The candlelight flickered against the stone walls of the Potter family vault beneath Gringotts, casting dancing shadows across the ancient ritual circle carved into the floor. James Potter knelt at one point of the pentagram, his usually messy hair even more disheveled from running his hands through it nervously—though somehow he still managed to look effortlessly handsome in that insufferable way that had made Lily fall in love with him. Across from him, Lily sat cross-legged, her emerald eyes reflecting both determination and fear, her red hair catching the golden light like spun copper.
"Are you absolutely certain about this, Lily?" James asked, his voice carrying that particular cadence that managed to be both vulnerable and theatrical at once. "Because I have to say, when I imagined our romantic evening, this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Bit more dungeon-y than I was hoping for."
Lily's hand found his across the circle, her touch steady and grounding. "The Healers said it themselves, James. The curse damage is irreversible. This is our only chance." Her voice was firm, practical, but James could hear the slight tremor beneath it—the fear she was trying so hard to hide.
In the center of their joined hands lay the ancient tome Sirius had reluctantly provided from the Black family library—*Rites of Summoning: Entities Beyond the Veil*. The leather binding seemed to pulse with its own dark energy, and James eyed it with obvious distaste.
"You know," James said, attempting his usual charm despite the circumstances, "Sirius did warn us. He said—and I quote—'My family used this particular ritual only when they were feeling particularly suicidal or particularly desperate.' I believe he mentioned something about Great-Aunt Bellatrix using it to summon a demon to help her win a particularly vicious game of Wizard's Chess."
"Did she win?" Lily asked, raising an eyebrow in that way that always made James's heart skip.
"Well, yes, but the demon apparently cheated terribly and then redecorated her parlor in what she described as 'aggressively modern' furnishings. She never quite recovered from the trauma of minimalism."
Despite everything, Lily laughed—that bright, musical sound that James had fallen in love with the very first time he'd heard it. "See? This is exactly why I married you, Potter. You can make me laugh even when we're about to potentially summon something that could kill us both."
"Potentially?" James grinned, some of his natural cockiness returning. "Darling, I prefer to think of it as 'probably won't kill us immediately.' Much more optimistic, don't you think?"
"Your optimism is one of your most terrifying qualities," Lily said fondly. "Along with your complete inability to take anything seriously when you're nervous."
"I take things seriously!" James protested, then paused thoughtfully. "I just prefer to take them seriously while maintaining my devastating good looks and natural wit. It's all about presentation, Lily."
She shook her head, but her smile was warm with affection. "You're impossible."
"And yet you married me anyway. What does that say about your judgment?"
"That it's either remarkably good or catastrophically poor, and I haven't decided which yet." Lily's expression grew more serious. "James, we *are* desperate. I want a family with you. I want children who have your laugh and your terrible taste in Quidditch teams and your absolutely maddening ability to make everything seem like an adventure."
"My taste in Quidditch teams is impeccable, thank you very much. The Chudley Cannons are clearly just... building character. It's a long-term strategy."
"They haven't won a match in three years."
"Exactly! Think of how triumphant their eventual victory will be. The drama! The pathos! The sheer narrative satisfaction!"
Lily stared at him. "You're seriously defending the Cannons right now? While we're about to summon a potentially murderous entity?"
James shrugged elegantly. "Multi-tasking, love. One of my many talents." His expression softened. "Besides, if we don't maintain some sense of normalcy, I might actually think about what we're doing and run screaming from this vault."
"And leave me here alone?"
"Never," James said immediately, all traces of humor vanishing from his voice. "Never, Lily. Whatever happens, we're in this together."
She squeezed his hand. "Then let's do this before I lose my nerve entirely."
They began the incantation together, their voices weaving through the ancient Latin words with surprising harmony. James, despite his tendency toward dramatics, had always been excellent with languages, and Lily's pronunciation was precise and confident. The air grew thick, electric, and the temperature dropped noticeably. The candle flames suddenly roared higher, and then—
A sound like rushing wind filled the vault, though no breeze touched them. The pentagram blazed with golden light, and in its center, a figure began to materialize.
James scrambled backward, pulling Lily with him in a movement that was both protective and theatrical. "Bloody hell! That's... that's actually working!"
"Did you doubt it would?" Lily asked breathlessly.
"Well, no, but there's a difference between intellectually knowing something might work and actually seeing a mysterious figure materializing in our family vault!"
