Justice is what you seek, driven by your loyalty. You are undoubtedly a..."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Chapter Text

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Confused, Harry turned to his friends and then the twins. There was a demon on the staff this year. The young man had to be the one. But, Hufflepuff? Surely, a demon would've been Slytherin. They were evil for a reason, and while the Hufflepuffs could be self righteous pricks, they always looked out for their own.

At the High Table, Dumbledore and Snape's expressions were frozen in surprise. So he was the demon!

"Do you reckon he tricked the hat somehow?" Ron loudly whispered.

Hermione sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't trick the hat. More likely, he isn't a demon at all. Maybe the twins misheard, and he met a demon. Or he was possessed. Because would a demon really be in Hufflepuff?"

"Yeah, Hufflepuffs are dunderheads," Ron said. "They've never accomplished anything have they?"

Cedric. Harry's jaw tightened, and he refocused on the High Table, not trusting himself to speak. In the corner, the transformed Umbridge squawked furiously.

Mr. Lamperouge carefully passed the hat to McGonagall and stepped forward, bowing slightly to the Great Hall as the thunderous applause from the Hufflepuff table died down. "Thank you all for a warm welcome. A quick announcement before we begin the feast: I will be holding office hours Wednesday from 10:30 to 11:30 and Friday from 3:30 to 4:30. To not give Professor Snape reason to complain, I highly suggest you attend if you're struggling in the class. Thank you."

His voice carried easily through the Great Hall—as if he had cast a sonorus, yet his wand was nowhere in sight—and people reflexively straightened. His tone demanded obedience despite his pleasant words.

Then, he nodded to the Headmaster and casually walked to the Hufflepuff table.

"We're going," Hermione announced.

Harry nodded hesitantly. "To check if he tricked the hat."

"No! For our grades. Professor Snape gave me an 'E'. It's unacceptable."

"Hermione," Harry said slowly. "I got five 'P's last year."

"Snape has it out for you, man," Ron said. "One time only. That's when we play Exploding Snap in the Common Room."

"You mean you do your homework," Hermione said dangerously.

"Right... Totally. Homework."

The older Hufflepuffs generously scooted to the side, making room for Lelouch to sit as he approached. He shot them a grateful smile, pleased by the display of unity. For now, they seemed to bear him no ill will, but fortunately, Lelouch's position as an assistant afforded him his own quarters. He would be relatively safe there from unscrupulous attempts on his person.

Warm greetings surrounded him as they introduced each other by their names, and Lelouch had to remind himself that unlike Britannia, he shouldn't use honorifics unless he was teaching.

Did the wizarding world even have proper lordships? Or was their Dark Lord only stylized as such out of grandiosity? What of the non-magical world?

"I need to go to the library," he mumbled to himself.

Patricia Morris laughed. "You're supposed to be a Hufflepuff, not a Ravenclaw."

The hat had mentioned certain traits, but Lelouch hadn't investigated the Houses before, deeming them an insignificant school house dorm rivalry. Milly had once done something similar, pitting the boy and girl dorms against each other in a brutal battle of attrition.

"Are Hufflepuffs not supposed to go to the library?" Lelouch asked.

Edison Ross huffed. "You're really not from here."

"I lived in Japan before," he admitted. "I'm not yet used to your British way of doing things."

"Wicked. Don't stress it, mate. But Ravenclaws are always hogging all the books. They'll be there tomorrow, even though it's the weekend. They're right crazy."

"Unless you're Granger." Patricia rolled her eyes. "She's a Gryffindor, but if there's a book checked out, chances are she has it. She's worse than the Ravenclaws. She stockpiles them."

"And Ms Pince does nothing about it."

"Knowledge is power," Lelouch said approvingly, earning him more strange looks.

Kara Mills raised a delicate eyebrow. "Sounds like what a Slytherin would say." She leaned across the table, accentuating her figure in a move that would have made Milly jealous. "You must be quite smart to help with potions. Professor Snape always calls us, Hufflepuffs, dunderheads."

"He calls me that after I blow up his cauldron. I think he likes me."

"And with that attitude you could be a Gryffindor," she said.

"I'm mildly concerned with your fixation on attributing my behaviour to a specific house." Scanning the table, he frowned at their sombre expressions. "Your house is much quieter than the other tables."

"One of our members died last year," Edison whispered, his voice cracking. "A lot of us looked up to him. He was the best of us and entered that stupid tournament to prove that we aren't worthless."

Lelouch twitched at that dreaded word.

"But he died. Potter claims that You-Know-Who killed him, but—"

"It's hogwash. You-Know-Who isn't back," interrupted Alexis Jenkins. "I'm not saying Potter killed him; he doesn't have the guts for it. Just... It was probably an accident, and he wanted the glory."

"And now we're nothing again," said the fifth year prefect, Hannah Abbott.

"That reminds me," Edison said, pulling out a form. "You need to sign up for the Resume Builders Club."

"The what?" Lelouch asked. A resume? He had never filled one out. What experience could he possibly state? Took over an Empire at eighteen but couldn't save a close friend?

"Well, everyone knows Ravenclaws are smart. They all get hired by guilds for research and such. Slytherins have connections and wealth. Even when they're poor, they'll have plenty of favours from their Hogwarts days to at least land a job. And then for the regular, common jobs... Well, everyone knows a Gryffindor is trustworthy and honourable. There's barely anything left for Hufflepuffs afterwards, not when everyone thinks we're useless."

"Are you saying your future employability is determined by what a hat says when you're eleven?"

"Pretty much," Edison said bitterly. "You'll have it even worse being a foreigner; although, if you're already assisting potions, maybe Dumbledore will hire you as a proper teacher. But! That's why we have the Resume Builders Club. Everyone signs up and keeps an eye out for open jobs. We're always the second to hear about them; Slytherins always know before they even open."

"That is horrifying," Lelouch said sincerely.

"Hufflepuffs help each other out, even if we don't like each other. We have to stick together to survive. So, you in?'

Lelouch glanced at the Head Table where Dumbledore had finally managed to restore the ministry employee to her proper state. "Is everyone here signed up for it?"

"Yes."

An impressive feat if Lelouch was being honest. Some of them had to have the personal connections to advance themselves independently, but they were still willing to lend a hand. He smirked. "I'm in. It's an impressive organisation you've founded."

"It's not an organisation."

"It's a network of spies," Lelouch countered. "Have you considered doing something more with it? You have an army of souls eager to strike and prove themselves."

"An army?" Kara giggled, an eager glint entering her eyes. "He's right, you know. Remember when Emma's younger sister went missing? We found her in a day and a half after the DMLE spent a week being useless."

"Hey!" one of the younger Hufflepuffs, Susan Bones, shouted. "My aunt helped us. It was Fudge's fault."

"But the point is," Kara said, "we could turn that energy elsewhere."

"To find people?" a younger boy interrupted.

"Ooh. We could find missing criminals."

"We could be vigilantes!"

"But how does that help us with finding a job?"

Kara bared her teeth. "Well, if everyone is scared of Hufflepuffs..."

"We could find out what actually happened to Cedric," Susan Bones said quietly.

The table quieted with solemn respect. Lelouch made a mental note to learn more about the boy, whose memory, even in death, wielded authority.

Susan glared furiously at her plate. "Fudge stonewalled my aunt. She wasn't even allowed to check Potter's story. Someone could have murdered him, and we would never know. It was a maze and everyone was watching. What kind of accident kills someone without a mark?"

"Justice for Cedric!" someone shouted, and the table erupted.

