Chapter 47 - 46

Chapter 46:

– Rias –

"I didn't think you were secretly a girl this whole time! What a twist…" she said with a giggle.

This is not what I expected the evil clone dragon's human form to look like.

Rias Gremory stood in the clinical white recovery room of the Gremory estate's medical wing, her arms crossed beneath her impressive chest as she stared at the figure sitting on the examination table. Medical equipment lined the walls—monitoring crystals that pulsed with soft blue light, shelves stocked with healing potions in neat rows, diagnostic arrays that occasionally flickered with data she couldn't interpret.

None of that mattered. What mattered was the person on the table.

When Sirzechs had contacted her that morning—interrupting a rather pleasant dream involving Harry, whipped cream, and creative applications of his water magic—he'd told her the dragon clone was ready to be viewed. That the creature had been stabilized, its corrupted programming purged, and that it had manifested a humanoid form suitable for conversation.

Rias had expected... Well, she wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected. Something intimidating, perhaps. The clone had been created from the genetic material of Crom Cruach, the legendary Evil Dragon, one of the most terrifying beings in supernatural history. Even as a copy, it had been powerful enough to threaten the entire Triwizard Tournament, and had nearly killed Harry during their confrontation.

She had definitely not expected this.

The figure on the examination table was small—barely five feet tall, with a delicate frame that made Rias's own petite Queen Koneko look robust by comparison. Ink-black hair fell in messy waves to just past narrow shoulders, slightly disheveled in a way that looked almost artfully tousled. The face beneath that dark curtain was heart-shaped and fine-boned, with large eyes that seemed too big for such delicate features. Those eyes were the only hint of the creature's draconic nature—slitted pupils of the deepest black, like vertical cuts in obsidian, that tracked Rias's movements with an intelligence that belied the otherwise innocent appearance.

Porcelain skin. A button nose. Lips that formed a natural pout even in a neutral expression. Cheekbones that any model would kill for.

The clone was wearing what appeared to be a simple white medical gown—standard issue for patients in the Gremory healing facilities—and the fabric hung loosely on that slight frame, the neckline slipping off one smooth shoulder in a way that was almost...

Cute, Rias's brain supplied helpfully. The evil dragon clone is cute. The creature that tried to murder my fiancé is objectively adorable. An adorable…girl?

"Rias-sama." The voice that interrupted her spiraling thoughts was cool, professional, and utterly unflappable. Grayfia Lucifuge, the Ultimate-class Queen of Sirzechs Lucifer and widely acknowledged as the strongest Queen piece in the Underworld, stood at perfect attention near the door. Her silver hair was immaculately styled as always, her maid uniform pressed to military precision, her expression betraying absolutely nothing of her personal thoughts on the situation.

Which, knowing Grayfia, meant she was probably finding this entire scenario deeply amusing and simply refusing to show it.

"Grayfia-san," Rias acknowledged, tearing her gaze away from the clone. "When my brother said the dragon had taken a humanoid form, I was expecting something a bit more..." She gestured vaguely. "Draconic? Intimidating? Evil-looking?"

"I understand your confusion, Rias-sama." Grayfia's voice remained perfectly level, but there was a subtle shift in her posture—a slight loosening of her shoulders that Rias had learned to interpret as the closest the silver-haired maid ever came to visible amusement. "However, I feel I should clarify something before you proceed further."

Rias raised an eyebrow. "Clarify what?"

Grayfia actually cleared her throat. The sound was so unexpected, so utterly out of character for the normally unflappable woman, that Rias felt her hackles rise instinctively.

"This is, in fact, another Gasper situation," Grayfia said, her tone carefully neutral. "The clone is still male."

For a long moment, Rias simply stared at her sister-in-law.

Then she turned back to the figure on the examination table.

Then back to Grayfia.

"...Male," she repeated flatly.

"Correct, Rias-sama."

"That." Rias pointed at the delicate, undeniably feminine-looking creature with the big doe eyes and the heart-shaped face and the medical gown slipping off one porcelain shoulder. "That is a boy?" She tilted her head. He was as adorable as Koneko!

Grayfia nodded. "The clone's humanoid form appears to have manifested based on some combination of its artificial genetic programming and subconscious preferences. Why it chose to present as—" She paused, searching for the appropriate terminology. "—what humans would term a 'trap' remains unclear. Ajuka-sama has theorized it may relate to the clone's fundamental nature as a created being rather than a born one, or possibly to corrupted data in its original programming."

Rias opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. 

"Eh!?"

The sound that escaped her was entirely undignified for a high-class devil heiress, closer to a squeak than actual speech. But Rias was beyond caring about dignity at this point, because her brain had just finished processing the implications of what Grayfia had told her.

First, she had Gasper—her adorable little bishop who dressed in girl's clothing, had the power to stop time, and spent most of his existence hiding in cardboard boxes because social interaction terrified him. The crossdressing dhampir who had taken years to coax out of his shell, who still occasionally needed to be physically extracted from his room when he got too anxious, and who had somehow become one of the most precious members of her peerage despite his many, many neuroses.

And now...

Now she was looking at an evil dragon clone who had manifested a human form so feminine and adorable that even knowing it was male, Rias's protective instincts were screaming at her to wrap the poor thing in blankets and feed it warm soup.

Another trap, her brain repeated, almost giddy with the realization. A dragon trap. A trap clone of one of the most feared creatures in existence who looks like he should be the protagonist of a shoujo manga.

The happiness that bubbled up in her chest was entirely irrational and she absolutely did not care.

"Rias-sama," Grayfia said, a note of warning entering her voice, "please attempt to maintain some measure of composure. The clone has only recently had its artificial memories purged, and its emotional state is still—"

But Rias was already crossing the room, she approached the examination table with the kind of determined enthusiasm that usually preceded her making questionable life decisions.

The clone—he, she reminded herself firmly, he is a he—watched her approach with those unnerving black eyes. Up close, she could see flickers of movement in those slitted pupils, could sense the vast well of power lurking beneath that deceptively fragile exterior. This was still a creature capable of leveling cities, of fighting Satan-class devils to a standstill.

But right now, perched on the edge of an examination table with his bare feet dangling above the floor because he was too short to reach, with his oversized medical gown and his messy hair and his confused expression...

Right now, he just looked lost.

"Hello," Rias said softly, pitching her voice the way she did when talking to Gasper during one of his anxiety spirals. "My name is Rias Gremory. Do you remember me?"

The clone tilted his head—a distinctly draconic gesture despite the human form—and studied her with those obsidian eyes. When he spoke, his voice was... not what she expected. Higher than it had been during the battle, softer, almost musical in quality. Like wind chimes made of crystal.

"You were there," he said slowly, as if testing each word before letting it leave his mouth. "At the... tournament. With the other devils. And the one who..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing in visible confusion. "I wanted to hurt him. The dark-haired one with the water magic. I wanted to kill him very badly." A pause. "I don't remember why."

Rias felt her heart clench. According to Sirzechs's briefing, the clone had been created with artificial memories—a programmed hatred of devils, a compulsion to destroy anything associated with the current Maou leadership, a burning desire to prove itself as the "true" Crom Cruach. All of it false. All of it implanted by whoever had grown this creature in whatever laboratory had spawned it.

Ajuka and the other researchers had spent days carefully extracting those corrupted programs, peeling away layers of fabricated trauma and manufactured rage to find... whatever was underneath. Whatever this clone actually was, stripped of the lies it had been fed since its creation.

What they'd found, apparently, was a confused child in the body of an ultimate-class dragon.

"You don't remember why because there was no real reason," Rias explained gently. "Someone made you believe you wanted to hurt people. They put fake memories in your head, fake feelings that weren't really yours. My brother and his friends took those fake things out."

The clone's eyes widened slightly. "The memories were... not real?"

"Not real," Rias confirmed. "You're not actually evil. You were just made to think you were."

For a long moment, the clone simply sat there, processing this information. Rias could almost see the gears turning behind those draconic eyes, could sense the creature working through implications that would have been obvious to anyone who hadn't just had their entire sense of self reconstructed from scratch.

"Then what am I?" the clone finally asked, and the vulnerability in that question made Rias want to wrap him in approximately seventeen blankets. "If I am not the evil one... if those memories were lies... what am I supposed to be?"

Oh no, Rias thought, even as her mouth was already forming words. He's sad AND cute. This is a dangerous combination.

"You're whoever you want to be," she said, settling onto the edge of the examination table next to him. Up close, she could smell something faintly reptilian beneath the standard medical-antiseptic scent—not unpleasant, just different. Like sun-warmed scales and ancient stone. "You get to decide what's real now. You get to choose who you want to become."

The clone turned those big dark eyes toward her, and Rias was struck again by how young he looked. How lost. How completely unprepared for the concept of free will.

