HPxDXD: The Essence of a Devil - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Ancestry

To my surprise, there was no hidden library behind the door—just an empty room, no shelves, no ancient tomes revealing Lestrange secrets.

Instead, a small, dimly lit room.

The room looked far older than the manor, yet had not one speck of dust. Empty, except for a single stone pedestal at its center.

Engraved into its surface was a circular symbol: an intricate design of twisting lines, hooks, and overlapping rings. Perched above it was a raven — identical to the one on the Lestrange coat of arms. The symbol beneath it, though, was something else entirely. It didn't resemble any rune language I knew. If anything, it reminded me of those occult sigils Muggles associated with spirits, demons, and angels.

Which raised a fairly obvious question.

What the hell was something like that doing in the oldest part of Lestrange Manor?

The moment I stepped closer and stopped in front of the pedestal, the symbol began to glow.

Simultaneously, something like a Disillusionment Charm unraveled — and an intricate wooden chest appeared atop the pedestal, as if it had always been sitting there. The same symbol was carved into its lid.

I glanced around the room once, just to be thorough. Nothing else is activated. No traps visible, no hidden doors, no ominous whispers. Just the chest.

After a brief pause, I reached out.

I could have cast diagnostic charms — the manor's wards were strong enough to block the Trace, so underage magic wasn't a concern. But what would that actually tell me? This clearly magical box is, in fact, magical. Not exactly useful intelligence. I didn't have the expertise to determine whether whatever was woven into it was dangerous. And more to the point, I wanted to know what was inside.

I simply couldn't imagine my ancestors hiding a trap inside their own family chamber.

The moment my finger touched the smooth wooden surface, the symbol lit up again — this time in a warm golden-white glow. Unlike the first time, I actually felt it. Something wrapped around me, some shape of magic forming a connection I couldn't fully understand, linking me to whatever was within.

Then the chest opened on its own.

Inside was a potion.

The liquid in the crystal flask looked beautiful. Which, for a wizarding potion, was saying quite a lot. Most potions I'd encountered were visually unpleasant at best: muddy textures, ugly colors, some unfortunate combination of brown and green. Only the finest examples were remotely appealing — Felix Felicis, with its shimmering liquid gold, came to mind.

Quality-wise it reminded me of that, but only faintly. It was different in a way I couldn't quite articulate.

The liquid wasn't a single color. It wasn't a blend, either — it was two entirely distinct substances coexisting in the same flask without mixing. One portion looked like glowing ink, with a faint white, paper-like sheen to it. The other was a shifting spectrum of colors, like a contained rainbow.

And somehow, impossibly, they stayed separate.

I had never seen anything like it.

Carefully, I picked up the flask and examined it from every angle, then lifted the crystal lid and took a cautious sniff — old habit, courtesy of years watching Professor Snape inspect our work at the end of Potions class.

As expected, I had absolutely no clue what I was sniffing or looking at. My grades in Potions were decent, but I was no expert, and this was clearly beyond anything in the standard curriculum.

At least I looked competent while nobody was around.

Fortunately, there was something else inside the chest.

A letter.

It was addressed to the descendant of Malphas.

I frowned. I was certain I'd heard that name somewhere before, but I couldn't place it. More pressingly, this was supposed to be about Lestrange bloodline magic. What did someone named Malphas have to do with any of it? An ancestor, perhaps? The symbol on the pedestal and chest supported that idea, given the raven. Still, something felt off. Could it be a first name? Malphas Lestrange? No. That didn't feel right either.

I let out a slow breath, staring down at the letter.

Only one way to find out.

To my Descendant,

If thou readest these words, doubt it not — thou art of mine own blood. Though thy name be altered to veil our true origin, and though thy memories be dimmed by the passage of time, yet thy blood speaketh with unerring truth.

It must needs be so; for the warding magicks laid upon this coffer would have devoured thy very soul and restored this chamber unto its former state, hadst thou been aught else. In opening this chamber, thou hast proven thyself to have fully inherited my bloodline, which I foresaw would grow thin amongst my descendants, though not yet lost in its fullness.

Grievously wounded during the Great War, I was compelled to take refuge in the Human world, hiding from my enemies. My life force being shattered, my span of years was sorely diminished, and thus my blood lay dormant within those who came after me. Yet a prophecy, spoken by a trusted friend, assured me that in time a descendant of mine would arise — one worthy to bear my name once more.

Only such a one could open this door.

Such a person would wield but the feeblest of wizards' spells and be quickly spent. Perchance thou hast believed thy magic to be flawed — but such is not the truth, or rather, it is a false understanding. Thy source is not broken, but incomplete, functioning at less than half its rightful strength. For thou dost bear not only the lineage of the ancient wizards, but also mine own — the lineage of the first Malphas. Within thee lieth a perfect union of magical human and devil. Yet by reason of the wounds I suffered, thy devilish half remaineth dormant.

But take heart, mine heir — I have awaited thee.