Edison stared apprehensively and slowly turned to Lelouch. "What did you do?"

"I didn't mean to?" Lelouch protested weakly. "I didn't know you had a martyr already."

Chuckling weakly, Patricia patted her friend's shoulder. "It's for a good cause."

Well, if the Dark Lord had killed Cedric and they proved it, then Lelouch had just accidentally acquired an army to send after the bastard. They would need to be trained though.

It wasn't like he intended to use them as such; they were merely plan E if all else failed—Dumbledore and his secret society, assassinating the Dark Lord through poison or bombing, turning the Ministry of Magic against him, and stealing his followers.

Still, they were discussing vigilantism, and Lelouch had the necessary experience to guide them away from common pitfalls. After all, Hufflepuffs helped one another.

"Perhaps your Resume Club should take a more active role with meetings," Lelouch suggested. "You could train them in employable skills—such as, not getting arrested."

"That's brilliant," Kara declared, an unholy light in her eyes.

As a demon, did Lelouch corrupt people with his mere presence? Schoolchildren from happy backgrounds shouldn't be this easy to sway.

Trepidation coiled in his gut as Severus discreetly observed the Hufflepuff table. Pomona was beside herself in happiness to have such a brilliant young man under her care, unaware of the viper that had entered her den. Already, trouble was stirring. He had never seen the dunderheads so riled up. Silently, he bemoaned his lack of foresight in placing some monitoring runes.

Hufflepuffs were supposed to be the ones too stupid and well mannered to get into trouble.

He wouldn't put it past the demon to have tricked the hat somehow to foil their carefully laid plans. Hufflepuff was just too perfect for disappearing into anonymity.

His House's table was alight with derogatory comments as whatever respect they held for Lamperouge, as his assistant, broke. Hopefully, they blamed Dumbledore until the demon had the opportunity to establish himself as actually well versed in the subject and earn their respect.

Frowning, he narrowed his eyes at Draco as rumours spread about his defection from the Dark Lord. It wasn't an ideal situation, but he knew it was coming. One didn't apparate away with the Dark Lord's prized summoned demon without consequences.

On the bright side, none of them knew what the demon looked like. They would never suspect a Hufflepuff.

"Dolores, please," Dumbledore pleaded to the side, having finally turned her back. "It was merely a prank. We will do our utmost to catch them but we cannot detain all the students until one of them confesses."

"This is an attack on the Ministry," she spat.

If Snape were a betting man—which he wasn't foolish enough to be—he would say it was Lamperouge. The demon was the only one with access, the skills, and the guts to target a ministry official in full sight. He even had the perfect alibi as his sorting had taken place at the same time.

It was all too perfect. He was such a Slytherin.

The hat might have been fooled; Snape wouldn't be.

Double potions in the morning was the absolute worst. Naturally it was with the Slytherins because the universe hated Harry. He just wanted one year without having to hear Malfoy snigger about his every mistake as Snape berated him.

"Cheer up, mate." Ron elbowed him gently. "We get office hours later today and can determine whether he is a demon after all. We just need to survive class first."

Hermione sighed wistfully. "The younger years had him already. They said he was very helpful and it was even fun."

"Slytherin propaganda," Ron declared.

Harry snorted. "That's a big word, mate. You sure you know what it means?"

"Lay off. I do listen to Hermione. Some of it sticks."

"Oh, Ron. I'm so proud of you," she cheered, and Ron's ears turned bright red.

The door creaked ominously as it swung open, and they filtered inside. Half-heartedly, Harry began setting up his table, already resigned to failing. Snape had it out for him. As usual, the instructions were written on the board in a spidery cursive that he despised deciphering.

"You have class," Snape suddenly barked.

Mr Lamperouge shrugged nonchalantly in the back of the classroom. "Turns out it's taught by a ghost. My housemates already promised to give me the necessary notes. I determined this would be a more productive use of my time."

Strangely, Snape faltered, his lips twisted in a silent snarl. He nodded seriously. "Fine. Watch out for Longbottom. He rivals your explosions by accident."

Harry gaped. Explosions?

The class passed unnervingly uneventfully, interspersed with Snape's usual insults, and only at the end did Harry realise what was so strange. Not a single cauldron had exploded, melted, or bubbled over.

In the corner of the room, Neville stared blankly at his cauldron and the faint grey shimmering smoke rising above it—the exact hue it was intended to be.

Lamperouge quietly congratulated the boy before drifting over to the Slytherin side and stopping Goyle from throwing his uncut roots into the cauldron.

"Time," Snape called. "Turn in your vials at the front of the class. As a reminder, Mr. Lamperouge will not be able to assist you for your final. I advise that you do not abuse his guidance."

Harry rushed to the front, putting his off-colour potion on the desk. Snape glared at him, and Harry met his gaze defiantly. Finally, Neville walked up and placed his vial on the table, the hue just a smidge off from Malfoy's perfect sample.

"Cheating will not save you, Longbottom," Snape hissed.

"I didn't cheat, sir," Neville whispered.

"He wasn't slicing the ingredient correctly, sir," Lamperouge interrupted casually. "I swear most of your class doesn't know how to cook... or even measure ingredients properly."

Cooking? Harry shuddered, remembering all the times Aunt Petunia had dragged him into the kitchen to assist. She had never trusted him to use a knife on his own.

"Potions is a far superior art to cooking, " Snape said.

Lamperouge nodded solemnly. "Yes. Potions can explode, but the fundamentals remain the same." He turned to the rest of the class. "Office hours begin in fifteen minutes down the hall. Please do not bring your own cauldron. The office lacks the impressive and substantial number of wards inof the classroom."

He and the professor exchanged some brief quiet words before Lamperouge picked up his bag and casually strode to the door where half of Gryffindor waited. He raised an amused eyebrow, and Harry grimaced at the unsettling reminder of Malfoy Sr. Their house instinctively fell silent.

How was he able to command such authority with a mere look? He was barely older than them.

Oblivious, Malfoy sauntered forward. "Lamperouge? My father has never heard of your family. I feel sorry that Professor Snape is saddled with an incompetent mudblood such as yourself."

Harry grit his teeth, only Hermione's firm hand on his arm stopping him from lunging forward. Next to him, Neville barely held Ron back.

"Mudblood?" Lamperouge's lips quirked. "My blood is filthy, but you will find that Professor Snape only finds me exasperating, not incomptent. Now, is there anything I can help you with Malfoy? Or do you intend on obstructing your classmates' education and starting the year with the honour of earning my first detention?"

Malfoy blinked, his arrogance faltering at the cool response.

Maybe Lamperouge was a demon, but anyone who could so easily handle Malfoy wasn't too bad. Stubbornly, he ignored the reminder that their polyjuiced DADA professor had done the same.

Lamperouge inclined his head imperiously before spinning around, his robes flaring enviably. "If you will follow me..."

In front of his office, a crowd of younger years had already gathered, clutching their textbooks, and some, their cauldrons. The Hufflepuffs greeted him warmly, clamouring for his attention, and he returned their affection in kind.

Harry lowered his gaze and squashed the desperate longing in his chest. It had been merely a day, but Lamperouge had turned his house into friends... into what a family should be. Gryffindor meanwhile had returned to despising Harry once more, many labelling him as an attention seeker for claiming Voldemort was back. They never had his back, not even Ron.

"I need a bigger office," Lamperouge joked. "I can hardly fit all of you."

"We can stay out here, Mister," one of the Hufflepuffs suggested.