"I can choose?" he repeated, as if the words were in a foreign language.

"Absolutely." Rias smiled, and it was her genuine smile—the one she reserved for her peerage and her family and her fiancé—rather than the political mask she wore in public. "In fact, I have a proposal for you. If you're interested in hearing it."

Grayfia, still standing at attention near the door, made a sound that might have been a sigh. Or possibly a very restrained groan. Rias ignored her.

"A proposal?" The clone's head tilted again, that curious draconic gesture. "What kind of proposal?"

"Well," Rias said, allowing her smile to widen into something a bit more mischievous, "My peerage—my family! We live together and support each other. I already have some wonderful members." She thought of Akeno's teasing laughter, of Kiba's quiet loyalty, of Koneko's deadpan observations and Gasper's anxious devotion. "But I would love to add you to my peerage!"

His slitted pupils dilated slightly as understanding began to dawn. "You want me to join your... family?"

"I want to offer you the chance, yes." Rias held his gaze steadily. "I know we didn't meet under the best circumstances. I know you technically tried to kill someone very important to me. But you did those things because someone else made you believe you wanted to. The real you—whoever that turns out to be—deserves a chance to figure out what you actually want. And I'd like to help you do that."

"Even though I am a dragon?"

"I have a dhampir who can stop time and a nekoshou who could probably bench-press a building," Rias said dryly. "A dragon seems like a perfectly reasonable addition to the collection."

The clone was quiet for a long moment, those dark eyes searching her face for something—sincerity, perhaps, or hidden motives, or whatever else a creature programmed for paranoia might be looking for. Rias let him look. She had nothing to hide, and she was patient enough to wait.

Finally, in a voice so small it was almost a whisper: "Would you... be my big sister?"

Rias's heart did something complicated in her chest.

Oh no, she thought again, more emphatically this time. He's asking me to be his onee-sama! This is EXTREMELY dangerous. I am EXTREMELY susceptible to this. I now understand big brother and Serafall so much right now!

"Yes," she said, because apparently her mouth had decided to operate independently of her better judgment. "Yes, absolutely, I would be honored to be your big sister!"

The smile that spread across the clone's face transformed his entire appearance. Where before he'd looked lost and confused and vaguely melancholy, now he practically glowed—his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, his cheeks flushing with what Rias could only describe as joy.

It was, quite possibly, the most adorable thing she had ever seen in her entire two-decade existence.

Harry is going to laugh at me so hard when I tell him about this, she thought distantly, even as she was already reaching into her pocket for the Evil Pieces she'd brought along. Eight Pawns—the maximum she could spare for a single reincarnation, which she'd calculated would be necessary based on the clone's estimated power level.

"Rias-sama," Grayfia said, her voice carrying a note of gentle warning, "perhaps we should discuss the implications of this decision before—"

"Too late," Rias declared cheerfully, pulling out the crimson chess pieces and letting them hover in the air between herself and her soon-to-be newest family member. "I'm already emotionally committed. You know how I get when I emotionally commit."

"I do indeed," Grayfia said, and this time there was definitely resignation in her tone. "Sirzechs-sama said you would likely react this way. He wanted me to inform you that he approves, and that he expects regular updates on young... ah." She paused. "We haven't actually established a name yet."

Right. The clone probably didn't have a name—or if he did, it was something terrible like "Subject Seven" or "Project Crom" or whatever sterile designation the laboratory that created him had assigned.

"Do you have a name?" Rias asked gently. "Something you'd like to be called?"

The clone—her clone now, or he would be in approximately thirty seconds—shook his head slowly. "The memories that were removed... there were words. Titles. But they don't feel like mine anymore."

"Then we'll give you a new one." Rias tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You're a clone of Crom Cruach, but you're not him. You're something new. Something that gets to decide its own destiny." A smile tugged at her lips. "How about... Crom? Just Crom. Simple, easy to remember, and it honors where you came from without chaining you to it."

"Crom," the clone repeated, testing the name. His smile returned, smaller this time but no less genuine. "I like it. It feels... like it could be mine."

"Then Crom it is." Rias let the eight Pawn pieces drift closer, arranging them in a careful pattern around the boy's slight form. "Now, this might feel a little strange, but it won't hurt. I'm going to share my power with you—make you part of my family, officially. Is that okay?"

Crom nodded without hesitation, that newfound trust shining in his dark eyes.

Rias took a deep breath, gathered her demonic energy, and began the reincarnation ritual.

The pieces glowed crimson as they sank into Crom's chest, and Rias felt the familiar rush of magic as her power merged with his—felt the vast, ancient strength of his draconic nature twining with her own devil essence. It was different from reincarnating a human or a yokai or even another supernatural creature. Crom's power was old, even though his existence was new, and it pushed back against her influence with the instinctive resistance of something that had never been meant to bow to another being.

But Rias was stubborn. It was, according to her brother, her defining character trait.

She pushed harder, wrapping her will around Crom's power, coaxing rather than forcing, offering rather than demanding. Come with me, she thought at the swirling mass of draconic energy. Be part of something. Be part of a family. You don't have to be alone anymore.

And slowly, gradually, the resistance faded.

The eight Pawn pieces settled fully into Crom's spiritual core, and Rias felt the bond snap into place—felt him become hers in the way that all her peerage members were hers. Part of her family. Under her protection. Claimed.

"There," she said softly, reaching out to ruffle his messy black hair. "Welcome to the Gremory peerage, Crom. Welcome to your new family."

Crom looked down at his hands—at the faint crimson glow that lingered around his fingers as his body adjusted to the devil magic now running through his veins—and then back up at Rias.

"Big sister," he said, and the wonder in his voice was enough to make Rias's eyes sting slightly. "I have a big sister now."

"You do," Rias confirmed, pulling him into a hug before she could stop herself. He was warm—dragon-warm, like holding a living furnace—and he made a surprised sound before slowly, carefully wrapping his thin arms around her in return. "And I take my big sister duties very seriously, so you'd better be prepared. There will be head pats. There will be spoiling. There will be so much affection that you'll probably get sick of me within a week."

"I don't think I could get sick of having a family," Crom mumbled into her shoulder.

Rias hugged him tighter.

Harry is definitely going to laugh at me, she thought. But also, I think he'll understand. He has his own collection of misfits. He can't judge me for starting mine! Especially since I don't sleep with my peerage! Well, except for Akeno sometimes, but they'd never actually gone all the way…

– Harry –

The sitting room on the mansion's second floor had quickly become one of my favorite spots in the entire building.

It wasn't the largest room—that honor went to the absurdly oversized living area downstairs that could have comfortably hosted a small wedding reception, but it had a certain intimate quality that the grander spaces lacked. Warm wood paneling covered the walls, interspersed with tall windows that let in the late afternoon light. A fireplace dominated one wall, currently unlit given the mild Japanese autumn weather, and the furniture was arranged in a comfortable semicircle around a low coffee table that someone had already covered with tea service and a plate of those little pastries Lyna had stress-baked after hearing about my fight with Saji.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint sounds of activity—Lyra and Lyna, the occasional burst of laughter from whatever room Fleur and Gabrielle had claimed for themselves and Asia.

The couch I was currently sprawled across was sinfully comfortable—deep cushions, soft fabric, the kind of furniture that practically demanded you sink into it and never move again. Which was exactly what I'd done approximately forty minutes ago, after dragging myself back to the mansion with an unconscious stalker slung over my shoulder and a head full of questions I didn't have answers to.

My head was pillowed on Lilja's lap.

Specifically, on her bare thighs, because my Queen had chosen to wear a skirt today—a deep burgundy number that hit mid-thigh and showed off her fantastic legs to devastating effect. The fabric had ridden up slightly when she'd settled onto the couch and guided my head into her lap, and now I could feel the warmth of her skin against my cheek, the subtle flex of muscle beneath soft flesh as she shifted occasionally.

Her fingers carded through my hair in slow, rhythmic strokes. Nails dragging lightly against my scalp, then smoothing the dark strands back from my forehead, then repeating the motion. It was hypnotic. Soothing in a way that made all the tension from the afternoon's excitement drain out of my shoulders like water from a broken dam.

"You're going to put me to sleep if you keep that up," I murmured, letting my eyes drift half-closed.

Lilja's laugh was a warm, musical sound that vibrated through her thighs and into my skull. "Would that be so terrible? You've had quite the day, from what I understand. A nap might do you good. You got attacked by a stalker in a public park, fought off a Balance Breaker, met the great-grandson of the original Lucifer and the current White Dragon Emperor, had a heart-to-heart with a wanted criminal cat-girl about her estranged sister, and then dragged a bleeding body back to our mansion where a traumatized nun healed him with a Sacred Gear that apparently rivals Phoenix Tears in potency." She paused. "Did I miss anything?"