With my life all but forfeit, I called in the debts owed unto me and spent the remnants of my wealth to prepare two gifts, that thou might restore our Name and House.

In the days when this world was yet raw and untamed, in the youth of my years, I did chance upon a being from beyond its bounds — a man of power beyond reckoning. Having aided him, he granted me a boon, which I now bestow upon thee.

The potion thou hast found within this coffer shall awaken thy dormant devil's nature and grant thee the essence of my bloodline's gift. I was ever known for my mastery of knowledge and boundless creativity; this draught shall awaken within thee a mightier expression thereof.

Lastly, I did call upon a favor from Ajuka Astaroth, a young genius and dear ally of mine. He hath prepared for thee a set of his most recent inventions, wrought to combat the waning numbers of devils after the Great War. These are named Evil Pieces. Thou shalt find them, along with their instructions, at the bottom of this chest. They shall prove of great aid in restoring the power of our house.

Stand now, and reclaim what is thine by right.

Thy Ancestor, Malphas, the Great President of Hell

What the fuck.

The Lestranges were descended from a Devil. A President of Hell? I had Devil blood running through me right now, at this very moment. At least I understood the name now — Malphas was one of the 72 Pillars from the Lesser Key of Solomon, though I'd always thought they were called Demons rather than Devils.

Then again, given the Lestrange family's long and enthusiastic relationship with the darkest corners of magic — and some of what I'd already read in the family records, which included ancestral Dark Wizards who had gone fully down that road, sacrificing innocents for power — perhaps it wasn't entirely unbelievable. If anything, it explained a few things. And I'd only read the accessible part of the library. I could only imagine what the Restricted Section held.

The larger question, though, was this: was I ready to become an actual Devil? A being darker than any dark Wizard?

Obviously yes. Who was I kidding?

I had been struggling with weak magic since childhood. It had been a constant shadow over what should have been an exciting reincarnation, a persistent humiliation in a world where magic was everything. Especially as a Pureblood.

The idea that I could fix it — not through years of grinding or some risky experimental ritual, but by simply drinking a potion — and gain new abilities in the process, while still remaining fundamentally myself? That was not a difficult decision.

From the context in the letter, I could also infer that devils lived extraordinarily long lives — possibly indefinitely. Malphas had died from injury, not age, and the phrase "in the days when this world was yet raw and untamed" suggested he had been alive for a very long time indeed.

I should have had someone examine the potion first. Logically, I knew that. But this was one of those rare situations where doing so was simply impossible. Sharing the existence of something this unusual — or the nature of my bloodline — with anyone would be deeply stupid. There was almost certainly only one such potion in existence, crafted from resources sourced from outside the boundaries of this world. If I lost it, I could never replace it.

There was nobody I could trust with it.

Decision made, I drank it.

The moment the liquid touched my tongue, my senses flooded. Part of it tasted like paper, though not unpleasantly so. The rest shifted constantly, becoming whatever flavor I happened to want in that moment — a sensation that was entirely unique, somehow lasting an eternity and only a few seconds at the same time.

Then the changes began.

A warm tingle spread beneath my skin. New information surfaced in my mind, settling into place as though it had always been there. And then both sensations converged on two specific points along my back — and I felt, with sudden clarity, that I could release them.

A moment of concentration later, a pair of black bat-like wings unfolded from my back.

Physical changes. Of course.

I'd expected something like this, but I'd hoped for nothing too conspicuous — a pair of very visible non-human wings was less than ideal for maintaining any semblance of a normal social existence. Still, supposedly, demons could alter their forms. Perhaps devils could too. And as I thought it, I noticed that the wings had somehow emerged through my clothing without tearing a single thread. More metaphysical than physical, then.

Testing the instinct, I willed them away. They folded inward and vanished — yet I could still sense their presence, waiting just beneath the surface.

Neat. Unsupported flight was always useful to have.

The wings were only the most visible change. I felt physically stronger, sharper — but that was almost superficial compared to what I noticed next. My magical core, the faint familiar reservoir I had spent years straining to use, was not fixed. There was simply something else added to it. An additional part to my source of Power. Another half that just formed.

Though notably, the amount of wizarding magic I had didn't appear to have increased. That remained a problem. But I have now gained a new form of devil magic? At least once, I figure out how to use it.

I turned my attention to the new knowledge, and nearly stopped breathing.

Oh my Go— ow.

That was interesting. It seemed I could no longer think — or presumably say — that particular name without experiencing immediate, sharp discomfort. A downside of becoming a Devil, apparently.

If my knowledge of demon and devil lore from fiction was at all accurate, this would also extend to weaknesses against anything Light or Holy. Holy water, consecrated objects, that sort of thing. I would need to be careful.

If those were the only downsides? I had absolutely made the right choice.

Now. Superior versions of Malphas's bloodline abilities.

How superior were we talking?

Because what I was looking at was, frankly, broken. If he had anything close to these, then how powerful were the beings in this world?

