Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Location: Potter Manor - Woods

July 20th, 1996 9:40 AM

Lucifer's POV

"Sooo…you're just clearing a space? In the middle of the woods?" Lucifer asked, arms tucked behind his head casually as he trailed behind Remus and Sirius. His eyes swept over the mossy clearing with a squint and a wry frown. "Shouldn't you be resting instead? You look like shit."

Remus didn't answer as he continued shuffling forward, feet dragging through leaves and twigs. His shoulders were hunched in on himself, his eyes sunken, deep bruises decorating them as his face glistened with sweat.

Sirius huffed and shot Remus a dirty look before turning back to Lucifer. He flicked his wand—an old family wand he found in Grimmauld ages ago—to clear some of the larger rocks out of the middle of the natural circle. "I tried to make him stay in bed. But Moony's stubborn."

Said man just gave a weary, heavy sigh, shoulders slumping further. "I should have done this earlier in the week," he muttered, raising his own wand. He swayed on his feet as his hand shook, the magic fizzling as he tried to cast a spell. He groaned and dropped his arm, bracing a hand against a nearby tree.

Lucifer pursed his lips, frowning as he watched Remus carefully. "What are you trying to do? I can help and you can get back to bed," he said, gesturing around the clearing in confusion.

"He wants to put up a barrier that'll stop him from leaving," Sirius answered in Remus' stead, his voice flat. "Even though he took his Wolfesbane Potion."

"I still want to be cautious," Remus mumbled back, pressing his forehead to the bark, more sweat beading against his paling skin.

Lucifer looked around. "But this clearing is…small."

The clearing was an imperfect circle of towering trees and leafy bushes that was barely more than a thirty feet in circumference. The ground was covered in soft moss and clover and dappled by sunlight, but the size left much to be desired.

"Wouldn't it be better to branch out another several dozen feet or so?" Lucifer asked, walking toward the southern edge of the clearing where he could hear the trickle of water. "We could expand toward the brook. It'd give us fresh water and more room to roam around."

"See, that's a great idea, Moony," Sirius said, crossing his arms as he gave Remus a flat look. He tapped his wand against his bicep thoughtfully. "This is nothing for a werewolf. We're making it bigger."

"N-no, that's…not…" Remus trailed off, panting softly as he opened his eyes and looked over at Lucifer, confusion shining behind his exhaustion. "Wait…us?"

Lucifer beamed. "Yup! I'm totally joining you tonight!"

"Ha! Really?" Sirius laughed with a smile, excitement shining in his gray eyes. "That's brill!"

"No, no, that's not…brill," Remus protested, shaking his head. He pushed off the tree, panic creeping into his voice. "I could hurt you, Lucien. I can't—I won't—risk spreading this curse to you."

Lucifer blinked in surprise. "Curse?" He echoed, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "It's not… Wait, is that how you see the wolf inside you?"

"What else could it be?" Remus snapped, tired, frustrated, and afraid. A rare irritation bled into his voice. "I turn into a mindless, bloodthirsty monster once a month. Even with the potion, I could still hurt you."

It was quiet in the clearing for a few heartbeats as Lucifer stared at him. His face was scrunched up in confusion before he shook his head and finally said in a hard, even voice, "Shut the fuck up."

Both Remus and Sirius blinked in shock, completely thrown at how harshly the words came out of his mouth.

Lucifer gestured wildly at Remus with both hands, waving them around as a jumble of nonsense fell from his lips. "You…my friend, are not making any sense right now. Pfft, monster?" He wheezed out a gasp of disbelief. "You're literally not a monster. We've already been over this. Haven't we already been over this?" His gaze snapped to Sirius and raised his brows expectantly.

"Uhh…" Sirius' eyes flicked between Remus and Lucifer, before he nodded his head. "Yeah, Moony—"

"See?!" Lucifer interrupted, pointing triumphantly at Sirius. "Not a monster! Besides!" He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, a smug smile stretching across his face. "I know for a fact that werewolves were created as a blessing. Not a curse."

Remus and Sirius just stared at him. Remus swayed slightly, sweat beading on his brows as he tried to process that sentence. Sirius opened his mouth, a sharp look in his eyes.

"Wait…you act like you've been around since the start of werewolves," he said slowly. "That has to be…thousands of years, yeah?"

"2100 BCE," Lucifer said automatically, giving a shrug.

"Huh." Remus blinked, mouth slightly agape. "You're just…not gonna try to hide that?"

Lucifer tilted his head and pursed his lips in thought. "I mean… You two already know I'm not human and that I'm old."

"Yeah, I thought you meant a few hundred years old," Sirius cut in, disbelief coloring his words. "Not thousands. You're older than Hogwarts, mate."

"I'm older than a lot of things," Lucifer said, shrugging again.

"Wait, wait." Remus took a shaky step forward, amber eyes burning with something dangerously hopeful. "If…if you know how werewolves were created… Then does that mean you can…purify the curse?"

Lucifer's expression softened into a frown before he replied. "Ah, no. No, I can't, Remus. I'm sorry," he whispered, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "Besides, werewolves aren't a curse. They were a gift—a blessing. I wish I could tell you more right now, but…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, giving a sigh. "It's tied to who I am."

"I…see." Remus turned his face away, trying and failing to mask the disappointment that settled heavy onto his face. "I shouldn't have asked."

Lucifer winced. "No, it's not that I don't want to help you," he rushed out, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "It's that I literally can't. The blessing is woven into your magic, your blood, and your soul. If I tried to 'purify' it—remove it—I'd just end up killing you. And I really, really, don't want that. Because I have no idea where you would go afterward."

Remus turned his gaze back to Lucifer, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" Sirius asked, finally finding his voice again.

Lucifer shook his head, a frown pulling down at his lips. "Well, aside from the fact that he hasn't accepted his wolf side, Remus has a pretty balanced soul. So, I have no idea if he'd go—" He pointed up then down and shrugged. Then he gave Remus a curious look—one that felt older than the forest surrounding them—before he blinked and it was gone. "But that's beside the point. I still don't want you to die."

Sirius opened his mouth to press further, but Remus cut him off with a raised hand.

"It's fine." Remus drew in a deep breath before slowly letting it out through his nose. "I'm not sure why I…" He stopped and shook his head. "Back to the original subject. I'm not sure I have the energy to make a barrier that big."

"Well, then I'll do it," Lucifer said with a casual shrug. He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers with a smug smile. "I mean, it's only gonna take me a few seconds and boom! A fancy werewolf barrier that will prevent you from leaving from moonrise to moonset."

Sirius and Remus exchanged bemused glances before Sirius shrugged, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sure, why not. This I gotta see." He stood beside Remus, wrapping an arm around his waist when he noticed that he looked more unsteady.

Lucifer smirked and cracked his knuckles, a series of small pops echoing through the clearing. "Excellent."

His eyes fell closed as he drew in a deep breath and held it. The clearing was already quiet aside from a few chirping birds or the scurrying claws of squirrels, but as Lucifer stood there, the noises seemed to muffle. A pressure settled over them and the clearing. The air shimmered like a mirage—thick and heavy with power.

Then he clapped his hands together. A golden shockwave burst outward, expanding from Lucifer's body like a rippling tide. It swept over the three of them in a soft whoosh, raising the hair on their arms and leaving a magically charged tingle across their skin. Their magic flared in response, humming like it had just received a power boost.

Sirius jumped, jostling Remus slightly and nearly knocking them both to the ground. "Merlin's bloody b—"

Remus gasped, blinking rapidly as a rush of energy surged through him, like he hadn't been on the verge of collapse moments ago.

"There we go!" Lucifer exclaimed, puffing up proudly. "One werewolf barrier for frolicking under the moonlight."

Remus started at the man, his breathing heavy, a wild energy still thrumming through his veins. "What…was that?"

"Oh, that's just my ang—answer! Yes! Answer, answer magic! That's what I was going to say. Obviously!" Lucifer forced out a laugh, too loud and far too cheerful. "Completely normal. Totally…uh, wizardy."

Remus blinked, then gave him a deadpan look. "Answer magic?"

Lucifer nodded rapidly, his grin growing strained. "Yes! It's uh…the kind of magic that answers…problems?"

Sirius raised a skeptical brow, an amused grin pulling his mouth up. "So…you just clapped your hands, did a little dance, and now you've solved our problem?"

"Yup!" Lucifer chirped. "Crazy, huh?"

Remus narrowed his eyes, the energy still zipping under his skin. "There's no such thing as answer magic, Lucien."

Lucifer clapped his hands again—much less magicky this time—and said brightly, "Moving on! Let's see what Al's been doing, eh?" He quickly spun on his heel and started marching back to the manor before either of them could call him out, humming a cheerful song a little too loudly.

They found Alastor standing just outside the door, overlooking the garden, and seemed to have been waiting for them. A newspaper was folded neatly underneath his arm. He had a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and his eyes sparkled with delight behind his black frames.

"Oooh, someone looks happy," Lucifer teased with a raised brow and tilted smile. "What happened? Someone die?"

Alastor gave an amused huff and shook his head. "Sadly, no. However, our article came in this morning," he replied, pulling the folded Daily Prophet from under his arm and waved it in front of Lucifer. "The continuation from yesterday's exposé."

Lucifer blinked, then grinned, easily snatching the paper from his husband's hand. "Already? Oh, this has got to be good if you're smiling like that."

"We're not going to like this, are we?" Remus asked, eyeing the paper like it might be cursed to grow fangs and take a bite out of them.

"Oh, absolutely not!" Alastor replied cheerfully, flashing a wide smile at his godfathers. "It's truly a dreadful truth—but a truth that needed to be told, nonetheless."

"Oh, shit—this is gold," Lucifer mumbled, wide blue eyes darting rapidly across the page. Then he cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

"Dursleys Speak: 'Our Freakish Nephew'"

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

      "Yesterday, this reporter revealed the horrifying tale that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, spent his earliest years in a cupboard under the stairs. A space no larger than a broom closet, soaked in the lingering magical imprint of a small, terrified child.

      Today, we hear from the people responsible.

      Under magical compulsion, Vernon and Petunia Dursley agreed to be interviewed. What they confessed to was not merely neglect—but true cruelty that strips away any illusion of innocence.

      According to Petunia Dursley, Harry Potter (age 1) was left on their doorstep sometime during the night of November 1st, 1981. When asked why they didn't bring in the infant sooner, she responded:

      "We never knew he was there until the morning (2nd of November). We opened the door and he was just…there. Wrapped in a blanket with a letter."

      Imagine, dear readers: an infant, left on the step in the middle of a cold November night with only a blanket and a simple letter. Not handed directly to his aunt. Not making sure that our hero was safe. Just dumped on a doorstep.

      The questions were certainly buzzing within this reporter. When asked what the letter said:

      "It said that he (Harry) was in danger. And that if we kept him, we'd be protected."

      Curious, this reporter asked what she meant by 'protected'. However, Mrs. Dursley nor Mr. Dursley were aware of what that entailed—only that the letter promised it.

      It raised the question: Was Harry used as some sort of magical protection? Did enchantments tie directly into his blood? It's not a far stretch of logic to think that he was placed with his relatives not for care—but as a magical shield.

      Still, this reporter must ask: Why the Dursley's?

      Why not place the child with his many magical relatives? Why not wizards who understood the trauma of war, the needs of a magical child, or the weight of raising the Chosen One?

      Why these two Muggles—who hate magic, loath the boy's parents, and make no secret of their disdain for their "freakish" nephew?

      The Potter family, like other many wizarding families, have many familial connections. Including the Longbottoms, the Bones, and the Abbots. Yet Harry was not placed with any of them. He was given to the Muggle sister of his mother and her resentful husband. Why?

      To this reporter's surprise, Petunia provided one name.

      "Albus Dumbledore."

      Yes. Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. One of the most powerful and respected figures in our world.

      The very same Albus Dumbledore placed young Harry with the Dursleys. A non-magical family that neglected and abused the young hero.

      Unfortunately, dear readers, this was just the beginning.

      When pressed about why Harry was forced to live in a cupboard, Vernon Dursley explained:

      "We weren't going to waste space on someone like him when it should go to my precious [REDACTED NAME] (son). Freaks deserve to be put in their place."

      The Dursleys admitted that their own son had two bedrooms while young Harry was forced to live in the cramped cupboard.

      And it doesn't end there dear readers. Harry was treated as a servant from the time he could walk. He was ordered to prepare family meals while given scraps. He scrubbed the floors on his hands and knees, weeded the garden in the summer heat, washed their laundry when he was dressed in oversized hand-me-downs that swallowed his small frame.

      And when this reporter asked about discipline, dear readers, what was said is not for the faint of heart. Vernon Dursley confirmed, quite proudly, that he "beat the nonsense out of him" whenever something "strange" happened around his nephew.

      "Oh, every time that freak showed an inkling of—of freakishness, we made sure to try and beat it out of him. Lock him in his cupboard with no food for days. Whatever it took to suppress how unnatural he was."

      Yes, dear readers, you read that correctly. Every instance of accidental magic—the instinctive, untrained magic common to all young witches and wizards—was met with violence and starvation. A terrified child punished for something he could not control.

      Let us all be thankful that they failed. For if they had succeeded, it would have turned our great savor into an Obscurial.

      For those unfamiliar, an Obscurial is a young witch or wizard who, through severe trauma and suppression, manifests a violent, parasitical force, known as an Obscurus. Very rare, very dangerous, and very fatal. An Obscurial has not been seen since the times of Grindlewald in America.

      This horror nearly befell our savior.

      Perhaps the most devastating confession came when asked whether they ever felt remorse for their actions against their nephew, their own blood.

      Petunia Dursley answered:

      "We kept him alive. That was more than enough."

      Vernon added:

      "He should've been grateful to even be alive."

      These were the guardians chosen for Harry Potter. This was the home Albus Dumbledore placed the most important child of our age in. A home without kindness, without support, without a single welfare check from the Ministry for an orphan whose safety should have been a priority.

      While our world hailed him as a savior, Harry Potter was alone in the dark. He grew up hungry, beaten, dismissed, and unloved. The Boy-Who-Lived was the boy we allowed to suffer in silence.

      And now we must ask ourselves:

      How many adults turned away when he asked for help?

      How many looked at young Harry and dismissed his size?

      How long did we choose not to see the truth in front of us?

      How could Albus Dumbledore have placed Harry with such a cruel family?

      And finally, the question on every reader's lips; where is Harry Potter now?

      We can only hope, readers, that he is somewhere safe.

      For yesterday's article, see page 2.

      For more information on Obscurials, see page 5.

      For a statement from the Office of Child Protective Services for Magical Children, see page 7."

Silence hung between the four men. Alastor continued to smile lightly while the others processed the words.

Finally, Sirius broke the silence. "What…the fuck?" His voice broke on the last word, eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears. He took a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his emotions for once.

Remus, on the other hand, had no reservations. A low growl ripped from his throat—deep and animalistic—startling both Lucifer and Alastor. His eyes burned a bright gold, the wolf humming beneath his skin, as his imaginary hackles raised and his hands clenched at his side.

"They what?!" He snarled, the words coming out garbled and heavy. "Next time I see them, I'll—" He cut himself off, choking on the words as his face flushed red with a rare rage.

Alastor blinked in surprise at them, tilting his head to the side slightly. "That's a bit extreme for you, don't you think, Remus?"

"Extreme?" Lucifer echoed, raising an eyebrow. The newspaper in his hands started to smolder, thin trails of smoke slowly curling from where his hands gripped at the gray paper tightly. "No, no, no, no, no, my love." He had a dangerous smile on his face. "Remus has the right idea." The paper suddenly ignited, the flames licking up the pages and his arms; the heat intense, but short, startling everyone. Lucifer beamed, hands now empty. "Al…where do they live? I just wanna…talk."

"I second that," Sirius added darkly. The tears were gone, a cold fury replacing them. "A nice little chat with 'em."

Alastor's eyes darted between his godfathers and his husband, his brow rising higher by the second. "Yeah, noooo." He gave a chuckle, clearly amused. "As entertaining as it would be to see the three of you rip them to shreds, I'm afraid I still need them alive…for now."

"What—why?!" Lucifer immediately protested, his own growl rumbling softly in his chest. "Alastor René Marchand-Morn—" He cut himself off and sucked in a deep breath before he continued, "—Marchand-Magne. We both know you do not need them alive. You only needed them around long enough to get this very interview," he emphasized, gesturing to the ashes still drifting to the ground.

"Did you just full-name me?" Alastor asked, startled. The amusement on his face didn't falter, in fact, he looked to be enjoying the conversation even more.

"Look," Lucifer said, exasperated and began counting on his fingers. "You told me I can't take out Dumblefuck. I can't take out Moldytoes. And I can't take out that toad lady." His tone was growing more strained by the second. He loved his husband—deeply and unconditionally—but he also really wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face. That and he wanted to get revenge on someone that had wronged his love.

"At least give me these human stink sacks!" He practically begged, dragging his hands through his hair.

Alastor blinked slowly, his amusement finally dialing back as he stared down at Lucifer. His smile dimmed to something smaller, more serious. Then he heaved a large, exaggerated sigh. "Very well."

"Wait… Just like that?" Sirius asked in disbelief, gesturing between the two with a hand.

"Just like that," Alastor agreed with a shrug. "Luci, don't forget to fill out the appropriate forms before you run off to kill them."

"Wait, wait, wait—" Remus interrupted, the color draining from his face. "Kill?"

"Isn't that where you were going with your threat?" Alastor asked him, raising another brow.

"I mean… Yes," Remus admitted, giving a shake of his head. "But I wasn't actually going to kill them."

Sirius snorted. "And what were you gonna do, Moony? Report 'em to the aurors?"

"Yes!" Remus said, stressing the word. "That's exactly what we should do!"

"Nah," Lucifer said casually, waving a hand in front of his face. "They deserve way worse than a cozy cell." A sinister smile slowly curled across his face. "And I can give them worse."

Sirius frowned, shooting Lucifer a dubious look. "Okay, Creepy." Then he shook his head and blinked. "No, Moony, I'm with Lucien. They gotta go go."

Remus groaned and pressed his hands to his face. "Why am I the only one with a moral compass anymore?"

"Sounds rather tiring," Alastor said with a sharp smirk, taking delight in Remus' dilemma. "You should get rid of it entirely. Life's much more fun without one."

"No." Remus dragged his hands down his face and pointed a finger at Alastor. "No. Stop that. Someone needs to keep us from going full genocide."

"Genocide?" Alastor gave a loud laugh while Lucifer gave a slight wince and turned his gaze away. "My, my. We're not that bad." He chuckled, placing a hand on his chest in mock defense before he waved his hand, but kept his attention on Remus to show he was taking the conversation seriously. "Besides. We only plan on killing a few people. Plus, we are at war. There's bound to be deaths. In fact, I'll ensure it."

"Not…exactly comforting," Remus groaned lightly and sighed. His voice dropped and he started mumbling to himself. "Why… Why do I even bother? They didn't listen to you in Hogwarts…and he's so much like James… Why would he listen as an adult? It's like Lucien with the 'answer magic' excuse."

"Answer magic?" Alastor echoed, brows furrowing together. "What…?" He glanced over at his husband and cocked his head to the side, silently asking without words.

Lucifer gave a sheepish smile, a flush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah, just call me an idiot and let's move on."

Amused, Alastor gave a simple shrug and gave his acquiescence, "Very well, you're an idiot."

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's Office

July 20th, 1996 1:14 PM

Alastor's POV

The soft scratch of a fountain pen across parchment filled the stillness of the office. Alastor sat behind his desk, head bowed in focus as he penned the final lines of a letter to Andromeda Tonks. With the trial only two days away, every detail had to be precise—including coordination with their lawyer.

His ear twitched when a solid knock came from the office doors. His eyes flicked up to the dark wood as his shadow slithered out from under his boots toward the door. It's own inky ears twitched like it's master's, tilting it's head, a grin stretching wide.

"Alastor? Can we talk?" Hermione's voice came through, muffled by the thick wood.

He let out a small sigh and set the pen back in its holder. At his unspoken command, his shadow moved across the floor and merged under him. With a tug on his magic, his disguise fell over his form once more.

"Come in you two," he called out just enough to be heard. He stood as the door opened and collected his letter.

"Oh. We didn't know you were busy," Hermione murmured as she entered. Ron followed behind her, easily peeking over her bushy hair. "We can come back later."

Alastor shook his head, his smile warm and inviting. "No, you're quite alright," he replied. He moved around the desk and gestured toward the couches across the room. "Have a seat. I can always make time for my friends."

He moved toward a small cooling cabinet and kettle. With a flick of his hand, the kettle began to heat. "Tea? Cookies? Scones? I'm fairly certain Luci baked some this morning…"

"No, we're okay," Hermione began just as Ron replied, "Sure, mate." Hermione shot Ron a look while he just shrugged, unbothered.

Alastor gave a small chuckle, raising a brow. "I'll take that as a yes."

He opened the cooling cabinet and pulled out a small plate of scones—lemon blueberry and cheddar herb—still fresh from this morning. Humming to himself, he placed the plate on the tray alongside the tea pot, two mugs, and a lowball glass. He filled the teapot with the heated water, then grabbed a box of assorted teas on the tray. As he passed it, he grabbed a crystal decanter of whiskey from the nearby shelf and brought both it and the tray to the coffee table between the couches.

