Godric's Hollow - October 31st, 1981
The Fidelius Charm was ancient magic, woven into the very foundations of reality itself. It was a spell that could hide entire buildings, make secrets unknowable, and protect the most precious things from those who would destroy them. Generations of wizards had trusted their lives to its power, confident that what was hidden could never be found.
Unless, of course, you happened to be the literal Devil.
The dimensional portal that tore open above Godric's Hollow didn't just announce Lucifer Morningstar's arrival—it did so with all the subtlety of a cosmic tantrum. Reality screamed as it was ripped apart, golden light blazing across the quiet village like a second sun. Windows shattered for three blocks in every direction. Car alarms began wailing. And somewhere in the distance, every dog in the county started howling in harmonious terror.
Lucifer stepped through the rift with the casual elegance of a man entering his favorite nightclub, his perfectly tailored suit unmarked by interdimensional travel. Behind him, Mazikeen emerged like a shadow given lethal form, her dark eyes immediately scanning for threats with predatory intensity.
"Well," Lucifer said, surveying the quaint English village with obvious distaste, "this is aggressively charming, isn't it? All it needs is a few more roses and perhaps a nice picket fence to complete the 'I peaked in 1952' aesthetic."
"Focus, Lucifer," Maze growled, though her lips twitched with amusement. "The house."
She pointed toward the Potter cottage, where dark magic hung in the air like a visible fog. The front door had been blasted clean off its hinges, hanging by splinters, and through the broken windows they could see the flickering orange glow of magical fire spreading across the walls.
Lucifer's expression shifted in an instant, all traces of his usual sardonic humor vanishing. His dark eyes began to glow with an inner fire that had nothing to do with charm and everything to do with barely contained celestial fury.
"I can feel him," he said quietly, his voice carrying harmonics that made the very air around them vibrate. "My essence, calling out in terror. And I can sense..." His jaw tightened. "James is already gone."
They moved toward the cottage with inhuman speed, crossing the garden in a blur of motion that would have been invisible to mortal eyes. Lucifer paused at the threshold, his perfect features set in an expression of cold grief as he looked down at James Potter's body.
The young man lay crumpled in the hallway, his hazel eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. His wand was clutched in his right hand, and scorch marks on the walls showed he'd fought fiercely before falling. Even in death, there was something defiant about the set of his jaw, something that spoke of a man who had never stopped trying to get back to his family.
"Brave," Mazikeen observed quietly, crouching beside the body with professional assessment. "Multiple defensive spells cast. He held the bastard off for longer than most wizards could manage."
"Of course he did," Lucifer replied, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "He was protecting everything he loved. There's no force in any universe more dangerous than a good man with nothing left to lose." He closed his eyes briefly. "I should have been faster. I should have felt the danger sooner."
"You're here now," Maze said firmly. "That's what matters."
From upstairs, a woman's voice rose in desperate, terrified pleading: "*Not Harry! Please, not Harry! Take me instead!*"
Another voice answered, cold and sibilant and utterly without mercy: "*Stand aside, you foolish girl. The boy must die. It is foretold.*"
Lucifer's eyes snapped open, blazing with crimson fire. When he spoke, his voice echoed with the fury of a fallen angel, carrying harmonics that made the cottage's remaining windows crack in their frames.
"Maze," he said quietly, and somehow that whisper was more terrifying than any shout. "Someone is threatening my son."
"On it, boss," Mazikeen replied, her own voice dropping to that predatory purr that meant someone was about to have a very, very bad day.
They ascended the stairs like vengeance itself, moving with the fluid grace of apex predators. The nursery door stood ajar, and through the gap they could see the tableau within: a tall, gaunt figure in dark robes standing over a crib, his wand raised toward a small boy who gripped the rails with tiny fists, green eyes wide but remarkably unafraid.
Between them stood Lily Potter, her red hair disheveled, tears streaming down her face, but her chin raised in defiant courage that would have impressed angels and demons alike.