"I had some passionate sex with Sona and I also lost all my carefully curated intimate photos when Kuroka blew up my phone."

"Ah, yes. The true tragedy of the day…"

"You joke, but some of those were irreplaceable. Hermione let me take pictures after our first time. She was all shy and blushing and—"

"I don't need the details," Lilja interrupted, though her lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "Or rather, I don't need them right now..."

"Can't nap. Important discussion happening." I gestured vaguely toward the other occupant of the room. "Sona's here."

"I noticed," Lilja said dryly. "She's been glaring at me for the past ten minutes."

"I have not been glaring." Sona's voice came from the armchair across from us, carrying that particular tone of dignified offense that she deployed whenever someone called her out on something she was absolutely doing. "I was simply... observing. The dynamic between a Queen and her King is an important aspect of peerage management, and I was taking mental notes for future reference. Across from us, settled into the opposite sofa with her legs crossed primly at the ankle, Sona Sitri raised one elegant eyebrow. "And she's not wrong. You look exhausted."

I cracked one eye open to study my aunt—lover—fiance—whatever the hell our relationship was supposed to be called in polite society. Sona had arrived at the mansion about an hour ago, fresh from packing up her things at her old Kuoh residence and officially moving her reduced peerage into the new accommodations. She'd changed out of the clothes I'd... thoroughly rumpled during our earlier encounter, trading them for a crisp white blouse and navy skirt that screamed "professional devil heiress" rather than "woman who'd been bent over a desk and fucked until she forgot how words worked."

But there were still tells. A slight flush that lingered high on her cheekbones. The way she kept shifting her weight, as if certain parts of her anatomy were still sensitive. The occasional distant look that crossed her face, quickly suppressed, that I'd learned to recognize as her brain involuntarily replaying highlights.

"I'm fine," I said, which was only partially a lie. The fight with Saji had taken more out of me than I'd expected—not physically, but mentally. Finding out that someone had deliberately broken his memory seal, deliberately corrupted him with void power, deliberately aimed him at me like a weapon... that was the kind of thing that required processing. "Just thinking about everything."

"About Vali Lucifer and Kuroka as well?" Sona's voice sharpened with interest. We'd already covered the basics of my unexpected encounter with the White Dragon Emperor and his buxom cat companion, but I knew Sona well enough to recognize when she was cataloging information for later analysis.

"Partly. Also about..." I gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, indicating the upper floors where our most recent houseguest was currently resting. "The Saji situation. What to do about him?"

I knew Mum, Serafall, would 'just kill him.' And maybe I should have earlier, but I didn't want to be the kind of person to execute an already beaten opponent in cold blood. Except for Kokabiel…that guy went after my family and friends. Saji just went after me. 

My Queen's voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the steel beneath it. "He chose to accept whatever strange power was offered to him. He chose to use it against you. The fact that someone else pointed him in your direction doesn't absolve him of responsibility for his own actions."

I tilted my head slightly to look up at her. From this angle, I had an excellent view of her face and those brilliant green eyes.

"You're not wrong," I admitted. "But killing him feels like overkill. Literally."

"No one suggested killing him." Lilja's fingers resumed their gentle massage, though I noticed her touch had become slightly firmer. Protective. "But the fact remains that he's a threat. He was a threat when he was merely Sona's obsessive former pawn. Now, having demonstrated both the willingness and the enhanced capability to attack you directly..." She shook her head. "We cannot simply release him back into the world."

Sona made a small sound of agreement. "Lilja-san is correct. Saji has always been... difficult. Even before I dissolved my peerage, his behavior was concerning. And now you told me he's even more unhinged..." A shadow crossed her face at the memory. "I thought that sealing his memories and Sacred Gear would be enough. That returning him to a normal human life would give him a chance to become someone better."

"Clearly that didn't work out."

"No." Sona's jaw tightened. "Someone broke the seal I placed. Someone gave him power that should have been far beyond his reach. And rather than questioning why mysterious benefactors were suddenly interested in helping him, rather than pausing to consider whether their motives might be suspect..." She spread her hands. "He immediately used that power to attack the man I love."

The casual way she said it—"the man I love"—made something warm bloom in my chest. Sona wasn't typically one for open declarations of affection. The fact that she'd said it so naturally, without hesitation or qualification, felt significant.

"Speaking of which," I said, partially to distract from the emotion threatening to climb up my throat, "how did the healing go? With Asia, I mean."

When I'd returned to the mansion with an unconscious, bleeding Saji slung over my shoulder, I hadn't been sure what to expect. The logical move would have been to dump him at a hospital and let human medicine handle his wounds. But something had made me bring him back instead. Maybe curiosity about what had been done to him. Maybe a reluctance to let him out of my sight until I understood the full scope of the threat.

What I definitely hadn't expected was for the shy, blonde former-nun we'd rescued from a Diagon Alley dumpster to take one look at Saji's injuries and then she started glowing green.

"The girl has Twilight Healing," Sona said, and there was genuine awe in her voice. "One of the rarest Sacred Gears in existence. It can heal any injury, cure any disease, mend any wound short of death itself. And Asia Argento has it."

"The girl me and Jasmine found starving in an alley..."

Sona shook her head slowly. "I've been doing research since you told me about her. Asia was apparently considered a 'Holy Maiden' by the Church. She was a human blessed with divine healing abilities who was raised from childhood to serve as a living miracle. She healed the sick, the wounded, the dying. She was beloved, revered, practically worshipped."

I frowned. "Then why was she excommunicated?"

"Because she healed a devil," Sona explained.

Lilja's fingers stilled again. "She healed one of our kind?"

"According to the fragmentary records I could find, yes. A wounded devil somehow found its way to her church, and Asia—being Asia, from what little I've observed of her personality—healed it without hesitation. Without stopping to ask what species it was, or whether the Church would approve." Sona's expression was complicated. "The Church declared her a heretic. They stripped her of her position, her home, her identity. They cast out a girl who had done nothing wrong except show compassion to someone they considered an enemy."

"Bastards," I muttered. I closed my eyes, processing this information. Asia Argento—the shy, trembling girl who'd flinched away from my every movement, who'd apologized for existing in the same alley as us, who'd looked at the offer of food and shelter like I was dangling salvation in front of her—was a healer of near-legendary power. And she'd been abandoned by everyone who should have protected her.

Because she'd dared to show kindness to a devil.

"We're keeping her," I said flatly. "I don't care what it takes. We're keeping her safe."

Lilja's lips curved into a small smile as she stared at my face. "I thought you might say that. Fleur and Gabrielle have already practically adopted her. They were teaching her French curse words and feeding her pastries."

"Good." I paused. "Wait, French curse words?"

"Gabrielle's idea, apparently. She felt Asia needed to know how to tell people to fuck off in multiple languages." Lilja's smile widened slightly. "I believe the exact phrase was 'va te faire foutre, connard' repeated with increasing enthusiasm!"

I found myself laughing. The mental image of sweet, innocent Asia Argento being coached in French profanity by two Veela sisters was just absurd enough to break through the tension.

Lilja's fingers resumed their gentle stroking, and I felt some of the tightness in my chest ease. This was good. This was what I needed—not just the physical comfort, but the reminder that I wasn't alone in any of this. That I had people who would help me carry the load.

"So," I said, once the laughter had subsided. "Back to the original topic. What do we actually do about Saji?"

Sona was quiet for a moment, her violet eyes distant as she considered the question. In that moment, she looked so much like her mother Selene—the same elegant features, the same sharp intelligence, the same hint of something dangerous lurking beneath the composed exterior.

"I have some thoughts," she said finally. "But they're... extreme. They would permanently remove him as a threat while also serving as a warning to anyone else who might consider targeting you or our family." Sona's voice had gone cool, clinical—the voice of a devil heiress who had been raised to understand that power required the willingness to use it. "Extreme in the sense that the Saji Genshirou who wakes up tomorrow would not be the same person who attacked you today… It's not a decision I make lightly. But after everything that's happened—after he attacked Harry, after someone used him as a weapon against our family—I find myself unwilling to take half-measures." Her eyes met mine, and I saw something fierce burning in their violet depths. "He threatened the man I love. He doesn't get to do that twice!"

The possessiveness in her voice sent a shiver down my spine. Hearing her speak with such raw protective fury was... honestly kind of hot.

Before I could respond, Lilja shifted beneath me. Her hand left my hair, trailing down along my jaw, and then she was leaning over me—her red hair falling like a curtain around our faces, her green eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"OUR Harry," she murmured, and then her lips were on mine.