With ease, he settled on the opposite couch, pouring hot water into the mugs for his friends. Ron immediately reached for a lemon blueberry scone while Hermione browsed the teas with a furrowed brow.

Alastor poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, then leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, sipping leisurely from his glass. "Now that we're comfortable, what did you wish to talk about?"

Hermione cradled her mug in both hands, but didn't drink it. She stared down at the steaming tea as if might help her find the right words.

Alastor raised a brow, swirling his own glass. "Out with it, my dear. You're not one for idle silence."

"Why…" She paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Why didn't you tell us…about your life with the Dursleys?"

Alastor raised a brow then after a beat, simply shrugged. "Because there wasn't anything anyone could do."

"You don't know that," Hermione said sharply, her brown eyes snapping up to look at him. Ron's eyes flicked between the two, crumbs clinging to the corners of his mouth.

Alastor exhaled lightly through his nose. He could simply say 'yes, I do', but this was Hermione Granger. Instead, he had to guide her to the answer. He took another sip of his drink before he shifted and set it down on the coffee table. He snagged one of the cheddar and herb scones and took a small bite, leaning back against the couch.

"Let me ask you a question," he said, flicking his eyes between Hermione and Ron. "Who would I have asked for help?"

"Any adult," Hermione answered almost immediately. "A teacher, a neighbor, anyone." She said the words with such conviction, as if it were that simple. As if adults always listened.

A flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes before it was gone again. He had forgotten how much faith Hermione put into authority figures.

He smiled and shook his head. "I see…" He paused, mentally chewing on his words, wondering if he should just be blunt with her. Hermione was a very logical person with a love for knowledge, and a loyalty to her texts. But her loyalty to him and their friends was far stronger. And while he could guide her to the answer, maybe a bit of bluntness today wouldn't hurt.

"From the moment I was dropped on their doorstep, I was made to understand I was unwelcome," he said. He took another bite of his scone, savoring the sharp cheddar and bitter herb. "Not only unwelcome, but conditioned to believe that I was unloved, useless, and unworthy of anything. That I was lucky to have what I did; my cousin's oversized rags they called clothing, the scraps of food they tossed at me when they felt like feeding me, the dark cupboard which I both loathed and took comfort in." He smiled humorously, eyes darkening as the memories swirled at the forefront of his mind.

"I had to 'earn' my keep, my food, everything. And every mistake, every hesitation, came with consequences," he said, leaning forward, his voice growing quieter yet sharper. "I was told repeatedly that I would grow up just like my parents. Drunk, worthless, dead. They threatened to dump me in an orphanage more times that I can count. I've lost track of how many bones were broke. How many meals were withheld. How many nights I spent locked away in silence for daring to ask questions."

He shook his head, pressing his lips together in a firm line, mentally pushing down the memories. While he had Lucifer and Charlie, his Maman, Cece, Mimzy, and all his other sisters—people who helped him heal over the years—there were moments when the memories did get to be too much and laying it all out on the table with the scones and tea had stirred them like an over boiling pot.

He drew in a slow breath, held it for a heartbeat, then released it through his nose. His shoulders slowly dropped back down from where they had crept up to his faux ears. Then he finally looked up at his old friends, tired but shoulders and spine straight.

Hermione looked like she was on the verge of crying, tears clinging heavily to her lashes and a hand pressed her mouth, while her other hand was still holding the mug of tea, now shaking slightly. He could tell she was trying to hold back any sound as he spoke, her chest rising and falling in uneven motions.

Ron on the other hand looked sick. His face was paler than normal, his many freckles standing out against the sickly pallor. His half-eaten scone was set on the table, seemingly unable to finish it in light of Alastor's words. He swallowed multiple times, his own breathing heavy and shallow and his jaw clenched tightly judging by the muscles working from what Alastor could see.

"I don't tell you this to upset you," Alastor continued, his voice much more gentle now, twirling the scone in his hand. "I'm telling you this so you understand. That as a young child, I never thought to even ask for help. I was conditioned not to ask questions, to not ask for help, to not go to another adult, another person. I thought my life was normal."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak and quickly closed it again. She cleared her throat before she spoke in a soft and broken voice. "What about… What about while at Hogwarts? Why didn't you…?"

Alastor gave a humorless huff, eyes flickering in resignation and wry amusement as he tilted his head. "I did. For the first time in my life, I did ask for help."

Both Ron and Hermione gave him curious yet hesitant looks.

"At the end of my first year, while I was still in the Hospital Wing," he said, reaching for his glass. He took a slow sip, letting the alcohol wet his mouth and burn his throat. "I asked Dumbledore if I could stay at Hogwarts over the summer. I said I didn't wish to return to my relatives. But before I could get any further, he stopped me."

He gave a single bitter laugh, shaking his head. "He said that they were my family. That there was no love stronger than that of the bonds of my family who anxiously awaited my return." He lifted his glass and took another long drag of the whiskey, easily finishing it and resting it against his knee.

A quiet breath escaped him as he cleared his throat. "Everything in the article this morning was just the tip of the iceberg. And the wizarding public doesn't need to know anything more about the Dursleys. They only need to understand how easily children fall through the cracks. How easily their 'golden' society chooses to remain ignorant instead of taking responsibility."

"But why?" Ron finally asked, his voice scratchy. Some of the color had returned to his face, but he still looked like he was processing everything. "Why put that out now?"

Alastor tilted his head and pursed his lips, his gaze sharp as it flicked between Hermione and Ron. They had said that they trusted him, that they were on his side for Balance. But they didn't know how deeply his plans went. They didn't know how deeply his sins burrowed beneath the surface—through the Earth and straight into Hell.

"Because they need to be aware that their perfect little world is broken," he replied, his voice soft, but edged with something cold. "That their silence, their comfort, their denial has allowed abuse and cruelty to fester in plain sight. That there are many others like myself that they have failed. And that even their heroes," his lip curled in mild distaste, "can bleed."

His gaze dropped to the empty glass, his fingers idly tapping the rim. "This article wasn't just the truth… It was a mirror. A reflection that they won't be able to look away from or ignore. And once they accept the truth, once they start asking the right questions, they'll realize something is deeply out of place in their world."

He leaned back, his voice quieter now. "It's not just about revenge for those who put me in that situation, but it's about awareness as well. It's about shifting the scales. And this was just the first tug at the seam that makes up the thread of lies."

He looked up from his empty glass, the calm on his face more unsettling than comforting. "It's just a shame that it took this article to open their eyes and not the war raging at their doorstep." He smiled, but it wasn't kind.

Hermione said after a few beats of silence, her voice thin."This was the first move."

"No," Ron said suddenly, frowning and brows furrowed. His eyes were fixed on the plate of scones, unseeing. "This was just the first move that everyone knows about. There were more before that."

Alastor shot Ron a sharp smile. "Exactly. There's the brilliant chess master I remember," he said.

"Like moving Sirius and everyone else out of Grimmauld," Hermione murmured, eyes widening in realization. "You wanted everyone away from Professor Dumbledore…"

"You would be correct, Hermione," Alastor replied, crossing one leg over the other again. "That man is a puppet master and he's been pulling people's strings for decades. He conveniently placed me with the Dursleys when my parents' will strictly said not to. He could have gotten a trial for Sirius with his position on the Wizengamot, yet has not done so after years. He could go after Voldemort himself, yet he does not do so. He has the power, so why doesn't he?"

Ron remained quiet and frowned, his thoughts churning in his head. Hermione pressed her lips together into a tight line. She was visibly struggling to come to any sort of terms that the wise and kind Headmaster could be so manipulative.

"Al," Ron said suddenly, his voice unsure. "You don't think… Back in first year with those puzzles. The one protecting the Stone." He paused, blue eyes finally flicking up to Alastor's. "You don't think Dumbledore set those up for us, do you?"

A pleased, sharp smile curled up Alastor's face. "Oh, you have a sharp mind, Ron."

Hermione jerked her head back and forth between him and Ron, her brows drawn together in mild distress. "What? You think Professor Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone in a school full of children to draw out You-Know-Who? Then set up those obstacles—conveniently easy ones—for three first years to barrel through like foolhardy Gryffindors so Harry could face You-Know-Who? Alone?"

Alastor gave a soft chuckle. "Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?" He asked, tilting his head to the side as he watched Hermione with a knowing look. "Though, it is curious at how specific you were, Hermione. As if you've thought about it before…"

She didn't respond, only raising her chin.

'Ah, so she had been thinking about it.' He gave a hum, his grin curling up his face. "But, if you think about it in another angle; add in what you know about the old prophecy and the fact that Dumbledore has been guiding my path since long before I was born… It doesn't sound quite so ridiculous anymore, does it?"

"We haven't heard the old prophecy," Ron said, reaching for his half-eaten scone again. "Dumbledore didn't share it with us."

"Of course he didn't," Alastor muttered, rolling his eyes. "Well, let me paraphrase then. It claimed someone would be born at the end of July who would vanquish Voldemort. And Voldemort would mark them as his equal," he added, gesturing to the long-since faded lighting bolt scar on his forehead, "and that either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked, chewing slowly.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Hermione said, sighing in exasperation. "What it means is that Alastor was marked with the lightning bolt scar by You-Know-Who, making him the child in the prophecy." She rolled her eyes. "Even though I still think Divination is utter rubbish and wizards put too much faith into it, You-Know-Who made the prophecy self-fulling."

She finally took a sip of her tea and cringed slightly at the cold taste. She set the mug down on the coffee table instead and placed her hands on her knees. "As for the last part, the wording is interesting. It states that you have to fight each other if you want to live your life. You-Know-Who is so obsessed with you, that he's going to keep chasing you."

"Oh, what's one more egomaniac creep who's obsessed with me?" Alastor said with a grin, shrugging nonchalantly. "That's three already on my list. At least he's not trying to touch me all the time," he mumbled the last part.

"You life is mental, mate," Ron said, polishing off his scone with a weak chuckle.

Alastor shot Ron a crooked grin. "I prefer entertaining."

"So both You-Know-Who and Professor Dumbledore believe in the prophecy," Hermione murmured, her brow furrowed in thought. "And have been trying to control the outcome."

"Indeed. And yet, Voldemort only knew the first line—just that someone born at the end of July could defeat him. Quite arrogant of him," Alastor said with a chuckle, shaking of his head in mock disappointment. He clicked his tongue. "But that's neither here nor there." His smirk grew sharp, amusement twinkling behind his glasses. "Because that prophecy no long matters."

"What?" Ron asked, blinking in surprise.

"What do you mean it 'no longer matters'?" Hermione asked, leaning forward slightly and eyes sharp.

"Well…" Alastor chuckled, brushing some invisible fluff from his knee. "Fate was apparently unhappy about how the prophecy was being mishandled. The future it led to—all the dead bodies, the uncontrollable chaos, and the wizarding world teetering on collapse—wasn't exactly up to her standards. So, she spun a new prophecy. The one both Charlie and Luna recited."

He leaned forward and grabbed the decanter, pouring himself another few fingers of whiskey. He grabbed his glass with a pleased hum and took a sip. "Though, the new prophecy itself didn't negate the old one. Fate knew that. Something else happened that helped cancel its influence."

He didn't explain further. He didn't need them to know that his death cancelled the prophecy—at least not just yet.

He took a slow drag of his drink again, before he hummed and gestured to Hermione's cold tea. "Would you like me to heat that for you, dear?"

She offered him a faint smile and shook her head. "You keep mentioning Fate and Death. The deities. I did a bit of reading on them. Books I found in the Black and Potter libraries."

"Of course you did," Ron said with a fond roll of his eyes.

Alastor gave a deep laugh. "I expected nothing less from you, Hermione. Tell me," he leaned forward a little, a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes, "what did you learn?"

"So much," she intoned, leaning forward. An excitement buzzed under her skin and her eyes lit up. "The mention of deities goes back centuries. There were rituals that old families used to preform to celebrate the seasons and honor the deities. Like Samhain! And Yule! And so many others."

"Yeah, Dad used to celebrate them when he was kid," Ron added. "His mum was a Black, and the Blacks still celebrate those old holiday traditions and rituals. Just… Mum was never into them, so we never celebrated them. That…and they're considered illegal. Being dark magic and all."

"Hm, yes. 'Dark' magic," Alastor echoed sardonically, rolling his eyes. "There is nothing dark about those traditions. Yule, Samhain, Ostara; each one celebrates the turning of the seasons and life."

He shifted in his seat, whiskey glass in hand, and gestured casually. "For example, the upcoming Lughnasadh—or Lammas—is a celebration of the first harvest of the year. It's a time for baking, creating seasonal alters, sharing meals, and offering gratitude to the Deities for what the earth has yielded. The main deity that is honored is Mundane—Magic's counterpart. A day meant to spend in nature, without spells or incantations."

Hermione listened intently, her attention focused on every single word like it was made of spun gold.

"And Samhain," he continued, his voice warming as he waved a hand, his whiskey sloshing precariously, "marks the end of the harvest and the coming of winter. As well as to honor your ancestors. The veil between the worlds grows thin, making it perfect to remember them. Creating alters with photos and mementos to them, lighting candles in their memory, offering them their favorite foods and drinks. You light a bonfire for cleansing and protection, and carve pumpkins or turnips to ward off evil spirits. And the deity honored would be Death."

"But none of that sounds like dark magic," Hermione said, shaking her head. "If that's true… Then why did the Ministry ban them?"

Alastor smiled and raised his brows. "Why were there witch hunts? Why were our kind burned at the stake? Or drowned? Why do humans do anything when they don't understand something? They smother it."

He took a long drag of his drink, sighing at the taste and burn. He watched the amber liquid swirl in the glass, the lights of the sconces casting light through it. "They're scared. They didn't understand how the traditions and celebrations worked. Refused to understand them. And instead of learning, they feared them. Labeled them as dark magic and let the rot of ignorance spread."

"But that's…" Hermione began, then fell silent, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

"It's always been like that, Hermione," Alastor said, his voice softer. "Since the dawn of the human age. They destroy what they don't understand. Or worse…they twist it into something they can control.."

A long pause followed before Ron finally opened his mouth to comment, "That's a really dark outlook…"

"Don't get me wrong," Alastor said, gesturing to Ron with his glass. "I may have a darker view on life, but I see the light. As much as I loathe Dumbledore, he is right about one thing. Love is powerful. It can drive us to do impossible feats. To protect, to endure, to change. Love is a strength."

He paused, then sighed. "But we're getting off topic. By a lot." He threw back the rest of his whiskey then set the glass back down. He cleared his throat and continued, "The point is, the old prophecy is null and void. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort have been manipulating everyone to force it to come true. But that's not how prophecies work. You can't force fate into a corner, to turn left when it's meant to go right. Not unless you're a deity, which… None of us are."

Hermione pressed her lips together and tapped her fingers against her knee, eyes fixed on him. "You've thought a lot on this."

"More than you realize," he replied with a small shrug. He studied her for a moment, tone softening. "I understand that you've not fully embraced Dumbledore's true character yet. Or that you agree with everything I've done—or plan to do. But you really are a brilliant young woman, Hermione. And I know you'll come to your own conclusions in time. The only advice I can give you right now is… Just keep reading. Keep digging. The Potter library is full of knowledge that hasn't seen light in who knows how long."

Then his eyes flicked to Ron, his very first friend. "And Ron… I'd appreciate it if you were there for her. I know you want to support me—and I'm grateful for that—but Hermione's going to need someone steady at her side. And you've always been steadfast. A loyal Gryffindor through and through."

Ron blinked, caught off guard, then nodded. "Yeah. 'Course I can do that."

Alastor nodded back and stood, brushing out the wrinkles in his shirt. "Thank you. And if you have any questions, you're more than welcome to ask me. Time travel or not, I'd like to believe I'm still your friend."

"What? Of course we're still your friends!" Ron protested loudly, shocked.

"Don't be silly, Alastor," Hermione added, nearly at the same time. "You'll always be our friend."

A genuine smile, small and a touch melancholy, broke across his lips as he gazed at them. "I only hope you'll still feel that way…as the year unfolds."

—

Location: Potter Manor - Woods

July 20th, 1996 5:41 PM

Remus' POV

A breeze blew through the woods and clearing, gently stirring the leaves of the trees overhead as twilight bled slowly into night. Streaks of deep indigo slowly swallowed up the soft blush and golden hues of the setting sun, stars beginning to twinkle from the darkening veil above.

Behind him, Remus could hear three steady heartbeats pounding against ribcages and three distinct scents—those he considered pack. The familiar warm smell of leather, cedar, and wet dog of Sirius. The sharp smell of a thunderstorm on the horizon, an earthy musk, the tang of copper, and something deeper for Alastor. Then the scent of spiced apple, smoke, and sharp ozone from Lucien. All three were quiet as they waited.

He let out a shaky exhale, a shudder skittering up his spine as he felt the wolf inside him stir like a caged beast, restless and pacing. He could feel it now—the pull of the moon like a leash around his soul. The shift lurked in his bones, like a pulse deep within him that throbbed in a silent rhythm with the approaching full moon.

He swallowed thickly as his sharp hearing picked up someone behind him shift their weight, the stiff grass grazing under a pair of soles.

This was always the part he hated most: the waiting. Before the pain. Before the wolf overtook him. Though, the Wolfsbane Potion helped keep his mind, he could still sense the wolf and still felt compelled to follow his instincts.

His breath caught in his throat as he felt a sharp tug in his soul. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out every sound until only the pounding of his heartbeat remained. Sweat beaded over his forehead as goosebumps prickled across this arms. He cried out and folded in half, clutching the blanket at his waist as he gasped for air. A ragged groan scratched out of his throat before it transitioned into a low, animalistic growl.

He could feel the moon rising. Could feel the shift as the wolf eagerly reared up and tried to take over.

Pain flared sharp and bright as his bones snapped and reshaped, dropping him to the earth beneath him. His skin felt like it was tearing then sewing itself back together while fire licked at every nerve ending. His mind flooded with the wolf's instincts, a rush of violent hunger and primal urgency, only for the Wolfsbane Potion to cool some of that fire in his brain, numbing them.

"Shit, that looks painful."

Remus snarled as he felt his snout elongate and fangs pushed their way out of his gums like tiny knives. Fur sprouted along his body and deadly claws dug into the dirt beneath his hands. He wheezed as the pain settled and retreated, leaving him gasping and breathless. He and the wolf shared the same space of his body like a strange double vision. But it was better, so much better than watching helplessly from the inside, unable to do anything, unable to control his own body, as the wolf ran wild.

Everything around him sharpened into hyper-focus. He could hear the flutter of an owl's wings somewhere in the trees and the steady breathing of his pack behind him. His eyes snapped open, amber and glowing faintly in the dusky twilight. They swept over the clearing with a single glance, catching the shimmer of dew on blades of grass meters away. Scents flooded his nose, layered, and richer and sharper than when he was ever human.

A sudden slobbery lick dragged across his muzzle. He recoiled with a startled yelp, twisting to find a very familiar shaggy black dog in front of him.

Padfoot barked, spun in a tight circle like he was chasing his tail, then stopped to stare at him, tail wagging eagerly. He barked again, sharp and eager, before he bounded forward a few paces and turned, head cocked, waiting for Moony to follow. Come on, then. Let's play.

Moony gave a low, hesitant rumble, his ears flicking back. Padfoot's scent was familiar, screaming of home. The usual wet dog scent was stronger now, but layered with others: cedar, the roast from dinner, a trace of whiskey spiked into his tea, the wet grass he had brushed past on their walk to the clearing, the deep, smokey magic that clung to Sirius like fog, and the peppery spice that simply was Sirius.

"Woohoo! Animal party!" Lucien's voice rang out from behind Moony, far too gleeful for the occasion. He clapped his hands together and drew Moony's attention. "Al, you want me to turn you into an animal? Heh? Heh?" He nudged Alastor with an impish smirk.

Alastor rolled his eyes and shook his head with a wry smile. "No. I'm fine to remain as I am. You go have fun, mon agne."

"Suit yourself," Lucien replied with a shrug. Then, with a playful wink and in an explosion of red and gold smoke, shifted into a snake.

He was average in size, but he was like no snake Moony had every seen. Pure white scales with pink and white stripes down his belly—suspiciously like one of Lucien's favorite vests he wore often. Two tiny red circles rested on his cheeks, which were almost cartoonish, but suited Lucien.

Then Moony caught Lucien's scent.

Lucien still smelled of spiced apple, rich smoke, earthy brimstone, and sharp ozone. But beneath all that—buried deeper within Lucien—was something new. Or perhaps, something Moony could only now discern with his sharpened senses. The smells hit him like a bludger to the chest, almost making him stumble.

Bright berries and melon. The earthy sweetness of a garden after the rain. A smooth smell of sweet vanilla and mint. Then, something…something indescribable. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it smelled like light. Did light have a smell? Whatever it was, it smelled good and pure and safe.

Moony stared, transfixed on Lucien as he slithered toward him without an ounce of fear or hesitation, his little forked tongue darting out to scent the air. The snake moved with ease through the grass, his gold and red eyes sparkling with excitement and his little cheek markings made him look permanently pleased with himself. He wound his way up Moony's leg, his scales warm and silky against his fur.