"Wait a second," Lamperouge ordered and entered his office, returning with a stack of cutting boards. "We'll be covering the proper preparation of ingredients and the difference between slicing and dicing, which so many of you have conflated to mean the same thing."

Harry accepted a board and pulled out his thin potion knife as he sat on the cold dungeon floor. Lamperouge waited for them to quieten down before launching in a lecture, his voice carrying easily and not allowing for a moment of distraction.

In a way, it resembled Voldemort's tone, yet it was kind and gentle.

Perhaps he was a demon despite being a Hufflepuff, but he wasn't evil—just like Remus, who was condemned for being a werewolf.

"Mr. Potter," Lamperouge said as they packed up. "May I have a minute of your time?"

Harry nodded and smiled reassuringly to his friends before slipping in his office. The wariness returned as the door shut behind him.

Lamperouge took a seat at his desk and gestured for Harry to do the same. "I apologise if this is an uncomfortable topic, but I was informed by my housemates that you saw Cedric Diggory die. While the Headmaster must have reached out as well, I feel I must ask as well. How are you doing?"

A flash of green flashed in front of his eyes, and Harry collapsed into the chair, his breath lodged in his throat. "He didn't—"

"He didn't?" Lamperouge asked gently, leaning forward.

"Ask. Dumbledore never asked afterwards." Harry bit his lip against the tears burning in his eyes. Dumbledore barely looked at him now. What had he done wrong? No, he knew. He failed to save Cedric—failed to be a hero.

"I see," Lamperouge said quietly. "Nightmares?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Were you the one to kill him?"

Harry snapped to his feet. "No! I would never kill someone!"

Except he had as an innocent first year when he burned Quirrell to death in desperate self-defence. Heroes weren't supposed to kill.

"The time may come where you have to, but I believe you. Those aren't the eyes of a killer, not yet anyway. Still, some of the students suspect you."

They didn't just think he was a liar... but a murderer as well?

"The Hufflepuffs will be starting to petition for reopening the case of Diggory's death. You should publicly demand justice first. If you wait, it will only look like you're trying to save your own skin."

Harry crossed his arm. "That sounds Slytherin-ish."

"Could you have saved him?"

"Yes! I was the one who said we should both take the cup... and then—I should've been faster. Then we could've grabbed the cup and both been safe."

Lamperouge looked at him sternly. "Then you shouldn't let his death be in vain. You have a duty to him now. Do your part in ensuring he receives justice. Those who would oppose this support the Dark Lord."

Shakily, Harry nodded. He knew he had to defeat Voldemort. It was his role, his only purpose. His parents had already died to that mad man, and Voldemort was fixated on him for revenge. Cedric was just an additional reason.

"Announce it over dinner," Lamperouge suggested. "Don't let him be forgotten."

"Will the nightmares stop?" Harry asked.

Lamperouge fell silent, his hand rising to his sternum and gingerly massaging the area. "No. But that is the price one must pay. Choose what you want from life and devote your life to it. Then you may die happy."

Harry clenched his fists in his lap. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He wanted to live a normal life, free of the bullshit of being the Boy-Who-Lived. But justice for Cedric didn't lie down that road. Nor was it honourable to abandon his friends for his own selfish desires.

"I don't know what I want," he admitted quietly, "only what everyone wants from me."

"Do you want Cedric to be used by the Ministry to slander you?"

"No."

"Then why don't you start there?"

Thanking him, Harry rose and stopped before the door. Lamperouge had been the first one to ask, to offer help unsolicited and allow Harry to decide what to do. He didn't need to care, yet he did. But Harry had to ask, so guiltily, he turned around.

"Are you a demon?" Harry asked.

Lamperouge chuckled. "Yes."

Harry's hand drifted to his wand. Foolish. Idiot. He should know better than to trust anyone.

"Do you think I'm evil?" Lamperouge asked.

"That is what all the books say." He raised his wand.

"And they say you tamed unicorns at the age of five," Lamperouge teased, as if he were oblivious to the wand pointing in his face. "Let me ask you this, Mr. Potter. How would you like to be forcibly ripped out of your normal day and deposited in front of a madman who would attempt to enslave you to his will?"

"Not at all," Harry answered, lowering his wand but prepared to defend himself if necessary.

"The Headmaster has kindly offered me his protection so I may keep my freedom. As long as the Dark Lord lives, he is a threat to my well being. I am very invested in his demise."

"I know a werewolf," Harry blurted out. "He's great, but the Ministry says all werewolves are evil."

"Evil is often subjective. I believe all are born with the capability of doing great good, and some with the capacity for great evil. Most of us never live up to our potential. There is always a choice, and sometimes great evil is necessary to bring about great good. And here? Evilness is decided upon by the Ministry to suit its goals. Will you make your own judgments and bear the consequences which come with it?"

Harry nodded shakily. He couldn't let the Ministry win, especially not when they sent Umbridge to twist Hogwarts to their needs. "I'm sorry... I know what it's like to have people judge you unfairly. I'll help with Cedric too. He deserves better than being used as a Ministry prop."

"Harry?" Lamperouge called after him as he opened the door. "Thank you. If you ever need help, all you must do is ask."

Chapter Text

Harrison Brooks was not quite the typical Ravenclaw with his passion for the outdoors and cataloguing various insects. But due to pressure from his family, he had accepted a simple position in the Ministry. Of course at every family gathering, he argued it was quite important and instrumental. The truth was he was a lowly replaceable mail clerk who tended to spend more hours crafting excuses to avoid work than doing it.

Fortunately for him, his predecessor had been near blind by the time of retirement and everyone had long since gotten used to mail at the Ministry moving at a snail's pace—literally, a rather complicated charm summoned giant snails to grease the mail chute.

Rubbing his eyes, Harrison set aside his spectacles and filtered through the endless complaint letters of citizens expressing their displeasure in accordance with civic duty. Among them were the ashen remains of howlers—a benefit of being rather slow in sorting the mail.

He didn't know what drew him to it, but he grabbed a letter jutting out from the ash, his breath stalling at the elegant, emerald calligraphy spelling out: The Dark Lord.

"Thomas!" he shouted, rushing to his supervisor at a most unusual pace and leaving his careful illustrations of a butterfly he caught yesterday on the desk where anyone could see. The Dark Lord wasn't supposed to be back! Sure, Harrison was a Pureblood, but the Muggles had a most superior insect collection!

His supervisor craned his neck over the towering stack of magically stabilised letters. His nose scrunched as it often did in his presence. "What is it now?"

"There is a letter from the Dark Lord!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped and, with a whip of his wand, summoned the letter from his grasp. "The Dark Lord isn't back."

Harrison stumbled forward and righted himself, staring at the razor-sharp paper cut and the blood slowly welling up through the crack, like a creek after a storm. "But, sir—"

Thomas snorted, flipping the letter over. "Someone's ill thought idea of a prank."

"But shouldn't we report it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Get back to work, Brooks. I expect double tonight for bothering me with this nonsense. Darklords, as if."

Hunching his shoulders, Harrison made his way back to his station. He had only intended to do what was right. A letter from the Dark Lord spelled all sorts of disaster. He stared at his butterfly illustration and raised his fingers, nibbling on them nervously. It was a dreadful habit that his mother was always on his case for, but he never seemed able to shake.

Did he have a duty to report the letter to the DMLE? Madam Bones would surely be interested in investigating it, but then he would be making waves. One was not supposed to make waves at the Ministry. That was how you ended up like Arthur Weasley, in an even worse paying job than the mail clerk!

