Chapter Text
Summer began at Hogwarts in mourning.
Cedric Diggory was dead.
Lord Voldemort had returned.
Most people in the magical community were getting ready to act like neither of these things had actually happened.
The Hogwarts castle was quiet now, the Great Hall empty after the students had left on the train. The professors walked around, talking softly and looking serious. The old school seemed to be waiting, like it knew something big and bad had just happened, and even the stones were holding their breath.
In his office, Albus Dumbledore stood at the window and watched storm clouds gather over the Scottish Highlands.
He had been around long enough to know when trouble was looming on the horizon.
Voldemort had regained his body.
Harry had made it through, but the price he paid was one that no kid should ever have to pay.
The Ministry, under the leadership of Cornelius Fudge, decided to stick its head in the sand rather than get ready for what was coming.
The elderly magician clasped his hands together behind him, letting out a soft breath.
There was a war coming.
Which meant Hogwarts must become more than a school. It must become a refuge.
A fortress.
A place where kids could learn, feel safe, and maybe even develop the emotional strength to cope with the tough times that were coming.
He shifted his gaze away from the window and back to the pile of papers waiting for him on his desk.
Staffing.
Even when the world seemed to be falling apart, the need for educators remained, and the hiring process continued as usual.
The job of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts was empty, which was a problem in itself.
Dumbledore's mind began to wander to a different classroom, one that was dull and uninteresting, with students who struggled to stay awake every year.
History of Magic.
Professor Cuthbert Binns was incredibly knowledgeable, but times had changed. The past was no longer just something to study in a classroom. Soon, every student in Britain would have to learn about how fear, prejudice, and strict control had influenced the history of wizards. This was because the world was different now, and understanding these things was crucial. The old way of thinking, where the past was just a distant memory, was no longer enough. Now, students needed to know how these factors had shaped the world they lived in, and how they could learn from it.
History would matter.
And his students needed to care.
Dumbledore was looking for a friendly chat, nothing too serious. He just wanted to casually mention to Professor Binns that it might be a good idea to mix things up a bit in his teaching style. You know, add some interesting stories, get the students talking, and make the lessons more engaging.
A modest proposal.
He picked up the little silver bell that was sitting on his desk and gave it a ring.
Not long after, the eerie form of Professor Binns floated right through the door of the office, which was still closed.
“You wished to see me, Headmaster?”
“Yes, thank you for coming, Professor.”
Dumbledore gestured toward a chair. Binns ignored it, as he had ignored furniture for centuries.
Dumbledore smiled kindly.
“I have been reflecting upon the coming school year.”
Binns blinked slowly.
“Indeed.”
I think it's really important for our students to have a good understanding of history, probably more so than ever before.
“Quite.”
Dumbledore folded his fingers together.
"I think it would be really helpful if you could update your teaching approach. Maybe include more class discussions and focus on how things that happened in the past are still relevant today. That way, we can see how historical events have an impact on our lives now."
Silence.
Professor Binns looked at him like he was crazy, as if suggesting they trade in their traditional writing materials for some kind of bizarre performance art.
"Binns finally spoke up, saying, 'My teaching methods have worked just fine for the past 312 years, so I don't see any need to change them now.'"
“Undoubtedly,” Dumbledore said. “ Nevertheless—”
“Three hundred and twelve years.”
“Yes.”
Binns stood tall, his presence filling the space around him, despite being without a physical body.
“If students fail to appreciate goblin treaties, that is hardly a deficiency in pedagogy.”
“No criticism was intended.”
Binns sounded really upset when he said, "If schools are now supposed to be entertaining, then maybe Hogwarts doesn't need me anymore."
Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles.
“My dear Professor, I merely suggested—”
“I resign.”
The words echoed through the office.
Dumbledore blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
Binns said it again, his voice calm and serious. "I resign, effective right now."
As the ghost suddenly turned, it floated right through the wall, leaving Dumbledore without a chance to react.
The office fell silent.