Padfoot barked sharply before bounding toward them. He circled Moony and Lucien like an overexcited herding dog, panting and huffing, clearly telling them to hurry up. Then he trotted over to Alastor, tail whipping happily behind him in a blur as he nudged him firmly behind the knees.

Alastor huffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure you want me to join you in whatever you have planned," he replied lightly, giving Padfoot a nudge with the end of his staff. "You don't need me. Go have fun on your own. I'm merely here for the entertainment."

"Aww, c'mon, Al!" Lucien called from atop Moony's head, startling the werewolf with the sudden unexpected shout. Moony yelped and instinctively ducked, ears flicking back in surprise. "Live a little."

Alastor shot Lucien a deadpan look, though a glimmer of amusement danced behind his glasses. "You realize that animagi don't talk, right?"

Moony twitched as Lucien's tiny forked tongue flicked out, the end tickling the fine fur on one of his ears. "But I'm not an animagus?"

Alastor shook his head and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Nevermind, love. Just have fun. I'll be here," he said, gesturing behind him to an antique-looking armchair that looked completely out of place in the clearing. "I have some reading to catch up on."

With that, he sat down and summoned a book from…somewhere—Moony still hadn't figured out how he managed that particular spell. Alastor cracked open the old leather-bound book and began to read easily, despite the fact that the only light came from the slivers of moonlight filtering through the trees above.

Moony whined and cocked his head, ears twitching. He took a few steps toward Alastor, feeling Lucien curl tighter around his ears like a white crown atop his head. He gave a pleasant sigh as the wind picked up and he eagerly took in the scents of the earth. The wet dew that clung to the fresh, sweet grass, the rich, musty soil beneath it, the multiple scents of animals—squirrels skittering from branch to branch, rabbits burrowing nearby, birds twittering from their nests. Each scent filled his being and calmly stroked the running instincts within, mingling with the subtle perfume of plants and wildflowers.

His nose twitched, his small tufted tail giving a few swishes before he froze. His stood straighter, claws curling in front of him. A scent struck him, sharp and wrong. It didn't belong to the woods or their pack. It was buried deep beneath familiar layers, but he knew the smell. He knew it all too well.

Death.

But it was subtle, buried under many other scents…familiar scents. Earthy musk, the sharp ozone like before a thunderstorm, and the heaviness of a smoldering wildfire—dangerous if not controlled or contained. Now, deeper within, a damp bitterness rose, like oakmoss and wormwood, along with a wet swampy smell, sharper than the hazy notes. The copper tang of blood was also mixed in with the sweet bitterness of rotting leaves and death.

Dangerous, primal, predatory; something that shouldn't be disregarded, but feared.

And all these complex notes came from one source—Alastor, his godson. Who was casually reading through an old, magically saturated book.

Moony stared in bewilderment, unable to reconcile that all these smells were coming from Alastor. His instincts screamed to eliminate the threat, but the potion helped keep him rational. This was his pack, his pup all grown up. He knew Alastor. Yes, the man had heavily hinted and outright admitted he was dangerous and had killed people—had suggested that he would do so again. But Moony—Remus—knew that Alastor wasn't a danger to the pack. Just as he knew Lucien wasn't a danger to the pack.

But he just didn't understand the perpetual smell of blood and death on his packmate. He wasn't injured; this smell went much deeper than the surface. How could he smell like blood? Like death? Much like a vampire, but without the nose-hair-burning sweetness that usually accompanied it.

Padfoot barked loudly and ran towards Moony again, snapping the werewolf out of his thoughts abruptly. The shaggy black dog grumbled and growled, nearly tackling Moony in his excitement, urging him to move and play.

Moony shook his head, nearly forgetting that Lucien was settled atop him—the hissed out "Hey!" was a sharp reminder—and yipped, dropping down to all fours as he took off after Padfoot's disappearing tail in the foliage.

For the rest of the night—and for the first time in a heartbreakingly number of years—Moony felt unburdened during the full moon. He had his mind, steady and clear, keeping the instincts of the beast at bay. He had a pack again, old and new. And when Alastor did eventually join in a tricky game involving magic, shifting shadows, and tossing sticks…Moony felt like he was back with the Marauders again.

He had lost his best friend, his brother, James, to betrayal. He had lost who he once thought of as a close friend, Peter, to the Dark. Who still was out there, still walking and creeping in the shadows like the rat he was.

But he had Sirius back. His best friend. The one who made him better, made him believe. And if Sirius could claw his way through grief and prison and pain, then so could he. The man was inspiring. Made him feel seen and wanted and needed. Moony didn't know what he would do without Sirius by his side.

Then he had a pack member returned. Alastor, now grown, but still the boy Remus once swore to protect. Named godfather by James and Lily, he had mourned Alastor's disappearance. Like his heart had been ripped from his chest much like when he lost James. He had blamed himself, convinced that he had failed his brother. But when Alastor stepped out of the summoning circle—older, changed, yet still carrying fond memories of Remus—hope returned with the man. He had his pup back. He was different, darker, but he was still little Harry deep down.

And following on Alastor's heels a few days later, was his newest pack member: Lucien. He really didn't know what to make of Alastor's husband and mate at first. Lucien was strange, ancient, and powerful, but one thing was beyond a shadow of a doubt: Lucien adored Alastor. Every word, every glance, every action screamed love and protection, he would burn the world before he let anything or anyone harm Alastor.

And though Lucien was unknown, some strange and ancient being, he was nothing but truthful about his feelings. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Aside from hiding his identity, he was honest, open, and fiercely loyal. He didn't shy away from difficulties as long as Alastor stood beside him.

The two complimented each other in a way Remus had only seen in Lily and James. Alastor, without knowing them, carried so much of them. James' mischief, Lily's levelheadedness and sharp temper. Her logic and thirst for knowledge and James' fierce protectiveness. Alastor was their son, just shaped by a much darker path.

And it made Moony insanely curious to know what happened to his godson. What had happened to him? What had changed him so completely? And why—why—did he carry the smell of death? He didn't think he'd be getting the answers any time soon.

And then, inevitably, the sky lightened. Deep blues and purples bled into blushing reds and soft pinks, until eventually, the sky lightened to the blue he knew by heart. The sun rose and the moon sank below the horizon, ending another night.

It was hours later, after he had slept with Sirius as Padfoot curled beside him, that he finally had enough energy to speak again. "Pads," Remus whispered hoarsely, rolling over onto his side. His heavy eyes blinked blearily. He was still bone-deep exhausted, but he needed to tell Sirius. It was important.

One of Padfoot's ears twitched and the black dog yawned and stretched. Then he shifted back into a man, stretching his limbs over the bed. "Hey, Moony. Mornin'. How you feeling?"

Remus shook his head. "You know how I'm feeling, Pads," he replied, fingers picking at the edge of the pillowcase. "I need to tell you something."

Sirius groaned softly and rolled onto his side so he was facing Remus, gray eyes still heavy with sleep after a long, rough night. "What is it?"

"It's about Alastor."

The words woke Sirius up. The man blinked a few times as if trying to understand the words that left Remus' mouth. "Wot?"

Remus stared directly into Sirius' eyes, steady despite the night. "He's not human anymore."

Chapter Text

Location: Potter Manor - Master bedroom

July 21st, 1996 11:21 AM

"Aaaallll," Lucifer whined, limbs outstretched like a starfish, taking up much of the bed despite being much smaller than the king-sized mattress. "I'm tiiiiired."

Alastor's eyes opened to glare lightly at his husband. "Then go back to sleep," he grumbled in return, rolling over so his back was to Lucifer. He sighed and buried his face into his pillow, body already relaxing again for more sleep.

"But I don't wanna sleep," came the sulky reply. A few heartbeats of silence passed. "Aaaallll, I'm boooored."

A very heavy, long-suffering sigh was his only answer before Alastor rolled back over to face Lucifer with a flat, unimpressed look. "Then go do something," he suggested dryly.

They both knew he wouldn't. And Alastor knew, with all the certainty of someone who'd been married to the chaotic angel for forty-seven years, that he would not be getting any more sleep after a long night of frolicking outside with a werewolf.

Then, in a surprising twist Alastor had not seen coming, Lucifer listened.

The man gave a soft, whiny hum, then slipped out of bed and disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. Alastor lifted his head to stare in disbelief, ears twitching before dropping his head back to the pillow with a sigh.

'What are you up to now?' He couldn't help but wonder. His ears twitched again as he heard Lucifer rummage through a drawer at the bathroom sink. A couple of seconds later, the man returned with a soft-bristle brush and a smug smile.

Lucifer jumped onto the bed and crawled back over to his husband's side. Alastor watched him with quiet amusement and half-lidded red eyes, already resigned. Lucifer's dark fingers curled around the pale wooden handle as he drew closer, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. His tail flicked into view behind him, swishing playfully before it slithered beneath the blanket as he stopped at Alastor's side.

Alastor could feel the tail sliding down his side slowly, gliding through his fur and teasing the waistband of his boxers. He raised a brow as if to say: really? This is your plan?

Then he gave a surprised squeak when that long tail threw the blanket up and off Alastor's long body, exposing him to the cooler air. His legs snapped up to his stomach and his arms wrapped around his knees as his gaze bore into Lucifer indignantly. "I was comfortable."

"Aww, poor Al," Lucifer mocked, pitching his voice in a faux sympathetic tone as he pouted dramatically. "Are you cold now? Need me to warm you up, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that," Alastor groused, though the color on his cheeks showed how much he didn't mind the nickname. His ears twitched, flicking back then upright again as he drew his body tighter into a ball. "And yes. I'm cold now."

Lucifer snickered lightly and waved his tail over Alastor, hovering the spaded tip just above his body as warmth started to chase the chill away.

It wasn't by any means cold. It was the middle of summer. However, both Alastor and Lucifer were used to a much hotter climate than Earth's summer—particularly England's summer—and it just didn't get hot enough for them.

A shiver ran through Alastor before he relaxed again, unwrapping his arms and letting his legs stretch out, his cloven hooves wiggling as he warmed up. He shifted, laying on his back as his arms strained above his head, rolling his wrists until they gave little clicks.

"Better?" Lucifer asked, watching his husband stretch languidly across the bed. His eyes shimmered with a warm look, the tip of his tail twitching beside him. He gave a quiet growl as he climbed over him, easily settling himself on Alastor's thighs while waving the brush in his hand. "When's the last time I got to brush your fur?"

Alastor gave a thoughtful hum and looked away, pursing his lips as he tilted his head to the side. "It's been a while. I think I've started getting knots, Luci," he said with a sigh, his eyes cutting back to Lucifer as the corners of his mouth twitched in clear amusement.

Lucifer's free hand flew to his chest in mock offense and gasped. "Knots?! Now, we can't have my gorgeous, fluffy husband with knots! Tsk, tsk. I've really been neglecting your grooming."

"Indeed you have," Alastor agreed with a soft hum, eyes burning into the angel atop him. He ignored the fluffy comment entirely. "Since you're not going to allow me to sleep, you might as well make it up to me with a good grooming." His smile sharpened as he laced his fingers behind his head, watching Lucifer intently.

Lucifer grinned and leaned forward, gently nuzzling his face to the underside of Alastor's jaw. He placed a quick kiss there before he drew back again, golden eyes glinting. "Then just relax, my deer."

Alastor let out a long, quiet sigh as the bristles of the brush glided through the fur of his side. The muscles jumped at the ticklish sensation before finally relaxing into the strokes. His eyes fluttered closed and he hummed softly in the back of his throat, his static settling into a calm, steady white noise.

Lucifer's grin softened into a something more tender as he watched his husband relax beneath him, running the brush gently through the thicker fur of his chest. There were a few tangles there, noticing how the fur curled and twined from lack of grooming. He gave a slight wince, realizing he truly had been neglecting this. It had been a few months since he had pampered Alastor with a good brushing. With his free hand, he untangled the knots, fingers gentle as he worked through the curls, then swept the brush over to smooth the fur one more.

A low, contented rumble vibrated from Alastor's chest, his ears low and relaxed as his chest expanded and fell in soft, even breathes. He looked asleep, but the subtle flicks of his ears, the quiet static hum beneath his breath, told Lucifer he was awake. Just placid and savoring how the bristles slipped through his fur and scratched the skin below in a pleasant way, tingles whispering in their wake.

"Feel good?" Lucifer asked quietly, not wanting to break the peace that had settled over the room. He brushed with steady, even strokes, making sure he got all the tangles. He ran the brush down Alastor's stomach, gliding the bristles over his bellybutton, all the way down to the edge of his boxer shorts before he repeated the motion several times more.

For several minutes, Lucifer focused on grooming the front of Alastor's abdomen, his fingers following each stroke, enjoying how soft and smooth the velvety hair felt under his palm. His eyes lingered on his husband's face—Alastor lying there with a small, contented smile, eyes closed, and ears drooped as if he had no care in the world at the moment. Just as Lucifer had hoped.

"You've been under stress lately," he murmured softly, brushing over a nipple intentionally before continuing down his side. "It's good to see you relaxed."

Alastor gave a soft sound, arching up slightly in a stretch before settling again. "I have things under control," he replied just as quietly.

Lucifer shot him a flat look, aware Alastor couldn't see it, but had no doubt he could feel it. "Just because you have things under control doesn't mean that you're not stressed, Al," he said, his tone just as flat. He sighed, but never stopped his steady strokes. "You've been doing a lot and there is still so much more to do. Do you even know how long this war, all these plans, are going to take?"

Alastor's smile slowly morphed into a thoughtful frown. "Hmm. No idea," he admitted. "I suspect longer than we think. Gathering allies. Forming another side in the war. Manipulating two prideful, deranged old men. Weakening both their factions. Trying to build a future from the allies we gather…" He exhaled slowly. "I suspect it will take at least a year. Maybe more."

"A year?" Lucifer echoed incredulously. His hand finally stilled, more in shock than anything else. "A year?" He repeated again, gaping down at Alastor. "Th-this can't be done in a summer?"

Alastor cracked an eye open, frowning up at his husband. "Unfortunately no, Luci. Building a case against Dumbledore alone to destroy his reputation will take months. Being sneaky and filching allies from both sides will take months. Preparing them to help build and run the future will take months."

Lucifer continued to gape at him, completely thrown by the news.

Alastor sighed and sat up, cupping Lucifer's face with both hands. "Mon ange, relax. I knew this going in. And I apologize that I didn't inform you. I thought you knew as well. War takes time. Fixing a broken world takes time." He pressed a gentle kiss to Lucifer's mouth, finally jolting him to move. "But, if you need to—if you have to go back to Hell to manage things there—I'll understand. I won't—"

"Shut up."

Alastor's mouth snapped closed at the soft command. He blinked down at his husband with an arched brow.

Lucifer had closed his eyes and was drawing in a breath. He released it slowly and shook his head. He met Alastor's gaze, golden eyes narrowed with determination. "I'm not leaving you. I promised I would help you with this, promised I'd be by your side and support you. I am not leaving."

His gaze was intense and unwavering as his eyes bore into Alastor's. The brush had been forgotten, resting in their laps, and his fingers now gripped Alastor's thighs, grounding himself in the touch. He wanted Alastor to feel the truth in his words, to ensure that Alastor understood. He would chose Alastor over Hell itself every time.

"Lilith is still Queen of Hell. She knows how to run it," he continued, running a hand through his hair, pushing the blonde strands away from his face. "Hell, she runs it better than I do." He gave a half-shrug and pursed his lips before he looked back up at Alastor. "But I'm not going anywhere. If this takes a year, two years, more—I'll still be here. Right here. By your side."

Alastor exhaled softly, tension bleeding from his shoulders he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Lucifer's and brushing their noses together. His thumbs ghosted over the apples of Lucifer's cheeks in gentle strokes.

Lucifer reached out and slid his fingers under Alastor's jawline, cradling it as they sat in silence for a few long heartbeats. They sat there, just breathing against each other, savoring the softness, feeling and just being.

Then, with a slight tilt of his head, Lucifer pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Alastor's lips, which was returned just as gently. They kissed softly, again and again, holding their breaths as they shared a moment that buzzed with devotion for each other.

Finally, Alastor pulled away with a sigh, blinking slowly. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost impossible to hear if they weren't so close.

Lucifer let out a small huff. "Forty-seven years and you still think I wouldn't chose you?" He pulled away and rolled his eyes, smiling wryly. "Silly deer. Now, roll over so I can brush your back."

With an exaggerated eyeroll and his own wry smile, Alastor laid back down and rolled over. He folded his arms under his head and sighed, his tail giving a lazy swish.

Lucifer resettled himself, straddling the back of Alastor's thighs as he began to run the brush down his back. The fur prickled at the gentle sensation, raising briefly before settling again under the slow, calming strokes.

For a while, Lucifer dragged the brush through the fur between his shoulder blades, undoing a few stubborn tangles there, before leisurely gliding the bristles down to the small of Alastor's back and to the base of his tail. He was careful as he brushed the short, twitching appendage, earning quiet hums and static-laden giggles—though Alastor would vehemently deny making such a sound. The small tail flicked and wagged playfully, trying to escape the brush's path.

Lucifer chuckled as he held the tail in his hand to keep it still, gently running the bristles with practiced ease. He watched it wiggle in his grip, unruly and defiant just like that man it was attached to. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the white underside of the fluff.

Alastor's ears twitched, low and relaxed. But he didn't protest when Lucifer continued to pay extra attention to his tail.

Lucifer's own tail—which had been resting on the bed beside him—stirred to life, swaying lazily through the air with intention. His smile grew as he brushed a few more strokes through the soft fur, one hand still holding the small ball of fluff. Then he leaned down again, his breath hot as he mouthed it gently along the curve, his tongue darting out to tease the edges.

Static buzzed louder as Alastor tensed slightly, burying his warm face into the crook of his arms. He crossed his ankles and locked them, toes curling against the bed as a strained groan slipped out from him as Lucifer teased his tail. "Lucifer," he warned, his voice strangled as he tried not to moan. "That doesn't feel like a brush."

Oh, Lucifer knew that. Amusement sparked in his chest as he gave the tip of the tail light nip, rewarded by a sudden burst of staticky distortion in response. He chuckled and pressed a kiss above the tail as apology. "Couldn't help myself," he murmured against the warm fur of Alastor's back.

"Mmhm. I'm sure," Alastor replied sardonically, his voice muffled against his arms.

*Smut starts here

Lucifer's grin curled slowly as he set aside the brush and smoothed his hands along Alastor's waist. His fingers combed through the soft fur in lazy strokes as he leaned forward, lips trailing affectionate open-mouthed kisses up his spine.

Alastor turned his head as a flush of warmth rippled through his body. Static buzzed around him softly, a dial stuck between the stations as he allowed himself to melt into the mattress, his heartbeat picking up just slightly. He suppressed a moan in the back of his throat as he felt the gentle scrape of Lucifer's teeth between his shoulder blades, a shiver skittering down his spine to the tip of his tail. It flicked up instinctively, the soft fur brushing against the skin of Lucifer's lower belly.

A sound rumbled low from Lucifer's chest as he pressed closer, settling his weight over Alastor. His teeth grazed across skin, his hands squeezing, fingers digging into fur and flesh. He leaned in and dragged his tongue up, slow and deliberate, through the space between sharp shoulder blades, breathing heat into Alastor's back.

Static skipped and spiked, a small whimper managing to eke out of Alastor's throat as his fingers curled into fists, grasping the pillow beneath him. "Lucifer," he growled, arching his back slightly. He could feel a hardness against his ass that hadn't there a few minutes ago, but he also knew how insatiable his husband was. "I wasn't aware you could groom with your tongue."

His face burned, heart skipping a few beats as he felt Lucifer's chuckle vibrate through his spine. He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to keep a sound in as he felt that wet, hot tongue against his back again, longer and firmer this time.

"I can stop," Lucifer suggested, his voice low and husky, sending another flood of heat and static through Alastor.

"Don't you dare," Alastor clipped out immediately, his own voice scratchy and strained. He lifted his hips and pressed up against Lucifer's erection, grinding just enough to drag a strangled sound from the angel.

Lucifer chuckled again, nipping at the flesh of Alastor's back and leaving a small mark beneath the fur. "Then I won't." His tongue swept over the bite, soothing the ache before his teeth sank into a shoulder blade, just hard enough to sting.

A groan tore free from Alastor's throat before he could stop it, his ears flicking up sharply before sagging again in helpless pleasure. Air caught in his throat as he gasped, his breathing growing heavier.

Lucifer growled as he nuzzled the bite, pressing a soft kiss to it while rolling his hips forward. His erection strained against the front of his boxers as he ground it firmly against the cleft of Alastor's ass. "I love it when you indulge me," he breathed, his breath heavy against his husband's back.

"You're…insatiable," Alastor said, the words strained and bleeding static. Then he jerked his hips up suddenly.

"Fuck," Lucifer groaned, gritting his teeth. One hand gripped Alastor's waist while the other fisted the sheets by his shoulder. He panted, grinding against him with a deep, aching need. His forehead dropped to Alastor's back as he chased the friction. "You love it." He thrust his hips, pressing into Alastor's rear as he grumbled.