A deafening bang echoed through the room, and immediately after, the world glowed orange as a blast of hot air assailed him. As he succumbed to the pain of his burns and the world grew dark, he wondered briefly if that was what witch burnings had felt like. What use was a flame-freezing charm if his wand wasn't in his hand?

The Dark Lord had indeed returned.

"Are you sure the bloke isn't evil?" Ron asked as they took a seat at dinner. "Demons are like the definition of evil."

"We know good werewolves," Harry pointed out. "And do you really think Dumbledore would let us be in danger?"

Ron raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Dunno mate. He didn't even notice Moody had gone madder than usual. Maybe the demon fooled him too."

Hermione huffed. "Well, I am proud of you, Harry, for setting aside your prejudices. He really was quite helpful in potions." She smiled dreamily. "I learned more today than I ever imagined. Isn't he wonderful?"

"Demons kill people," Ron hissed.

"He seems alright," Harry said and took a drumstick. Undoubtedly, the Ministry stooge would take issue with his demand for justice, but he felt strangely at peace despite knowing of the upcoming detention. Lamperouge might not have been able to fix everything, but he genuinely helped. "He wants Voldemort as dead as we do."

Shaking his head, Ron scoffed. "Turns out Snape is worse at teaching potions than a literal demon."

Harry chuckled and scanned the room, trying to judge whether the majority of students had arrived. They all deserved to know the truth and have justice. "Do you think it's wrong to do something a little Slytherin-ish?"

"Mate..." Ron's lips curled back in disgust. "Continue that line of thought and I'll think the demon messed with your head."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Hermione reprimanded. "Ambition is all grand and good as long as you don't let it define your life. Why, I would like to become the Prime Minister one day."

"You'd certainly do a better job than Fudge," Harry joked, trying to take the tension off his nerves. It was time. Everyone who was someone had arrived.

He swung his feet over the bench and clutched his wand tightly in his pocket.

"Harry? What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

It gave him the strength to take a step forward. "Demanding answers."

He shrugged off Ron's attempt to stop him and marched up to the high table, then realised he hadn't thought this through. No one would be able to hear him.

"Mr. Potter," Umbridge said snidely. Her lips thinned. "What dramatics will you engage in now?"

He raised his chin. "Call me a liar, again!"

McGonagall rose, her face ashen. "Mr. Potter!"

The hall fell silent to observe the spectacle, and Harry grabbed the opportunity. "You claim I am a liar, so tell me, how did Diggory die!"

Umbridge tutted. "It was a tragic accident. You really are a disturbed young man to cause such a commotion. Is your ego not big enough yet?"

"Madam Umbridge," Dumbledore tried to protest.

Harry cut him off. "How did Diggory die, Madam Umbridge? Or does the Ministry not know, is that what you are saying? Maybe I did imagine the entire thing! But I do know, when I returned, a Hogwarts student was dead and nobody seems to fucking care!"

"Detention, Potter," Umbridge snapped. "Now cease your theatrics—"

"Why?" a cool voice cut in. Lamperouge's voice carried easily though the hall, instantly enthralling the crowd as he strode forward casually. "Mr. Potter appears distressed by the death of a classmate, yet you brush it off? Is there a reason you cannot answer his questions? Do your laws forbid you? Has Diggory's father asked for the case to be kept quiet?"

"No, he hasn't!" screamed one of the Hufflepuffs. She rubbed her face furiously as she marched to the table, a four foot tall bundle of righteous rage. "He just dropped dead and nobody knows why!"

"I thought your purpose here was to evaluate Hogwarts," Mr. Lamperouge said. "I would consider the death of a student and the laissez-faire approach of the staff to be a striking example of their disregard for safety."

Uneasy murmurs greeted that statement, and Harry warily focused on the demon who dared to criticise Hogwarts, his home. Such sentiments would let Malfoy Sr. step in again and make everything worse.

"Yet," Lamperouge said, silencing the entire room, "you appear to be part of the cover up."

"You—" Umbridge snarled. "A foreigner dares to criticise the Ministry? What kind of conspiracy is being cooked up here?"

Lamperouge shrugged idly. "Then enlighten me. What legal proceedings have occurred since Diggory's death? Or is this country such a backwater shithole that it cannot even investigate the death of one of its esteemed members?"

"It's because he was a Hufflepuff," a member of the house shouted. It was their sixth-year prefect. Flanked by two of his year mates, he marched up to the table and slammed a piece of parchment down. "We demand an investigation be opened regarding the circumstances of Cedric's death. Someone fucked up."

"Language," McGonagall weakly protested. She was drowned out by the rising chant from the Hufflepuffs.

"Potter murdered him," one of the Slytherins shouted.

Harry whirled around, his wand ready and sparking in his fists. "Then put me on trial for it! The Ministry already tried to expel me for protecting myself against Dementors. It failed because they are a bunch of liars!"

"Detention!" Umbridge screamed again, her shrill voice cutting through the room. She raised her short, stubby wand, sending off flashy sparks. Her glare turned to Dumbledore. "I will be telling the Minister of this."

"I understand," Dumbledore said, his voice grave.

"The Minister's bitch," one of the Weasley twins shouted, eliciting various jeers.

Umbridge flushed a deep shade of ugly purple.

"Enough!" Dumbledore roared with a flick of his wand. "Harry, I am very disappointed in you."

"..." No words left his mouth. Harry settled on glaring. Of course, Dumbledore was disappointed when he couldn't even bother talking to him.

"This display was unseemly, Mr. Potter. Whatever grievances you have, I expect my students to address them politely. This is a school, not a tavern."

The Hufflepuff prefect somehow managed to look even more enraged. Harry was half-surprised that a bolt of lightning didn't strike Dumbledore dead.

"Now," Dumbledore said. "Everyone will apologise to Professor Umbridge."

"She—" Harry screamed, only to be cut off again.

"Now!" Dumbledore barked.

Harry sullenly dropped his defiant gaze, uncomfortably reminded of his uncle. "I apologise."

"Ma'am."

"Ma'am," Harry bit out.

Dumbledore's glare turned on the other students until they too mumbled out reticent apologies. "You are all to return to your dorms and reflect upon your actions."

Severus would be laughing if the situation wasn't so dire. Umbridge was practically frothing as she paced around the staff room. Instead of leaving, she had called the Minister over. From anyone else, he would scoff at such petty actions. Unfortunately for them, Umbridge had real power, and if parents saw Hogwarts as a threat, it wouldn't take much for the Ministry to strip Hogwarts of all its independence.

"The timing of it was rather strange," McGonagall mumbled in the security of their privacy charm as she sipped her tea. "It reminds me of some rather loud protests from the Slytherins during my time."

"We would've been hexed to the infirmary if we had tried." Severus's gaze drifted to his assistant. He was undoubtedly behind this. His interference had been too opportune, backing Potter when he had been about to lose steam. And the Hufflepuffs, the house which he had been mis-sorted into, had been useful for once.

"Hufflepuffs," he said in disbelief. How? The dunderheads were beyond redemption.

"They always looked out for their own," McGonagall said with some sadness. "The frustrating part is that while they went about it all the wrong way—"

"—you agree with them," Severus finished. Opening an investigation into Diggory's death would've validated Potter's claim and would've hampered Voldemort's recruiting efforts. His first act upon returning to society had been to kill a Pureblood student.

"The boy's family and friends deserve closure," McGonagall said, setting down her teacup. "Of course they shouldn't have caused a scene, but Mr. Potter was right to push the issue. I wish he had come with me and we could've submitted a proper petition to the Ministry, even if I had to go behind Dumbledore's back."