Fawkes let out a soft, questioning trill.
Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking a bit tired.
He stood there, silent for a moment, before finally speaking up, " That…. Did not exactly go as planned."
He eased himself into his chair and gazed down at the parchment that lay on his desk, his eyes scanning it slowly.
Two vacancies.
Defence Against the Dark Arts.
History of Magic.
Outside, thunder rolled over the mountains.
Dumbledore dipped his quill into emerald ink and began drafting recruitment notices.
He sent them to established magical academies, retired scholars, professional associations, international contacts, and, thanks to a new and improved platform that connects people across different areas, many well-known schools are now open to hiring teachers from outside their usual networks.
He stopped for a moment, read over what he had written, and then scribbled down one last thought.
- Exceptional candidates with unconventional backgrounds will be considered.
A small smile touched his beard.
In the darkest of times, it's often necessary to consider unconventional approaches, to think outside the box and be receptive to unusual solutions that might just lead to a breakthrough.
Dumbledore carefully sealed the last envelope with a small amount of wax, making sure it was closed tightly, and then set it aside to be sent out.
Somewhere beyond the tower windows, lightning illuminated the castle.
Hogwarts stood ancient and proud against the storm.
It had no idea what was coming,
---------------------
By the time summer rolled around in 2025, the wizarding world had finally, albeit reluctantly, come to accept that parchment was no longer enough on its own.
Britain hadn't exactly jumped on the modern technology bandwagon in a way that made sense, and that's putting it mildly.
The Ministry of Magic mostly did its work the old way, using owl post, handwritten notes, and special paper airplanes that could fly between departments. A lot of witches and wizards were still wary of things that needed to be plugged in. They were worried about using non-magical technology in the wrong way, and there were a few departments that were really concerned about "the internet" - they didn't quite know what to make of it.
Nevertheless, practical realities had begun to force change.
International recruitment, in particular, had become increasingly difficult to manage by traditional means. Foreign magical schools and institutions expected faster communication, searchable listings, and something called “online application portals,” which had caused several senior Ministry officials to develop migraines.
The Department of Magical Education found a middle ground by teaming up with a special company that makes safe online hiring systems that work across different platforms.
In theory, the system translated magical notices into a form that could be transmitted through both enchanted and electronic channels while preserving confidentiality and anti-tampering wards. Job postings entered into the network were automatically mirrored across approved educational databases, international magical registries, and affiliated supernatural employment boards.
In practice, no one entirely understood how it worked.
The official documentation contained phrases such as:
“thaumaturgic packet conversion,”
“arcane-compatible cloud architecture,”
and “interplanar metadata propagation.”
Many people who work for the Ministry didn't ask more questions when they heard these terms, they just let it go.
A group of tech-savvy magical beings, some freelance enchanters, and a consultant came together to create this service. The consultant was really keen on using the term "dimensionally interoperable" and claimed it was more than just a fancy marketing phrase. They worked with the others to develop the service, which was quite an achievement. The team's mix of magical and technical expertise was likely what made the service so special.
The main thing to note, as stated in the brochure, is that recruitment notices can now be properly targeted to reach all the well-known schools and accepted surrounding areas.
Few users paid much attention to the final two words.
When Albus Dumbledore submitted Hogwarts’ job advertisements for Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic, the notices were encoded, encrypted, warded, and released into the network.
They went through servers, magic spell things, and special helpers that made magic work.
They were indexed.
Tagged.
Categorized.
Copied.
And, due to a perfectly legitimate interpretation of the phrase “adjacent realms,” they were quietly mirrored onto employment boards accessible far beyond the mortal world.
Into areas that the Ministry had not planned to reach.
Into markets that no head of Hogwarts had ever thought to recruit from before.
Into the sprawling, hyperconnected digital ecosystem of Hell.
In the midst of all the streaming platforms, social media feeds, secret message boards, and huge company networks, something new suddenly showed up:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Positions Available: History of Magic; Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Exceptional candidates with unconventional backgrounds will be considered.