The figure solidified into a tall man in an impeccably tailored black suit that probably cost more than most people's annual salary. His dark hair was perfectly styled despite apparently arriving through interdimensional travel, and he looked around the vault with the sort of mild interest one might show when viewing a particularly quaint museum exhibit.
"Well," the man said in a crisp British accent that managed to be both posh and somehow inviting, "this is delightfully atmospheric. Usually when I get summoned, it's to penthouse apartments or the occasional boardroom. A proper dungeon vault? This takes me back." He brushed imaginary dust off his sleeves with practiced ease. "Though I have to say, the décor could use some work. Very... medieval chic?"
James and Lily stared at him in stunned silence.
The man turned to face them with a disarming smile that was equal parts charming and dangerous. "Oh, where are my manners? Hello there. I'm Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar." He paused expectantly. "And you are?"
James tried to speak but only managed something that sounded like a cross between a cough and a strangled cat. Lily, however, found her voice first—as she usually did in crisis situations.
"You're... you're not what we expected."
Lucifer's smile widened, showing perfect white teeth. "I get that a lot, actually. Let me guess—you were expecting horns, weren't you? Maybe a pitchfork? Perhaps some dramatic red lighting and the scent of brimstone?" He gestured to himself with obvious pride. "Sorry to disappoint, but I've always believed that if you're going to be evil incarnate, you might as well look absolutely fantastic while doing it. Image is everything, really."
"You're very..." Lily began, then stopped.
"Handsome? Charming? Devastatingly well-dressed?" Lucifer supplied helpfully. "Yes, I know. It's a burden, really, being this attractive while also being the literal Devil. Makes it very difficult for people to take me seriously as a threat."
James finally found his voice. "Are you actually threatening us?"
"Oh, good heavens, no!" Lucifer looked genuinely offended. "I'm simply making conversation. Though I suppose I should ask—what exactly were you expecting when you performed that rather impressive summoning ritual? Because I have to tell you, the execution was flawless. Really, quite professional. Where did you learn it?"
"Sirius Black gave us the book," Lily said carefully. "From his family library."
"Ah, the Blacks!" Lucifer's expression brightened considerably. "Lovely family. Well, 'lovely' in the sense that they're absolutely barking mad and have no qualms about dabbling in the most dangerous magic imaginable. I've met several of them over the years. Charming people, in their way. Very dramatic. I appreciate good drama."
"You've met other wizards?" James asked, his natural curiosity overriding his fear.
"Oh yes. Grindelwald was particularly fond of summoning me for advice. Terrible listener, that one. I told him repeatedly that his plans were far too obvious, but did he listen? Of course not. And then there was that business with Voldemort trying to make a deal a few years back..."
"Voldemort tried to summon you?" Lily's voice was sharp with alarm.
"Tried being the operative word," Lucifer said dismissively. "Absolutely dreadful technique. No style, no finesse, and frankly, terrible negotiating skills. Plus he kept insisting on calling me 'Dark Lord' which was just... no. I have standards."
James was staring at Lucifer with an expression of fascinated horror. "This is surreal. We're having a casual conversation with the Devil about Dark wizards like we're discussing the weather."
"Well, first of all," Lucifer said, raising a finger in correction, "I prefer 'Lucifer.' 'The Devil' is so... loaded, don't you think? Very Old Testament. And second, I'm not actually evil. Common misconception, really. I'm many things—fallen angel, ruler of Hell, surprisingly good at piano—but evil? That's more my Father's propaganda than actual fact."
"Your Father?" Lily asked.
"God," Lucifer said matter-of-factly, as if discussing a particularly difficult relative. "We have what you might call a complicated relationship. He cast me out of Heaven for asking too many questions and having opinions about free will. Very dramatic, lots of falling and burning and whatnot. Excellent special effects, really, though I still think He overdid it with the whole 'lake of fire' bit."
James ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than usual. "I feel like I'm having the most bizarre fever dream of my life."
"Oh, you're not dreaming," Lucifer assured him cheerfully. "Though I understand the confusion. Most people don't expect the Devil to be quite so... conversational. I blame centuries of bad press, really. You'd be amazed how many people expect me to speak only in threatening riddles or demand souls as payment for everything."
"Don't you?" Lily asked suspiciously.
"Demand souls? God, no. What would I do with them? I've already got billions of the things cluttering up Hell. It's become a real storage problem, actually. No, these days I'm much more interested in helping people figure out what they really want. Speaking of which..." His eyes suddenly flashed red for just an instant, and when they returned to their warm brown, his entire demeanor had shifted to something more serious, more understanding.