The kiss was soft at first, almost chaste—the gentle press of her mouth against mine, the warmth of her breath mingling with my own. But there was nothing chaste about the way her hand cupped my cheek, or the way her body curved toward me, or the small sound she made when I reached up to tangle my fingers in her hair.

When she finally pulled back, my face was burning.

"What was that for?" I managed, my voice coming out rougher than intended.

Lilja just smiled again.

Across the room, Sona cleared her throat pointedly. "Don't mind me," she said dryly. "I'm just sitting here, having serious discussions about the ethical implications of identity erasure, while you two make out on the couch."

"You're welcome to join," Lilja offered, her tone perfectly innocent despite the gleam in her eyes.

The flush that climbed Sona's cheeks was deeply satisfying. "I—that's—we were having a conversation—"

"A conversation that I believe has reached its natural conclusion." Lilja sat back, though her hand remained resting possessively on my chest. "You'll handle Saji. Harry trusts your judgment, and so do I. Whatever you decide is the appropriate response, we'll support it—So… How about my offer?" she finished with a playful wink.

I watched Sona's reaction to Lilja's invitation with undisguised amusement. The flush that had already been staining her cheeks darkened to a proper crimson, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her pristine white blouse. For someone who had, just a few hours ago, been screaming my name while bent over her own desk, she was remarkably easy to fluster when it came to discussing such things in company.

"I—" Sona started, then stopped. Cleared her throat. Adjusted her glasses with fingers that weren't quite steady. "That's... a generous offer, Lilja-san. But I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Oh?" Lilja's voice was pure innocence, but I could feel the subtle vibration of suppressed laughter traveling through her thighs and into my skull. "Are you certain? Harry seems quite comfortable where he is, and I'm sure we could find creative ways to—"

"I've already been fucked and creampied multiple times today," Sona interrupted, her voice going flat and matter-of-fact in the way it only did when she was desperately trying to regain control of a conversation that had slipped away from her. "That's quite enough for one afternoon, I think."

I gaped at her.

Actually, properly gaped—mouth falling open, eyes going wide, the whole undignified package. Because hearing those words come out of Sona Sitri's mouth was possibly the most surreal experience of my entire increasingly surreal life.

"Did you just—" I started.

"Yes," Sona said primly, adjusting her glasses again. The flush hadn't faded. If anything, it had intensified. But her voice remained steady, almost defiant. "I did. Is that a problem?"

"No, I just—you—" I gestured vaguely, still struggling to reconcile the mental image of prim, proper Sona Sitri with the words that had just left her lips. "That was very... direct."

"I find that directness saves time." She met my eyes, and beneath the embarrassment, I caught a flicker of something else. Something that looked almost like pride. "Would you have preferred I dance around the subject? Perhaps employ euphemisms? 'Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Lilja-san, but I've already engaged in intimate relations with Harry-kun on multiple occasions this afternoon and am feeling rather satisfied at the moment'?"

Lilja's composure finally cracked. She burst out laughing that filled the sitting room and made the late afternoon light streaming through the windows seem somehow warmer. The vibrations traveled through her body and into mine, and I found myself grinning despite the lingering shock.

"I like her," Lilja declared, once she'd gotten her laughter under control. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with one elegant finger. "Anyone who can deliver a line like that with a straight face has my respect."

"I wasn't aware I needed to earn your respect," Sona muttered, but there was no real heat in it. If anything, she looked slightly pleased by the compliment.

"You didn't," Lilja agreed easily. "But you've earned it nonetheless. And don't worry—" She patted my chest with proprietary affection. "—I wasn't exactly planning on having my first time with my King being a threesome anyway."

The words hung in the air for a moment, their implications settling over the room like a warm blanket.

Then Sona's eyebrows shot up. "Wait," she said, her voice sharpening with genuine surprise. "Your first time? You mean you and Harry haven't...?"

"Not yet," Lilja confirmed, her tone utterly casual despite the subject matter. "Things have been rather hectic, what with the tournament and the attacks and the constant assassination attempts. We simply haven't found the right moment."

Sona stared at her. Then at me. Then back at her. "You're his Queen," she said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dense child. "The most important piece in his peerage. The one who's supposed to be closest to him in every way. And you're telling me that in all the time since you joined his service, you two haven't once—"

"Had sex?" I supplied helpfully, sitting up from Lilja's lap. I immediately missed the warmth of her thighs against my cheek, but the conversation had taken a turn that demanded more active participation. "No. We haven't. Is that really so surprising?"

Sona's expression suggested that yes, it was in fact extremely surprising. "Harry, you've slept with..." She paused, apparently doing mental calculations. "How many women at this point? Your mother, me, Hermione, Narcissa, Tonks, Fleur, Gabrielle, their mother Apolline, your twin maids, probably others I'm forgetting—"

"Ginny," Lilja added helpfully. "Don't forget Ginny."

"—Ginny, yes, thank you—and yet somehow you haven't slept with your own Queen?" Sona shook her head in apparent disbelief. "What exactly do you take me for, if not someone who would assume you'd prioritized... that?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but Lilja beat me to it. 

"A horn dog with no restraint?" she suggested, her voice dripping with false innocence.

Sona pointed at her. "Exactly. That's exactly what I take him for. A horn dog with absolutely no restraint who somehow, inexplicably, has shown restraint in this one specific area." She turned her accusing gaze back to me. 

"So cruel," I said, pressing a hand to my chest in mock offense. "Both of you, ganging up on me like this. I'll have you know that I am a man of refined tastes and impeccable self-control!"

"To be fair," Lilja cut in. "Harry did go down on me in Narcissa's bathroom shower. I really enjoyed that!"

The look Sona gave me could have curdled milk. "Harry," she said flatly. "You fucked me on my desk. In my office. While my subordinate was downstairs and could have walked in at any moment."

"That was—"

"And before that, you had sex with my sister—your mother—and me at the same time. In her bed. For hours."

"Well, yes, but—"

"And according to the extremely detailed reports Serafall has been sending me—reports I did not ask for and desperately wish I could unread—you've engaged in various sexual activities with multiple women in locations within Hogwarts, including but not limited to—"

"Alright… You don't have to list everything, because I'm very sure she actually does know everything…" I cut her off. I made a mental note to have a very serious conversation with Serafall about boundaries. And surveillance. And the appropriate level of detail to include in reports to one's younger sister about one's son's sexual exploits. 

"...None of that sounds like a man of refined tastes and impeccable self-control," Sona concluded, crossing her arms beneath her chest in a way that did absolutely nothing to diminish my appreciation of her figure despite her accusatory tone. "That sounds like exactly what I said. A horn dog."

"With no restraint," Lilja added, clearly enjoying herself immensely!

I looked between the two of them—my Queen and my aunt-lover, united in their mockery of my sexual decision-making processes—and felt a reluctant grin tugging at my lips.

"Okay," I admitted. "Fair point. But in my defense, Lilja and I have had... complicated circumstances. The situations just haven't aligned properly."

Lilja hummed thoughtfully, her fingers finding my hair again and resuming their gentle stroking despite my now-upright position. "He's not wrong," she said, addressing Sona. "Our relationship has been... unconventional from the start. There's history between us that predates his birth. Context that makes things more complex than a simple King-Queen dynamic."

Sona's expression softened slightly. She knew, of course—everyone close to me knew—about Lilja's true nature. About the fact that my Queen was the reincarnated soul of Lily Evans, the woman who had given birth to me in her previous life before dying to protect me from Voldemort. The woman whose sacrifice had inadvertently set me on the path that led to discovering my devil heritage, my true mother Serafall, and everything that had followed.

It was, as Lilja said, complicated.

"I suppose I can understand that," Sona allowed, her voice losing some of its teasing edge. "The dynamics of your particular situation are... unique."

"That's one word for it," I said dryly.

"But still." Sona leaned forward, her violet eyes sharp with curiosity. "You've clearly moved past whatever initial awkwardness there might have been. I've seen the way you two interact—the touches, the looks, the casual intimacy. You're not treating each other like strangers or even like reluctant allies. So what's actually stopping you?"

I glanced at Lilja, found her watching me with those brilliant green eyes that held so much warmth and patience and something deeper that I still wasn't entirely sure how to name.

"Nothing's stopping us," I said quietly. "We're just... waiting for the right moment. The first time with your Queen is supposed to be special. Meaningful. Not something you rush because you're horny after a fight or stressed about the latest assassination attempt."

"How unexpectedly romantic of you," Sona murmured, and there was no mockery in her voice now. Just genuine surprise and perhaps a touch of respect.

"I have my moments."

"Rare though they may be."

"So cruel," I repeated, but I was smiling as I said it.

Lilja's hand slid from my hair to cup my cheek, turning my face toward her. Her expression was soft, tender in a way that made my chest ache.