In the Pride Ring, a number of quite unusual candidates caught people's attention.
--------------
The advertisement reached Hell on a Tuesday.
Not with thunder, prophecy, or ominous fanfare.
It appeared quietly in the corner of Lucifer Morningstar’s tablet while he sat alone in his study, half-reading and half pretending he was not thinking too hard about the conversation he had recently had with Charlie Morningstar.
The room was incredibly luxurious, a true reflection of Lucifer's personal style. It had polished black floors that seemed to gleam in the light, shelves lined with old, leather-bound books that gave off a sense of tradition and knowledge. The curtains were a deep, rich crimson, and there were apples everywhere - carved into the furniture, embroidered on the cushions, and even shaped like decorative ornaments. It was either a sign of Lucifer's sophisticated taste or a quirky obsession, but either way, it was certainly a unique and intriguing touch.
A small brass duck wearing a crown sat beside his untouched tea.
Lucifer himself lounged in an armchair, blond hair swept neatly back, one leg crossed over the other. Outwardly he looked perfectly composed.
On the inside, he was going through something he personally thought of as a Big Thing.
Charlie had asked him to help.
Not as the King of Hell.
Not as some distant, legendary figure.
As her father.
And while he would sooner swallow a live porcupine than admit it aloud, that simple fact had shaken him more profoundly than any rebellion, uprising, or celestial conflict in recent memory.
He wanted to do better.
The difficulty was that he was no longer entirely certain what “better” looked like.
His tablet chimed.
Lucifer looked down, thinking he'd see yet another reminder about a meeting or one of those endless reports about the underworld's markets that he never bothered to read.
Instead, he found an unfamiliar listing.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Position Available: History of Magic
Exceptional candidates with unconventional backgrounds will be considered.
Lucifer blinked.
Then he sat up straighter.
“History of Magic?”
He touched the screen and the advertisement expanded.
A castle in Scotland.
An ancient magical institution.
A school seeking an instructor with broad historical knowledge and the ability to engage students in understanding the past and its relevance to the present.
Lucifer read the posting once.
Then again.
And then, for a third time, he did it again, but this time more slowly, as a small spark of real interest began to shine through his red eyes.
He knew history.
He knew empires, revolutions, treaties, betrayals, and the long, repetitive cycle of powerful people making catastrophically stupid decisions.
He had witnessed a staggering number of historic events, more than many entire cultures could even recall.
To be completely truthful, he had a real fondness for sharing stories.
He enjoyed an audience.
He enjoyed being listened to.
But behind all the drama and show, something else was going on, quietly and out of sight.
A chance to matter.
A chance to build something.
A chance to be useful.
Lucifer stared at the glowing screen.
A smile spread across his face, his lips curving upward in a slow and delighted grin.
“Oh,” he murmured.
A moment later, the study doors flew open.
Charlie burst into the room, bright and earnest as always, with Danica, Dani Morningstar, close behind her, practically vibrating with energy and curiosity. His younger daughter was bouncing on the heels of her feet. Her last years at Pride’s Royal Middle Academy had been …difficult. Lucifer knew his younger daughter was spirited and a bit.. Unusual in a way that some thought too much. She , possibly like him, experienced things differently and she, like him, was incredibly, deeply sensitive. Even if she showed that in…unsettling ways.
Dani beamed brightly dressed in cozy pajama loungewear and barrettes in her semishort hair. Her hair color and the tint of her white skin, slightly leaned more to looking like Lilith than him. She had more rosy pink spots on her cheeks and her eyes were a pinkish red. Around her neck was a small charm she made out of craft supplies. Vaguely resembling an Ophanim eye.
“Dad! Have you seen this?” Charlie exclaimed .
Lucifer lifted the tablet.
“My dear, I was just reading it.”
Charlie’s eyes widened.
“You’re interested?”
Lucifer rose from his chair and began pacing, excitement gathering with every step.