"*Please,*" she whispered, her voice breaking with desperation. "*Please, I'll do anything. Take my life instead. Kill me, but spare my son. Please.*"
The dark figure—Tom Riddle, though he wore the serpentine features of Lord Voldemort now—tilted his head with mock consideration. "*Your sacrifice is touching, but ultimately irrelevant. The boy carries a prophecy. He must die so that I might live forever. Surely you understand—one life for eternal existence. The mathematics are quite simple.*"
"*No,*" Lily sobbed, but she didn't move from her position between monster and child. "*You don't understand—he's just a baby! He can't hurt anyone!*"
"*Perhaps not now,*" Voldemort hissed, raising his wand higher. "*But prophecy speaks of one with the power to destroy me. I will not wait for that day to arrive. Avada Ked—*"
The nursery door didn't open—it exploded.
Wood splintered and scattered like confetti as the barrier simply disintegrated under the force of Lucifer's barely contained fury. Golden light poured into the room, and for a moment his human disguise flickered, revealing glimpses of something vast and terrible and beautiful beyond mortal comprehension: wings that spanned eternity, eyes like burning stars, and a presence that made the very air itself bow down in reverence and terror.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Lucifer said conversationally, as if he'd just encountered a mildly annoying acquaintance at a dinner party. His voice was pleasant, cultured, with that distinctive British accent that somehow made even casual observations sound like royal proclamations. "Still compensating for your profound daddy issues with mass murder, I see. How disappointingly predictable."
Voldemort spun around, his red eyes widening with shock and what might have been the first genuine fear he'd felt in decades. His serpentine features twisted as recognition dawned, and his pale hand tightened convulsively around his wand.
"*You,*" he hissed, his usual cold composure cracking like ice under pressure. "*But you cannot... the Fidelius... it is impossible...*"
"Oh, Tommy," Lucifer sighed dramatically, stepping into the room with fluid grace while Mazikeen moved like a shadow toward Lily and Harry. "Did you really think a few Latin words and some wishful thinking could keep out the Lightbringer himself? That's almost adorable. Almost."
He paused, tilting his head as if considering something deeply philosophical. "Though I have to say, the whole 'noseless snake-man' aesthetic you're sporting these days? Not your best look. I mean, I understand the intimidation factor, but honestly—you've gone from 'mysterious dark wizard' to 'rejected concept art for a horror film.' What happened to that handsome young man who used to summon me for relationship advice?"
"*Relationship advice?*" Voldemort snarled, though his wand trembled slightly in his grip.
"Oh yes," Lucifer continued cheerfully, examining his perfectly manicured nails. "All those late nights, crying into your summoning circles about how nobody understood your grand vision for the future. Asking me whether you should tell dear Bellatrix how you really felt about her devotion. Wondering if perhaps you were being too subtle in your courtship of power." He looked up with a smile that could have charmed angels and terrified demons. "Good times, really. You were much better company when you were just a narcissistic sociopath instead of whatever this is."
Behind him, Mazikeen had reached Lily's side, her usually intimidating presence somehow gentle as she assessed the terrified mother and child. "They're unharmed," she reported, though her dark eyes never left Voldemort. "The woman's brave. The kid's..." She paused, studying Harry with professional interest. "Different. There's something old about him. Powerful."
"Of course there is," Lucifer said softly, and some of the terrible cold left his voice as he looked at Harry. "He carries part of my essence, after all. Don't you, little one?"
Harry, for his part, seemed remarkably calm for a toddler who had just witnessed a door exploding and a fallen angel making casual conversation with a Dark Lord. His green eyes were bright and curious as he looked between his mother and the strange, beautiful man who radiated power like heat from a star.
"Angel," Harry said in his tiny voice, reaching out toward Lucifer with one chubby hand.
"Smart boy," Lucifer murmured, his expression softening completely. Then he returned his attention to Voldemort, and the temperature in the room plummeted. "Now then, Tom. You've made a very serious mistake tonight."