Alastor huffed a breath, his cheeks stained red as he arched into Lucifer's grinding. "You're not even pretending this is about grooming anymore."

Lucifer snorted against his back, teeth scraping skin lazily. "I'm grooming still," he protested weakly, then pressed his tongue against Alastor's spine again and dragged it slowly up to the nape of his neck, hot and wet. He rolled his hips again, slower this time, letting the friction drag and build. "See?"

Alastor grunted, panting against the pillow. "I…see," he managed, struggling to get the words out as he felt Lucifer grind deeper between his cheeks. The fabric of his boxers dragged roughly against his hole, sending sparks of static jolting across this skin. His tail flicked up sharply, flashing the white underside on instinct.

Lucifer groaned, the sound low and desperate. The vibration traveled through Alastor, making him shiver. "You're so stunning," he whispered, lips mouthing the curve of his neck. His hands moved, one hand sliding up the flat of Alastor's back, claws tracing hidden scars. The other slid beneath his husband, his palm resting low on Alastor's stomach, encouraging him to lift his hips more.

Alastor obeyed, his head dizzy from the heady sensations, his static buzzing around them like a hoard of bees in search of sweet honey. He shifted and lifted his hips just as Lucifer pressed down again. A whine scratched from his throat as he felt the blunt head of Lucifer's cock drag across his entrance through two layers of fabric.

"Lucifer," he growled, his voice strangled and garbled with static. "You can't…force your way through two pairs of clothing." He grunted, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. "And that's not a challenge to try either. Don't you dare."

Lucifer let out a husky laugh, licking his lips as he nuzzled the nape of Alastor's neck. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said, mischief curling with every word.

"I mean it, Lucifer," Alastor snarled, jerking his hips up almost violently in warning. "Clothes. Off."

"Alright, alright," Lucifer grumbled, pulling back with a dramatic huff. "Spoil my fun. Crush my dreams. You're so cruel."

Alastor knew Lucifer wouldn't be able to see him, but he rolled his eyes anyway. He squeaked when he felt his boxers magically disappear, their sudden absence taking him by surprise. One ear flicked in mild annoyance as he turned his head back to glance over his shoulder with a dry, unimpressed look.

Lucifer grinned at him, wide and toothy, and completely unrepentant. "What? Magic makes things easy," he said brightly, shrugging. Then he settled back over Alastor, his weight comfortable as he pressed his face between shoulder blades again. He growled playfully, his tail whipping behind him. "Besides, now I can really play."

Alastor huffed and laid his head back down on his folded arms, relaxing against the warmed sheets. "Then have fun playing, my love," he murmured, closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

As much as he made an attempt to remain unaffected, to stay composed, Lucifer's touch always ignited something inside him. It wasn't just the heat of it, or the way his husband knew every inch of him like his own body. It was the weight and intention behind each and every movement, the quiet reverence woven into every kiss, every brush of fingers, hands, and lips. All that power, their history together, their love—it left Alastor pliant and open, a warmth blooming low in his belly and deep in his chest right beside his pounding heart.

A low, gravelly moan rumbled up from the back of his throat, breath hitching as slick fingers slid inside him. The stretch forced a tremble through his limbs, his thighs tightening as his claws dug into the pillow beneath his head. His hips shifted, canting back instinctively, inviting more. Small whiny noises fell from his parted lips, his breathing thin and quick as pleasure built like a slowly smoldering fire.

Lucifer's breath ghosted over the nape of his neck. "So tight," he murmured, voice thick with arousal. His fingers moved deliberately against those tight walls, coaxing Alastor open and brushing against the spot he knew would make him gasp. On queue, a ragged moan tore free from his husband's mouth before he could stop it.

"You sound so sweet, my deer," he whispered softly, pressing gentle, lingering kisses to Alastor's skin. His teeth scraping deliciously, leaving raised red lines as he dragged them down. "All those pretty sounds, just for me." A rough grunt slipped from his throat as he withdrew his fingers.

A high-pitched whine followed instantly from Alastor. He pressed his hips back as he wiggled underneath Lucifer, begging without words. "Lucifer…" he mumbled, his voice raw, tail twitching as he felt his husband's weight shift above him. In desperation, he threw his right hand back, catching Lucifer's wrist beside his shoulder and held it in a tight grip.

Lucifer froze, eyes softening as he looked down at the man beneath him. He leaned down again and nuzzled the crook of Alastor's neck, lips ghosting along his shoulder. "Shh, I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, gently turning their hands to interlace their fingers, squeezing. "See? I'm right here."

Alastor let out a shuddering breath, his grip squeezing back before he relaxed. His ears hung low and his chest heaved with uneven breaths. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, trying to steady himself as a buzz of want skittered across his skin.

Lucifer's other hand trailed down Alastor's waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he leaned back and settled his weight over Alastor once more. His cock, hot and heavy, slid between the soft cleft of Alastor's ass, nudging deliciously up to the base of his tail and dragging moans from them both.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, shifting to guide himself. The swollen head of his cock met Alastor's tight entrance, and he pressed forward, sinking past the taut ring of muscle into searing heat. A sharp breath hissed through his teeth as he squeezed Alastor's hand, his forehead resting against the sharp edge of a shoulder blade.

A loud moan, laced with thick static, tumbled from Alastor as he pressed back. His grip on Lucifer's hand tightened, claws from his other hand digging into the pillow. The stretch burned, but it was a burn he welcomed from the man above him.

He rolled his hips, pushing back until Lucifer was finally fully seated inside him, their bodies flush. Then he gave a soft sigh as he relaxed into the mattress, limbs loose. A small, satisfied hum slipped from his throat, a faint smile on his face.

Lucifer stilled once he was fully sheathed, straddling Alastor's thighs and savoring the scorching heat and euphoric tightness wrapped around his cock. His long tail swayed slowly before it wrapped around Alastor's thigh possessively, squeezing lightly. His eyes fluttered open as he lifted his head to stare down at his husband, humming and bleeding satisfied static. He felt Alastor melt beneath him, completely open and relaxed, his breath warming the pillow, their hands locked.

"My beautiful deer," he murmured against Alastor's nape, the short hairs tickling his lips. "You're spoiling me, you know that?" He rocked his hips slowly, barely pulling out before sliding back in with aching slowness. "Lying here…all loose and lax. All for me."

A pleased rumble vibrated through Alastor's chest, his tail giving a lazy, happy flick against Lucifer's abdomen. His smile widened, soft and shameless, while his grip on Lucifer's hand stayed firm and possessive. "Only you," he murmured, his voice slow and low like syrup.

Lucifer groaned, rolling his hips again. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Alastor's neck, his breath hot. "You're going to ruin me with those words, dear hart," he growled, punctuating his words with a shallow thrust, sharing a shudder between them. "Do you feel how tight you are? How I stretch you? How your body was made for me?"

Another roll of his hips followed, deeper. He slid in and out slowly, but deliberately, dragging out filthy, static-laden moans with every roll and thrust. He pressed a smile into Alastor's back, greedy as he drank in every sound. Every moan, every breath, and every garble of static; it fueled his need to drawn more out.

"I'll never get tired of your sounds. All these lovely noises you make as I fill you," Lucifer said, his words coming out breathless and needy. He scraped his teeth down Alastor's shoulder blade, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to sting and light nerves on fire. Then, he laved his tongue over the angry marks beneath the fur, soothing the burn. "Do you even know what you do to me?"

A soft whimper was the only response he received.

Alastor laid there boneless against the bed as Lucifer moved in and out of him, not bothering to move. He didn't need to lift a finger as every thrust, every word, and every kiss was meant only for him to enjoy. And he was content to simply feel and be taken care of.

His breath picked up as he felt the heat curl low in his stomach. His cock, aching and neglected, throbbed between his gut and the bed. The friction was building maddeningly slow. He knew he wouldn't find his release as quickly as Lucifer, not like this. Not with how Lucifer was already spiraling and his thrusts were growing more desperate and sloppy.

An ear flicked as another moan tumbled past his husband's lips, the vibrations echoing through his back. He answered with his own soft moan and smiled faintly, squeezing his walls around Lucifer's cock as it sank back in.

A strangled choking sound was his reward. Satisfaction settled deep in his chest and his smile widened that he'd made such a large impact on Lucifer despite having barely moved.

"F-fuck," Lucifer choked out, a full-body shudder rushing through him as he forced himself to hold still. "You…you did that on purpose."

Alastor's lips quirked up further, yellow teeth flashing. "Possibly," he sighed, his voice light yet needy.

Lucifer growled and bit the back of Alastor's neck, sharp teeth sinking into the flesh just enough to make Alastor flinch and moan. "Brat," he muttered against his skin, affection clear in his voice.

He rutted forward, pressing himself as deep as he could go, and held there for a moment, panting against Alastor's neck. The heat between them broiled and pulsed, thick and fervent. He moved his free hand and braced it against the bed beside Alastor's ribs, pushing himself up. He set a steady pace, filled with purpose and need, quickly falling into something more desperate.

"You just love to push me, don't you?" He growled teasingly, snapping his hips forward in hard, deep thrusts. The bed creaked beneath them with each harsh movement, a breathless moan falling from his lips as he drove into that familiar heat again and again.

His gaze dropped between them where they were connected, watching with dark hunger as his cock moved in and out, glistening and stretching Alastor open around him. The sight almost made him come right then.

Another low sound rumbled from his chest as he dropped his head once more, forehead resting against Alastor's spine. His breath came in short, hot bursts against sweat-damp fur. With every thrust, his tail twitched tighter around Alastor's thigh as he felt himself falling closer to the precipice.

His thrusts faltered before they turned erratic, his hips pistoning deep and fast—driven by the need to bury himself so far inside Alastor he would never leave again. His tail tightened around Alastor's thigh, drawing a whimpering squeak from the man beneath him. The heat in his gut swelled, pressure building as those tight walls clamped around his cock.

With a strangled, guttural groan, Lucifer stilled. He buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as his release tore through him, hot cum spilling inside. He gave a few slow, shallow rolls of his hips, his whole body shuddering before he collapsed forward, his weight sinking over Alastor and panting heavily.

Alastor hummed and sighed, his ears twitching as he listened to Lucifer fall apart behind him. His fingers twitched, tightening briefly around Lucifer's, but didn't let go. He laid there, content despite his own untouched cock pressed between him stomach and the sheets, begging for its own release.

Lucifer pressed his face between Alastor's shoulder blades as he sucked in lungfuls of air, the ringing in his ears fading and his heart rate easing from the marathon it had sprinted. With one more deep breath, he pressed a kiss to the heated fur before lifting himself up again.

"I might need to brush you again," Lucifer breathed out, eyeing the curled and matted fur from sweat and saliva. "My bad."

Alastor huffed, turning his head enough to glance over his shoulder, his eyes still glazed over with desire. "Don't act contrite now, Lu. We both know you were only after sex," he teased lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, but a smile crept up his face. "While sex was part of it, I did want to help you relax. Grooming was the plan," he replied, planting a kiss to Alastor's cheek. "Now, how about I help you out now?" He squeezed his hand one more time before letting go and getting up, slipping out of Alastor.

Alastor grumbled at the loss. His tail twitched as the cool air brushed over it now that it wasn't trapped beneath Lucifer's stomach.

"You're not going to move, are you?" Lucifer asked, quirking a brow as he watched his husband continue to lay still. He only got a few wags of a tail and a small crackle of static—which suspiciously sounded amused and mocking. "Ugh, seriously? You're gonna be a pillow princess now?"

He huffed, shaking his head in amused disbelief before reaching over. His tail slithereing around Alastor's waist and rolled his long husband over onto his back. Alastor's small, but knowing grin met him, a gleam of shameless glee sparkling in his red-on-red eyes. "Brat," he snipped playfully.

A warm chuckle rumbled up from Alastor's throat as he laced his hands above his head, watching Lucifer through a lazy, half-lidded stare. "You're the one who wouldn't let me go back to sleep. I'm allowed a bit of a lazy morning."

Lucifer shot him a look. "I didn't hear you complaining—not with those noises you were making," he shot back. His eyes flicked down to Alastor's still hard cock resting against his belly, the tip glistening with pre-cum and dripping against his fur. "Speaking of which…"

His expression darkened with renewed hunger. With a low growl, he used his tail to lift one of Alastor's legs and ducked under it, positioning himself between those long legs. "I'm going to suck you off now," he said bluntly. His tail slid further down, winding around Alastor's calf. The spade tip traced slowly through the dark fur, keeping the leg held up, because he knew damn well Alastor wasn't about to hold it up himself. Lazy bastard.

"Do as you please," Alastor hummed nonchalantly, though his voice hitched slightly, not quite as unaffected as he tried to be. His eyes never left Lucifer, watching as his husband bent over him and dragged his long, forked tongue up the length of his cock.

It twitched in interest, betraying Alastor's feigned indifference. He huffed in affront, then gasped sharply when Lucifer wrapped his lips around the head without any warning. His eyes widened before fluttering closed, the warm, wet heat of Lucifer's mouth drawing a low moan from him and bringing a flush to his cheeks. One hand slipped down to cover his mouth, panting into his palm. "Lu…"

Lucifer gave a low hum in reply, the vibration traveling down Alastor's length and straight to his balls.

"Fuck." Alastor arched and whimpered, his fingers digging into his cheek. His lifted leg trembled in the grip of Lucifer's tail, his crimson-cloven toes curling as Lucifer took him deeper until the head of his cock nudged the back of his throat. Static crackled and screeched in response as he trembled against the bed, the heat building low in his gut.

Lucifer slowly pulled back, hollowing his cheeks until only the tip remained, swirling the tines of his forked tongue around the sensitive head in teasing, deliberate circles. Then he sank back down, his tongue flattening to lap long strokes along the underside as he set an easy rhythm.

Alastor writhed, biting down on his knuckle to keep himself from keening embarrassingly loud. The muscles of his stomach tensed and untensed as the coils of pleasure tightened dangerously fast. "L-Luci—"

Lucifer only hummed again, the vibrations sending another pulse of heat surging through him. Alastor's hips twitched, the coil in his gut winding tighter. The spade of Lucifer's tail gave an idle flick in amusement.

Then, Lucifer pulled back from the tip with a wet pop. His tongue curling down past his chin, and he grinned smugly. "Oh? Are you close already, deerest?"

Static crackled sharp and loud in answer. Alastor's internal dial spun furiously as a growl rose from his throat. His eyes snapped open, glowing red on black as he glared down at Lucifer. One hand curled into a tense fist like he was seconds away from grabbing Lucifer by his hair and shoving him back down. "Lucifer," he snarled, voice rough and desperate. "Don't tease me."

"Ooh, you must be really close if you're snarling at me," Lucifer said with a snicker, a cocky grin curling up his lips. But before Alastor could snap at him or bite his head off, Lucifer took Alastor back into his mouth, swallowing him down fully to the hilt in one smooth motion.

Alastor froze, eyes wide, before they rolled back as pleasure short-circuited every violent thought, his head dropping back to the pillow with a staticky whine. His body went pliant and loose beneath the devil, the irritation bleeding from him as shudders and gasping sighs racked his body, that unbearable heat coiling low once more.

Lucifer didn't dare make the snarky comment that was on the tip of his tongue. Tempting fate was fun, but he liked having his tongue attached. And right now, it was far better put to use.

His hands slid over Alastor's inner thighs, claws dragging slow, sensual lines across the skin beneath the fur before resting on his hips to hold him down. He bobbed his head up and down steadily, hollowing his cheeks while keeping his tongue firmly planted against the throbbing vein on the underside. He pushed forward until his flat nose was buried into the soft hair and Alastor's cock slid easily down his throat.

"M-mon aaange—please—" The words broke on Alastor tongue before they were interrupted by a loud moan he couldn't hold back. His clawed fingers dug into the sheets and pillow, threatening to tear them to ribbons. His hips jerked under Lucifer's strong grip as his free leg bent to try to escape his hold. His other leg bound by the whip-like tail, shook in an effort to move, but the tail locked his leg in place, bent and raised. "Lu-Lucifer—"

Lucifer growled deep in his throat and swallowed around the thick length. Then he pulled back slowly, sucking hard enough to draw out a filthy keen and a loud screech of distorted static so loud it rattled the air. His golden eyes glowed as he watched Alastor shatter.

Alastor's back arched, his eyes squeezed shut so tight that stars burst beneath his lids. A wave of white-hot pleasure washed through him like a heat wave, spilling across Lucifer's tongue and down his throat in hot spurts. Static crackled and a cacophony of musical instruments clattered together before a loud pop silenced it all at once. He collapsed against the bed with twitching limbs and shuddering breaths.

Lucifer swallowed him down greedily before he pulled off, licking his lips with a swipe of this prehensile tongue, looking far too pleased with himself. "I think that's the loudest and hardest you've come in a long time," he said smugly, voice rough.

Alastor grunted weakly, chest rising and falling with heavy, ragged breaths as he struggled to catch his breath.

*Smut ends here

Lucifer released his leg, setting it down with his tail before he trailed back up to plop down right next to his spent husband. He brushed sweaty red bangs from Alastor's forehead with gentle fingers, a small, fond smile resting on his face. "How about a quick shower, a proper brushing—no distractions this time—and breakfast?" He pressed a kiss to Alastor's temple. "How's that sound, dear hart?"

Alastor's eyes fluttered open, still hazy and blissed-out. He blinked slowly, ears twitching, but remaining low as he listened to Lucifer's soft, but wrecked voice. "…I think it's lunchtime."

Lucifer snorted and grinned. "Okay, lunch then, you brat," he replied with a roll of his eyes.

Alastor hummed in contentment, closing his eyes again. "As long as you don't expect me to move."

Lucifer gawked at him. "Are you—Al!" He broke into laughter. "Pillow princess treatment is done! Up, you menace, and to the shower with you. Or I'll dump a bucket of cold water on you."

Both of Alastor's ears pressed against his skull in irritation. His cracked one eyes open to glare lightly at Lucifer. "Don't you dare," he grumbled as he finally pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Threaten me… not an angel… so rude." He continued muttering as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, wobbly.

Lucifer snickered as he caught snippets of his husband's grousing and stood as well. He stretched, arms over his head and tail swishing behind him, before he followed after his grumpy deer to the shower.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Hallway

July 21st, 1996 3:39 PM

"Alastor!"

Alastor stopped mid-step just short of his office, invisible ears twitching as he caught Hermione's voice and her quick, but light footsteps behind him. He turned and smiled pleasantly at Hermione.

"Good afternoon," he greeted, turning on his heel to face her. He had seen the others briefly at lunch when he and Lucifer had finally emerged from their bedroom, but it was always polite to greet others—as his Maman would say.

"We heard back from Luna," Hermione said in lieu of her own greeting, a piece of parchment in her hand. She stopped in front of him with a smile. "She says she's coming by Saturday, sometime in the late morning. She said something about bringing gifts for 'the rulers of fire and static'." She shrugged, bemused. "Whatever that means. It's Luna—I suppose that just means she's excited."

"Ah, lovely," he replied with a nod, eyes glinting in amusement. "We'll be looking forward to her visit. I suppose I should think of something to gift her in return." He tapped his chin in thought before shaking his head. "Thank you for letting me know. For now, I do need to speak with Sirius about the trial tomorrow."

Hermione nodded, but a spark of interest lit in her eyes. "Do you need us to do anything for tomorrow? Ron and I can offer up our memories from third year."

"No, it's quite alright, Hermione," Alastor replied. "I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather not involve you in this messy case. Luci and I found very solid evidence that will come as quite the shock to the Wizengamot." His smile grew sharp. "But I'm sure Sirius will be doing a play-by-play tomorrow evening at dinner as a free man."

Hermione's shoulders sagged a little and her smile grew smaller. "Oh…okay…" She drew her bottom lip between her top teeth, looking uncertain.

Alastor lifted a brow. "I know that look. And I want you to remove those horribly negative thoughts from your head this instant," he said firmly. "It may not seem like it, but believe me when I say you are helping. All of you. Reaching out to Luna, perusing through the Potter library, and educating yourselves on the past, asking questions and prodding where it matters."

He paused, holding her gaze, unwavering. "Just because you not raising your wand at a combat dummy or staring down danger doesn't mean you aren't helping. Keep digging deeper into the Potter library, into the dusty tomes that haven't seen the light in decades. I have no doubt you'll find something that could help Balance further," he said with a wink.

Hermione's shoulders drew back, her spine straightening, and a determined glint sparked in her brown eyes. "I know what you're doing," she said, her voice firm in a no nonsense tone. "You're trying to keep us here. Keep us from getting hurt—from digging deeper into this war. Just like all the other adults."

Alastor blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead and his invisible ears flicked back, then straightened again.

Her brows pulled together as frustration painted her expression, a fierce frown tugging her lips down. "I thought you would treat us better than that, Alastor," she said, her voice breaking halfway through her sentence. "But you're no better than the other adults shutting us out, because we're just kids." The last word came out hissed between her teeth, like the word was an insult.

A frown cut across Alastor's face. "That's not—"

"Yes it is!" Hermione snapped, cutting him off. Her fingers curled around the parchment in her hands, the soft crinkle of paper sounding out of place after her outburst. "You may not think you're pushing us away, but you are! You used to rely on us. And now you barely even tell us you've moved!"