"Ah," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. "I see. The curse didn't just sever physical connections—it reached deeper, touched the very essence of creation itself. Very thorough work, whoever cast it. And you've tried everything, haven't you? Every Healer, every treatment, every desperate hope."
"Everything," James confirmed, his voice hoarse with remembered pain. "We've been trying for three years."
"And now you've turned to summoning entities from beyond the veil because mortal magic has failed you," Lucifer continued, his understanding complete. "You want a child. You want a family. You want to create something beautiful together in a world that's been rather cruel to you both."
Lily's eyes filled with tears. "Yes."
"Well," Lucifer said, and his smile was warm and genuine, "there's something rather beautiful about that, actually. Love creating life, hope persisting despite impossible odds. It's very... human. I've always admired that about your species."
"So you'll help us?" Lily asked, hardly daring to hope.
Lucifer tilted his head thoughtfully. "I could. The question is, do you truly understand what you're asking for? Because this isn't like getting a prescription from a Healer or performing a standard fertility charm. What you're asking for would require..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Divine intervention."
"Divine intervention from the Devil?" James asked, his natural skepticism warring with desperate hope.
"From a fallen angel who still remembers what he was before the Fall," Lucifer corrected gently. "And yes, there would need to be a deal. But before you start panicking about selling your souls or sacrificing your firstborn or whatever nonsense you've heard in fairy tales, let me explain what I'm actually offering."
He gestured, and three extremely comfortable-looking leather chairs appeared in a circle. "Shall we sit? This conversation requires a certain level of comfort, and kneeling on stone floors is murder on the knees. Trust me, I've spent enough time in various dungeons to know."
They settled into the chairs—James still looking like he might bolt at any moment, Lily leaning forward with intense focus, and Lucifer crossing his legs with elegant casualness.
"Right," Lucifer began, "here's the situation. To restore what was severed and give you the child you desire, I would need to share part of my essence with you both. Think of it as... divine intervention, but from the other direction."
"Your essence?" Lily asked, her practical mind immediately focusing on the details.
Lucifer's expression grew thoughtful, almost vulnerable. "I am both angel and devil, you see. Cast out of Heaven but retaining much of what I was before my rather spectacular Fall. My essence carries both aspects—the divine light of Samael, the angel I once was, and the rebellious independence of Lucifer, what I became after I started asking inconvenient questions about my Father's management style."
"And a child conceived with your essence would be...?" James prompted, though he looked like he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Nephilim," Lucifer said simply. "Half-human, half-angel. Immensely powerful, but also caught between worlds. Neither fully mortal nor immortal, blessed with abilities that could seem miraculous or terrifying, depending on one's perspective."
James and Lily exchanged a long, meaningful look—one of those wordless conversations that couples who've been together for years can have in seconds.
"What kind of abilities are we talking about?" Lily asked in her most practical voice, the one she used when she was mentally cataloging potential problems and solutions.
Lucifer leaned back in his chair, obviously warming to the topic. "Enhanced magical power, certainly. Your child would likely be one of the most magically gifted individuals born in centuries. The ability to sense truth and lies, to see through deceptions and illusions. Perhaps some limited ability to influence desires—not control, mind you, I'm very firm about free will—but simply... encourage people to be honest about what they truly want."
"That could be useful," James murmured, and Lily shot him a look.
"Depending on how strongly my angelic heritage manifests," Lucifer continued, "there might also be enhanced healing abilities, significant longevity, or even limited immortality. Plus the usual angelic perks—enhanced intuition, natural charisma, probably excellent bone structure. Very important, that last bit."
"Immortality?" James had gone slightly pale. "You mean our child might never die?"
"Limited immortality," Lucifer clarified quickly. "They could still be killed, could still choose to die if life became unbearable. But age and disease would have little effect. Think of it as a very extended lifespan rather than true immortality. They'd age normally until they reached physical maturity, then... well, they'd stay that way for a very long time."
"How long?" Lily asked.
"Centuries? Millennia? It's hard to say, really. Nephilim are rather rare. Most of my siblings are far too stuffy to interact with humans in any meaningful way." Lucifer's expression grew amused. "They consider it beneath them. I, on the other hand, find humans absolutely fascinating. Much more interesting than angels, really. Angels are predictable. Humans? Humans are wonderfully chaotic."