"When we do finally come together," she said, her voice pitched low enough that it felt like she was speaking only to me despite Sona's presence, "I want it to be because we've chosen that moment. Not because circumstances forced our hand, or because we were swept up in the heat of battle, or because we simply couldn't wait any longer." Her thumb traced along my cheekbone. "I want to remember every detail. I want to be fully present, fully aware, fully... us."

I covered her hand with mine, pressing her palm more firmly against my face.

"Soon," I promised, and the word carried weight. A commitment. A vow between King and Queen that transcended the physical.

"Soon," she agreed, and then she was kissing me again—softer this time, sweeter, a seal on the promise we'd just made.

When we broke apart, Sona was watching us with an expression I couldn't quite read. Something between exasperation and fondness, maybe. Or perhaps she was simply trying to reconcile the image of Harry Sitri, horn dog with no restraint, with the man who was apparently capable of waiting for his Queen because he wanted their first time to be meaningful.

"You two are ridiculous," she said finally. "Absolutely ridiculous. And somehow also adorable? It's very confusing."

"We aim to confuse," I said solemnly.

"And arouse," Lilja added. "Don't forget arouse!"

Sona just facepalmed at our antics. 

Hehe… I knew I got my humor from both of my mothers!

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Sona had been about to say. The sound was followed immediately by the door swinging open, revealing a familiar figure framed in the doorway. Hermione stood there, her bushy brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her cheeks slightly flushed from what I assumed was the heat of the kitchen. She was wearing an apron over her casual clothes—a white thing with ruffles that looked like it belonged to one of the twins—and there was a small smudge of flour on her nose that she apparently hadn't noticed. She looked, in that moment, utterly adorable. Domestic in a way that contrasted sharply with the brilliant, dangerous devil she'd become. My Bishop, my first peerage member, the woman who'd been with me since the very beginning of this insane journey.

"Dinner's ready," she announced, her eyes sweeping the room and taking in the scene—the general atmosphere of intimate conversation that had clearly been interrupted. "Lyna and Lyra just finished, and they're threatening to eat everything themselves if people don't come down soon."

"The twins cooked?" I asked, already pushing myself to my feet. My body protested slightly—despite the lack of serious injuries, the fight with Saji had taken more out of me than I'd realized—but the mention of food overrode any lingering fatigue. "What did they make?"

"Everything, apparently." Hermione's lips twitched. "I think they're stress-cooking again. There's enough food down there to feed a small army, which I suppose is appropriate given the size of our current household." Her gaze landed on me more fully, and something in her expression softened. "How are you feeling? Fleur mentioned you looked exhausted when you got back."

"I'm fine," I said, the automatic response rolling off my tongue before I could think about it. Then, at Hermione's skeptical look: "Okay, I'm tired. And I have a lot on my mind. But nothing that good food and better company can't fix."

"That's not really an answer," Hermione pointed out. "That's deflection disguised as reassurance."

"It's the best I've got right now."

Her expression softened further. "Then it'll do. For now." She stepped back from the doorway, gesturing for us to follow. "Come on. Before Lyra decides that the roast beef is 'getting cold' and needs to be 'quality tested' again."

I moved toward her, but paused at the threshold to glance back at Lilja and Sona.

My Queen was rising gracefully from the couch, smoothing down her burgundy skirt with practiced ease. The late afternoon light caught in her red hair, turning it to living flame, and for a moment, she looked so gorgeous that my breath caught in my throat.

"Coming," she said, as if sensing my gaze. A small smile played at the corners of her lips. "Someone needs to make sure you actually eat instead of getting distracted by whatever crisis inevitably appears in the next five minutes."

"That's unfair," I protested. "I go at least ten minutes between crises sometimes."

"You just fought a stalker with corrupted dragon powers in a public park," Sona said dryly, falling into step beside us as we followed Hermione toward the stairs. "Before that, you were nearly incinerated by a dragon clone at a magical tournament. Before that—"

"I get it, I get it. My life is chaos." I draped an arm around each of them—Sona on my left, Lilja on my right—and felt them both lean into the contact. 

"Flattery," Sona informed me, "will not make me forget that you still owe me a proper explanation about what happened with Vali Lucifer and that Nekoshou woman."

"Can't it wait until after dinner?"

"It can wait until during dinner. I want everyone present when you explain. The implications of meeting the White Dragon Emperor are significant enough that your entire peerage should be informed."

I sighed, but there was no real frustration in it. Sona was right, of course. She usually was.

"Fine," I conceded. "Dinner and a debriefing. My favorite combination."

"I thought your favorite combination was 'violence and sexual tension,'" Lilja murmured.

"That's my second favorite."

Hermione, walking ahead of us, made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sigh of long-suffering patience. With Hermione, it was often hard to tell.

…Last night's dinner had been... nice. 

The dining room in our newly constructed Kuoh mansion was absurdly large—Serafall's contractors had apparently interpreted "enough space for everyone" as "enough space for a small wedding reception"—but for once, that excess had felt appropriate. 

Every seat at the long mahogany table had been filled. My entire peerage had gathered: Hermione at my right hand, Lilja across from her, trading stories with Marlene about their Hogwarts days that made everyone laugh. Narcissa and Tonks side by side. Fleur and Gabrielle flanking Asia like protective older sisters, alternating between feeding her choice morsels and teaching her increasingly creative French profanity.

Lyra and Lyna had outdone themselves with the cooking. The spread had been ridiculous—roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, grilled salmon with a miso glaze that somehow worked despite the cultural clash, three different kinds of pasta, a vegetable medley that even I couldn't identify half the components of, and enough desserts to send a diabetic into a coma. The twins had hovered around the table throughout the meal, refilling glasses and plates with an efficiency that bordered on supernatural, practically glowing every time someone complimented their work.

Sona had been there too, of course, seated at the opposite end of the table. Tsubaki flanked her right side, composed and elegant as always, while Luna occupied her left—the dreamy-eyed Ravenclaw looking utterly at home among devils despite having only recently become one herself. Watching Sona interact with her new, smaller peerage had been interesting. There was an ease there that I'd never seen with her old Kuoh group, a genuine warmth beneath her usual ice-queen exterior.

And then there had been our guests.

Jasmine spent most of the meal shooting glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking.

Marlene McKinnon had been... a lot. The woman had no filter and even less shame, spending half the dinner making innuendos that made her own daughter want to crawl under the table and the other half reminiscing about "the good old days" with Lilja in ways that strongly implied their relationship had been significantly more than platonic. She was gorgeous in that mature, confident way that some women aged into—all curves and knowing smiles and the kind of presence that demanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not.

I could see where Jasmine got her looks. I could also see that Marlene was absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent going to be a problem for my already strained self-control at some point in the near future.

But the real highlight of the evening—or perhaps lowlight, depending on perspective—had been Asia.

The former nun had been doing better than when Jasmine and I first found her. The food and rest and general atmosphere of safety had brought some color back to her pale cheeks, and she'd even managed a few tentative smiles during the meal. Fleur and Gabrielle had worked wonders with her, coaxing her out of her shell with gentle encouragement and an endless supply of pastries.

But being around so many people had clearly been overwhelming. I'd watched her grow progressively quieter as the dinner wore on, her green eyes darting nervously around the table like she was waiting for someone to suddenly turn on her. 

Around the time Marlene started telling a particularly raunchy story about something that had allegedly happened in the Gryffindor common room showers circa 1979, Asia had excused herself with a mumbled apology and fled upstairs.

Fleur had moved to follow her, but Gabrielle had stopped her with a hand on her arm and a meaningful look. "Give her space," the younger Veela had murmured. "She's not used to... this. Any of this. She'll come around."

That was last night.

Now it was morning, late morning, technically, because I'd slept like the dead after everything that had happened, and I was standing in the middle of Kuoh Park.

The park looked... normal. Disturbingly normal, actually, considering that less than twenty-four hours ago I'd been fighting a corrupted stalker with void powers in this exact location. The grass was green and neatly trimmed. The benches were intact and occupied by elderly Japanese couples feeding pigeons. Children laughed and played on the jungle gym while their mothers chatted nearby, completely oblivious to the fact that supernatural violence had occurred within spitting distance of the sandbox.

Sona's people had been thorough. The scorch marks from Saji's attacks were gone. The craters from our more destructive exchanges had been filled and re-sodded. And presumably, anyone who had witnessed the fight had been treated to a nice, relaxing memory modification that replaced "terrifying battle between demonic entities" with "completely ordinary afternoon."

I made a mental note to thank Sona for handling the cleanup. 

"You've been overthinking things lately."