Alastor winced, a grimace pulling on his mouth. She wasn't wrong, he realized sharply. "I'm just trying to protect you," he said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I don't want to see you broken and dead. Those images are still burned into my brain and I refuse to ever let them come to pass."

"So you're just going to ignore us? Keep us locked in this house?" She demanded, voice sharp as a whip crack. "You don't think we don't know the risks? Ron and I have been facing magical chess matches, dementors, werewolves, basilisks! We've been jumping into danger with you since we were eleven! You trained us last year during the D.A. to help defend ourselves against the upcoming war. And now, you're just going to stop?"

She huffed, the furious glint in her eyes growing brighter as her frizzy hair seemed to expand with her agitation. "War is here, Alastor. There's no stopping it—or our involvement. The Weasley's are obviously not on the Dark side. And I'm a muggleborn. We're already targets! If you keep trying to protect us like this…we're just going to end up dead anyway!"

Her words were like a punch to the gut. He felt a coldness—an emotion he didn't associate with very often anymore—creep up inside of him and he didn't like it. Fear. He hated it.

Anger quickly burned through the fear—though it still lingered somewhere in the cogs of his black heart. He just managed to stop himself from baring his teeth into a snarl. Static crackled faintly, and the shadows crawling low along the walls began to writhe as his temper flared.

"Don't you dare get angry with me!" Hermione said, eyes narrowed the moment she noticed the shift in his face. "I'm just telling you the truth! And when you're done acting like a self-important jerk—and done treating your old best friends like children—come find me!"

She pivoted on her heel and stomped away, the letter in her hand nearly crumpled up into a ball.

Alastor swallowed a growl and drew in a large breath, holding it until his lungs started to protest. He was dead, yes, but his lungs didn't necessarily appreciate the lack of air still. Just as his heart continued to beat. Despite his lack of body—that was long buried and rotted. It was a strange paradox not even Lucifer understood.

He exhaled slowly. With it, his shadows calmed and the static went quiet again. "Damnit," he cursed, rubbing his forehead. He could feel a headache beginning to pulse behind his eyes. He was never very good at handling emotional outbursts. Especially when he they caught him off guard.

"I need Cece," he grumbled as he turned back to the office door and entered. 'Her or a stiff couple of drinks just to figure out this complicated mess I've landed myself in.' He shut the door behind him, feeling the runes flair to life, preventing eavesdroppers.

"Al?" Lucifer called from where he sat at one of the three sofas, his gaze steady on his husband. Sirius sat across from him on another sofa.

Alastor sighed and walked further into the room, his feet leading him to Lucifer. He was very tempted to grab the decanter of whisky, but refrained. Now wasn't a time for alcohol when they needed to focus on the trial tomorrow. "I'm fine," he said finally, gently sitting himself next to Lucifer. He rubbed his temple with a wry frown. "Just a headache."

"We heard Hermione's voice," Sirius said, gray eyes fixed on him. "She didn't sound too happy."

"She isn't," Alastor replied simply, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. A problem for me to sort out later." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he spread the paperwork over the coffee table. "Let's focus on what's going to happen tomorrow."

Sirius straightened up, an interesting mix of anxiousness and hopefulness warring on his face. "Yeah…right. Tomorrow…"

Alastor ignored the hesitation in Sirius' voice, pushing forward with facts—things that made sense and didn't require emotion. "Tomorrow, the trial starts at eight AM sharp. We'll be sneaking you in as Padfoot two hours earlier in case someone's watching for you or they try to change the time," he said with a scoff. His eyes narrowed, one hand curling into a fist. "I'd like to see them try."

One of Lucifer's brows lifted at the heat in his husband's voice. Whatever was said between him and his friend Hermione had clearly worked him up.

"We'll be convening in Madame Bones' office, where we'll meet with your solicitor," Alastor continued, ignoring Lucifer's burning gaze on the side of his head. "Once the time comes, you'll be escorted by some trusted aurors to the courtroom. Myself, Lucien, and Ms. Skeeter will be the only guests. Permission granted by the Minister himself."

He rolled his eyes, but wasn't going to try to dissuade the man from doing them a favor. No doubt Scrimgeour wanted something in return, but perhaps he should've gotten it in writing. One corner of his mouth quirked at the thought. He would have been terrible at demon deals.

"From there, the Minister will preside over the trial. Calling for evidence, asking for your side of the story of what happened on Samhain 1981," he said, sliding his eyes up from the parchment to Sirius. "I was told by your solicitor that it would be wise to volunteer for Veritaserum. That way, even the huffy, stiff-collared traditionalists in the Wizengamot won't be able to twist your words."

Sirius gave a wheeze that might have been laughter. Anxiety was obviously winning and overwhelming hope. His knee bounced as his eyes stared at Alastor, unseeing. One hand covered his mouth.

"With the evidence, no doubt I'll likely be asked to step forward as well," Alastor said.

"Wha—why?" Sirius suddenly said, his gaze snapping back into focus.

Alastor raised a brow. "Because my Vault Verification and my parents' Will are being used as evidence. The Wizengamot will want to know how these documents became part of the court's evidence—and how Harry Potter managed to provide them when they still believe he's missing."

"So…you're going to reveal yourself?" Lucifer asked, voice quiet and hesitant, watching Alastor carefully.

Alastor's gaze flicked to Lucifer and offered him a confident smile. His emotions may be a bit mixed up elsewhere, but he was confident in this. "I am. If it will help my godfather against these blind bigots, then yes."

Sirius swallowed loudly and pressed his hand more firmly to his mouth, his breathing quickening. "You…you shouldn't…"

"Hush," Alastor interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "It's no issue. And it was bound to happen eventually. This way it will be under my control as to opposed to someone betraying my trust once again."

Dumbledore's name was unspoken, but the implication was crystal clear. He narrowed his eyes.

Sirius drew in a large breath and exhaled through his nose, then nodded. "Right."

"Once the evidence has been proven true and your story is told, a final statement will be read, and the Wizengamot will vote," Alastor continued, leaning back with a sharp, satisfied smile. "And if the court isn't filled with complete, half-brained twits, then you'll be declared innocent of all charges and you walk out a free man at last."

The silence lingered for a moment.

"But what if they don't?" Sirius choked out, his knee bouncing faster. The tap-tap-tap of his heel against the carpeted floor grew louder and more frantic.

"Then Lucien portals you out. Simple," Alastor replied nonchalantly, though his eyes burned with anger. "And I refrain from murdering the idiots who voted against you."

"That would put a few kinks in our future plans if you kill them, Al," Lucifer said with a sharp smile.

"I know that, Luci," Alastor grumbled in return, fingers curling against his knees. He felt a spike of irritation, static bleeding through once more before he forced it back down.

Lucifer raised a brow, studying his husband. Then he glanced back at Sirius, who was still anxiously staring down at the coffee table. He forced his voice light when he spoke next. "Oookay… Sirius, why don't you go find Remus, hmm? Get a round of hanky-panky in to calm your nerves."

Sirius blinked slowly. "Yeah…yeah, good idea," he mumbled absently, pushing off the couch. His boots scuffed the carpet as he shuffled toward the door. It clicked shut behind him softly.

Lucifer waited a moment before his glamor dropped, his golden eyes narrowed on Alastor. "Okay, what the fuck is going on?" His voice was low and flat, a warning to Alastor not to dance around the question.

Alastor huffed and turned away, his lips pressed thin as his glamor dropped as well. His ears pinned back in irritation and his red eyes fixed on the window across the room. Shadows flickered faintly around him—his form smoking—before he tapered it down. He opened his mouth to answer, but paused and growled instead, low and frustrated.

He knew he couldn't lie to Lucifer. One, he was the Father of Lies, he knew when someone was lying. And two…well, this was his husband. His partner of nearly fifty years. They told each other pretty much everything. Though he couldn't help but feel embarrassed now. Not only with how he had poorly handled Hermione's valid anger, but also the fact of how dismissive he'd been treating her and the others.

"I may have fucked up, love," he muttered finally, his voice soft with frustration. He turned his face away, eyes unseeing as he spoke. "I've been a terrible friend to Hermione and Ron and the others. Treating them like children. When I swore I wouldn't."

"Is that what the yelling was about?" Lucifer asked quietly, scooting closer. One leg bent on the couch , the other planted on the floor, he leaned in to rest his forehead against Alastor's upper arm. One of his hands found his shoulder, warm and steady and supportive.

"Yes and no," Alastor replied, subtly leaning back into Lucifer, though he kept his gaze locked on his desk. One ear flicked. "She's upset because I've been acting like a self-important jerk, patronizing. But also because I don't seem to trust them anymore."

Lucifer hummed, his thumb rubbing slow circles into Alastor's shoulder. His other arm carefully circled around Alastor's waist, drawing them both closer.

Alastor went absentmindedly as he continued talking. "It's not that I don't trust them. It's that I'm…" He paused and winced, his words catching in his throat. He leaned further back into Lucifer, ears turning back slightly in a visible sign of shame.

"You're afraid," Lucifer murmured, finishing the thought. "Afraid they'll see what you've become. A demon with few morals left and who thrives on killing."

"A monster," Alastor corrected with a roll of his eyes. He finally turned in Lucifer's hold, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. "Because that's what I am, Lucifer. And I'm quite proud of that fact."

"Okay, but you're my monster," Lucifer said with a growing grin.

"Indeed I am," Alastor agreed with his own grin. "However, I don't think that explanation is going to hold over well with the others." He sighed and ran his crimson-tipped claws through his hair, barely avoiding his antlers. "I'm not sure how to fix this mess. I need Cece."

Lucifer hummed, tilting his head with a frown. "You do know she'll figure out exactly how to fix this in two seconds flat…and then refuse to tell you to make a point, right?"

Alastor made a sour face at him, then deflated with a huff. "Most likely."

Lucifer nodded with a semi-serious expression before he smiled again, softer. "I can help you, though. Be there when you talk to them," he offered quietly, leaning in again to rest his head on Alastor's shoulder. "Offer help without revealing your bloodthirsty hobbies."

Alastor gave a soft snort, dropping his cheek to rest atop Lucifer's soft hair, his breath ruffling a few loose strands. "I actually wouldn't mind that, mon ange."

They sat like that for a few heartbeats, warm and quiet in each other's hold, just enjoying the comforting heat. Then Lucifer finally moved, slowly pulling away. He leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to Alastor's cheek sweetly before standing, his touch lingering.

"Later, though," he spoke quietly, eyes soft and full of love. "I got somewhere to be soon. Maybe after dinner?"

Alastor tilted his head in thought. "Perhaps it's best to give Hermione a little time to cool down. She does have an infamously scary temper." He gave a small shudder. "Remember the story I told you about her punching another student in the face because he thought it was funny a Hippogriff was sentenced to death?"

Lucifer snorted into his hand, eyes sparkling. "Ah, yes, I do remember that story. The famous right hook of '94."

"Exactly," Alastor said with a quiet chuckle. "Perhaps after the trial tomorrow."

"Alright." Lucifer turned, but paused. "Oh, you cooking tonight?"

Alastor shook his head. "No, it's takeout tonight. Sounded like Greek won out—Molly mentioned it earlier."

Lucifer's eyes lit up. "Ooh! If I'm not back, can you make sure you get me the lamb souvlaki? Pleeease?" He clasped his hands together like a child begging for dessert.

A small chuckle tumbled past Alastor's lips and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll make sure you get your lamb. Extra tzatziki sauce and side of baklava?"

"Yes please!" Lucifer beamed. He quickly leaned back in and placed a much sloppier kiss on Alastor's cheek, before darting away.

Alastor wrinkled his nose and scowled at his husband. "You're dreadful."

"And you married me!" Lucifer sang brightly, giggling. "I'm off. See you at dinner. Love you!" With that, he summoned a portal, snapped his glamor in place, and disappeared with a wink.

Alastor exhaled through his nose and shook his head, watching the portal snap shut.

—

Location: Little Whinging

July 21st, 1996 5:11 PM

Lucifer's POV

Lucifer hummed a random tune under his breath as he sauntered down the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement. Row after row of identical houses blurred together like a dull parade of passing houses of brown bricks and clipped hedges. The only differences were the numbers on the side, the cars parked in the driveway, and the occasional flora in the garden.

"This place is Hell," he muttered to himself, his eyes drifting over yet another white-picket fence. Another cookie-cutter home. And another. "Al grew up here?" He pressed his lips together in wry disbelief. He honestly couldn't see it. Alastor, his Alastor—who was charming, charismatic, slightly unhinged, and thrived on chaos—grew up here in a boring suburban neighborhood for fourteen years?

He shook his head, blinking a few times. "Crazy," he muttered. "There's nothing of Alastor here." Still, a part of him was obviously curious. Seeing where his husband spent his earliest years—painful as they were—was something he couldn't pass up.

"Now, we just need to swing by New Orleans before we head home," he said, pursing his lips in thought. "I think he'd like that. A nice little surprise." His lips quirked up into a pleased smile. He could plan something special for him. Maybe they could have dinner, take a moonlit walk through the bayou, check out his old neighborhood—see how much it had changed in sixty years.

He hummed absentmindedly as he continued walking, then shook his head to clear it. He refocused—he could plan a romantic getaway later—his eyes roaming for Number Four as he turned onto Private Drive. It wasn't exactly hard to miss, but it also would have been easy to overlook—just like every house in the neighborhood.

"How miserable," he said to himself as he approached Number Four. "Let's get this over with."

He adjusted his bow tie and paused, his eyes fixed on the flowers in the front garden. The first thing he noticed, lining along the fence, were foxgloves, tall and delicate in a dusky pink, obviously impressive. Two large hydrangea bushes sat comfortably underneath the front window, their blues popping against the vibrant green leaves and shading a cluster of bright red poppies in the garden dirt. Near the far corner of the house, almost hidden, was a small white lilac shrub—almost half-forgotten, if it hadn't been so recently pruned. And nestled around its base were bright orange-gold marigolds, vivid pops of color standing proudly against the white flowers behind them.

He stared, his thoughts swirling as he went over every meaning behind each flower with a tilted head. 'Did Alastor plant and care for these? Or did Petunia plant these?' Did she even know the language of flowers? Because if she did…she was telling quite the story.

He shook his head and made a thoughtful, curious noise. Adjusting his clipboard, he made sure the paper was visible before he knocked politely on the door.

It took a few moments before a thin, middle-aged woman with a long, severe face, long neck, and tight blonde curls opened the door. She blinked at him a for a moment before the sour look on her face melted into something more interested.

"We're not buying anything," she said finally, though her pale blue eyes looked him and down. She didn't shut the door.

Lucifer smiled—though internally, he grimaced. "Oh, no. I'm not selling anything, miss," he replied brightly, his voice chipper and professional. "I'm actually here with the Garden of Eden Association. My name is Lucien and I'm here because your lovely garden has been nominated for Best Flora feature." He gestured toward his clipboard with a smile. "It's a rather unique composition of flowers we don't often see, and we at G.E.A. love to see such original work and shine the spotlight on it!"

Petunia blinked in surprise, placing a hand to her chest. "Oh. Is that so?" She asked, her tone changing to something low and humble, offering Lucifer a warm smile. "Well, that's wonderful news. I work very hard on my garden, you know."

"We can tell," Lucifer replied smoothly. "Your flowers are beautifully arranged and tenderly pruned. But, you wouldn't mind if I come in for a few minutes, would you? There's a form that I need you to fill out to verify the nomination. And I would love to hear more about your inspiration."

"Oh, yes! Yes, Of course. I would love to have such a handsome gentleman in my home," she said, a raspy note creeping into her voice and making an unpleasant shiver run up Lucifer's spine.

'Oh, hell no, lady,' he thought, forcing his smile to remain in place as he entered the house. He reached out with his senses, only sensing two souls in the house, both adults. 'Good. Just Petunia and Vernon. Don't need to worry about the cousin.'

Petunia guided Lucifer into the living room, tacky floral wallpaper stretched from wall to wall—apparently a popular choice among humans for their décor these days. He arched a brow. Taste was always subjective.

His eyes flicked to the portly man sitting in a worn armchair. The man's beady eyes locked onto Lucifer the moment he entered.

"Who're you?" He asked gruffly, his bushy broom-like mustache twitching with the movement as he spoke.

"Darling, this here is Lucien," Petunia cooed from beside Lucifer, her voice simpering and sugary. Her eyes were alight with excitement as she introduced him to her husband. "He's with the Garden Association."

Vernon Dursley let out a grunt and a dismissive grumble, his interest lost as he turned back to the television by the boarded up fireplace.

'Charming fellow,' Lucifer sneered internally, raising a brow.

"Lucien, please, sit. Make yourself comfortable," Petunia said, her hands fluttering in front of her as she gestured toward the couch—also floral and smelling of bagged potpourri. "Would you like anything? Tea? Biscuits?"

Lucifer sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, his clipboard on his lap. He shook his head politely. "No, I'm okay. I have dinner plans after this actually."

Petunia hummed in slight disappointment, but sat on the opposite side of the couch.

"Now, before we get to filling out the paperwork," Lucifer said before Petunia could speak, his voice pleasant and practiced, "how about you tell me about your inspiration for your blooms out front? I'm rather curious as every flower has a story and meaning. And yours…well, it's quite the combination. I'd love to know why you planted these specific varieties."

Petunia folded her hands in her lap with a tight, polite smile. "Oh, I wouldn't say there's a particular inspiration," she said lightly. "I just picked what looked nice at the shop. Foxgloves and hydrangeas are brilliant and beautiful, you don't see them too often in gardens around here. The rest I sort of…filled in as I went."

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, pursing his lips as he studied her. "Really?" He asked, voice still pleasant, but a tinge of amusement bled through. "No inspiration at all?"

Petunia gave a nervous little laugh. "Well, I do enjoying gardening. It's quite calming and peaceful." She sat up straighter, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. "It's nothing more than that, I'm afraid."

'Liar.' Lucifer hummed and clicked his tongue, eyes glinting as he leaned forward just a bit. His fingers tapped against the wooden clipboard idly. "Interesting. Because to someone who understands the language of flowers—Floriography—your choices paint a much different picture. They read more like a confession than a decorative arrangement, Petunia."

Petunia's smile faltered. "I…I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do," he replied smoothly, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Let's start with the foxglove, right at the front of the garden. Beautiful, poisonous, and symbolic of both insincerity and complex emotions. Then there's the hydrangea, typically associated with apology, coldness, or boastfulness, depending on the shade. Yours are blue. That means regret."

Petunia sat up straighter as his words washed over her, her knuckles turning white as they curled into fists.

"Now, the poppies," he continued, voice a touch quieter, a thoughtful look in his gaze. "Bright red. Classic symbol of death and remembrance. Very fitting, considering your late sister. And then, off to the side, at the corner of the house, a small white lilac bush. Youthful innocence, early love. Could have been easily overlooked, but you keep it pruned, don't you? Still remembering days since long past."

Petunia said nothing, but her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

"And then, nestled around it," Lucifer went on, his tone soft, but needling, "marigolds. Associated with grief, jealousy, and pain. Bright and bold, especially planted near the white lilac."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the only noise coming from the television, where Vernon grumbled about commercials, completely oblivious. Lucifer's fingers stilled, the tap-tap-taps still lingering.

"Get out of my house," Petunia finally said, her voice sharp and waspish. "I don't know what kind of trick this is, but we want none of your kind here."

Lucifer's smile didn't waver. "My kind?" He echoed, tilting his head. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Petunia. I'm not a wizard." He paused, letting his words hang for only a moment before he was speaking again. "I'm actually here for one, though."

"I don't care," she snipped at him, standing abruptly, her expression much less welcoming. "If you're associated with those freaks in any way, you need to leave. Or…or I'm calling the police."

A surprised chuckle tumbled from Lucifer's lips, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sorry, I don't mean to laugh," he said as he noticed her affronted look. "Just…they won't be able to do anything."

He leaned back slightly and shook his head with a small smile. "Aren't you curious as to why I'm here? Who I'm here for?"

"Absolutely not!" She snapped, raising her voice over the television and finally drawing her husband's attention.

"What's going on?" Vernon asked, his eyes flicking between Petunia and Lucifer. "Pet?"

"This…man…is here on behalf of them," she replied, still glaring at Lucifer.

"What?!" Vernon roared, trying to bolt out of his seat, only to struggle slightly due to his weight. But he managed to get to his feet and point a thick finger at Lucifer. "OUT! Out of my house this instant!"

Lucifer's eyes darted between the couple, amusement clear as day on his face. "So…you're not interested in what happened to Harry and his disappearance? Or…if he's even alive?" He asked, his eyes focusing more on Petunia than Vernon. "Because, judging by those flowers out front…you care. At least a little bit."

Petunia froze, eyes going wide. Her face paled and her lips quivered slightly as she stared at Lucifer in shock.

"Why would we care about that ruddy freak?!" Vernon shouted, taking a step toward Lucifer. He puffed up his chest to try to intimidate the much smaller man, looming, but Lucifer remained seated on the couch, completely unbothered. "Get out!"