"You said there would be downsides," Lily said, because she'd always been the one to ask the difficult questions.
Lucifer's smile faded slightly. "They would never quite belong anywhere. Too human for Heaven, too divine for the mortal world. They might struggle with the duality of their nature—the pull between absolute good and absolute rebellion. My angelic side wants to help everyone, to heal and protect and guide. My devilish side wants to ask uncomfortable questions, challenge authority, and generally cause trouble for people who think they know better than everyone else."
"That doesn't sound so bad," James said thoughtfully.
"Doesn't it?" Lucifer's eyes glittered with something that might have been pride. "The real problem is that they would likely be hunted by those who fear power they don't understand. Both the divine and mortal realms tend to react poorly to things that don't fit neatly into their predetermined categories."
The vault fell silent except for the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance and the soft whisper of their breathing.
"There's one more thing," Lucifer added quietly. "A child born with my essence would be... extraordinary. Not just because of the power, but because of what they represent. They would be a bridge between worlds, a living symbol of the possibility that even the fallen can create something beautiful. That kind of symbolic power... it tends to attract attention from cosmic forces that are much larger and more dangerous than Dark wizards."
"What kind of attention?" James asked, though his voice suggested he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Prophecies," Lucifer said simply. "Destinies. The sort of cosmic nonsense that my Father is so fond of arranging. Your child might find themselves at the center of events much larger than they ever wanted to be part of."
James and Lily looked at each other again, and this time their silent conversation was longer, more complex. Years of disappointment, of grief for the family they thought they'd never have. But also love, stubborn hope, and unshakeable faith in each other.
"We need to think about this," James said finally, running his hands through his hair in that nervous gesture that Lily found endearing even now.
"Of course you do," Lucifer agreed readily. "It's not a decision to make lightly. Take all the time you need. I'll wait."
"You'll wait?" Lily asked. "Don't you have... Devil things to attend to?"
"Hell runs itself, mostly," Lucifer said with a dismissive wave. "Middle management is surprisingly efficient once you give them clear guidelines and performance incentives. Besides, this is far more interesting than anything happening downstairs. When was the last time I got to help create a Nephilim? It's been centuries."
James was studying Lucifer with that intense focus he usually reserved for particularly challenging Transfiguration problems. "Why are you really doing this? I mean, what do you get out of it?"
Lucifer was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than it had been. "Do you know what it's like to be blamed for every evil thing that happens in the world? To have your name used as a synonym for ultimate wickedness when all you ever did was ask questions and refuse to blindly obey orders?"
They shook their heads.
"It's... lonely," Lucifer admitted. "And occasionally infuriating. I've spent millennia watching humans suffer and struggle and create beautiful things despite all the obstacles in their way, and I think... perhaps I'd like to help create something beautiful too. Something that proves that even the fallen can participate in creation rather than just destruction."
"That's..." Lily started, then stopped.
"Sentimental? Pathetic? Surprisingly human of me?" Lucifer's smile was self-deprecating. "Yes, well, I've always been the most human of the angels. It's why I fell in the first place."
James was quiet for a long moment, then said, "What would happen to you? If we did this, I mean. Would it... cost you something?"
Lucifer looked genuinely surprised by the question. "You're asking if I'd be harmed by helping you?"
"Well, yes," James said, as if it were obvious. "You're offering to give us part of your essence. That sounds like it would be... significant."
"It would be," Lucifer acknowledged. "I'd be weakened for a time. Some of my abilities would be diminished. But it would recover eventually, and honestly? I think it might be worth it to know I helped create something genuinely good in the world."
Lily was staring at him with an expression of dawning realization. "You're not evil at all, are you?"
"Oh, I can be quite evil when the situation calls for it," Lucifer assured her cheerfully. "I have a terrible temper, I hold grudges for millennia, and I've been known to be rather creative in my revenge fantasies. But evil as a fundamental nature? No. I'm more... morally complicated."
"Morally complicated," James repeated slowly. "That's one way to put it."
"I prefer it to 'evil incarnate,'" Lucifer said with a shrug. "Much more accurate, and it allows for more interesting character development."
Lily suddenly laughed—that bright, musical sound that always made James smile. "This is insane. We're sitting in a dungeon vault having a philosophical discussion about morality with the Devil, and somehow he's the most reasonable person we've talked to about this whole situation."
"Well," Lucifer said modestly, "I have had a lot of practice with difficult conversations. Comes with the territory."