“Interested? Charlie, this is a magical school in a medieval castle seeking a historian of extraordinary experience. I have extraordinary experience.”
Charlie clasped her hands.
“And if we went to Earth, I could learn more about people and redemption and helping students and—”
“Yes, yes, all excellent reasons,” Lucifer said, waving a hand.
Dani was bouncing on her heels and blurted “DADDDDD this sounds awesome….I would LOVE to go here. I could go to school with REGULAR KIDS.”
“...regular” Lucifer tilted his head.
“I mean…” Dani sighed .She gestured with a hand. “Not… royal” She made a face. “A lot of royal kids my age are……:
Charlie looked at her concerned
“Snotty” Dani said “and MEAN”
“Well…,” Lucifer said carefully.
He looked at Dani properly then.
Not just the excited bouncing or the bright expression she wore whenever something captured her interest, but the strain underneath it.
Royal Middle Academy had not been kind to her.
Not overtly cruel, perhaps. Not in the dramatic way Hell sometimes encouraged. The children of Pride’s aristocracy specialized in subtler things: exclusion, whispers, patronizing smiles, and the quiet social brutality of deciding someone was strange.
Dani was strange.
Brilliantly, vividly strange.
She spoke too fast when excited. Hyperfocused on odd little details. Asked questions other people found unsettling. Felt emotions with frightening intensity and expressed them in ways that could swing from painfully earnest to deeply alarming with almost no warning.
And she was powerful.
Far more powerful than most demons her age.
That combination tended to make people nervous.
Lucifer understood that better than anyone.
Perhaps because, in too many ways, she resembled him.
Charlie, warm and radiant, had inherited more of Lilith’s social grace. But Dani—
Dani had inherited his intensity.
His restless mind.
His tendency to feel everything too sharply.
Even now, she was fidgeting with the little handcrafted Ophanim charm around her neck, fingers moving rapidly as excitement bled into nervous energy.
“A normal school,” Dani repeated more quietly. “Or… well. Closer to normal.”
Charlie’s expression softened immediately.
“Oh, Dani…”
“I’m serious!” Dani blurted. “Do you know how exhausting royal school is? Everyone’s always trying to impress somebody or sabotage somebody or network with somebody and half the teachers act like having hobbies is a moral failure.”
Lucifer grimaced faintly.
That did sound like the Pride Ring aristocracy.
“And every time I got excited about magic theory,” Dani continued, “everyone looked at me like I was planning a murder.”
Charlie hesitated.
“…Were you?”
Dani looked offended.
“Not recently.”
Lucifer pressed a hand briefly over his mouth, hiding what was dangerously close to a laugh.
Charlie sighed.
“Dani.”
“What? I’m improving.”
“You made a model nervous system out of enchanted gummy worms last month.”
“It was educational.”
“It screamed.”
“That was ..uh….a design flaw.”
Lucifer finally lost the battle and barked out a startled laugh.
The sound seemed to brighten the entire room.
Dani grinned instantly at the reaction, shoulders loosening.
And Lucifer felt something twist painfully in his chest at how obvious it was that she had been trying to earn approval.
Not fear.
Not caution.
Approval.
He looked back down at the glowing advertisement in his hand.
A school hidden from most of the world.
A place full of young witches and wizards.
Students who, from the wording alone, sounded less obsessed with status than the children of Hell’s elite.
A fresh start , For Charlie. For Dani.
Perhaps, selfishly, for himself as well.
Lucifer straightened his coat with sudden decisiveness.
“Well,” he announced, “if we are going to infiltrate a centuries-old magical institution, we ought to do it properly.”
Charlie blinked.
“…That sounded significantly more villainous than I think you intended.”
“I was considered the Devil for millennia, sweetheart. Villainous phrasing is muscle memory.”
Dani bounced excitedly.
“We’re really doing this?”
Lucifer smiled.
“Yes,” he said.
Then his eyes gleamed.
“And if these people truly expect me to teach history, I refuse to do it badly.”
Charlie lit up immediately.