"W-wait…" Petunia's voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but it was sharp enough to stop Vernon's bluster.

He blinked, thrown off. "Pet?"

She shook her head once, here eyes still on Lucifer. "What… You know what happened to Harry?"

Lucifer raised a brow, surprise flickering across his face. He hadn't expected for her to actually care. And yet, there it was. A small spark something in her voice, in her face, that showed she did care.

"Huh…" He studied her more closely, a faint frown on his lips. "I didn't actually expect you to care, considering how you treated him over the years."

She winced in response then drew herself up. "We didn't have a choice," she snapped sharply, a bitterness bleeding into her voice. "He was dumped on us after my sister's death. And I was just expected to take in an extra mouth to feed. While dealing with the grief that my sister is dead."

Lucifer nodded slowly. "That makes some sense. Still…the way you treated your nephew was deplorable. And you know it."

Her jaw clenched and she tilted her head up before crossing her arms. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done and there's nothing you can do about it."

His lips curled up into an unpleasant smile. "I wouldn't so sure about that," he said vaguely, tone lilting. Then he waved his hand dismissively. "Now, about Harry. He disappeared on December 31st, 1995, just before the new year. Aren't you curious as to what happened to him?"

"And you know?" She asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I do!" He replied with a bright smile. "It's a strange story involving time travel—which yes, is real." He pointed a finger at her like he was sharing a fun secret. "But it's so complicated. Wizards have only managed to go back , oh…five hours at most. Safely, at least."

Both Petunia and Vernon seemed to be reel from the news, unsure on how to handle the existence of time travel. Especially since, somehow, Harry was connected to it.

"But, Harry—well, he goes by another name now. Alastor," Lucifer explained, giving a half-shrug, "was swept back in time. He ended up in the early 1900s in New Orleans. The height of jazz and prohibition, made a name for himself—you could probably look him up." His lips twitched up slightly then shook his head.

"You're making this up!" Petunia suddenly snapped, finding her voice.

Lucifer cocked his head to the side, a strange smile on his face. He folded his hands over the clipboard still in his lap. "Now why would I make this up?"

He let the silence stretch just long enough before continuing, voice still polite but sharp.

"I know exactly what you did to him. I know about the cupboard under the stairs. I know about how you kept him hungry for both food and love. I know that you worked him like a slave to clean the house. I'm honestly surprised you kept taking care of the garden after he disappeared."

The blood drained from Petunia's face the longer he spoke, proving he obviously knew her nephew.

Lucifer gave a light sigh, setting the clipboard aside on the floral couch cushion. "But, if you want proof…" He finally stood, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a photograph he'd taken recently with Alastor. It had taken many, many bribes to get Alastor to pose with him. They were in their human disguises, and Lucifer now owed Alastor several hoof massages—but it had been worth it. Especially since the photo wasn't distorted.

He handed it over to Petunia, who took the photograph with shaking fingers.

In the Polaroid, Lucifer was standing next to a taller, dark-skinned man with bright green eyes behind black glasses and messy dark brown curls. Their cheeks were squished together. Lucifer's smile was large and radiant while Alastor's was small and soft, his eyes focused on the smaller man rather than on the lens.

Petunia stared. He looked just like James Potter, but with Lily's eyes. And if she squinted, she could just make out the faded lightning bolt scar under his messy curls. "This… This is Harry," she whispered. "But he's all grown. You're telling the truth." She blinked at the photo in disbelief—until it was snatched from her hand. Lucifer tucked it back in his pocket.

"Of course I am," Lucifer replied, shooting her an offended look. "Why would I go through all this effort to lie to you?"

"Well, so what?" Vernon interrupted before Petunia could continue, his voice blustering through the room once again. "All grown up—good riddance, I say!" He shook a thick finger in the air and nodded with a satisfied grunt.

Petunia ignored him. "So… He's alive? He's safe?"

"Oh, no, he's dead," Lucifer said frankly, huffing in amusement. "Dead, dead."

Petunia's hand found her husband's shoulder as she swayed, her face so pale she looked sickly. Vernon reacted by grabbing a hold of her before she could fall. "Wh-what?" She scratched out, her voice thin and strained. "He's…dead?"

Lucifer blinked, surprised by the intensity her reaction. "Yeah, but he's fine now."

"That makes no blasted sense, man!" Vernon barked, helping Petunia sit in the armchair he had occupied earlier. "He can't be dead and fine at the same time!"

Lucifer raised a brow at him, looking at him like he was obtuse. "His body is dead. His soul isn't. When a mortal body dies, the soul doesn't just vanish. It goes somewhere."

Vernon's mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish.

Petunia drew in a few deep and shaky breaths, her hand over her chest. Then asked, in a breathless, uncertain voice, "Is he… Is he in Heaven?"

Lucifer barked out a laugh, loud and harsh in the stilted room. "Oh, absolutely not! No, no. Alastor's soul fell to Hell."

Both Petunia and Vernon were stunned silent once again before Vernon finally spoke, a mean glint in his eyes. "See. I knew it. That boy was going straight to Hell for his freakishness."

Lucifer's amusement vanished instantly. His easy grin dropped into a scowl, his eyes narrowing dangerously. His voice was clipped and cold and final. "Shut up."

The air in the room stilled. Then the temperature began to rise. Lucifer to a step toward Vernon, still only a few feet away, a sneer slashed across his face. "You shut your fucking mouth, mortal." His voice was low, but seething.

"Alastor didn't fall to Hell because he was a wizard, because he was gifted with magic. He's in Hell because he's a serial killer. He took the lives of those who thought they were above the law. Who thought they could get away with beating their wives and their children. People who thought they could get away with murder because of their skin color was light enough, or pockets were deep enough."

His lips pulled back into a silent snarl, baring his teeth as his blue eyes flashed red and gold. "Alastor made sure the streets of New Orleans were a bit safer for people who were suppressed. He's powerful, respected, and feared. He stands besides those who lift him up. He's a wonderful husband and step-father. And he keeps order in the Pride Ring—something I've struggled to do for centuries."

Suddenly the heat vanished and Lucifer straightened, eerily calm. His expression stoic and his voice quiet. "Then again…you'll find out soon enough."

Vernon staggered back half a step. "Wh-what do you mean? Who are you?!" He shouted, his fear obvious, but he tried to puff himself up, to shout at the threat in hopes of scaring it off.

Lucifer scoffed before a slow, cruel smile curled up his face, his eyes glinting like cold glass. "Oh, apologies. Allow me to introduce myself properly," he mocked, giving a dramatic half-bow, one hand sweeping to the side. "Lucifer Morningstar. Fallen angel, Devil, King of Hell. I also happened to be married to Alastor. Who was once Harry Potter."

Petunia started at him like her world had tilted sideways and refused to right itself. Her fingers dug into the armrest, knuckles pale, and her breath coming in shallow puffs. "That's…that's not possible," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes flicked over Lucifer's face again. He was beautiful, flawless in fact, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "You're…you're mad. You must be."

Lucifer tilted his head, studying her with a look that seemed to pierce right through her. "Ah," he murmured, "but you don't really believe that, do you?"

She flinched, averting her eyes to her lap.

"No." Vernon stepped forward again, anger flaring hot and loud, smothering the fear creeping up his spine. "No, she can't believe that! Because you're talking rubbish," he barked, jabbing a finger toward him. "You're some nutter invading our home. Probably escaped from somewhere. That's what this is."

Lucifer's gaze slid from Petunia to Vernon, his lips twitching in clear amusement. "Oh, I love this part," he said, light and mocking. "The denial. The excuses. That if you shout loud enough, it might drown out that fear prickling at the back of your neck."

Vernon scoffed, his mustache twitching. "You expect us to believe you're the Devil? That you married that boy?" His face twisted into a sneer. "You're barking! Get out of my house before I call the police!"

Lucifer gave in and smiled, but it wasn't pleasant. It was sharp and menacing, stretching too wide across his face.

Petunia swallowed hard and reached out to grab her husband's arm, fingers trembling. "Vernon," she warned quietly, her eyes never leaving Lucifer. "I don't think—"

"I said out!" Vernon roared, taking another lumbering step forward.

"No… I don't think I will," Lucifer replied matter-of-factly. "I came here—filled out the proper paperwork, in fact—for a reason. So I'm not leaving. Not until I have your souls in my possession."

A growl, deep and guttural, vibrated around the room as the temperature spiked sharply. Hotter than before. Sweat formed on Vernon's brow instantly and his face grew flushed within moments. Petunia cotton dress clung heavily to her frame, and she began fanning herself with shaking hands.

Then, in a shimmer of red and gold, Lucifer dropped his glamor. In his place stood a creature of divine beauty. His skin was the color of alabaster, his once rosy cheeks became perfect red circles. His clear blue eyes now glowed bright gold, swimming in molten red sclera. Two pointed crimson horns curved elegantly up from the top of his head, and behind him swayed a long whip-like tail, the spaded tip flicking in an almost playful manner. Then six red and white wings flared out behind him like a peacock's display. They filled the small living room in a rush of power and heat, overwhelming.

His whole outfit changed as well, changing from a simple light blue button down shirt and pressed khaki pants to his crisp white suit, accented in bold red, and a pink and white striped vest. Perched atop his head sat a white top hat with a small golden crown, a yellow hissing snake, and bright red apple resting on the wide brim.

Lucifer's smile widened, stretching impossibly across his face, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth that did not belong to any human mouth.

Petunia gasped, loud and sharp, as she collapsed against the back of the chair. Tears of fear welled in her eyes as a hand reached for her neck to clutch non-existent pearls, as if sheer decorum could shield her from the Devil himself.

Vernon's face went from beet red to ashen within seconds. He staggered back, nearly tripping over the armchair his wife still occupied. "W-what in—" His voice cracked and failed, dissolving into a strangled noise that sounded like a dying animal.

Lucifer chuckled, tapping a single black claw against the apple headed handle of his cane. "Ya see?" He said lightly, as if commenting idly on the weather. "Your souls are already bound for Hell. I'm just here to 'expedite the process', so to speak."

He leaned forward slightly, demonic eyes glittering. "And it definitely has nothing to do with revenge for how you treated my husband when he was a child." The tone of his voice dripped heavily with irony. The implication was crystal clear: it had everything to do with exactly that.

"Now then," he purred, voice as smooth as honey, "while I did come here for your souls, that doesn't mean it's going to be that simple. No, no, noooo." His eyes narrowed, studying them with a sharpness. He tilted his head to the side, his horns catching the weak overhead light. "I think a little punishment is in order."

*Brief mention of torture

He eyes landed on Petunia first. She whimpered, trembling in the chair, her eyes locked on his glowing gaze. "Petunia Dursley," he spoke softly. "You starved little Harry of food and affection. Isolated him, called him terrible names…" His smile sharpened. "Let's see how you fare being starved and isolated."

He lifted his hand, his finger and thumb forming into the shape of a gun, and pointed it at her. "How about a little psychological fun? Locked away in your own mind." A tiny pinpoint of golden light lit the tip of his finger before it shot straight between Petunia's eyes.

She slumped back as though she had simply passed out, her body going completely limp. Her chest still rose and fell, slow and steady, looking peaceful. But she was trapped in her own mind as Lucifer's punishment played out behind her closed eyes.

"Pet?" Vernon asked, a note of alarm in his voice. "Petunia?"

When she didn't wake, or so much as twitch, he whirled back around to Lucifer, anger blazing in his beady eyes. "YOU—"

He choked as a golden whip snapped around his neck and yanked him down hard to his knees.

Lucifer smirked, twirling the end of the whip around his hand. "And you…" he said, eyes gleaming with malicious delight. He tucked his cane under his arm as he used both hands to work the whip. "You liked to hit little Harry. Broke his bones. Took swings at him for asking questions. Took your anger out on him after you had a bad day. I think a fitting punishment for you should be a bit more…physical."

Vernon let out a strangled wheeze, his fingers clawing uselessly to try and loosen the whip around his neck to no avail. His face turned a bright red as he scratched at his neck, eyes bulging as tears streaked down his round cheeks.

Lucifer watched with detached boredom. He didn't loosen the whip until the color drained from Vernon's face. "Now…it's nothing personal," he derided, ignoring Vernon's hacking coughs and gasps. "Just justice. Divine retribution, really."

His grin turned sharp like a knife, all teeth and promise. "Shall we begin?"

The room pulsed with a low thrum of power and heat.

*Scene over

—

Location: Little Whinging

July 21st, 1996 10:56 PM

Lucifer sighed and let the front door shut behind him with a gentle click. His glamor was back in place, but a frown settled on his lips as he stared down at the cracked pavement leading up to the door, lost in thought.

He stood there for a few heartbeats before he shook his head and released a long sigh. He took a few steps down the sidewalk and turned, quietly staring at the house. Then, without conscious thought, his gaze dropped to the front garden and the flowers, their message a strange mix of remorse and warning. They had tried to say something, in their own mortal way. But it didn't matter now.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he tilted his head to the side. He raised his hand, and with a spark of magic, summoned a small flame. It hovered in his palm, golden, yet hungry. Then, without blinking, he tossed it into the white lilac bush and marigolds.

The fire caught immediately. It consumed the flowers with an unnatural speed, quickly leaping toward the hydrangeas and poppies, until the flames licked up the front of the house.

Lucifer stood and watched the fire in silence, face unreadable as it consumed and ate away at the house. Then, he turned and walked away, humming a little tune under his breath, unworried about being seen or the fire being discovered until it was too late.

'Perks of magic,' he hummed internally. He snapped his fingers, conjuring a portal leading back to Potter Manor and disappearing from Little Whinging.

…And leaving the scene of a burning home with no life inside.

'Starting with those damn flowers.'

Chapter Text

Location: Ministry of Magic

July 22nd, 1996 6:00 AM

The Ministry, despite the early hour, was already flooding with witches and wizards in a sea of black robes—reds, blues, purples, greens, and other bright colors occasionally breaking through the darkness. The Floo Network was alive with brief bursts of green flames and accentuated by the steady fwoom of new arrivals echoing through the atrium. Several hundred footfalls and idle, tired chatter bounced off the marble and granite walls and towering pillars.

Now and then, an occasional flash of a spell would go off in someone's periphery, or a bout of steam would be pouring out of more than one wizard's ears as they all made their hackneyed walk to work. Some rushed, some loitered, and some dragged their feet like their limbs had been cursed to be as heavy as lead toward their respective floors, and cubicles, and offices; another day to punch in their timecard they called life.

None of that, however, reflected onto Alastor, Lucifer, or the very dashing black dog that trotted between them. The three easily maneuvered through the shuffling chaos with purpose nipping at their heels. Both canes tapped against the polished marbled floor in time with the taps of their soles and the rhythmic click-click-click-click's of the dog's nails. They went mostly unnoticed or unimportant, even with an animal beside the two gentlemen. Up until they marched through the Auror Office and right up to Astrid, Madam Bones' assistant.

Astrid greeted the two without hesitation and easily ushered them into the office behind her, drawing more than a few curious eyes peeking over cubicle walls.

Inside, their little group was greeted by two women and a man.

"Madam Bones. Madam Tonks," Alastor greeted both witches with a nod to his head, offering them a polite smile. "So lovely to see you two again."

"Lord Magne," Amelia Bones greeted in return, her voice crisp and expression stern. Light flickered off her monocle as she dipped her head in return. Then she turned to Lucifer and actually bowed to him. "Your Majesty."

Lucifer gave a nervous chuckle and waved his hand, shaking his head. "Please. I told you, Lucien is fine."

"I just wanted to know our Minister knew how much was riding on this trial," Amelia stated, slowly raising her brow before turning her attention to the man standing stiffly off to the side. "Isn't that right, Minister Scrimgeour?"

The man had a rugged look of someone who rarely relaxed or even smiled. His hair was like a lion's mane and wrinkles lined his face. He cleared his throat before speaking in a low, gravelly voice, "A pleasure to meet you, King Lucien. Lord Magne." His gaze was sharp and intense, studying them like a man who was used to playing several moves ahead of everyone else.

"I know my presence was not expected. However, given the stakes involved, it is imperative that the Minister of Magic be directly involved in all proceedings—before, during, and after the trial. Every decision, every declaration, will be under scrutiny once we step into the courtroom."

He folded his hand behind his back, adding, "I trust you both appreciate the need for such transparency."

During his miniature speech, Lucifer's brows slowly crept toward his hairline. His expression shifted from vague interest to something bordering on boredom. He flicked his gaze to Alastor, who was watching Scrimgeour with a small, amused smile.

"Well," Lucifer said, his voice light and lilting, "that was a very thorough attempt at asserting dominance. I applaud the effort."

Scrimgeour blinked, clearly unsure if he was being complimented or insulted.

Lucifer tapped his cane on the floor a few times, the metal end tink-tink-tinking against the polished stone floor. "Now, I know politics are serious business, Minister. War and legislation, and the terrible burden of power, and all that." He waved his hand vaguely, as if brushing the reasons aside as unimportant. "But do try to smile every now and then. It won't kill you."

The Minister's frown deepened.

Andromeda turned her head away, pressing her lips together and giving a slight cough that sounded a bit too forced. Amelia drew in a breath, held it, then slowly released it, but Alastor could see the slightest twinkle of amusement behind her monocle. Padfoot even gave a low woof that might've been a laugh, his tail wagging.

Alastor let out a soft chuckle, eyes still locked on the Minister. "Of course, Minister," he said, voice perfectly polite, though the glint in his eyes was anything but naïve. "Your presence is…understandable, given the weight of the situation."

He inclined his head only just slightly—just enough to be courteous, but not deferential. "That said, we trust that your role today is simply to oversee the legal proceedings of this trial. Nothing more. The law, after all, should be impartial—even when the participants might make for attractive headlines or future leverage."

Scrimgeour's jaw tightened at that, a flash of irritation flickering behind his eyes.

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, a faint smile curling up his lips as he added, "Naturally, we're all doing our civic duty this morning. Wouldn't want to overstep." He leaned in slightly, giving an impish wink.

Alastor's gaze lingered on the Minister a little longer, his tone still courteous but cooler. "We do hope you'll extend that same courtesy to us, Minister—no more, no less. Let's proceed with what we came here for, shall we?"

Minister Scrimgeour inhaled sharply, then released the breath through his nose with slow deliberation. "Of course, Lord Magne," he replied, his voice slightly clipped, but still respectful. "Though, I was under the impression that you would be bringing Black with you."

"Oh, yeah, he's here," Lucifer answered casually in Alastor's stead, drawing the Minister's attention back to him. "We walked him right in." His lips twitched further up, like he was setting up a joke.

Scrimgeour made a show of looking around the room then turned back to Lucifer with an exaggerated tilt of his head. "Then…where is he?"

"Minister, I know you're not as obtuse as you pretend to be," Alastor said smoothly instead, snapping the man's attention back to him. His voice was pleasant, but had an undercurrent of sharpness. "Surely, as a wizard, you're familiar with Animagi?"

All eyes snapped to the large dog, ignored until now.

Padfoot huffed a soft woof, his tongue lolling out as he panted. Then he stood, gave his fur a shake, and shifted back into a man.

Sirius stretched his arms over his head with an audible groan, cracking his neck before giving the two women and lopsided, but tired grin.

"Andy," he greeted warmly, his voice rough with early morning. "Didn't think I'd see you again. I missed you, cousin. Thanks for…you know, having my back."

Andromeda gave him a once-over, noticing how well put together in a sharp suit tailored perfectly to him and black robe thrown over, his neatly trimmed beard, and hair tied back into a low ponytail. Her expression flickered between wry affection, subtle disbelief, and professional restraint. "Sirius. Good to see you too. Of course I have your back. I'm being paid handsomely for it," she said, a lightness in her voice to show she was teasing.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "And nothing to do with the fact that I'm your favorite cousin?"

Then his eyes shifted to Amelia, his smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Amy. Good to see you again too. Thanks for taking my case."

Amelia nodded. "You'd better make it worth my time, Black."

"Don't I always make it worth your time, Amy?" He teased, to which she rolled her eyes, lips twitching.

Finally, Sirius turned to Scrimgeour, offering a forced smile and hand. "Minister. Nice to meet you. Big fan of…bureaucracy."

An awkward and painful silence hung over them. Scrimgeour raised a graying brow, glancing down at the unshaken hand.

Lucifer snorted, covering his mouth with his hand like he was hiding a cough. "Smooth, Sirius."

Alastor sighed and shook his head. "Well," he said dryly, "now that the fanfare is out of the way…" His eyes darted from one person to the next, before focusing on Amelia. "Shall we get ready for a trial? I believe that's why we all got out of bed for at this delightful hour."

—

Location: Ministry of Magic - Courtroom 10

July 22nd, 1996 8:00 AM

Courtroom Ten—infamously used during the Death Eater trials of 1981—was just as bleak and imposing as Alastor remembered it. The walls were decorated in various murals of ancient decrees, towering columns of marble rose high to a grand ceiling that felt deep and well-like—echoing and inescapable. Benches rose in tiers around the room for the Wizengamot members, all facing the center around a single chair, chains and shackles resting like iron snakes, ready to snap.