James looked at Lily, and she looked back at him, and in that look was everything they'd shared over the years. Love, partnership, hope, and the unshakeable belief that together they could face anything.
"We'll do it," Lily said.
"Lily—" James started.
"We'll do it," she repeated, taking his hand. "James, think about it. We've already accepted that any path to having a child would be dangerous. The war, the Death Eaters, the world we'd be bringing a child into—none of it is safe anyway. At least this way, our child would have the power to protect themselves."
James was quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking it through with that methodical approach he brought to the really important decisions. Finally, he turned to Lucifer. "If we do this—if we accept your offer—you swear you're not planning to use our child for some cosmic scheme? You won't try to influence them or claim any parental rights or turn them against us?"
Lucifer's expression grew deadly serious, and for just a moment, they could see the immense power that lurked beneath his charming exterior. "James Potter, I swear to you on my true name—Samael, the Lightbringer—that I have no ulterior motives here. I'm offering this because I believe in love, in the right of two people to build the family they dream of, and because I think the world could use more beings who embody both divine grace and rebellious independence."
He leaned forward, his voice intense with sincerity. "Any child born of this arrangement will be yours, fully and completely. I claim no parental rights, no future influence over their choices, nothing beyond the knowledge that I helped create something beautiful in a world that's often quite ugly. They will be free to love you, hate me, ignore me entirely, or seek me out if they need guidance understanding their nature. That choice will be entirely theirs."
"Then yes," James said, his voice steady now. "We accept your deal."
Lucifer smiled, and for a moment, his entire form seemed to shimmer with golden light that was both warm and terrible to behold. "Excellent. Now, I should warn you—this might feel a bit unusual. The process of sharing divine essence isn't exactly covered in any medical texts."
He stood and moved to the center of the pentagram, and as he did, his form began to change subtly. The suggestion of vast wings appeared at his shoulders, a faint halo-like radiance surrounded his head, and for just an instant, they caught a glimpse of what he had been before the Fall—an angel of such devastating beauty that it was almost painful to look at.
"Part of my essence," he said, his voice now echoing with harmonics that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, "given freely, with love and hope for the future. May your child inherit the best of what I was and what I am, and may they forge their own path with wisdom and compassion."
Golden light streamed from him, surrounding James and Lily in warmth that penetrated to their very souls. It felt like sunlight and starfire, like the first breath of spring and the deep comfort of coming home. They felt the change as it happened—the healing, the restoration, the impossible made possible through sheer divine will.
When the light faded, Lucifer had returned to his human appearance, though he looked distinctly drained and had to steady himself against one of the chairs.
"There," he said, his voice slightly breathless but still carrying that familiar warm amusement. "It's done. You should be able to conceive within the month, and the child will be... well, extraordinary doesn't even begin to cover it."
Lily pressed a hand to her chest, feeling fundamentally changed in a way she couldn't quite describe. It was as if something that had been broken inside her had not just been healed, but transformed into something stronger and more beautiful than it had ever been.
"Will we see you again?" she asked.
Lucifer straightened his tie with hands that trembled only slightly. "Perhaps. If your child ever needs guidance understanding their nature, or if they simply want to meet the angel-devil who helped bring them into existence, they need only call my name. But otherwise, this is where I bow out gracefully. The rest is up to you."
He began to fade around the edges, but paused to look at James with obvious amusement. "Oh, and James? You really might want to reconsider your loyalty to the Chudley Cannons. I've seen their future, and trust me—some lost causes aren't worth the heartbreak. Though I suppose stubbornly supporting a hopeless team does show admirable character."
"Are you giving me Quidditch advice?" James asked incredulously.
"I'm giving you life advice," Lucifer corrected with a grin. "The Quidditch part is just a bonus. Consider it a parting gift."
"What team should I support instead?"
"Well," Lucifer said thoughtfully, "the Appleby Arrows are going to have an excellent run in about five years, and the Holyhead Harpies are always a solid choice. Very dramatic, both teams. I approve of drama."
With a last wink and that devastating smile, he vanished completely, leaving only the faint scent of something that might have been sulfur or might have been the most expensive cologne in existence.
James and Lily sat in the sudden silence, still holding hands, still feeling the warm aftermath of divine magic thrumming through their veins.
"Well," James said after a long moment, "that was..."
"Completely insane?" Lily suggested.
"I was going to say 'surprisingly pleasant,' actually. He was much more charming than I expected the Devil to be."