“Oh my gosh, you’d be AMAZING at this.”
Lucifer looked deeply pleased by this extremely accurate observation.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled faintly across the Pride Ring skyline.
And far above Earth, in the ancient towers of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore unknowingly set into motion one of the strangest hiring decisions in magical history.
-------------------
Elsewhere in the Pride Ring, the atmosphere was significantly less heartfelt.
Towering screens bathed the headquarters of Vox Industries in shifting electric blue light while infernal advertisements flashed across entire walls. Music thumped faintly somewhere several floors below. Demonic employees hurried through glass corridors carrying tablets, cables, and drinks containing colors not found in nature.
At the center of it all, Vox was in the middle of what should have been a routine strategy meeting.
Instead, he was losing an argument with a livestream analytics graph.
“That spike makes no sense,” Vox snapped, glaring at the floating display. “Why are views dropping in the seventeen-to-twenty-four despair demographic?”
One unfortunate employee swallowed nervously.
“Sir, we think engagement may have shifted due to the Cannibal Quarter outage and—”
“An outage?” Vox’s screen flickered with irritation. “How do you lose connectivity to an entire district?”
“In fairness,” another employee offered weakly, “they did eat three technicians.”
Before Vox could respond, the conference room doors slid open.
Velvette strode inside without slowing, scrolling through her phone with practiced disinterest.
“Oh my God,” she announced, “you are still obsessing over engagement metrics.”
“They matter,” Vox shot back.
“They matter less than the fact you’ve spent the last three weeks searching for signs of Radio Grandpa on every platform in Hell.”
Vox straightened immediately.
“I do not obsess over Alastor.”
Several employees simultaneously looked away.
Velvette snorted.
“Please. You have alerts set for his name.”
“I have monitoring protocols.”
“You programmed a facial recognition crawler.”
“That was strategic.”
“You made it detect deer motifs.”
“That was also strategic.”
Velvette finally looked up from her phone, grinning like someone about to throw a lit match into dry grass.
“Well,” she said casually, “good news.”
Vox narrowed his eyes.
“What.”
She turned the screen toward him.
A familiar listing glowed there.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Positions Available.
Exceptional candidates with unconventional backgrounds will be considered.
Vox blinked.
“…A school?”
“In Scotland,” Velvette supplied. “Apparently a bunch of the hotel weirdos are going.”
At that, Vox visibly stilled.
Velvette watched the exact moment the bait caught.
“Oh, it gets better,” she continued. “Radio Creeper’s interested.”
Static crackled sharply across Vox’s monitor-face.
“Alastor.”
“Mhm.”
“He’s going to Earth.”
“Mhm.”
“To a wizard school.”
Velvette’s grin widened.
“Mhm.”
A dangerous silence filled the room.
Then Vox slowly leaned back in his chair.
“No.”
Velvette blinked.
“No?”
“I refuse,” Vox declared, “to allow that smug, vintage psychopath unrestricted access to an entirely new audience demographic.”
One employee quietly muttered: “He’s doing it again.”
Vox pointed dramatically at the recruitment listing.
“Do you have any idea what kind of branding opportunities magical Britain represents? Hidden society. Untapped media market. International expansion potential.”
Velvette stared at him flatly.
“You decided this thirty seconds ago.”
“I decide many things quickly. It’s called vision.”
His screen flickered as thoughts accelerated visibly behind it.
“A secret magical population in 2025 and they still use parchment?” he muttered. “Dear God, their infrastructure must be catastrophic.”
Velvette leaned against the table.
“So you’re applying?”
Vox stood abruptly.
“Oh, I’m absolutely applying.”
“Why?”
Vox looked personally offended by the question.
“Because if Alastor gets there first, he’ll somehow become beloved by emotionally unstable teenagers.”
A pause.
Then, more quietly:
“And I refuse to lose a market demographic to a man who still dresses like a 1920s funeral director.”
From somewhere near the back of the room, an exhausted employee whispered: “We are never escaping this divorce.”