All fifty Wizengamot members were present, murmuring with each other, dressed in eye-watering plum robes. Each bore a single silver 'W' stitched on the breast pocket—a badge of authority and, perhaps today, accountability. The atmosphere hummed with tension; none of them had been informed why an extensive hearing had been called at the drop of a hat.

The sides were clearly divided physically. On the left side, Alastor could see the more light-aligned families: Abbott, Diggory, Longbottom, Doge, and Vance. At the center, were the more Neutral or Gray families: Greengrass, Macmillan, Gamp and and others. And to the right, was the obvious Dark side of the Wizengamot. Malfoy, Rosier, Nott, Selwyn, and many others Alastor recognized more than from the other two sides.

In the visitors' gallery, only three seats were occupied. Alastor and Lucien sat together in the lowest tier, staffs positioned between their legs and hands clasped atop the handles, composed. Just behind them, Rita sat in the tier above them with sheafs of parchment and a handful of self-inking quills, ready to write down every word. Her eyes glittered with barely contained excitement.

As soon as people noticed Alastor, the murmuring and looks increased. His invisible ears easily picked up what humans would have missed. The name James was whispered first in confusion, then spread like fire—bouncing from one end of the Wizengamot to the other before Alastor and Lucien had fully sat. His lips twitched in amusement, but ignored them.

Rufus Scrimgeour settled in his high seat, shuffling through parchment while Amelia Bones sat to the left of the podium, her own files in front of her. Then, to the right of the podium, sat a very familiar figure with smoothed back ginger hair: Percy Weasley.

Alastor's eyes locked on the young man, interest rising. He hadn't realized that Percy had been reinstated as the Court Scribe after what had happened with Crouch. But, having him here, for Sirius' trial, felt like an opportunity. Not to approach, but to observe.

He hummed and leaned back a little, his lips curving into a pleased smile.

Then the door to the courtroom opened with an ominous, echoing groan.

The murmurs and whispers turned into startled gasps and scattered shouts of surprise as members jumped to their feet and craned their necks. They pointed as Sirius Black entered, bracketed by two aurors: Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Alastor nodded slightly in approval. Just behind them, Andromeda Tonks entered, her head held high and her face set in stone.

Sirius kept his head bowed as he was guided to the chair in the center of the courtroom. The moment he sat, the iron shackles clanked to life and wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso like serpents, binding him to the wooden chair. He flinched slightly, but kept his gaze on his lap.

Alastor cocked his head as Lucifer gave a low growl. "What the fuck?" He whispered, just loud enough for Alastor and Rita to hear.

"Relax," Alastor replied just as quietly, not taking his eyes off Sirius. "It's protocol and the chains will be off the moment he's declared innocent."

"They better," Lucifer grumbled, a scowl darkening his face. "Otherwise I'm portaling him out. Fuck everyone else."

The whack of a gavel cracked through the mounting chaos like a gunshot, a silence nearly immediately following as the Minister cleared his throat.

"Let the record show," Scrimgeour began, his voice low but clear, "that on this day, the twenty-second of July, 1996, a full and formal trial is to be conducted under the authority of the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot."

He looked down at his desk, hands shuffling paper. "This trial is convened to investigate and rule upon the charges levied in 1981 against one Sirius Orion Black."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle among the people. Around the courtroom, surprised glances were exchanged. Shock rippled across several Wizengomot members faces, som aghast, others suspicious.

"This court has received new evidence that has cast serious doubt on the original claims—particularly in light of the fact that no official trial was ever held for Mr. Black prior to his incarceration in Azkaban," he said, eyes still scanning the page. Then he looked up, casting his gaze down to Sirius. "Today, we intend to rectify that miscarriage of justice."

Her turned toward the benches to his left and right, addressing the fifty robed Wizengamot members. "Presiding today, as Minister of Magic: myself, Rufus Scrimgeour. Prosecution will also be directed by my office. The Accused is Sirius Orion Black. His legal representation and defense counsel is one Andromeda Tonks. Court Scribe: Mr. Percival Ignatius Weasley."

Percy's quill scratched noisily across the parchment, head bent in concentration, his eyes never lifting from the scroll in front of him.

"This trial will proceed with a full review of the charges, presentation of material evidence, defense statements, witness testimony, and—if necessary—use of magical verification. The ruling of this court will be final." He tapped the podium with the gavel, the noise echoing. "Let the proceedings begin."

A heaviness followed by the Minister's words. Then, Scrimgeour straightened once more, voice sharp. "Let us start with a review of the charges brought against the accused."

He motioned to a parchment on the podium and read aloud, each word echoing off the ancient walls.

"Sirius Orion Black stands accused of: Treason against the Wizarding World. Conspiracy as a Death Eater. The betrayal of James and Lily Potter, resulting in their deaths. And the murder of twelve muggles and one wizard—Peter Pettigrew—on or around the first of November, 1981."

A quiet murmur stirred again in the benches, which quickly hushed as Scrimgeour continued.

"These charges were filed in 1981 following Mr. Black's arrest, and—until recently—remained uncontested. However, upon the discovery of new material evidence and in light of the lack of a formal trial at the time, this court has been petitioned to conduct a full review under due legal procedure."

He turned his sharp gaze toward Andromeda. "Madam Tonks, as the legal representation for the accused, how does the accused plead?"

Andromeda raised her chin, gray eyes hard as stone. "Not guilty."

"Let the record show that the accused has pleaded not guilty," Scrimgeour stated, his voice rising with each word to be heard over the sudden cacophony of protests and shouts.

"Liar!"

"He's a monster!"

"Murderer!"

"Why hasn't he been kissed yet?!"

"Kill him!"

Scrimgeour slammed his gavel against the podium. "Order! Order! Quiet in the court!"

The members eventually quieted down, though outraged murmurs still hissed between each other.

"Quiet," Scrimgeour snapped again, cracking the gavel once more. The chamber finally quieted.

He sighed and turned his attention back to Andromeda, who hadn't so much as flinched. "Madam Tonks, you may now present your opening statement."

Andromeda stepped forward, standing beside Sirius. Her eyes swept over the sea of purple robes, unflinching, as she addressed the gathered members.

"Honored members of the court. I stand before you today on behalf of the law itself," she said. "For nearly fifteen years, Mr. Black has carried the weight of a conviction he never received, for a crime he never committed. He was denied a trial, denied a defense, and denied even the basic dignity of legal recourse."

She allowed her words to hang in the air, her gaze steady. Some members remained stone-faced, while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

She continued, voice crisp and sharp as a whip. "You will hear and see evidence—verifiable and indisputable—that Mr. Black was neither the Potters' Secret Keeper nor the one responsible for the events that followed. You will also find that no legal proceedings were ever conducted before his incarceration."

She began to pace slowly in front of the Wizengamot, her eyes never leaving the members as she went from one face to the next. "We do not ask for mercy—only truth. And perhaps…" she paused physically and verbally, tilting her head up. "…for you to consider: if one heir of an Ancient and Noble house was incarcerated without trial…who says another couldn't? I ask that you keep your future heirs in mind when you deliberate on the long overdue justice."

Alastor's lips twitched in approval, his eyes narrowing. Beside him, Lucifer exhaled a quiet breath, impressed.

Andromeda nodded as the silence dragged on, turning back to the podium. "We're ready to submit the first piece of evidence, Minister."

Scrimgeour gave a crisp nod. "The defense may proceed. Members of the Wizengamot will withhold all questions or commentary until all evidence has been presented. Disruption will not be tolerated," he said, voice clipped, leaving no room for argument.

Andromeda inclined her head, then turned to stand beside a table provided earlier. She opened her briefcase that was set on the table, the latches echoing with two sharp clicks. With a flick of her wand, a piece of parchment hovered midair and she enlarged it slightly for visibility.

"The first piece of evidence," she announced, "is the official Vault Verification conducted at Gringotts Wizarding Bank earlier this month. During the formal identification ritual preformed by the goblins on one Harry James Potter, two critical facts were revealed."

A hushed murmuring traveled through the members, many leaning forward to try and get a better look at the document.

Andromeda continued, tapping her wand to a line, highlighting the specific line. "First, that Sirius Orion Black was chosen as Mr. Potter's magical guardian per his parents' last wishes. Second—" her tone turned sharp, eyes narrowing, "—that Mr. Black was illegally incarcerated before he was able to take in young Mr. Potter. This unlawful incarceration directly interfered with his legal and magical responsibility as guardian."

A few members shifted uneasily.

"And we all know," she added coolly, "how Mr. Potter's childhood turned out."

The reminder of the two Daily Prophet articles from a couple of days ago was suddenly at the forefront over every mind. Several member winced, clearly remembering the front-page images of the cupboard under the stairs and the interview with the Dursleys.

Scrimgeour expression remained unreadable, but motioned for Andromeda to continue.

"The second item," Andromeda said, summoning a second document from the briefcase—this one older, the ink faded but still legible, "is the last will and testament of James and Lily Potter. Signed and sealed prior to their deaths."

She tapped her wand against a line, highlighting and enlarging the text. "See here, the will names Peter Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper under the Fidelius Charm. Not Sirius Black. This document has been verified with the Gringotts seal, proving its authenticity, and has also been reviewed by the Department of Magical Law."

She set the parchment back on the table as more murmurs broke out over the court. "In short…my client could not have betrayed the Potters for he did not hold the secret to betray."

Another wave of whispers broke out, louder this time. Alastor could feel Lucien beside him nearly vibrating, his leg bouncing. Rita's quill scratched furiously from behind them.

Alastor reached over and rested a hand on Lucifer's knee, leaning in to gently whisper, "Easy, love. We're off to a strong start. No need to get anxious."

Lucifer exhaled soundlessly through his nose and he forced his leg to still. "I can't help it," he whispered back, pursing his lips. "I mean, Andromeda is good. But a few faces in the benches look like their teeth are made out of lemons."

Alastor suppressed a snort. "Ah, yes. We'll make sure to keep an eye on our fruity friends."

Andromeda turned smoothly toward the front of the courtroom again. "Madam Bones," she said, her voice level. "Can you confirm the third piece of evidence for the court?"

Amelia looked up and nodded, her expression set and composed. "I can," she agreed, voice clear. "As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I personally conducted a search through the Ministry's trial records, court ledgers, and sentencing logs. I searched under the date of arrest, under the accused's name, and even within sealed-case files."

She adjusted her monocle, expression hardening. "There is no record." She let the statement hang before she continued. "There was no trial scheduled, conducted, or recorded for Sirius Orion Black in 1981 or any year since. What I did find was a scattered paper trail—notes from then-Minister Millicent Bagnold, stray remarks from several aurors, and a message or two from one Cornelius Fudge. But no legal proceedings. No oversight whatsoever from the Wizengamot. No documentation of any formal charge."

She drew in a breath. "He was sent to Azkaban without a single formal proceeding. Just a few words here, a few notes there, and a transfer log to Azkaban, all executed under what can only be described as gross negligence."

The courtroom erupted. Shouts and protests overlapped each other—some in defense, some in outrage, and a few in clear panic. Several members were on their feet, yelling across the room at another.

Scrimgeour's gavel came down hard and fast against the podium again and again. "Order!" He bellowed over the crowd. "Order in this court!"

It took several minutes for the chaos to subside, the room slowly settling into a tense and stunned silence. Andromeda stood beside Sirius, motionless and showing little emotion.

Sirius hadn't moved much since the start of the trial. But Alastor could see the shift in his shoulder, how they would hunch up to his ears. The way his jaw clenched when voices were raised. The way his knuckles would turn white when he curled them against the chair's arms. And as the uproar faded, so too did the tightness in his body. Not fully, but enough for Alastor to notice.

Finally, one robed man in the center stood, Lord Cyrus Greengrass, a member known for his true neutrality. His voice ran with sharp disbelief, "How in Merlin's name could this have happened under the Ministry's watch? No trial? No oversight? Are we to believe that a man—an heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black—was simply sent to Azkaban based on—on notes?"

Several members across all three factions muttered and nodded in agreement. Scrimgeour clenched his jaw, but didn't respond.

From the Dark-aligned benches, Cantankerus Nott rose slowly, his tone cold and suspicious. "If these document are genuine, prove it," he spat, his lips curled back faintly. "What guarantee do you have these are authentic, huh? Forgery isn't uncommon."

Andromeda answered without hesitation. "Both documents bear the official seal of Gringotts Wizarding Bank—which cannot be bribed or forged without obvious flaws. Not only that, but they also bear the royal crest of King Ragnuk XII himself, who was present during the verification. The goblin monarch does not lend his name lightly."

A few gasps echoed through the room, eyes going wide. Nott gave a low huff and sank back into his seat, displeased.

However, the quiet was short-lived.

"Hem-hem."

Nearly every person in the room reacted. Many rolled their eyes so hard, they looked like they might get stuck. A few people audibly groaned, several people in the Light-aligned section flinched or sneered. Even several members in the Dark-aligned section suddenly looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them up.

Alastor's head snapped over to the voice, invisible ears perked so far forward and his spine so straight, even Rita Skeeter sent him a strange look.

"Al?" Lucifer asked, his eyes flicking over to the squat woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to a toad.

"Forgive me," drawled Dolores Umbridge, her voice saccharine-sweet, a wide smile stretching across her toad-like face. "But…even if—if—we accept this evidence, what are we to do with a man like Sirius Black, hmm?"

Andromeda slowly turned toward her, brows lifting in restrained irritation. "Madam Umbridge, I'm not sure what you mean by your question. It's coming across as just a bit too vague. Perhaps you could use your words and actually elaborate for once."

A few muffled snorts and coughs echoed through the chamber, Alastor's included. Umbridge's face turned an unflattering red before her smile returned, a bit more strained.

"What I mean to say, Mrs. Tonks," she replied, leaning forward slightly, her bright pink beret tilting forward, "is that this man has been in Azkaban for twelve years, and the last two skulking about the filthy streets. Is that wise to release someone so volatile and with such…questionable sanity?"

Alastor's fingers twitched around the head of his staff. His smile curled sharply up his face, his eyes glinting at the promise of pain. Lucifer raised a brow at his husband before he squinted at the strange toad woman slightly, "Wait…is this the toady bitch?"

"Indeed," Alastor confirmed through clenched teeth. Then, with a surprising amount of control for him, he inhaled slowly, shut his eyes, and exhaled just as slowly through his nose.

"And of course," Umbridge continued, as if her very voice wasn't like broken glass scraping across a chalkboard, "if he is innocent, why didn't he simply come to the Ministry to sort it all out?"

Andromeda snorted—loudly and unapologetically. She couldn't have stopped the unprofessional snort if she tried. "I'm sorry, Madame Umbridge, but…are you suggesting that my client should have willingly come to the Ministry after escaping Azkaban to prove he was innocent?" She let the rhetoric question hang for but a heartbeat. "Without evidence? Without legal counsel? To the Ministry that was hostile to him and had a 'Kiss on sight' order against him?" She paused and gave a look so cutting it could strip the flesh from bone.

"Really? That's your question?"

Lucifer snorted this time, not even bothering to hide it, which only deepened the scowl on Umbridge's face. He leaned toward Alastor with a sharp grin. "Remind me to gift Andromeda one of our finest bottles of wine."

"To answer your first question," Andromeda said, barely refraining from rolling her eyes, "upon his proclamation of innocence, Mr. Black will be assigned a mind healer to ascertain his mental stability and will continue to see healers to ensure his recovery after so long in Azkaban."

Then, she turned away from Umbridge, dismissing her existence. "Now, does anyone else have any actual questions?"

"Two bottles," Lucifer said, snickering.

"I have one," an older voice rang out. Augustus Longbottom stood, every head turning to her as she stared steadily down at Andromeda. "How, exactly, did you come in possession of these documents?"

Her question caused a ripple of whispers.

"Vault Verification records and private wills are not typically accessible without the individual present," Madame Longbottom continued, her voice stern and sharp. "Young Harry Potter would have been there for them and the boy is still a minor."

Dozens of eyes turned to the defense, waiting for Andromeda's answer.

Instead of cowing like they all believed, she smiled. A small, but sharp, smile.

"I'm so glad you asked, Madam Longbottom," she drawled, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "As it turns out, Mr. Harry Potter was indeed present when he received these documents—though I was not. In fact…" She glanced up at Scrimgeour. "This is the perfect time for me to call my witness. If you don't mind, Minister?"

Scrimgeour's eyes darted over to Alastor then back to Andromeda. "I do not. Please proceed, Madam Tonks."

"Excellent," she said smoothly, before she pivoted and faced the visitor's gallery. "I call upon Lord Alastor Magne, please."

Alastor stood, drawing every eye in the chamber. With smooth, deliberate steps, he made his way down from the visitor's gallery and to the center of the room, where Andromeda waited. As he walked, mutters drifted down to his sharp hearing.

"Magne? Never heard of him."

"That can't be right…"

"He looks so much like James Potter—."

"Maybe a relative?"

"That impossible—James Potter is dead."

"The dead walk among us…"

Alastor almost snorted, his lips twitching at the last comment. He cleared his throat and set the butt of his staff firmly on the floor, one hand resting atop the microphone.

"Madam Tonks," he greeted easily, smiling pleasantly to her.

"Lord Magne," she replied with a nod of her head. She gestured for him to stand in a separate circle carved into the mosaic floor. He stepped into it confidently with his head held high, spine straight, and a small smile on his lips.

Scrimgeour nodded and shuffled some parchment. "Lord Magne, I will be invoking the Truth Charm on the witness circle. The outer ring will glow green if you are telling the truth, and red if you are lying. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Alastor purred, leaning forward slightly.

The Minister flicked his wand, casting the charm. A bright white rippled through the marble, the outer ring around the witness circle glowing softly.

"Please speak one truth and one lie to ensure the enchantment is working," Scrimgeour instructed.

"The sky is purple," Alastor said calmly, watching as the white light shifted to red. Amused, he added, "My favorite color is red." This time the color slid from red to green.

Scrimgeour leaned forward, his intense gaze glaring down at Alastor. "Please state your full name for the record."

Alastor inclined his head politely, tapping a finger against his microphone. "Alastor René Marchand-Mange," he replied smoothly. "The Marchand and Magne are hyphenated by the way, Mr. Weasley." The circle remained a solid steady green.

Percy paused mid-scribble, blinking in confusion as his own name was casually dropped. He stared at Alastor for a beat, then without comment, went back to his notes.

Andromeda stepped closer, stopping just outside the glowing circle. "Lord Magne, for the benefit of the esteemed members of the Wizengamot, can you please state the name you were known by before you became Lord Magne?"

Alastor's grin turned sharp, amusement glittering behind his glasses. "Of course, Madam Tonks." His eyes cut to the many faces watching him in curiosity. "Before I became Alastor at the tender age of fifteen…I was known as Harry James Potter."

The circle remained green.

A stunned silence settled over the chamber, almost uncomfortable.

"WHAT?!"

The chamber suddenly exploded in noise. Dozens of voices shouted over one another. Many were outraged and demanding proof, while others were denying what they'd just heard.

"Impossible!"

"This is a trick—a glamor!"

"The boy is dead! Or missing! Or—"

"Is this some sort of sick joke?!"

Several members surged to their feet, faces read with outrage, fingers pointing and fists shaking, while several others simply gaped in disbelief. Spit flew from one wizard's mouth—Alastor thought he may have been Ogden or McLaggen—a vein throbbing at his temple.

"Order! ORDER!" Scrimgeour roared, slamming his gavel down again and again against the podium with several thunderous cracks. "Silence in this chamber or I will begin levying fines and ejecting members!" His voice was nearly drowned out by the chaotic din.

Alastor stood calmly in the center of it all, head tilted to the side, and lips curled into a wide, amused smile. He tapped a slow rhythm against the head of his staff, the very picture of unbothered delight.

Interesting enough, if one paid attention—which, of course, both Alastor and Lucifer were—several member from the Dark-aligned members were quiet.

Lucius Malfoy, Cantankerous Nott, and a few others exchange cautious glances, leaning back in their seats. Their gazes studied Alastor curiously. Of course, they knew. Severus Snape had informed the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord had informed his inner circle. Now, finally, they could finally see Alastor in the flesh.

"We demand proof!" One voice bellowed from the Neutral section, a witch Alastor did not recognize.

"The circle's been charmed! That spell has been false!" Another in the Light section yelled.

"Harry Potter is fifteen! This man is clearly a grown adult! How is this possible?" Asked an elder wizard, voice shaking from the Light-aligned.

"Enough!" Scrimgeour boomed, casting a silencing charm over half the chamber.

The sudden blanket hush made the remaining shouts echo awkwardly loud before a forced silence settled. Several members were still trying to shout, faces red, but the charm held their voices.

Scrimgeour's face was tight with barely contained fury. "The witness circle has not been tampered with. The spell has been verified and tested. You all witnessed it work." He turned a warning glare to the most vocal skeptics, the members finally settling down begrudgingly. "Your disbelief does not negate magical fact."

Alastor huffed a small, almost silent laugh, leaning forward. "I understand if this is too much to take in," he said gently, almost pityingly, if one squinted. "But I assure you, I didn't come here to discuss my temporal displacement. Only to give a testimony on behalf of Sirius Orion Black, the man who tried to protect me and my family…and was punished for it."