"He's trying to protect the school," Severus tried to defend. "They are still children and they should have at least one safe-haven from the turmoil of war."

"How well did that work out for you?" McGonagall asked with cursed pity in her eyes.

Severus huffed and settled on glaring at the demon instead. "He's playing at something."

McGonagall chuckled. "You're jumping at shadows, Severus. He was there to support his new friends."

"You," Severus bit out, "are a blind fool."

"And you are a paranoid one. He is a sweet boy, even if his wand work is utterly baffling. He told me he was something similar to a Headboy at his old school. It sounded like a grand time. The Headgirl threw a cross-dressing ball. Do you think for Halloween—"

"Absolutely not."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "No need to be such a downer. The last few Halloweens have been disappointing. If I were a fraud of a seer, I would say that a toad's shadow is sweeping across the school and bringing misery."

He massaged his temples. "That does not even rhyme."

"It is always the students playing pranks. Let us professors have the turn once. Are you not curious what Dumbledore would do with his beard?"

A shudder ran down his spine. "You will not suggest this travesty—"

"Oh, you should know better than to threaten a lion. Not to worry, none of the students will know it was our plan. We have reputations to uphold after all."

"Our plan? I have nothing to do with this!"

She patted his shoulder consolingly. "Fun is good for the soul."

His gaze swept over the room, back to his troublesome assistant: a demon in more ways than one. Somehow, he had planted this insidious idea in his austere colleague's mind. She was the oasis of sanity in this school of buffoons and eternal optimists. He would not have the demon corrupt her!

Unaffected by the might of his glare, the demon lifted a tea cup and leaned back to watch Umbridge throw Floo powder in the fireplace again and irately demand the Minister.

The edges of his lips crept upwards—the smile of a true demon—before his face smoothed over. A shiver ran down Severus's spine.

How could no one else see the monster Dumbledore had allowed in their midst? How could Dumbledore think he had this creature under control?

The fireplace flared green, and Minister Fudge stumbled out, covered in far too much soot to have originated from the Floo. He grabbed his singed hat nervously and pressed it to his chest as he observed the room.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore greeted with a twinkle in his eye. "I apologise for calling you away. This truly is not urgent."

"Not urgent? Blasphemy," Umbridge screeched. The demon quirked an amused eyebrow at that remark. "Cretins have run over the school. There is no discipline. These hooligans do as they please!"

"Madam Umbridge," the Minister tried desperately.

She stopped only long enough to catch her breath. "And him!" Her arm swept out at the demon. "He is an atrocity with no respect at all for our country. A barbarian like him should not be allowed anywhere near the students. He is worse than half-breed filth. At least they respect the Ministry."

"Madam Umbridge," the Minister tried again.

"And do not get me started on that Potter brat. He called us liars before the entire school! He is ill-spoken and does not know his place. He insists You-Know-Who is back. He'll incite panic for his vainglory. This is the hero of the Wizarding World? The fame has gone to his head and spoiled him rotten. He thinks he is the next coming of Merlin!"

"Madam Umbridge!" the Minister roared to the surprise of everyone, including him. His face flushed, and he fiddled with the edge of the hat as he observed the room. "I only came here because my assistant said you said it was of utmost urgency."

"This is urgent," she insisted.

Had Umbridge really been a Slytherin? Severus shook his head. For Fudge, the vain fool, to show up singed meant that the Ministry was in chaos. She could not read the room.

"The Ministry is on fire!" Fudge barked. "I feared Hogwarts had suffered a disaster as well, but you all seem content enough."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the demon who had suddenly perked up and was listening attentively.

"A fire?" Dumbledore asked, already standing. "Why Cornelius, you only have to say the word. I will always be of aid."

The Minister frowned before reluctantly nodding. "Yes, thank you."

"How," Severus asked, watching the demon out of the corner of his eye, "did this happen? A simple fire should be well within the Ministry's capabilities."

"We do not know. The fire started on the lower levels after an explosion. It was terrible. The entire building rattled. Unfortunately, it spread to the Department of Mysteries and—" He collapsed in a free armchair and clutched his head. "It's awful! I don't know what to do. It's an outright disaster! Over fifty employees are already in St. Mungo with serious burns. The healers can't help! They say it must be the Dark Arts!"

Strangely, the demon's face transitioned to one of confusion.

"You have no idea how it started?" Dumbledore asked. "No calling card?" Unsaid was the Dark Lord, but they heard it all anyway.

The Minister shook his head. Staring at his wretched, depressed form, a shell of a wizard, Severus believed him.

Had it been the Dark Lord? It was not his style, even now while he quietly terrorised the countryside and rebuilt his supporters.

Or…

His gaze swung back to the demon.

"Let us go," Dumbledore said calmly, resting a hand on the fool's back. "The people need to see their Minister after such a tragedy. And Madam Umbridge? I am sure your support in these trying times would be much appreciated."

Fudge nodded. "Dolores, please."

Her eyes were wide in shock. She followed without a word of complaint.

The fire sputtered green. The three of them departed. And the gentle orange glow returned to lighting the room.

"Oh dear," McGonagall whispered. "I need to inform the Weasleys, and…"

As the other professors filtered out to warn the students who would be affected by this disaster, Severus clamped the demon's shoulder before he tried to depart.

"Sir?" the demon asked politely.

Severus waited until the door closed, and they were truly alone. A flare of magic threw the creature against the wall.

"This was your doing?" Severus accused, bearing down on him.

Recalcitrant, the demon stared up at him, not bothering to move. Nothing in this mortal world could truly harm him. "How would I have been able to do that? I have not left Hogwarts since arriving here."

"Why do you not deny it outright then?" Because he was a slippery eel who could not lie. But half-truths and insinuations, those were all fair game. "Say you had nothing to do with the fire."

"I did not set anything on fire," he said.

He did not? Had Severus been wrong? A flicker of guilt rose in the back of his mind staring at the body crumpled against the wall. He looked so much like a student.

Severus shook his head. This was not the boy's true form. It was a guise chosen to manipulate them. And had it just been a fire? "No, there was an explosion…. You were involved."

The demon blinked, not answering.

"Deny it," Severus demanded.

The demon slowly stood. His real, terrifying smile was back. "You're quite perceptive."

Unease filled him, and Severus clenched his wand. He had confronted the demon with righteous fury, but— He was a fool, prone to impulsive stupidity, fueled by anger.

This time it could end his life. This was a demon. Severus did not have the power to defeat him, and he unwisely waited until after Dumbledore was gone.

A new horrifying realisation dawned on him. "You are ingratiating yourself with Potter." No matter how much he hated that painful reminder of the past, he had sworn to protect him.

The Unbreakable Vow hummed in his blood, displeased with his failure of duty. Despair weighed down his heart, even as he lifted his wand.

"There is no need for that," the demon said dismissively as he sat on the edge of the table. In his presence, even a paltry piece of furniture resembled a throne. "We do have a common goal."

"Then why bomb the Ministry?" Severus snapped. It was the only way the demon could have done it from here. The Wizarding World did not use bombs. Strangely enough, the Dark Lord had outright forbidden them when one of his Death Eaters had suggested it during the last war. The man's screams had drowned the rest of the evening.

The demon shrugged. "Impulse? Habit? I already made it, and the owl couldn't find your Dark Lord."