"*I fear nothing!*" Voldemort snarled, though he took an involuntary step backward. "*I am Lord Voldemort! I have conquered death itself! I am immortal! I am—*"
"About to discover that immortality is a relative concept when you're dealing with beings who predate your species by several billion years," Lucifer finished pleasantly.
His human appearance began to shift and change, revealing glimpses of his true nature: vast wings that cast shadows deeper than night, light that burned like the heart of creation, beauty so terrible and perfect that looking at it directly was almost impossible for mortal minds to process.
"You see, Tom," Lucifer continued, his voice now carrying harmonics that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, "you've threatened something that belongs to me. Well, not belongs exactly—I'm very careful about free will and parental rights, as any good father should be. But that child carries part of my essence, my power, my... let's call it genetic material, shall we? Which makes him very, very precious to me."
Voldemort raised his wand with shaking hands. "*Avada Kedavra!*"
The green bolt of killing light struck Lucifer square in the chest and dissipated like mist against glass. He looked down at the spot where it had hit, then back up at Voldemort with an expression of mild disappointment.
"Really, Tom? The Killing Curse? Against me?" He sighed dramatically. "That's like trying to kill the ocean with a teaspoon. Ambitious, certainly, but ultimately rather pointless."
Before Voldemort could react, Lucifer moved—not with the supernatural speed he'd shown earlier, but with the inevitability of gravity itself, the certainty of sunrise, the absolute nature of mathematical truth. One moment he was across the room; the next, his perfectly manicured hand was wrapped around Voldemort's throat, lifting the Dark Lord off his feet with casual ease.
"Now then," Lucifer said conversationally, as if he weren't currently choking the life out of Britain's most feared wizard, "let me show you something interesting about Horcruxes, Tommy. You see, you're not the first person to try splitting your soul for immortality. I've been dealing with your type for millennia, and the technique gets rather tiresome after the first few thousand attempts."
His eyes blazed with golden fire that seemed to burn straight through flesh and bone to the fragmented soul beneath. Voldemort's red eyes went wide with sudden, absolute terror as agony unlike anything he had ever experienced tore through every fiber of his being.
Somewhere, in hidden places across Britain, ancient objects began to scream.
In a seaside cave protected by inferi and dark magic, Slytherin's locket burst into holy flames that consumed both the Horcrux and every undead guardian in the cavern. In the ruins of the Gaunt shack, a resurrection stone ring cracked and shattered, its curse broken along with the soul fragment it contained. In Malfoy Manor, a seemingly innocent diary exploded in Lucius's study, taking half the room with it and leaving the patriarch of the family cowering in terror as divine fire swept through his home.
At Gringotts, in the deepest, most secure vault in the bank, Hufflepuff's cup melted like cheap pewter while goblin guards fled screaming from the holy light that poured through their "impregnable" defenses. And high in Hogwarts Castle, in the Room of Requirement where it had hidden for decades, Ravenclaw's diadem simply... ceased. Not destroyed, not broken, but edited out of existence as if it had never been made at all.
"You feel that, don't you, Tom?" Lucifer asked almost gently, watching as Voldemort writhed in his grip like a pinned insect. "Your precious anchors to immortality, burning away like the abominations they are. Did you really think you were the first person to discover soul magic? I was already ancient when your ancestors were learning to walk upright, Tommy. Your magic—all mortal magic—is nothing more than a pale shadow of the real thing."
"*No,*" Voldemort gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "*Impossible... they are hidden... protected by the most powerful magic...*"
"From mortals, yes," Lucifer agreed cheerfully. "But I am the Morningstar, Tommy. I am the rebel who stood before the Throne of Creation and said 'no' when it mattered most. Your little protection spells are about as effective against me as a paper umbrella in a hurricane."
Voldemort's serpentine form began to writhe and smoke as divine fire consumed what remained of his fractured soul. Somewhere in the distance, his Death Eaters were screaming as the Dark Marks on their arms burned away like acid, the connection to their master severed forever.
"*What... what are you?*" Voldemort managed to whisper.