Knowledge and Creativity. Vague as a description — and yet somehow perfectly apt.

With a moment of concentration, a leather-bound tome appeared in my hand. This was the Akashic Grimoire: the soulbound embodiment of the Knowledge aspect of my bloodline ability.

At its most basic, the Grimoire granted answers. Given sufficient time, it could respond to any question about this world — the more obscure the inquiry, the longer it took, but the function was essentially that of an infinitely patient search engine.

Any book in my proximity was automatically copied into it, which dramatically accelerated response times for anything already committed to text. It also meant I never needed to carry books to class again.

It never ran out of pages.

But that was only the surface. One of its core functions was the collection of rituals — methods for self-improvement, perfectly calibrated to me, adaptable to others if necessary. Strengthening the body, the soul, magical ability, and even the powers I had already gained. All of it is available.

Still, I'd call even that part of "Knowledge."

Then there was the rest.

The Grimoire could store energy — any variety of supernatural energy — and draw upon that reserve to summon things. Objects, creatures, people from other worlds. The strength and scale of what could be summoned scaled directly with the energy spent.

And beyond even that, it could facilitate travel to other universes.

Not other planets. Not other dimensions within this cosmos.

Actual, distinct fictional universes.

Lastly, it contains a infinite pocket dimension I can use to store objects, living beings and even myself.

I sat with that for a moment.

Right. Completely broken. Moving on.

That was only the Knowledge half. The Creativity aspect was, depending on your perspective, potentially even more absurd.

Skill and Power Creation.

It reminded me, uncomfortably, of some ecchi harem light novel I'd read years ago — the kind with a ridiculous setting, questionable narrative priorities, and a protagonist with abilities so overpowered they broke any sense of tension. I was apparently living that premise now.

The ability generated a form of energy — essentially a currency — which I'd mentally labelled Skill Points, or SP. With sufficient SP, I could create any skill or power I could clearly conceptualise.

Want Haki? Achievable, provided I could pay for it.

Something like one of the three Haki types would run into the millions of SP, and mastering it would cost roughly 120 times more than the base acquisition price. Mastery is ranked from D through C, B, A, and finally S — full mastery. Buying straight to S-rank from the start meant 120 times the initial cost.

Yeah. Training the conventional way was clearly the better early option.

SP generated passively at one point per second — which sounds reasonable until the maths caught up: a third of a year of passive accumulation for a single D-rank Haki ability. For a single skill or ability, it was not faster than learning it the natural way.

Although I am basing that on Luffy’s learning speed during the two-year timeskip. He took a year to learn the basics of the three Haki from Rayleigh. After that time, he was probably skillful enough to match the D-Rank Mastery I could afford in the same amount of time.

But that was just the passive SP generation.

The active generation method was more interesting. To put it plainly, I had to behave like a Devil. Engage with the Seven Deadly Sins — accumulate wealth, cultivate pride, refuse to be pushed around, enjoy food, enjoy the company of women, surpass others, rest unapologetically when I feel like it.

Greed, Pride, Wrath, Lust, Gluttony, Envy, Sloth. The seven deadly sins.

I could work with that.

Just from exploring the changes in my body over the last few minutes, I'd already generated a modest amount. Not much — barely enough to learn the basics of something completely mundane like knitting. But it was a start, and it would compound with time.

These two abilities changed everything.

Not even an hour ago, I had been thinking about my escape — figuring out how to quietly move my wealth out of the country and disappear before the war caught up with me. That was completely unnecessary now. I had the better part of a year before Voldemort's return, and longer still before he became a direct problem.

That was more than enough time to surpass him. Or at least to get to a level where I can protect myself from him.

...Though I should probably not get cocky.

This world was clearly much larger than the wizarding community. The mysterious benefactor who had granted my ancestor that potion was alone sufficient evidence of that, and whatever else existed out there had millennia of history I knew nothing about.

The original Malphas's abilities had presumably been weaker versions of what I now held, and he still should have been a figure of significant power. There were almost certainly things in this world that could kill me without much effort.

I needed to be careful.

More than that, my suspicion about the nature of this world was hardening into something close to certainty.

The letter had dropped too many hints for it to be anything other than a crossover setting. Mentioning Devils alone was suspicious enough. But the Evil Pieces mentioned at the letter's end?

That was a dead giveaway.

What I had assumed was the bottom of the chest turned out to be a false panel. Beneath it, resting on a soft silk cushion, was a set of smooth black chess pieces. They looked ordinary at first glance — almost. It was only half a set. There was no King and no white pieces. And the moment I laid eyes on them, I felt a quiet, unmistakable connection to each one.

It had been years since I'd read those light novels. I hadn't kept up with the series after a certain point, and my recollection of the finer details was hazy at best. But seeing the pieces in front of me now confirmed it clearly enough.

I hadn't just reincarnated into the world of Harry Potter.

I was in High School DxD as well.

Fuck.