"Habit? Bombing government buildings is a habit?" Severus asked. How did an eighteen year old condemn themselves not only to hell but to an eternal existence of being a wretched demon?

"That is what happens when you are at war."

"Innocent people died because of you," he accused.

The demon laughed. "I can feel your soul. It is drenched in innocent blood. How many lives have you claimed, Professor?" He stood, walking forward at a calm, steady pace. "Banishing me to Hell once more will not stop you from seeing me again."

An eternity of torture awaited him. He had known, but having a demon declare it with utmost confidence was different. He aimed his wand. "It does not matter. I will protect—"

The demon raised an eyebrow. "Protect whom?"

"The students. Stay away from them. Do not pretend to be their friend."

"Are you protecting them? They are terrified of you."

"They do not need to like me. Let them be scared; maybe they will be more cautious in the future and not get themselves killed."

The demon sighed. "Do you think your headmaster will keep them alive? A student already died on his watch. Frankly, he let me in, which is the height of stupidity. Meanwhile, Mr. Potter, his star pupil, has received no support after such a tragedy. Nor have any of the Hufflepuffs, who are left alone to be enraged that the death of their classmate has been swept under the rug."

"Dumbledore is the only one who can stop the Dark Lord," Severus whispered. His handling of affairs was less than ideal. The man was simply too busy, burdened by half-a-dozen positions.

"I cannot break a promise," the demon said. "I swear that I will protect the students as a whole so they may go on to have fulfilling lives. I have enough children tossed away by society to keep me company in Hell. Heaven is a bitch."

There were loopholes to that promise. No individual student was protected but perhaps that was for the best with the Death Eaters among them. Slowly, he lowered his wand slightly. "Your real name. If I am to have an ounce of trust in you, then I must know who you are. You are no simple demon."

"My real name? You think it's not Lelouch Lamperouge?"

"You play too much with words."

The demon's spindly fingers clasped his wand hand. "You do not want to know."

"What I want does not matter."

"First, I need a promise from you to keep my secrets."

His faith in Dumbledore was already fractured. Severus, as always, would need to protect the students, Potter, by himself. Making a promise to a Demon was nothing much compared to that. "I promise."

"It will have to be a little more binding than a human's mercurial oath. I would know. I spoke so many lies once upon a time."

"We do not have a binder for an Unbreakable Vow. You would also have to trust them as they cannot be bound—"

The creature's eyes turned red like the fires of Hell.

The demon was speaking words, but Severus could not hear as his Occlumency shields were torn to shreds. The pain drove him to his knees. His mind was on fire, feeding on his every attempt to resist. Only deep inside, sheltered within the prison he had built for his worst memories and thoughts, was his mind safe.

This power was why the demon was so apt at the mind arts, confounding live subjects instead of charming or transfiguring them.

The familiar weight of the Imperius Curse fell on his mind, shackling everything down. Except this time, he could not break the chains, no matter how much he strained.

The fire receded, and Severus blinked, the room coming into focus.

He wiped the drool from the edge of his mouth and stared at the demon who looked mildly concerned.

"Who—Who are you?" Severus demanded, still grappling with the effects of the mental intrusion. He could think freely, yet he was bound. An Unbreakable Vow could so easily be broken, even if it set your blood on fire for the transgression.

This… This, he knew intuitively, could not be broken. What had he done?

"The Demon Emperor, second only to Satan. Also known as Zero, Lelouch Lamperouge, and—" His face twisted in contempt. "Lelouch vi Britannia."

Chapter Text

A sombre silence hung over Gryffindor as they made their way back to the dorms. Dumbledore had raised his voice against the student body, demanded an apology.

The memory of his anger echoed in their footsteps, and Harry glanced surreptitiously at his two friends. Hermione's lips were pressed into a thin disapproving line. Ron, meanwhile, nibbled at his lower lip, glancing over his shoulder repeatedly.

As the accusing glares of his classmates met Harry's eyes, he raised his chin defiantly, daring them to speak out against him.

His nerves thrummed, like a post-Quidditch high. His teeth ground against each other, like when he bore one of Uncle Vernon's unjust tirades. His mind was at ease.

He had spoken out, challenged Umbridge to her face in front of everyone. With Hufflepuffs at his back and Mr. Lamperouge voicing his support, he had never felt stronger.

"How could you do that?" Hermione demanded as the portrait swung shut. "You got detention again! Who knows what Umbridge is going to do? You can't challenge professors like that—"

"She isn't a professor. She hasn't taught us anything," Harry snapped.

"But—" She wrung her hands. "You talked back to Dumbledore! You can't do that. You need to keep your head down, not draw attention."

"Cedric is dead!" Harry shouted. He wiped his eyes roughly. "Cedric is dead, Hermione. A student died and nobody is saying anything. That's— That's not right."

She frowned, then her face crumpled as tears glistened in her eyes. "I know! It's not fair!"

"Then I have to do something!"

"But you'll get hurt!"

"Someone else will get hurt if I don't!" He pulled his shoulders back, aware of the entire room watching, judging him. "What kind of person would I be if I did nothing? Maybe I am delusional, but right now nobody knows the truth. A horrible accident? They couldn't even form a proper cover story."

"First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist," Hermione whispered, her lower lip trembling.

"What does that mean?" Ron asked.

"That Harry is right…" She shuddered. "It's dangerous though. You're talking about opposing the Ministry, the government, Dumbledore!"

Harry really wished they were in private so he could remind her about her illegal Time-Turner usage.

Ron crossed his arms, levelling a glare at her. "Because of them, we're learning nothing from Defense! Remus was the only good teacher we had and the Ministry's stupid laws forced him out! Dumbledore let a Death Eater teach here. He didn't notice my rat!"

"His rat?" someone whispered. "I thought her cat ate it?"

"And we're learning nothing this year," Lee Jordan shouted, his voice filling the room. "So what if Voldemort—oh, don't you flinch, you cowards—isn't here? I have half-a-dozen things I need to defend myself against anyway." He laughed. "You saw Dumbledore? He didn't care, not really. He could be teaching us Defense himself. Isn't he the greatest wizard of all time? Instead, he let Umbridge in here."

Harry winced. Dumbledore was supposed to be on his side. He was the one person Harry could trust, who would always be there, who would look out for him when all hope was lost.

But he hadn't come in the summer. Hadn't sent a single word.

Sirius argued for him to be in the loop regarding Voldemort. Dumbledore pushed him out, didn't trust him at all.

Maybe, Dumbledore didn't care for him. After all, Harry was nobody, really, just the Boy-Who-Lived while everyone else around him died.

"Is she even qualified?" Fred asked.

"She had to call Flitwick to vanish basic itching powder."

"Wasn't she a Slytherin?"

"She's evil."

"Her detentions… She makes me cut my hand," a young girl whispered amongst the angry exclamations. The room abruptly fell silent.

"What?" their Quidditch captain shouted, rushing over to her and grabbing her hand. "That can't be right."

His face burning, Harry pulled up his sleeve, showing his right hand and the faint words there. "She has a quill that writes with your blood."

Angelina looked at him in horror. "Anyone else?"

The younger years hesitantly raised their hands.

Harry felt sick to his stomach. He had thought it was just him, that if he kept quiet everything would be okay.

"It's not just me?" Colin Creevey whispered, his question echoing all their thoughts.

"She—" A crimson jet of fire escaped Angelina's wand and singed the ceiling. She lunged towards the portrait door. "I'm going to kill her!"