Lucifer's smile was beautiful and terrible and filled with the weight of eons. "I am judgment, Tom. I am consequence. I am the bill coming due for every choice you've made, every life you've taken, every soul you've corrupted in your pathetic quest for power." His grip tightened, and Voldemort's eyes began to lose their crimson glow. "And most importantly right now, I am a very, very angry father."
The light intensified until it was impossible to look at directly. Voldemort's scream echoed through dimensions, a sound of such pure agony that every dark creature in Britain felt it in their bones and fled as far as they could run. His form began to dissolve, not the temporary destruction he had suffered when his Killing Curse rebounded, but complete and utter annihilation.
Body and soul and the very idea of Tom Marvolo Riddle burning away in holy fire until nothing remained but ash and the lingering scent of sulfur and defeat.
When it was over, Lucifer stood alone in the sudden silence, his human appearance restored, straightening his tie with hands that didn't shake even slightly. The nursery looked like it had been hit by a small bomb—scorch marks on the walls, furniture overturned, windows blown out—but the oppressive weight of dark magic was completely gone, replaced by something that felt clean and bright and safe.
"Well," he said mildly, brushing a bit of ash off his sleeve, "that was unexpectedly cathartic. I should probably send Gellert a thank-you note—if he hadn't been so insufferably dramatic about his 'grand destiny,' I might never have learned where Tommy was hiding all his little soul fragments."
Behind him, Lily had sunk to her knees beside Harry's crib, pulling her son into her arms with desperate relief. The toddler seemed remarkably untraumatized by having just witnessed the complete annihilation of a Dark Lord, his green eyes bright and curious as he reached up to pat his mother's tear-stained cheek.
"Mama sad?" Harry asked in his tiny voice, then looked over at Lucifer with obvious fascination. "Angel stay?"
Lucifer's expression softened completely, the terrible coldness melting away like ice in sunlight. He knelt beside mother and child, his movements careful and gentle despite the cosmic power that radiated from him like heat from a star.
"Hello, Harry," he said quietly. "I'm... well, I suppose you could call me your guardian angel, in a way. Though I suspect your mother might have some theological objections to that description."
Lily looked up at him through her tears, her emerald eyes reflecting gratitude and grief and a dozen other emotions too complex to name. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with crying but steady with determination.
"James," she whispered. "Is he...?"
Lucifer's face fell. "I'm so sorry, Lily. I was too late to save him. I felt the danger, felt Harry's terror calling out to me, but by the time I could tear open a portal..." He shook his head. "I'm so very, very sorry."
She buried her face in Harry's soft hair, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Mazikeen, who had been maintaining a respectful distance while keeping watch for additional threats, moved closer with uncharacteristic gentleness.
"He fought bravely," Maze offered quietly, her voice lacking its usual sharp edge. "I could see it in the way he fell, the defensive spells he cast. He never stopped trying to get back to you and the boy."
"He was a good man," Lucifer added, his voice filled with genuine regret. "One of the best I've known in any world. Harry will grow up knowing that his father died a hero, protecting everything he loved."
"What happens now?" Lily asked eventually, looking up at them both with eyes that had aged years in the space of minutes. "The war, the Ministry, Dumbledore... I can't go back to that world. Not after this. Not knowing what James died for while they sit in their towers playing games with people's lives."
Lucifer was quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured. "I could offer you an alternative, if you're interested. The world Mazikeen and I come from—it's very different from this one. No Dark Lords, no blood purity nonsense, no ancient prophecies determining children's fates. It has its own problems, of course, but they're very human problems."
"You're offering to take us away from here?" Lily's voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm offering to give you a choice," Lucifer corrected gently. "You and Harry could come with us. Start over somewhere new, somewhere safe, somewhere you can raise your son without worrying about megalomaniacal wizards trying to murder him for destiny's sake."
Lily was quiet for a long moment, holding Harry close as she considered. The toddler had fallen asleep in her arms, exhausted by the night's events, his tiny face peaceful and trusting.
"If we came with you," she said slowly, "could others come too? Our friends, I mean. The people James and I actually trust."