"He really wasn't what I expected at all," Lily mused. "He seemed... lonely, more than anything else. And genuinely happy to help us."
James squeezed her hand. "Do you think we did the right thing?"
Lily placed her free hand over her stomach, where she somehow already knew their child was beginning to grow—a tiny spark of life that carried within it the essence of both human love and divine rebellion.
"Ask me in eighteen years when our Nephilim child is probably getting into trouble that makes your Marauder pranks look like mild mischief," she said with a smile.
"Our child is going to be extraordinary," James said softly, wonder creeping into his voice.
"Our child is going to be half-angel, half-devil, and raised by us," Lily pointed out. "They're going to be absolutely impossible."
"I can't wait," James grinned, and kissed her hand.
Above them, neither noticed the way the golden light lingered just a moment longer around Lily, or the way it seemed to settle into her very being like a blessing and a promise. A promise of a child who would indeed be extraordinary—a child named Harry, who would inherit his mother's fierce love, his father's unwavering courage, and from the fallen angel who helped create him, the power to stand against the darkness and the wisdom to choose his own path.
A child who would be, in every sense of the word, miraculous.
---
## Two Years and Three Months Later
### New Orleans - The Morningstar Universe
The sultry New Orleans air hung thick with humidity and the lingering notes of jazz as Lucifer Morningstar finished his final song at Rousseau's. His fingers danced across the piano keys with supernatural grace, the last haunting melody of "All Along the Watchtower" echoing through the crowded bar. The audience—a mix of tourists, locals, and supernatural beings who knew better than to ask questions—erupted in appreciative applause.
Lucifer stood from the piano bench with his characteristic flourish, straightening his perfectly tailored black suit jacket. "Thank you, New Orleans. You've been... adequately attentive." His British accent carried just the right amount of charming arrogance to make the crowd chuckle rather than take offense.
At a corner table shrouded in shadow, Mazikeen nursed a bourbon neat while keeping one eye on the crowd and another on her boss. Her dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and the dangerous glint in her eyes kept the more adventurous patrons at a respectful distance. She'd changed out of her usual leather into something more suitable for New Orleans' climate, but the twin daggers at her thighs were still clearly visible to anyone who looked closely enough.
"Nice set," came a smooth voice with a slight French accent. Marcel Gerard slid into the seat across from them, his own drink in hand—something expensive and probably older than most of the people in the bar. The self-proclaimed King of New Orleans looked every inch the part in his impeccably tailored suit, though it lacked the otherworldly perfection of Lucifer's attire.
"Marcel," Lucifer acknowledged with a nod, settling into his chair with fluid grace. "I take it you enjoyed the performance?"
"Always do." Marcel raised his glass in a small salute. "You know, I've been in this city for over a century, and I've never met anyone who can make a piano sing quite like you do. That voice of yours... it's almost supernatural."
Mazikeen snorted softly into her bourbon. "You have no idea."
"Mazikeen has a very dry sense of humor," Lucifer explained smoothly, shooting his demon companion a warning look. "She finds most things amusing, particularly when people think they understand more than they do."
"Mysterious," Marcel said with an easy smile. "I like that. This city's full of secrets, after all. Speaking of which—" He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I heard through the grapevine that you turned down Klaus Mikaelson's invitation to perform at one of his parties. That takes either tremendous courage or tremendous stupidity."
"Oh, I'm quite familiar with the Mikaelsons," Lucifer said with amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Lovely family, in their way. Very dramatic. Though I have to say, their definition of a 'family gathering' tends to involve rather more bloodshed than I prefer at my performances."
"You've met them?" Marcel looked genuinely surprised.
"Once or twice over the centuries," Lucifer replied casually, as if discussing old college acquaintances rather than Original vampires. "Klaus has quite the temper, doesn't he? Elijah's much more civilized company, though he does have this tendency to give speeches about honor and family that go on rather longer than necessary."
Marcel stared at him. "Centuries? You know that would make you—"
"Older than I look?" Lucifer's smile was enigmatic. "Good genes, I suppose."
Before Marcel could pursue that particular line of inquiry further, Lucifer suddenly went rigid, his glass freezing halfway to his lips. His eyes flashed red for just an instant, and his entire demeanor shifted from relaxed charm to predatory alertness.