Fred and George yanked her back by her shoulders. "We would love to—"

"—help you, but murder—"

"—really needs to be planned out—"

"—although it's not like we would do murder murder—"

"—in any way that anyone could prove—"

"—just make her wish for death instead."

A loud bang startled the three to silence, and everyone turned to Hermione. "If you attack her, you're attacking the Ministry."

"I don't give a shit!" Angelina shouted.

Harry had always known her to be passionate, her fury second only to Oliver Wood's on the Quidditch field, but this was beyond anything he had ever seen.

"Umbridge is going to deny everything," Hermione tried to reason. "Adults aren't going to take us seriously."

"I'm not a child! She's torturing children!"

"We need to do it…" She blushed as a room full of Gryffindors looked at her expectantly. "Sneakily. We can't fight her alone; she has the Ministry behind her."

"Like Slytherins?" Seamus Finnigan asked sceptically.

"Snakes can be good," Neville added. "Like in the garden, they eat pests and rodents. Cats only do that if they're bored."

"Nothing wrong with sneaky," Fred added, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"We can make her want to leave," George added.

Finally, Angelina stopped struggling against their grasp. She nodded contemplatively.

"As for defence," Hermione added, "we do need to learn. I propose having Harry teach us!"

"What!" Harry shouted. "I can't teach!"

"Of course you can!"

"No, I can't! I'm hopeless!"

"You faced Voldemort more than any of us!"

"It was luck that I survived!"

"You're at the top of your class for defence!"

"I can't teach!" Harry roared, his heart thundering in his chest. He couldn't betray their hopeful and expectant gazes, expose himself as a fraud, imbue them with false confidence, watch the life in their eyes be extinguished as they fell limply in the graveyard.

If he was better, he would have saved Cedric, not just himself. Voldemort would have never been resurrected.

Fred yelped. "You bit me!"

Angelina snarled at him and shot towards the door.

The portrait swung open, McGonagall stepping through with a raised eyebrow and stopping Angelina in her tracks with just a look. "What is happening here?"

"Reflecting upon our actions?" Ron cringed.

She pinched her nose. "You truly are Gryffindors. Unfortunately…" Her shoulders sank, and her expression grew grave. "Weasleys? Could all of you accompany me to my office?"

With trepidation, they followed her through the portrait hole. Only a family emergency would have them be called all together.

The sunset flames licked at the magic shield as Albus took in the scene. Heavy plumes of smoke enveloped the air and the discordant Muggle sirens set his teeth on edge. The wards that hid the Ministry had been torn to shred by the wrathful flames; the Obliviator squads were working overtime to hide this catastrophe.

Albus flicked his wand, driving the flames backwards through the sheer force of his will. They pressed against his consciousness with a ravenous appetite.

This was no natural fire yet it lacked the distinctive animal characteristics of Fiendfyre.

Blackened tiles cracked beneath his feet as he forced his way into the charred Ministry. The familiar fountain in the antechamber had shattered under the extreme heat. If it weren't for his bubble head charm, he would surely succumb to the awful smoke darkening his beard.

It had been a long time since he had witnessed destruction on such a scale. Bitter old memories nibbled at him, bringing with them the familiar pangs of a broken heart. But even during Grindelwald's time, the fighting had left most of the wizarding world untouched, limited to a scant few homes.

The attacker—for such destruction could be no mere accident—had targeted a centre of cultural heritage. Even Tom would not stoop so low. He would rather conquer the Ministry and claim it as the seat of his power.

"It's good to see you, Headmaster," Amelia greeted him as her Aurors desperately battled the flames. "Do you have any insight as to the nature of this curse? It's like nothing I've seen before."

"No," Albus whispered as the flames leaped upwards, slipping through his mental control with a sense of smug gloating. "Anything that works?"

"Water," Amelia replied dryly. "You can slow them down with magic. That is what we did after the explosion in the mail room, which allowed us to evacuate the injured and one potential witness, moaning about the Dark Lord. We thought we had it under control, but it somehow spread to the Department of Mysteries…"

"The Unspeakables?"

"Not a word from them. We reckon they are dead. Even magic cannot save you from such extreme heat."

To their side, an Auror stumbled backwards with a panicked yelp as his aguamenti spell suddenly collapsed to a drizzle.

"There is not enough water in the air," Albus noted grimly.

"We have an apparition chain setup to bring water here, but it is insufficient. The fire is drawing energy from the Department of Mysteries, and as long as it does, it is beyond our control."

He cast another spell, testing Amelia's words. His wand, which should be unbeatable, was as useless as theirs. Conjured water meanwhile fed the flames, letting them grow in greater intensity.

"The records?" he asked.

Amelia's lips thinned. "We saved what we could, but with the flame freezing charm not working… We lost far too many in exchange for parchment."

"I will head down," Albus said, noticing Cornelius badgering the Aurors to escort him aside. The man wanted him to save his precious ministry. Unfortunately, such a task was likely out of his control.

"I will accompany you," Amelia declared. She clutched her wand tightly and pulled out a strange red contraption. "Arthur supplied it. Some sort of muggle invention to fight fires. It's moderately successful."

White foam paved their way to the elevator shaft. From her bag, Amelia pulled out her broom and Albus cast a small floating charm on his robes.

The flames whirling around them, they descended into the jaw of the hungry beast. The heat grew intolerable, overpowering his cooling charms.

Orange pearls of sweat trickled down Amelia's face as they finally descended into the Department of Mystery. The flames here were thick with foreign magic, an overbearing tsunami of might. A terrible brightness assaulted them from every direction. There was no place to hide, no place to run, no place to survive.

"It's gone," Albus whispered in disbelief. The prophecy room which they had spent hours upon hours of meetings worrying about was gone.

"Are you sure the fire originated outside the Department of Mystery?" Albus asked.

Amelia gave him a dirty look. "We're not amateurs. I just cannot fathom who would do this."

"We have to leave," Albus warned as the flames' hungry fingers brushed over their clothes. Finally, he could feel a hint of intelligence behind them, a gluttonous desire for power. He had never felt so insignificant before.

The flames seemed to chortle at that thought. The way back to the elevator shaft erupted in fire. Amelia yelped, barely discernible over the crackling roar and pressed against his back.

A dementor's chill ran down his spine, and he clenched the Elder Wand. Of course it failed to vanquish this foe. The wand came from Death; it would never defeat its creator.

The flames sung of death, and in its harmonics, he could hear the demonic.

Tom had brought a demon into this world; an unnatural fire sprung forth.

Had Severus been right? Should he have been more wary of some minor demon summon?

The flames suddenly flickered, a large blast of water drenching them to the bone. At the end of the tunnel an Unspeakable stood with a victorious and crazed grin.

"It happened!"

"What happened?" Amelia demanded, her wand turning on him.

The Unspeakable laughed and bowed to the fire raging all around him. "Until next time, my friends. It is time to go."

"How did you survive?" Amelia barked.

The Unspeakable grinned, his smile splitting his face with teeth too sharp. "I suggest we run."

"But the way is blocked—"

He flicked his wand; the flames cowered. "Death cannot be held at bay forever."

The floor shook beneath their feet, growing stronger as each second passed. Albus turned, his wand thrumming in his hand. Something was coming.

Death.

"Run," Albus shouted.

The howling of hellhounds nipped at their feet as they shot up the elevator shaft and scurried through the shell of the ministry.

"Everyone out!" Amelia screamed.

The heat of the flames threw them out, and Albus groaned as he pressed his palms against the blistering pavement. The world was a smoky orange haze, with people demoted to blurry silhouettes.