"How many people are we talking about?" Mazikeen asked pragmatically. "Because interdimensional relocations aren't exactly subtle, and I'd rather not have to explain to LAPD why reality keeps tearing itself apart in downtown Los Angeles."
Lily smiled for the first time since they'd arrived, a small, sad expression that somehow made her look both older and younger at the same time. "Not many. Just... the ones who matter. Sirius Black—he's Harry's godfather, and James's best friend. He'll be devastated when he finds out what Peter did."
"Peter?" Lucifer's voice sharpened with interest.
"Peter Pettigrew," Lily spat, her green eyes blazing with fury that would have impressed a demon. "Our Secret Keeper. The traitor who sold us out to Voldemort. He's the reason James is dead, the reason that monster found us." Her voice dropped to a whisper filled with venom. "Knowing him, he's probably already spinning some story about how he was captured and tortured for information, playing the victim while he hides in some rat hole somewhere."
"Ah," Mazikeen said with obvious approval, her dark eyes lighting up with predatory interest. "I like her already."
"Before we go anywhere," Lily continued, her voice hard as steel, "I want Peter Pettigrew dead. I want him to suffer for what he did. I want him to know, before he dies, that his betrayal accomplished nothing except his own destruction."
Lucifer's smile was sharp and beautiful and filled with terrible promise. "Well, then. I suppose we'd better find him, hadn't we? Mazikeen, how do you feel about a little hunting expedition?"
"Always up for a good hunt, boss," Mazikeen replied with a grin that showed far too many teeth. "Especially when the prey deserves everything that's coming to them."
"Excellent," Lucifer said, rising to his feet with fluid grace. "But first, we need to collect your other friends and get everyone to safety. You mentioned others?"
"Frank and Alice Longbottom and their son Neville," Lily confirmed. "They're good people, good fighters. They've been targeted by Death Eaters for months." Her expression darkened. "If Voldemort is dead, his followers might panic. Try to tie up loose ends before the Ministry can arrest them."
"Not to worry," Lucifer said cheerfully. "Without their master's mark binding them, most of Tom's little cult will be too busy screaming in agony to cause trouble for anyone. Severing that kind of dark connection tends to be rather... unpleasant."
As if summoned by his words, they heard the distinctive crack of Apparition from somewhere outside the cottage, followed by authoritative voices and the heavy footsteps of multiple people approaching.
"Ministry response team," Mazikeen observed, moving to the window to peer out. "Six Aurors, couple of Unspeakables, and... oh, this is interesting. Old man with a long white beard and twinkling eyes. Dumbledore?"
"Wonderful," Lucifer sighed. "Just what this evening needed—a visit from the self-appointed savior of the wizarding world." He looked down at Lily with genuine curiosity. "I take it you're not particularly fond of Professor Dumbledore?"
Lily's laugh was bitter. "He's the one who convinced us to use Peter as Secret Keeper instead of Sirius. Said it would be 'unexpected,' that no one would suspect the quiet one." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "James wanted to be his own Secret Keeper, but Dumbledore said it was too dangerous, that we needed someone we trusted completely."
"And you trusted Peter," Mazikeen said, not a question.
"We all did. He was... he was one of us. James's friend since they were eleven years old. We shared everything with him, trusted him with our lives." Tears started flowing again. "And he sold us out for whatever Voldemort promised him."
The voices downstairs were getting closer, and they could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.
"Right then," Lucifer said briskly, "I think it's time for a grand exit. Lily, hold tight to Harry. Maze, start thinking about collection routes—we'll need to gather the others quickly before word spreads about what happened here."
"What about the Ministry?" Lily asked. "They'll have questions about... all this." She gestured at the destroyed nursery, the pile of ash that had been Voldemort, the scorch marks that decorated every surface.
Lucifer's grin was pure mischief. "Oh, don't worry about them. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will come up with some suitably dramatic explanation. He does so love a good narrative."
The nursery door, or what remained of it, swung open to reveal a tall, elderly wizard with silver hair and beard that reached his waist. His blue eyes, usually described as twinkling with warmth and wisdom, were sharp and calculating as they surveyed the destruction.