Lilja's voice pulled me from my thoughts. My Queen stood a few feet away. She was dressed for action today—dark jeans that hugged her legs, a fitted black top that showed off her toned arms, and a leather jacket that probably had more hidden weapons than a small armory. Her green eyes watched me with that particular blend of affection and exasperation that she'd perfected over our time together.

"I'm... reminiscing." I protested. 

Lilja just chuckled and turned her head to the side as her friend walked over.

Marlene McKinnon sauntered up to join us, and I use the word "sauntered" deliberately because there was no other way to describe the way that woman moved. Every step was a production, a conscious demonstration of confidence and sexuality that demanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not.

Today's outfit was... something.

The crop top was white, tight, and cut low enough to show off an impressive amount of cleavage that she had clearly inherited from someone in her ancient family tree who believed in generous portions. The bottom hem hit just below her ribs, leaving a strip of toned and pale stomach on full display. Her jeans were so tight they might as well have been painted on, hugging every curve of her hips and legs. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail that somehow managed to look effortlessly glamorous.

A pair of conservative-looking Japanese mothers walking past on the nearby path caught sight of Marlene and immediately began hissing to each other in rapid-fire Japanese. 

Marlene had no idea what they said, but obviously as a devil I could hear all the jealousy. Marlene noticed the attention, of course. A small, satisfied smile played at the corners of her lips as she gave her hips an extra little sway.

"You're going to cause an international incident," Lilja said dryly, eyeing her best friend's outfit with the resignation of someone who had long since given up on changing certain behaviors.

"I cause incidents wherever I go, Lily. It's part of my charm." Marlene's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Besides, if I'm going to be hunting monsters today, I want to at least look good doing it."

That brought me back to the matter at hand.

"About that," I said, turning to face Marlene properly. "Are you sure you want to come along? This isn't going to be a pleasant stroll through the park. We're hunting a stray devil. Things could get... messy."

Marlene's playful expression flickered, something harder and more serious surfacing beneath the flirtatious exterior. "Harry, sweetheart, I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. But I'm not some delicate flower who needs protecting."

"I didn't say you were—"

"No, but you were thinking it." She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume. "I know I come across as... a lot. The flirting, the teasing, the outfits that make housewives clutch their pearls." Her smile turned wry. "It's a defense mechanism, if you want the psychological breakdown. A way to control how people see me, to always be on the offensive rather than waiting for the world to hurt me first."

"Marlene—"

"But underneath all that?" Her voice dropped, losing its playful edge entirely. "I'm a survivor, Harry. I lived through the First Wizarding War. I watched my parents get murdered by Death Eaters when I was barely out of Hogwarts. I raised Jasmine alone, in hiding, always looking over my shoulder for the day Voldemort's people would find us." She held my gaze steadily. "I've killed before. More times than I'd like to admit. And I've faced down things that would make lesser witches run screaming."

Lilja made a soft sound of agreement. "Don't doubt Marlene," my Queen said, a note of fierce pride in her voice. "She's a badass bitch."

Marlene's composure cracked slightly at that, a blush climbing her cheeks. "Language, Lily," she muttered, though her lips were twitching. "Honestly, you'd think dying and being reincarnated would have improved your vocabulary..."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Lilja admitted cheerfully. "The norse are very blunt people…"

Marlene laughed. "Some things never change, I suppose." Then her expression sobered again, and she met my eyes with that same steady intensity. "I want to do this, Harry. I need to do this."

"Why?"

"Because my daughter almost died." The words came out flat, final. "When Jasmine got kidnapped by that... snake-creature in the Chamber of Secrets. When she was trapped underground with a monster that wanted to devour her soul." Marlene's jaw tightened. "I wasn't there. I couldn't protect her. I had to sit at home with my thumb up my arse while my little girl fought for her life."

"That wasn't your fault—"

"I know that. Logically, I know that." She shook her head. "But logic doesn't make the nightmares stop. It doesn't make me feel any less useless." Her gaze swept across the park, as if searching for threats that weren't there. "I need to see what she faced. I need to understand what these creatures are—these stray devils, these threats that exist in the world my daughter is now part of. And if I can kill a few of them along the way?" Her smile turned sharp, almost predatory. "Well, that's just a bonus, isn't it?"

I studied her for a long moment.

When I had first stumbled across Marlene in the Prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts I'd written her off as just another beautiful woman. Flirtatious, confident, probably more interested in teasing me than anything substantive. But there was steel beneath that glamorous exterior. The same steel I saw in Lilja, in Sona, in all the women who had chosen to stand beside me despite knowing exactly how dangerous my life had become.

"Alright," I said finally. "You can come. But you stay behind Lilja and me when we engage, at least initially."

Marlene held my gaze for a beat, then nodded. "Fair enough. I can follow orders when they make sense." A smirk. "Though I reserve the right to ignore them if they don't."

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

"Good boy." She reached out and patted my cheek in a way that was definitely more condescending than the situation warranted. "Now, where exactly are we hunting this beastie? I was told something about a warehouse district?"

"Tsubaki's patrol identified the stray's presence near the eastern edge of town," Lilja explained. "Abandoned industrial area. Lots of empty buildings, minimal human traffic. It's a common hunting ground for strays—isolated enough to avoid attention but close enough to populated areas to find... prey."

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of my demonic power coiling beneath my skin. "Well, let's get this over with. The sooner we—"

"Sorry I'm late!" The voice came from behind me, bright and cheerful and achingly familiar. I turned to see Rias Gremory hurrying across the park toward us.

My fiancée was wearing... her old Kuoh Academy uniform?

The sight made me blink. Rias hadn't attended classes here in months—not since she'd transferred to Hogwarts to be closer to me. But here she was, dressed in the familiar white shirt and black skirt combo that I recognized from photos and Sona's descriptions. The shirt was perhaps a size too small, straining across her impressive chest in a way that definitely would have violated any reasonable dress code. The skirt was short—very short—showing off miles of creamy thigh with every step.

She looked like she'd stepped out of one of those anime shows the twins kept trying to get me to watch. The ones with the impossibly proportioned schoolgirls and the camera angles that defied physics.

"I was getting my newest peerage member acquainted with the rest of my family," Rias continued as she reached us, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, either from exertion or excitement—with Rias, it was often hard to tell. "Took longer than expected. Akeno kept trying to corrupt them with her... Akeno-ness."

"Newest peerage member?" I raised an eyebrow. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday!" Rias beamed at me, clearly proud of herself. "I meant to tell you over a text message, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind."

It was only then that I noticed the figure standing slightly behind Rias, partially hidden by my fiancée's enthusiastic gesturing. Small. Delicate. Black hair falling in messy waves to just past narrow shoulders. A heart-shaped face with features so fine they looked almost doll-like. Large dark eyes that watched me with an intensity that felt oddly familiar, though I couldn't place why.

She was wearing a simple outfit that might have been borrowed from someone else. Dark pants that pooled slightly around small feet, a white button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal thin wrists, and a navy blazer that hung loosely on a body that couldn't have been more than five feet tall. Cute. That was the word that immediately sprang to mind. Whoever this was, they were objectively, undeniably cute. Like a character from one of those romance manga Hermione kept pretending she didn't read.

"Who's this?" I asked, smiling warmly at the newcomer. "They're adorable, Rias. Where did you find such a cute girl?"

The cute person's expression shifted. The large dark eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt a flicker of something cold brush against my senses—a killing intent so brief and controlled that I almost missed it.

Almost. My own power stirred in response, instinctive and immediate. The temperature around us dropped a few degrees as frost crackled along my fingertips.

"Harry." Rias's voice carried a note of amusement that I didn't entirely trust. "Don't you recognize him?"

Oooof! That explains the killing intent… 

This was another Gasper situation wasn't it? 

"My bad—little…man," I mumbled before pausing slightly and looking the—GUY—over more closely. "Should I recognize him?"

"Well, yes. Considering he tried to kill you at the Triwizard Tournament," Rias replied.

I stared at her. Then at the cute person. Then back at her. "...What?"

Rias giggled like this was the funniest thing she'd heard all week. "Harry, meet Crom. He's the dragon clone that attacked you during the first task. You know, the one created from Crom Cruach's genetic material? Giant black scales, breath that could melt steel, tried to eat you?" She gestured at the small, delicate figure beside her. "This is his human form."

Silence. Complete, absolute silence.

Beside me, I heard Lilja make a sound that might have been a choked laugh or might have been her having a stroke. Marlene's jaw had dropped so far I was genuinely concerned about her dental work.

"That," I said slowly, pointing at the adorable person who looked like they should be the protagonist of a shoujo manga, "is the evil dragon? The creature that tried to incinerate me? The clone of one of the most terrifying beings in supernatural history?"

"Yep!" Rias beamed.

"He's like five feet tall."

"Five foot one, actually. We measured."

"He looks like he should be selling scout cookies door-to-door, not destroying civilizations!"