The Unspeakable stood up first, his laughter like scorpions skittering down their spine.

"What did you do?" Amelia demanded.

He zipped his mouth dramatically.

"Did—Did you—" Fudge wrung the remaining singed half of his hat before him. "You couldn't stop it…"

"I am only one, tired, old man," Albus whispered.

"Who—"

"The Department of Mysteries," Amelia sneered. "He knows."

Had they truly caused the fire?

"Then not You-Know-Who?" Fudge asked nervously, his eyes darting all over.

"Can we take the risk that it wasn't?" she asked.

Albus closed his eyes. Tom was a threat, but the boy who fled from death would never dabble into such magic. Another player had entered the field, intentions unknown.

Severus studied the ceiling as he reclined in his office chair and fiddled with a quill. Endless thoughts assaulted his mind without interruption and his stomach rolled in uncertainty.

Their resident demon: Lelouch vi Britannia, the Demon Emperor.

He needed to warn Dumbledore, but everytime the thought crossed his mind he found himself unable to rise from his chair, shackled by that ineffable curse.

Through all his trials, mistakes, and successes, his mind had always been his own. He might have been a fool in running to the Dark Lord's service, but he had made it with the clear mind of a teenager besieged by anguish.

His mind was no longer his own. He could feel the curse constantly, sitting on the edge of his mind with a metallic twang in his mouth.

The fireplace flared, and the quill dropped from his fingers, flicking ink across the floor.

Albus smiled genially at him, the sight at odds with half of his beard burnt to a crisp.

"What happened?" Severus asked in disbelief. A simple fire shouldn't have been a problem.

But it wasn't a simple fire, was it? The demon had done it.

"The fire proved impossible to extinguish. We managed to contain it for now, but everything within has been lost."

"How many died?" Severus dug his fingers into his legs as the curse prevented him from uttering the words he wished: the demon confessed to the bombing.

Albus sighed, aged beyond his years. With staggering steps, he grabbed the free armchair and collapsed. "Fifty-seven we know of so far. A hundred more or so are laid back in St. Mungo's. The healers haven't been able to help them; the burns act like dark magic."

"Was it dark magic?" Severus asked.

"No, I sensed none of that. I did sense something demonic. Perhaps, I should have listened to you better."

He wanted to crow in victory. At last, the headmaster was willing to listen to him, to consider his opinion, to take his concerns into account.

The elation faded. His tongue wouldn't move.

"Severus?" Albus pressed.

"A demon cannot be trusted," Severus answered truthfully. His tongue continued to move. "He has done very little to garner suspicion. After the dinner, he provided remedial potion lessons to snot-faced brats. While they are undeserving of his generosity, he will protect them. He promised that to me."

No, no, no… What was he doing? He should be casting doubt on the demon.

Not helping him hide his secrets.

Albus's shoulders drooped. "I see. I fear Tom's ritual has had some unintended consequences in the Department of Mysteries which has led to tonight's tragedy."

No, it was because the creature bombed the ministry and his brand of magic was alien to wizards.

He silently begged for Albus to look him in the eyes, to read his mind. He had no such luck.

"He died so young, didn't he?" Albus asked sadly. "Keep an eye on him, Severus, and inform me if he does anything suspicious. I am not quite sure what it means for a human soul to count as a demon."

How did a presumably human soul end up not just as a demon, but the emperor of all demons!

The creature had spilled some of its secrets and only left more questions in its wake.

"I trust you, Severus. I will be counting on you while I investigate the phenomena." Albus smiled grimly. "I'm fortunate at least that our guest has no interest in the Dark Lord. I know you thought I was foolish to welcome him into Hogwarts, but the truth is… If he turned against us, I am not sure we could stop him."

"So you want him to feel indebted to us," Severus said.

Albus stood and brushed more ash off his robes. "It seems he has. He's gone from promising to not harm the students to protecting them. A Hufflepuff… Instead of being mistaken, the hat has given us a blessing."

As Severus watched him leave, bitterness flodded his mouth. Had the demon been sorted into Slytherin, Albus would be much more wary.

He sighed, picked up the quill he dropped earlier, and summoned a piece of parchment. He dipped the pen and set it to the page. His hand would not move.

The curse was truly absolute.

If only he hadn't rushed in like a fool to confront the demon with his suspicions. If only he had waited, then Albus would know.

A few hours. That was all it took for Albus to be finally willing to listen.

Those few hours had come too late. Patience was never Severus's strong suit.

Now, he was bound to protect the demon's secrets, a category far broader than his mere identity. A secret was anything only a few people knew which the demon wished to hide.

Shit.

Why had the demon tried to obscure his identity though? Why not advertise his status and make them cower in fear, eager to do his bidding, anything to send this calamity home?

And his name? He had hidden it: Lelouch vi Britannia.

The name was said with weight, like Malfoy or Voldemort: titles, not just names.

Britannia… It made no sense.

The boy was young, only eighteen. Or rather he had died young. How many years had passed since then? For how many centuries had he actually lived, ruling Hell?

But then, the boy spoke of Japan intimately. He wasn't surprised by modern technology. He took on the concerns of modern muggles, perhaps to an even greater extent than the Muggleborns.

Was Hell a reflection of the muggle world? That was the only thing that would make sense.

Except it didn't! He had a student ID, one of those little plastic cards—

Was Japan so different? The library cards Severus had seen back at Spinner's End were always printed on paper. The image on the plastic ID was far crisper than anything he had ever seen.

The words had been in English. Why would a Japanese school ID be in English?

He clutched his head with a moan. Nothing made sense. His story was filled with inconsistencies.

How could he be old enough to declare himself of the Britannian Isles but then have an item that was on the cutting edge of technology?

The door opened. "I felt Dumbledore arrive."

Severus glared at the demon. If the student ID had been issued in Hell— "Did you wear that school uniform you showed up in before you died?'

The demon raised an eyebrow. The plain robes warped, and he was once again in a muggle school uniform. "Yes? Could I wear this instead? It is much more comfortable than school robes."

Nothing made sense!

"So what happened with the Ministry?" the demon asked.

Severus crossed his arms. "You will be delighted to know it is still burning despite everyone's best efforts."

"That's… not how mailbombs work," he finally said.

"Have a lot of experience with that?"

"More with explosives generally. You see, competent institutions screen their mail for suspicious packages."

"Wizards do not stoop to muggle bombs," Severus snapped.

"That should make such tactics incredibly effective then."

"Innocent people will die."

"That is how a war works, and we are at war. Given what I've learned about this Dark Lord of yours and the promise you extracted from me to protect these... school children, this has become a war. Just killing the Dark Lord wouldn't be enough."

"Why not? He is a madman."

The demon dumped three rolls of parchment on the table. "You do not topple an empire by killing the emperor."

"Stop speaking in riddles." Severus grabbed one of the rolls, opening it up. "What is this?"

"You want me to protect the students. Extrapolating from the sample size of my tutoring sessions, although perhaps these students are not the most vigilante or athletic, that is the number of injuries each year due to the trick stairs. For first years, it is unacceptable. I would guess every single one of them has run afoul of it at least once."

Evil demon who ruled Hell… Severus opened the next roll, a detailed report on the number of injuries due to the Forbidden Forest, the negative psychological impact, and possible policies.

He groaned. "Why do you even care?"

"I am merely establishing a baseline of safety. This is not even about accessibility or creating an environment where students thrive."

"Just keep the students from blowing themselves up in potions," he begged wearily.

"That would be in the third scroll on proper lab safety."

"Get out."