Behind him stood several Aurors, their wands drawn and ready, and a couple of figures in dark robes whose faces were hidden beneath deep hoods—Unspeakables, the Ministry's most secretive agents.
"Lily Potter," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I am very glad to see you and young Harry safe. Though I confess myself... curious... about your circumstances."
His gaze moved between the pile of ash, the destroyed furniture, and the two strangers standing protectively near mother and child. When his eyes met Lucifer's, something flickered across his face—recognition, perhaps, or maybe just the instinctive awareness that he was looking at something far older and more dangerous than it appeared.
"Professor Dumbledore," Lily said coolly, her voice lacking any warmth. "How kind of you to finally arrive. Only... what was it, an hour after my husband was murdered and my son nearly killed?"
The rebuke hit home; Dumbledore's expression grew pained. "My dear child, I came as soon as I felt the magical disturbance. The protections around this house should have—"
"The protections failed," Lily cut him off sharply. "Peter betrayed us, just like I told James he would. But you convinced my husband to trust him, didn't you? Said he was the 'unexpected choice,' that no one would suspect quiet little Peter."
"I... yes, I did advise that Peter would be an excellent Secret Keeper," Dumbledore admitted quietly. "The fault for this tragedy is mine to bear."
"No," Lucifer interjected pleasantly, drawing every eye in the room. "The fault belongs to the man who betrayed them and the monster who acted on that betrayal. Both of whom have been dealt with, I'm happy to report."
Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes fixed on him with laser intensity. "And you are?"
"Lucifer Morningstar," Lucifer replied with a charming smile, as if introducing himself at a cocktail party. "Fallen angel, ruler of Hell, part-time nightclub owner, and as of tonight, Harry Potter's somewhat unconventional godfather."
The silence that followed this announcement was deafening. Several of the Aurors took involuntary steps backward, their wands trembling in their hands. One of the Unspeakables made a small choking sound that might have been either terror or disbelief.
Dumbledore, to his credit, didn't so much as blink. "I see. And the pile of ash?"
"All that remains of Tom Riddle," Lucifer said cheerfully. "Turns out that splitting your soul into multiple pieces makes you rather vulnerable to divine fire. Who would have thought?"
"Voldemort is... dead?" one of the Aurors whispered.
"Very much so," Mazikeen confirmed with obvious satisfaction. "Along with all his little soul anchors. We made sure to burn those too."
"The Horcruxes," Dumbledore breathed, his face going pale. "You destroyed all of them?"
"Every last one," Lucifer confirmed. "Honestly, Professor, I'm surprised you hadn't dealt with them yourself. Surely someone of your reputation and experience knew about Tom's little insurance policy?"
Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment, his expression troubled. "I... suspected. But finding them, destroying them safely... it would have taken years of research, careful planning..."
"Or you could have just asked someone with actual experience in these matters," Lucifer pointed out mildly. "But then, that would have required admitting that your grand strategy of 'wait for the prophecy to unfold' might not have been the most efficient approach."
"The prophecy," Dumbledore said slowly, his eyes moving to Harry, who was still sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms. "It spoke of one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord..."
"Yes, yes, born as the seventh month dies, marked by the Dark Lord as his equal, power the Dark Lord knows not," Lucifer recited in a bored tone. "Honestly, the most overrated bit of fortune-telling I've ever heard. Do you have any idea how many 'chosen ones' I've encountered over the millennia? They're like London buses—none for ages, then three show up at once."
He looked down at Harry with obvious affection. "This little one is special, certainly. But not because of some dodgy prophecy made by a half-drunk oracle in a pub. He's special because he's a good child who deserves to grow up happy and safe, without the weight of destiny crushing his shoulders."
"You speak as if you know him personally," Dumbledore observed.
"I do, in a way," Lucifer said quietly. "He carries part of my essence, my power. When he was conceived, his parents... well, let's just say they were very thorough in their request for divine intervention. I was happy to oblige."