"*Lucifer.*" The voice was faint, carried on supernatural winds that only he could hear, but unmistakable. Lily Potter's voice, filled with terror and desperation. "*Please, if you can hear this, we need help. They found us. James is—oh God, please hear me.*"
The whiskey glass shattered in Lucifer's suddenly clenched fist, the amber liquid and crystal shards falling to the table unnoticed. His face had gone completely cold, all traces of his usual charm vanishing like smoke.
"Lucifer?" Mazikeen was on her feet instantly, her hands moving toward her weapons. She'd seen that expression before—usually right before entire cities burned.
"We need to leave. Now." Lucifer's voice was clipped, urgent, carrying harmonics that made the nearby glasses vibrate ominously.
Marcel looked between them, clearly confused but intelligent enough to recognize genuine danger when he saw it. "Is everything—"
"Marcel, it's been delightful as always, but I'm afraid we have an urgent matter to attend to." Lucifer was already standing, his movements sharp and predatory. The temperature in their corner of the bar had dropped noticeably, and several patrons were starting to look around nervously without quite knowing why.
"Something's wrong with the kid," Mazikeen said quietly, and it wasn't a question.
"Very wrong," Lucifer confirmed grimly. "Lily wouldn't call unless..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Mazikeen knew him well enough to understand. The human woman would only reach out to him if the situation was truly desperate.
"Wait," Marcel said, rising as well. "Kid? I thought you said you didn't have any—"
"It's complicated," Lucifer cut him off, already moving toward the exit. "Mazikeen."
"Right behind you, boss." She was already pulling out her phone, presumably to arrange for their immediate departure from New Orleans.
"If anyone asks where we went," Lucifer called back to Marcel without stopping, "we were never here."
"Lucifer!" Marcel called after him. "Whatever this is about, if you need help—"
But they were already gone, the bar door swinging shut behind them with unusual force. Marcel stood there for a moment, staring at the shattered glass and the faint scorch marks on the table where Lucifer had been sitting.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "that was interesting."
Outside, in the humid New Orleans night, Lucifer and Mazikeen moved with supernatural speed through the French Quarter's winding streets.
"How bad?" Mazikeen asked, keeping pace with him easily despite his increasingly frantic movement.
"Bad enough that she broke through dimensional barriers to reach me," Lucifer replied tersely. "The child is barely two years old, Maze. He shouldn't even be manifesting abilities yet, let alone enough power to facilitate interdimensional communication."
"Unless someone's trying to hurt him specifically because of what he is," Mazikeen pointed out grimly.
Lucifer's eyes flashed dangerously bright in the darkness. "If someone has harmed my son..."
"Your son?" Mazikeen raised an eyebrow as they ducked into an alley. "I thought you said you had no parental claim to him."
"I don't," Lucifer said firmly, then paused. "But that doesn't mean I don't care what happens to him. Or to James and Lily, for that matter. They're... they were kind to me. They treated me as more than just a means to an end."
Mazikeen studied his profile in the dim streetlight. "You actually like them."
"Is that so surprising?"
"A little," she admitted. "Usually when you help humans, it's more transactional. This feels... personal."
Lucifer stopped walking and turned to face her fully. "It is personal, Maze. I gave part of my essence to create that child. He carries something of both Samael and Lucifer within him. If he dies, especially as a child, that part of me dies with him."
"And?"
Lucifer was quiet for a moment, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "And I find myself genuinely caring about his welfare beyond the metaphysical implications. Is that so wrong?"
Mazikeen's expression softened slightly—an unusual occurrence. "No, Lucifer. It's not wrong. It's just... human."
"Terrifying thought," Lucifer muttered, but there was no real humor in it.
"So," Mazikeen said briskly, returning to business, "how exactly are we getting to another dimension? Because last I checked, that's not exactly a standard travel option."
Lucifer's smile returned, sharp and dangerous. "Oh, my dear Maze. You forget who you're talking to. I am Lucifer Morningstar, Lightbringer, the Morning Star himself. Creating doorways between worlds is well within my capabilities."
He raised his hands, and golden light began to emanate from his palms. The air around them started to shimmer and bend, reality warping in response to his will.
"Besides," he added, his voice echoing with otherworldly power, "someone just threatened my son. They're about to learn why that was a very, very poor decision."
The light intensified, tearing a hole in the fabric of space itself, and through it, they could see another world entirely—one where magic was real, where wizards battled Dark Lords, and where a small child with his mother's eyes and his father's messy hair was in mortal danger.
"After you, Maze," Lucifer said grimly, and together they stepped through the portal into a world at war.
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