"I can still destroy you," Crom said, and his voice was higher than I expected—soft and almost musical, completely at odds with the killing intent I'd sensed moments ago. "The fact that I am currently choosing not to is a courtesy you should not take for granted."

"He's also very sensitive about his height," Rias stage-whispered. "And his appearance. And basically everything. It's very cute..."

"I am not cute," Crom insisted, his delicate features twisting into what was clearly meant to be a fearsome scowl. On his face, it looked more like an adorable pout. "I am a dragon. Dragons are majestic and terrifying, not... cute."

"You're a little cute," Marlene offered, having apparently recovered enough from her shock to contribute.

"I will end you, MILF!"

Marlene just looked taken aback at the word milf. Lilja looked like she was about to die laughing…

"See?" Rias clapped her hands together. "Isn't he precious?"

I looked at my fiancée. Really looked at her—at the gleeful sparkle in her blue-green eyes, at the barely contained excitement practically vibrating through her body, at the way she kept glancing at Crom with an expression I recognized all too well. It was the same expression she got when talking about Gasper. The same maternal, slightly obsessive affection she developed for anyone she perceived as needing protection and guidance.

"Rias," I said carefully. "Did you recruit the dragon clone specifically because you thought he was cute and needed a big sister figure in his life?"

"He asked me to be his onee-sama, Harry! He looked at me with those big eyes and asked if I would be his big sister!" She clutched her hands to her chest dramatically. "What was I supposed to do? Say no? I'm not a monster!"

"He literally tried to murder me."

"He was being mind-controlled! His memories were fake! The real Crom is a sweet, confused boy who just wants a family!" Rias pulled said sweet, confused boy into a hug that pressed his face directly into her substantial cleavage. "Look at him! How could I possibly say no to this face?" 

Crom, for his part, seemed deeply uncomfortable with the sudden chest-based imprisonment. His arms flailed slightly, muffled sounds of protest emerging from somewhere in the vicinity of Rias's décolletage.

"I figured I could bring him along today," Rias continued, apparently oblivious to her newest peerage member's suffocation. "Let him get some combat experience in his new form, help him adjust to being part of a team. And maybe you two can bond! Clear the air! Become friends!"

"He tried to kill me," I repeated.

"Water under the bridge!"

"He declared he was going to kill my whole family."

"That was the fake memories talking!"

"He's currently being smothered by your breasts."

Rias paused. Looked down. "Oh." She released Crom, who stumbled back gasping for air, his pale cheeks flushed. "Sorry, sweetie. Onee-sama got a little excited."

"Please," Crom wheezed, "never do that again."

"No promises!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose again. This was going to be a long day. Even if we got lucky and ended up finding the Stray devil early. 

Lilja stepped forward, her expression carefully neutral—she was lolling hard internally—as she studied the dragon-turned-pretty-boy. "So," she said slowly. "Just to clarify. This is the creature that could have destroyed Hogwarts if not for Harry's intervention. And Rias has decided to adopt him as a little brother and bring him on our stray devil hunt?"

"That about sums it up, yes," Rias confirmed cheerfully.

"And you don't see any potential issues with this plan?"

"None whatsoever!"

Lilja turned to me. The look on her face said everything: This is your fiancée. This is what you signed up for. I hope you're happy!

I was not, in fact, happy. But I was also not surprised. This was classic Rias—impulsive, emotional, heart-led to a fault. She collected strays and misfits like some people collected stamps, driven by an almost compulsive need to give second chances to anyone she perceived as deserving them. It was one of the things I loved about her, honestly. Her capacity for compassion, her willingness to see the good in people others had written off.

"Fine," I sighed, accepting the inevitable. "He can come. But Rias, if your adorable new dragon brother decides to try killing me again—"

"He won't!"

"—if he tries, I'm not going to hold back just because you've gotten attached."

Crom's dark eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw something flash in those slitted pupils. Not hostility, exactly. More like... assessment. Like he was evaluating me, measuring me against some internal standard. "I have no intention of attacking you," Crom said finally. "The desire to harm you was artificial. A compulsion implanted by my creators." His head tilted in that distinctly draconic gesture I remembered from the tournament. "You are Rias-onee-sama's mate. She cares for you. Therefore, I will not allow harm to come to you..."

Huh? That wasn't so bad then.

– Saji? –

Consciousness returned to Saji Genshirou in fragmented pieces, like shards of a broken mirror slowly reassembling themselves into something approaching coherence.

First came awareness of his body—heavy, sluggish, wrong in ways he couldn't immediately identify. His limbs felt like they'd been filled with wet concrete, muscles refusing to respond to his mental commands with their usual reliability. There was a dull ache behind his eyes, a throbbing pressure that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Then came awareness of his surroundings.

Dark. That was his first coherent thought. It was dark. He was in some kind of basement, maybe?

He tried to move.

He couldn't.

Panic surged through him like electricity, burning away the last vestiges of grogginess and flooding his system with adrenaline. His arms—bound behind his back, secured with something that bit into his wrists when he struggled. His legs—similarly restrained, ankles crossed and tied to the legs of whatever chair he was sitting in. His torso—wrapped in what felt like chains, cold metal links pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"What the—" His voice came out as a croak, throat dry and scratchy. "What the hell?" He reached for his Sacred Gear instinctively, that familiar well of power that had been his constant companion since he'd first awakened Absorption Line. The dragon's prison. Vritra's legacy. His greatest weapon and his deepest connection to something larger than himself. Nothing. The power was there—he could sense it, lurking somewhere in the depths of his soul—but it was muted. Distant. Like trying to hear music through a thick wall, present but utterly inaccessible. "No, no, no..." Saji struggled harder against his bonds, chair legs scraping against what sounded like concrete flooring. "Come on, come on, work—"

"The restraints are enchanted." The voice came from somewhere in the darkness, calm and measured and achingly familiar. 

Saji's heart stuttered in his chest. He knew that voice…

"Specifically designed to suppress Sacred Gear activation," the voice continued. "Quite expensive, actually." Footsteps. Soft and deliberate, the click of heels against stone growing steadily closer. A figure emerged from the shadows, and Saji felt his breath catch in his throat.

Sona Sitri stood before him.

His goddess. His queen. The woman who had consumed his every waking thought since the moment she'd first offered him a place in her peerage, who had filled his dreams and fantasies and desperate midnight yearnings!

She was beautiful—so achingly, impossibly beautiful that it hurt to look at her. The darkness of the room seemed to part around her like water around a stone, as if even the absence of light couldn't bear to touch her. She was wearing what looked like a business suit—tailored black jacket over a crisp white blouse, pencil skirt that hugged her slim hips, stockinged legs that went on forever before disappearing into modest heels. Professional. Composed. Every inch the devil heiress she'd been born to be.

Saji's fear evaporated like morning dew, replaced by a surge of joy so intense it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

"Sona-sama!" The words tumbled out of him in a rush, desperate and hopeful. "You came! I knew you would. I knew you wouldn't abandon me! They tried to keep us apart, but love always finds a way, doesn't it? True love conquers all!"

Something flickered across Sona's face. A tightening around her eyes, a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth. If Saji had been in a rational state of mind, he might have recognized the expression for what it was: disgust, barely contained behind a mask of clinical detachment.

But Saji was not in a rational state of mind. He hadn't been in a rational state of mind for a very, very long time. 

"You're here to rescue me," he continued, straining against his bonds with renewed vigor. "You finally escaped from that bastard's mind control! I knew you would, I knew you were strong enough! Harry Sitri thinks he can just take whatever he wants, thinks he can steal you away from me with his money and his powers and his—his harem of whores—but you saw through it, didn't you? You remembered what we had!"

"Saji." Sona's voice was flat. Cold. "We never 'had' anything."

"Don't say that!" The words came out sharper than he intended, almost a snarl. He forced himself to soften, to gentle his tone the way he knew she liked. "I understand, Sona-sama. I understand that you're confused. That monster has had months to work on your mind, to twist your thoughts and make you believe things that aren't true. But it's okay now. I'm here. We're together again, and I can help you remember."

"Remember what, exactly?"

"Our love!" Saji's eyes were shining now, wet with the force of his conviction. "The way you looked at me when you first recruited me into your peerage. The way you trusted me with important duties, chose me to stand at your side. The connection between us—that special bond that no one else could understand!" He leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow, voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "I know you feel it too, Sona-sama. I've always known. You had to hide it because of your position, because of your family's expectations, but I could see the truth in your eyes. The way they lingered on me when you thought no one was watching. The way you kept me close, gave me chances to prove myself..."