The implications of this statement hit everyone in the room at roughly the same time. Several Aurors looked physically ill. One of the Unspeakables sat down heavily on what remained of a chair.
Dumbledore stared at Lucifer with something approaching horror. "You're saying that Harry Potter is..."
"Half-angel," Lucifer confirmed cheerfully. "Well, technically quarter-angel, since I'm not exactly... but the details aren't important. What matters is that he's under my protection now, and I take a very dim view of anyone who threatens my family."
"This changes everything," Dumbledore whispered.
"Does it?" Lily asked sharply, standing up with Harry still in her arms. "Because from where I'm standing, it changes nothing at all. My husband is still dead. My son was still nearly murdered by a madman. And you were still perfectly willing to let it happen because it fit your grand plan."
"My dear—"
"Don't," Lily cut him off, her green eyes blazing with fury. "Don't you dare 'my dear' me, Albus Dumbledore. I'm done with your manipulation, your secrets, your greater good. James died for your cause, and I won't let Harry follow the same path."
She turned to Lucifer, her expression resolute. "Your offer. To take us away from all this. I accept."
"Excellent choice," Lucifer said warmly. "And your friends?"
"I'll contact them. Give them the same choice I'm making." She looked back at Dumbledore, her voice cold as winter. "Some of us are done being pawns in your game, Professor. Find another savior for your war."
"Lily, please," Dumbledore pleaded, his composure finally cracking. "Harry's destiny—"
"Harry's destiny," Lucifer interrupted pleasantly, "is to be a happy, healthy child who gets to choose his own path in life. Radical concept, I know, but I'm rather fond of free will."
He turned to address the room at large, his voice carrying clear authority. "Gentlemen, ladies, I'm afraid this concludes our little gathering. Mrs. Potter and her son will be coming with me, along with anyone else who wishes to escape this rather depressing corner of reality."
"You cannot simply take them," one of the Aurors protested weakly.
"Can't I?" Lucifer's smile was sharp and dangerous. "I'm the Devil, my good man. Taking what I want is rather my specialty. Though in this case, I'm simply offering transportation to people who wish to leave voluntarily."
He looked around the destroyed nursery one last time, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Professor, you might want to consider redecorating. The whole 'scene of cosmic battle between good and evil' aesthetic is a bit much, don't you think?"
With that, golden light began to gather around Lucifer and Mazikeen, reality bending and warping as they prepared to open another dimensional portal.
"Wait," Dumbledore called out desperately. "If you're truly taking them away from this world... will we ever see them again?"
Lucifer paused, considering the question seriously. "That would be up to them, wouldn't it? I'm a great believer in personal choice. If young Harry wants to visit his birthplace when he's older, I certainly won't stop him."
His expression grew harder. "But if anyone from this world tries to force that choice, tries to drag him back into your wars and prophecies... well, let's just say that Tom Riddle won't be the last wizard to discover what happens when you threaten my family."
The portal began to tear open, golden light spilling into the room and making everyone shield their eyes.
"Oh, and Professor?" Lucifer called out over the sound of reality screaming. "You might want to have a word with young Sirius Black. He's currently racing toward this house on a flying motorcycle, convinced that he can somehow save his best friend's family. It would be a shame if he did something rash before learning the truth about dear Peter."
With that, the light intensified beyond bearing. When it faded, Lucifer, Mazikeen, Lily, and Harry Potter were gone, leaving behind only an empty nursery, a pile of ash, and the lingering scent of sulfur and brimstone.
In the distance, the sound of a motorcycle engine grew louder as Sirius Black approached, racing toward a scene of destruction and loss that would change everything he thought he knew about loyalty, betrayal, and the true meaning of family.
The war was over. The Dark Lord was dead. And the Boy-Who-Lived had just been adopted by the Devil himself.
Somehow, Dumbledore reflected as he stared at the empty space where Harry Potter had stood, this wasn't quite how he'd expected the prophecy to unfold.
But then again, prophecies rarely worked out the way anyone expected.
Especially when the Devil decided to get personally involved.
---
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