Sona's voice could have frozen fire. "I kept you close because you were a member of my peerage, and I take my responsibilities seriously. There was never—" She stopped herself, took a breath, visibly recentered. "This is pointless. You can't hear what I'm actually saying, can you? Your delusion filters everything through your own twisted interpretation."

"It's not a delusion!" Saji's voice cracked with desperate intensity. "It's real! What we have is real! You're just scared—scared of your feelings, scared of what your family would say, scared of being with someone who isn't 'high-class' enough for a Sitri heiress. But I don't care about any of that! I love you, Sona-sama. I love you more than anything in this world or any other!" He was crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't care. Didn't try to hide it. 

This was his moment—the moment he'd dreamed about for years, imagined in a thousand different variations. Sona, finally confronting her true feelings. Sona, finally admitting that she'd been fighting her attraction to him. Sona, finally choosing him over all the others.

"I don't even care that you're not a virgin anymore!" he continued, voice thick with emotion. "I know Harry Sitri... touched you. Defiled you. Used you like one of his collection of sluts. But I forgive you, Sona-sama. None of that was your fault. He manipulated you, controlled you, took advantage of your vulnerability. And when we're finally together—when we're married and starting our new life—I promise I'll never hold it against you. I'll love you completely, unconditionally, the way you deserve to be loved."

Silence. Long, stretching silence that seemed to fill the dark room like water filling a glass.

Sona stared at him. And then, slowly, she began to laugh. It wasn't a pleasant sound. There was no warmth in it, no genuine humor. It was the laugh of someone who had just witnessed something so absurd, so completely divorced from reality, that the only possible response was bitter amusement.

"Forgive me," she said, the word dripping with contempt. "You'll forgive me. For being 'defiled.' By the man I love. The man I chose to be with. The man I will spend the rest of eternity standing beside."

"Sona-sama—"

"My name is Sona Sitri," she cut him off, all traces of laughter gone. "Heiress to the Sitri clan. Sister to Satan Leviathan. And—" Her voice softened, just slightly, taking on a warmth that made something in Saji's chest twist painfully. "—the woman who is very much in love with Harry Sitri. Not through mind control. Not through manipulation. Through choice. My choice, freely and gladly made."

"No." Saji shook his head violently. "No, that's not—you can't—"

"I can. I do." Sona took a step closer, her heels clicking against the concrete. "Harry makes me feel, Saji. Really feel in a way I never allowed myself to before I met him. He sees me—not the heiress, not the politician, not the ice queen everyone expects me to be—but me. The woman who's terrified of failure but too stubborn to admit it. The woman who builds walls around her heart because she was taught that vulnerability equals weakness. The woman who secretly loves terrible puns and competitive games and arguments about magical theory that go on for hours." Her eyes were bright now, but not with tears. With something fiercer. Something that looked almost like anger. "He makes me feel safe," she continued. "Safe enough to be imperfect. Safe enough to want things for myself instead of just for my family or my position. Safe enough to fall apart sometimes, knowing that he'll be there to help me put myself back together." She stopped directly in front of his chair, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something subtle and expensive, like winter roses. "That's what love looks like, Saji. That's what it actually feels like. Not this—" She gestured at him, at the chair, at everything. "—obsession. Not surveillance and stalking and secret photographs. Not attacking the person I care about because you can't stand the idea of me being happy with someone else."

"I did it for you!" The words tore out of Saji's throat, raw and desperate. "Everything I did was for you! To free you from him! To save you!"

"I don't need saving." Sona's voice was quiet now. Almost gentle, in a way that somehow made it worse. "I never needed saving. What I needed was for you to accept reality. To move on with your life. To find someone who could actually return your feelings instead of building a fantasy around someone who was never interested."She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew something—a small vial filled with iridescent liquid that seemed to shift colors in the dim light. Purples and blues and silvers swirled together like oil on water, hypnotic and deeply unsettling.

Saji's heart began to race. "What—" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What is that?"

"This?" Sona held up the vial, examining it with clinical detachment. "This is the solution to my problem. To you being my problem."

"I don't understand."

"No, I don't suppose you do." She sighed, and for a moment, she looked tired. Worn down in a way that he'd never seen before. "I didn't want to do this, Saji. I want you to know that. When I dissolved my peerage and sealed your memories, I genuinely hoped it would be enough. That you could go back to being a normal human, live a normal life, find normal happiness with someone who actually wanted to be with you."

"Sona-sama—"

"But then someone broke the seal. Someone gave you power you should never have had access to. And instead of questioning it—instead of wondering why mysterious benefactors were suddenly interested in helping you—you immediately used that power to attack the man I love." Her grip tightened on the vial. "You could have killed him, Saji. If he'd been weaker, or slower, or less experienced—if any of a hundred variables had been slightly different—you could have taken Harry away from me forever." Her voice trembled slightly on those last words, the first crack in her controlled facade. "And my sister and I would have lost everything!"

"I was trying to save you—"

She held up the vial again, letting the shifting colors catch what little light existed in the room. "Do you know what this is?"

Saji's mouth had gone dry. He shook his head mutely.

"It's called Vita Mutatio. 'Life Change,' in rough translation." Sona's clinical tone was back, like she was delivering a lecture rather than explaining his fate. "One of the rarest and most expensive potions in the Underworld. Acquiring it required calling in several significant favors from my sister—favors I'll be paying off for the next decade, probably." She moved closer still, and Saji instinctively tried to lean back, the chair groaning against its restraints.

"It was originally developed during the Great War, when the devils were desperate for any advantage over Heaven and the Fallen. The idea was simple—captured enemies could be transformed, their memories erased and rewritten, their bodies used for another purpose…"

"You're going to..." Saji's voice came out as a whisper. "You're going to turn me into a devil?"

"No." Sona shook her head. "I'm sure someone else will, but my Evil Pieces aren't going anywhere near you ever again…" She uncorked the vial. The scent that wafted out was strange—floral and chemical and somehow wrong, like flowers blooming in a toxic waste dump. "I'm going to turn you into a girl."

The words didn't make sense.

Saji heard them, processed them on a linguistic level, understood what each individual word meant—but assembled into that particular sentence, they refused to cohere into anything resembling reality. "That's... that's not possible."

"It very much is." Sona's voice remained calm, detached, like she was discussing the weather rather than fundamentally altering his existence. "The transformation is permanent and total. Physical structure, hormonal balance, reproductive system—everything. The original you will cease to exist in any meaningful biological sense."

"You can't—"

"I can. And I will." She held up her free hand, forestalling his protests. "But that's only the first part. The physical transformation is just the beginning." Sona reached into her pocket again, withdrawing a second vial—this one filled with something that looked like liquid darkness, black as pitch and utterly still. "This is a memory reconstruction serum. Much more common than the Vita Mutatio, but just as effective for my purposes." She examined the dark liquid with the same clinical detachment. "It will completely erase your memories. Not seal them, the way I did before. Erase. Everything you've ever experienced, everything you've ever known or felt or believed—gone. Like it never existed in the first place."

"No." The word came out as a whimper. "No, please—"

"And then—" Sona continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "—I will rebuild you. Create new memories, a new personality, a new identity from the ground up. Someone obedient. Someone useful. Someone who will serve House Sitri's interests without any of your... baggage." She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for just a moment, he saw something like regret flicker in those pink eyes. "I'm going to rename you Sanju," she said quietly. "You'll be a cute girl with a valuable Sacred Gear obviously. And then I'm going to sell you to one of my allies in the Underworld. Someone who needs a loyal servant, or a bodyguard, or...fuck toy." She shrugged. "Whatever they need. You'll be happy, probably. Happier than you've ever been as Saji Genshirou. You won't remember being miserable, being obsessed, being so consumed by an impossible fantasy that you couldn't see reality."

"Sona-sama, please—" Tears were streaming down Saji's face now, genuine terror finally breaking through the delusion. "Please don't do this. I'll change, I swear. I'll leave you alone. I'll never come near Harry Sitri again. I'll—I'll—"

"You'll say anything to make this stop," Sona finished for him. "I know. And maybe you'd even mean it, in this moment. But the obsession is too deep, Saji. It's been growing in you for years, feeding on itself, becoming more and more divorced from reality. Even if I let you go, even if I trusted your promises—how long until someone else offers you power? How long until you convince yourself that attacking Harry is 'for my own good'?" She shook her head.

"I can't take that risk. Harry is too important to me. My family—my real family, the one I've built with him and Serafall and everyone else—is too precious to gamble on your ability to control yourself." Sona held up both vials, one in each hand.

She stepped forward, and Saji screamed.

She grabbed his jaw with her free hand, fingers digging into his cheeks with bruising force, and tilted his head back.

"Bottoms up, Sanju."

The first vial of iridescent liquid touched his lips…

XXX

I wonder if this is the darkest thing I've ever written…?