"Please, Lord Magne," Andromeda cut in, her voice calm but a warning could be heard underneath. "Let's stick with what's relevant and allow me to do my job…"

Alastor's grin softened and he nodded to her, letting her have the floor.

Andromeda turned back to the rest of the chamber. "We do have proof. Not only has the witness circle remained green, but the documents were provided by Lord Magne himself and they bear his legal and birth names."

With a flick of her wand, one of the documents floated over. She tapped a line at the top, highlighting and magnifying the names on the Vault Verification. "You can see here, under Name, you can clearly reads Lord Magne's name. And just beneath that, 'Born: Harry James Potter'. This document is official and cannot be charmed or confounded. This is proof that Harry Potter and Alastor Magne are the same person."

"Noted," Scrimgeour said with a curt nod. "Please proceed with your questions then, Madam Tonks."

"Lord Magne," she began, her tone shifting, "can you please explain to this chamber how you know that Sirius Orion Black is innocent of the crimes for which he was accused?"

"Certainly, Madam Tonks," Alastor said, adjusting his glasses. "I met Sirius Black at the end of my third year at Hogwarts. The same night, I also met Peter Pettigrew."

Several people inhaled sharply, shifting in their seats and the circle around Alastor remained a solid green.

"At the time, the world believed Sirius Black had betrayed my parents to Voldemort," he continued, ignoring the obnoxious shrieks, chokes, and exaggerated flinches. "I believed it too. Until I was face to face with him and made no move to kill me. That was also where I learned that Peter Pettigrew had been hiding as a pet rat in plain sight."

More than a few wizards exchanged startled looks, unsure if they should believe his story. But the green light never wavered. It remained green.

"What proof did you have that this rat was, in fact, Peter Pettigrew?" Andromeda asked.

"Because I saw the transformation myself. We were in the Shrieking Shack. Myself, Sirius, Professor Lupin, and two on my best friends. Professor Lupin forced Peter to reveal himself and when he did, he groveled and begged for his life," he said with a sneer, his eyes darkening.

He shook his head and continued. "He confessed to everything. That he was the Secret Keeper, had framed Sirius, faked his own death by creating that explosion, and escaped like the rat he was to a wizarding family for twelve years."

Percy's head suddenly snapped up, eyes wide. His face slowly went from pale to almost a sickly green before he slowly turned his head back to his notes, swallowing.

A few mutters broke out among the Wizengamot, before Andromeda raised a hand. "And did you report this to the authorities?"

Alastor set his lips into a firm line, just the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "We tried. However, Peter Pettigrew escaped to return to Voldemort's side. And…well, no one believed the word of a thirteen-year-old boy. The Ministry didn't want to listen. The wanted a convenient villain. And Sirius fit." His lips twitched and his eyes gleamed. "Shame you didn't catch him."

Andromeda shot him a warning look, but nodded. "And currently, with all that has passed, do you still believe Sirius Orion Black is innocent?"

"Yes. Without a shadow of a doubt," Alastor replied, his sharp and unwavering. "I owe him my life. And more than that. My godfather has never stopped fighting to protect me, even if it put him in the path of danger."

The green glow of the circle beneath him pulsed steadily.

Scrimgeour glanced down at his notes before looking back up with a sigh. "I now open the floor to questions from members of the Wizengamot—provided they remain relevant to the matter this trial."

The room stirred. Half the chamber leaned forward, curiosity drawn on their expressions, while others looked ready to object. A few raised their hands immediately.

A wizened old man from the Neutral section stood first. "You said you saw Pettigrew transform. Did he have the Dark Mark?" He asked, his voice gravelly.

"I cannot say for certain," Alastor answered after a moment of thought. "I'm not sure when Peter Pettigrew was marked, but I do know when I saw him again at the end of my fourth year, he did have the Dark Mark."

Many people shuffled uneasily, remembering the disaster of the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Amos Diggory, sitting above, suddenly went ashen and silent, his grief still heavy like a lead weight.

A silver-hair witch from the Light faction stood next. "And no one else saw this but you and two others?"

"Three others," Alastor corrected politely. "Myself, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Remus Lupin—the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that year."

"But you didn't come forward with this information?" She asked, eyes narrowing behind her spectacles, not in suspicion, but as if trying to see him clearer.

"We tried," Alastor replied, voice still calm and to the point. "But no one wanted to believe that the Ministry had captured the wrong man. Easier to keep the narrative tidy."

A few murmurs of discomfort rippled through the Light-aligned.

Then, from the back, a sharper voice pulled everyone's attention. "That may be…but how are we meant to believe you're Harry Potter?"

From the back of the Neutral section, a man stood. He was bald except for a few wisps of hair and he had a silvery beard halfway down his chest. His voice may have been harsh with a strong Irish accent, but he was more curious and skeptical than hostile. "You look nothing like the boy from the Prophet. You said temporal displacement—but how? What kind of magic would do that?"

Scrimgeour looked ready to intervene, but Alastor lifted a hand to stop him.

"I understand the confusion," he said smoothly, unbothered. "However, I've already stated I won't be elaborating on the how. Only that it did happen. The means are not relevant to this trial. What matters is the why I am here. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is to testify the truth."

"But surely the method matters—"

"If you are asking," Alastor cut in, his smile faintly amused, "whether I time-traveled via Time-Turner, the answer is no. And before you suggest Polyjuice or glamor spells—this," he gestured to the glowering green circle with his staff, "—is proof enough I'm not lying."

Before anyone else could speak, that same syrupy-sweet voice sliced through the chamber like a cutting curse.

"Well," Umbridge said, rising from her seat with a smug little smile, "isn't that convenient. No evidence, no explanation. Just a grown man claiming to be a boy who disappeared seven months ago."

She gave a fake little giggle, her grin widening like she was having the time of her life. "Why, it almost sounds like someone trying to steal the Boy-Who-Lived's legacy."

Andromeda moved to interject, mouth open, when Alastor's voice cut through first.

"Ah, 'Professor' Umbridge," he said coolly, turned to face the squat demon in pink, "my condolences to you."

She blinked, taken aback, her smile faltering. "Condolences for what?"

"Why, my condolences on your color-blindness, of course," Alastor said, quick as a whip. He tapped his staff against the glowing green light on the floor.

Several sputter and surprised laughter rippled through the chamber before several members managed to stifle it.

Then the circle turned red. He was lying. He didn't care.

"I had no idea," he continued, the circle still pulsing red—proof it was very much working. "It certainly explains the way you dress."

More laughter and snorts echoed through the chamber.

"Lord Magne, cease, please," Andromeda muttered to him from just outside the circle.

"Ah, my apologies, Madam Tonks," Alastor replied pleasantly, ignoring a now fuming Umbridge. The circle slid to green. "I suppose you're right, I should stick to the facts and not let my emotions get in the way."

Her shoulders seemed to sag in relief—only to immediately tense again when he turned back to Umbridge, savoring in the fact that she almost had steam coming out of her ears. And not from any Pepper-Up potion, either.

"My apologies, Ms. Umbridge." The circle flared red. "But to answer you opinion: I don't need to steal what is already mine."

The circle flared green, steady and bright.

"Besides," he purred, his voice dipping into something darker, more chilling. Many members of the court shifted suddenly, on edge, but unsure as to why. "You and I both know…that I must not tell lies."

Umbridge's face drained of color, the red of her rage seeping into a waxy pale in seconds.

Alastor's smile widened into something sharper, something dangerous and hateful burning in his eyes as he stared her down. Then, as though it had never been there at all, it was gone. He was standing composed again, brushing off invisible dirt from his coat lapel.

"That's all the questions I'll be willing to answer," he said, tapping his microphone.

"Thank you, Lord Magne," Andromeda said, stressing her words slightly. "You may return to your seat."

The air remained heavy as Alastor returned to his seat, the green circle fading behind him. A few whispers still lingered between people, but most of the Wizengamot were quiet and anticipating the next part of the trial.

Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "The court will now proceed with the second testimony. Mr. Black has consented to the administration of Veritaserum. Auror Shacklebolt, if you would?"

A surprise went through the chamber upon learning that Sirius would undergo Veritaserum and willingly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward with a small glass vial in his hand. He approached Sirius, who gave him a faint nod of acknowledgement.

Without a word, Kingsley tilted the vial and three clear drops fell to Sirius' tongue. His body went lax and his eyes glassy as the potion took effect.

The silence in the room that followed was heavy and filled with anticipation.

Andromeda stepped forward again, her voice calm but firm. "State you name for the record."

"Sirius Orion Black," he replied, his voice hollow.

"And you date of birth?"

"Third of November, 1959."

Scrimgeour nodded, gesturing for Andromeda to proceed with her questions.

"Sirius," she said, folding her hands behind her back. "Can you please tell us what happened on the night of the thirty-first of October, 1981—the night James and Lily Potter were murdered? Start from the beginning. What do you remember?"

Sirius' body swayed slightly where he sat, before he began, his voice low and flat. "That night…I was at my flat. I had just gotten home from work. I didn't go to Godric's Hollow like I wanted."

He paused, blinking slowly. "Originally, I was supposed to be the Secret Keeper. Everyone assumed I would be. That was the plan. But we thought…we thought I was too obvious. Too likely to be targeted. So we changed it at the last minute. James and I thought it would be like pranking the entire Wizarding World. We chose someone no one would expect. Peter Pettigrew."

Several members leaned back in their chairs, the weight of his words starting to settle over them. Their faces shifted once they started to realize that they had sent an innocent man to prison…and without a trial.

"I was the decoy. Told everyone I was the Keeper to throw the Death Eaters off. Only James, Lily, Peter, and myself knew the truth."

He took a breath and continued. "I decided to check on Peter, because he was always so nervous. Thought I'd be a good friend. But when I arrived at his place…it was empty. Like someone leaving in a hurry. That's when I had a bad feeling and went to Godric's Hollow."

His voice was flat, but a tremor broke through, slipping under the potion. "When I got there…they were dead. James…and Lily…" His voice hitched before he swallowed thickly.

"And somehow…little Harry was alive. I was going to take him—just like I promised I would. I was going to raise him. But…" He paused, blinking a few times. "Hagrid showed up. Said that Dumbledore told him to get Harry and bring him to Hogwarts. I didn't want to…but I was also angry. Angry at Peter for betraying James and Lily…"

The courtroom was completely silent, many faces stricken.

"So I gave Harry to Hagrid…and I went after Peter. I found him, and I was going to kill him. But when he saw me, he started shouting—said I was the one who betrayed Jame and Lily. Then he cast a Blasting Curse…caused an explosion. Killed all those muggles. Then, he cut off his own finger, and transformed into his rat Animagus form and escaped…"

"Mr. Black," Andromeda said softly, her hand steepled in front of her, "were you ever brought in front of the Wizengamot before this day for these crimes you have been accused of?"

There was a short pause before Sirius answered. "No."

A heavy silence fell over the chamber, Sirius' final word ringing in their minds. Many members couldn't believe what they just heard. The story sounded…impossible, chaotic. Yet, there was no way it wasn't real, because they had the proof in the documents, in the witness circle, and straight from the accused's mouth under truth serum.

What they had heard was real.

Many members sat rigid, guilt churning in their guts. Other stared down at their laps or the far wall, unwilling to meet Sirius' blank, potion-glazed eyes. From the Light faction, a heavy sigh of regret could be heard. Jaws were clenched and shoulders sagged beneath the weight of realization from the Neutral section. Even a few of the Dark-aligned families looked perturbed about how this whole thing has slipped past them all.

Amelia Bones—who had known the whole story already—let out a slow breath and removed her monocle, pinching the bridge of her nose.

A voice filtered down, Lord Abbott muttering through the quiet, "No trial…Merlin's beard. We never even asked him a single question. We just…believed the story."

Alastor sat stiffly beside Lucifer, eyes hard and jaw tight. Lucifer gently slid a hand to his knee, rubbing slow circles to help steady him.

Andromeda remained silent next to Sirius' side, arms crossed and lips drawn in a bloodless line. "No further questions, Minister," she said, her voice emotionless and clipped.

Scrimgeour cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave a sharp nod. "Thank you, Mr. Black. Auror Shacklebolt, please administer the antidote."

Kingsley nodded stoically and stepped forward again, a different vial in his hands. He gently tipped the contents into Sirius' mouth before returning to his post by the door.

Sirius stirred and blinked rapidly, as if to regain himself. The blank look faded, replaced with exhaustion and sorrow. The raw vulnerability, layered with guilt, made many more members grimace.

"We will now proceed to closing statements," Scrimgeour said, voice hushed, but echoing through the weighty quiet.

Andromeda drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Then she took a few steps forward, her robe swishing around her ankles as she gazed up at the fifty other faces. "The facts are no longer in question."

Her piercing gray eyes swept across the chamber, taking in the ashamed, shaken, and stunned faces. "We have a signed Will. And a blood-verified Vault Verification. Magical documents, confirmed authentic by the goblin king himself."

She gestured to the witness circle, her voice soft, but still clear. "We have an enchanted truth circle that confirmed Lord Magne's words. And an account from the accused under Veritaserum that confirmed that Sirius Black was imprisoned without trial for crimes he did not commit."

She turned slightly toward Sirius, whose eyes were closed and his posture stiff. Her expression shifted, turning gentler. "He lost twelve years of his life in Azkaban… and another two in hiding. And the boy he would have raised lost far more than that."

Her eyes swept back to the Wizengamot, expression turning hard. "Today is not about politics or power. It's about justice. And we will either rise to meet it… Or we will fail again." She stepped back toward the small table, spine set, determination shining in her eyes. "Thank you."

After a heartbeat of silence, Scrimgeour opened his mouth and asked, his voice low, "Does the defense rest?"

"It does, Minister," she replied.

He gave a sharp nod and turned to his papers. "As Minister presiding over this governing body, I now open the floor to a vote." His voice echoed as he turned to look over the faces in the Wizengamot. "Those opposed?"

The chamber was still for a tense moment before six wands rose, the tips lit with finality. Four from the Dark-aligned section—including Nott and Umbridge—one from the Neutral section and one from the Light.

Alastor's eyes narrowed, his lips pulling back into a dangerous smile as he eyed all six individuals. He tapped his can against the floor between his boots once. Four shadows silently slid out from under him, slithering silently toward each opposed voter aside from Nott and Umbridge.

He already had plans for the two of them.

The lights at the wand tips dimmed. One by one, the voters lowered their hands.

"Those in favor for exoneration?"

This time forty-one wands raised, their tips glowing white—Amelia Bones and Minister Scrimgeour included. The entire Light-aligned families, save one. Nearly all of the Neutral. And all but six from the Dark.

Forty-one exonerated, six opposed, and three abstained.

Alastor's lips curved upward sharply, victory shining behind his glasses. 'I love winning.'

Scrimgeour looked around then picked up his gavel. "By the vote of this governing body, Sirius Orion Black is hereby cleared of all charges."

Crack!

The chains coiled around Sirius suddenly jangled to life and fell away to the floor with a metallic clatter. He gave a shuddering breath as he slumped forward, his face falling into his hands. A shaky sob fell from his lips, choked and broken. His shoulder shook as he finally broke down.

He was finally free.

The sharpness of Alastor's smile faded and his gaze softened as he watched his godfather. 'After being told he was wrong for so long, after thinking he deserved a lifetime behind bars, believing he deserved punishment…'

Sirius could breathe the air as a free man.

—

Location: Ministry of Magic

July 22nd, 1996 1:44 PM

The corridor outside the courtroom buzzed with whispers and rustling robes as members of the Wizengamot finally filed out. No doubt the word that Sirius Black had been declared innocent and freed would spread to every department in the Ministry within the hour.

Off to the side of the corridor, in one of the many dark marbled archways, Sirius sat slumped against a cushioned bench. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were braced on his knees, white-knuckled and shaking. The tears had dried, but the hollow ache remained, etching the the dried lines on his cheeks. His breakdown had passed, but he still felt numb and uncertain.

Alastor stood nearby, his fingers absently tapping his microphone, as his eyes never left his godfather, like he was about to break again. Lucifer leaned against the wall beside them, arms loosely crossed, but his gaze flicked from Sirius to the occasional witch or wizard that passed a little too close. A silencing barrier hummed invisibly over the alcove the moment Sirius had collapsed. Andromeda sat beside Sirius, gently rubbing his back to try to ground him to the new reality he was now in.

And then there was Rita Skeeter, who was hovering just inside the alcove, pad in hand and fancy peacock quill twirling between her fingers.

"He needs a minute," Andromeda said, shooting Rita a warning look that could have flayed flesh.

"I agree with you, Andromeda," Alastor said softly, then glanced toward Sirius. "But it's best to get the interview over and done with while the memory is still fresh."

"Bloody hell…" Sirius rasped. He cleared his throat when his voice came out scratchy and dry. "Can't I have five bloody minutes?"

"You want the truth out there, don't you?" Alastor asked, his voice calm but pressing. "Straight from your mouth and not theirs. Or his." He didn't need to say Dumbledore's name.

Sirius groaned and gave a shaky sigh, dragging a hand through his hair and pulling it free of the low ponytail. "You're right. Bollocks…"

Alastor gave a small nod, then turned his gaze to Rita. "Ms. Skeeter," he said, one brow raising. "I'd appreciate it if you made this interview quick. You do have an evening paper to publish on the trial, after all." His tone left no room for debate—he fully expected the piece to be out tonight.

"Oh, and remember our deal," he purred, a sharp grin twitching at his lips.

"I remember, Lord Magne," Rita responded coolly, though her heart jackrabbited in her chest.

"Good," he replied and stepped aside for her.

Lucifer gave a soft snort, slightly amused before his eyes caught a flash of color that wasn't plum in his periphery. His gaze snapped in that direction and he suddenly stood up straight, an intense interest on his face.

"Hey, Al," he said in a slightly detached voice, gaze locked onto something beyond the crowd. "I'll…be right back. I gotta do something." He shot a quick smile toward his husband before he was gone, disappearing into the swaths of plum-robed witches and wizards still lingering nearby.

Alastor blinked and raised a brow with a curious smile. He wasn't sure what drew Lucifer's attention, but he trusted his husband not to get into too much trouble.

He watched as Lucifer's finally disappeared from view, his blond head being swallowed up by the crowds when another blond caught his eyes. This one framed around a pale, aristocratic face and a pair of sharp, gray eyes.

Lucius Malfoy.

Alastor straightened and tilted his head, his own eyes locking on Lucius as the man slowly approached. He took a few steps just outside of Lucifer's invisible barrier and off to the side of the archway.

Lucius followed, heels clicking and cane tapping, before he stopped in front of Alastor with a cool, curious expression.

"Lord Malfoy," Alastor greeted first, his grin small and welcoming, but his eyes were glinting sharply. "Long time no see. I believe the last time we truly crossed paths was in that depressing graveyard."

Lucius paused, studying him with quiet intensity. "Lord Magne," he finally greeted, voice low and smooth. "Terrible memories."

Alastor gave a sharp, humorless laugh, his lips twitching. "Quite. Must've been absolutely terrible to watch a fourteen-year-old boy be tortured and fight for his life while you stood aside and laughed. Terrible to have to serve such a monster, your pride and dignity stripped from you while your wife and child suffer because of your actions."

His smile remained firmly in place as he delivered each blow. "Tell me, Lord Malfoy…how do you sleep at night? Or does the living nightmare in your home keep you awake?"

Lucius' throat clicked as he swallowed, his gaze wavering. A flicker of fear passed through him, followed by anger, bitterness, and shame. "…You've certainly changed," he said hoarsely. "Still brave and stupid."

"'Brave and stupid'?" Alastor echoed with a tilt of his head, clearly amused and enjoying himself. "Those I aren't the words I would use to describe myself." He paused, his grin curling up half his face, watching Lucius.

Lucius saw the bait…and he couldn't help his curiosity but to take it. "And how would you describe yourself then?"

"An opportunist," Alastor answered without hesitation. "A man who remembers everything and forgives almost nothing. Someone who's not afraid to become a monster in order to slaughter other monsters."

He paused, then made a noise of amusement in the back of his throat. "But perhaps that's a tad dramatic for you. Let's just say I'm thorough and I bite back—quite literally sometimes."

Lucius stiffened, his jaw tightening and his hand growing tight against the head of his cane. For a moment, his mask faltered, a flash of unease flickering behind his pale eyes before he recovered.

"How…poetic," he said coolly, though his voice was weaker. "I see time has given you an appreciation for strategy, at least."

He cleared his throat and shifted, donning an air of practiced detachment. "However, our world is cautious in these…uncertain times. And alliances must be considered carefully. And the Dark Lord is not unmindful of power when it reveals itself…"

'Ah… There it is,' Alastor mused dryly. It was almost subtle. Almost.

It was without a doubt a probe sent by Voldemort himself. But Lucius' delivery left something to be desired.

Out of all the reactions Lucius had expected, laughter was not one of them.

Alastor threw his head back and cackled, sharp and unrestrained, echoing off the walls of the corridor. His free hand clutched his forehead as tears sprang into the corners of his eyes. He leaned forward, nearly toppling over if his cane hadn't been supporting him.

His laughter drew the attention of several lingering officials and gossips—who seemed to have nothing better to do than loiter about. Their interests piqued further by the sound and the presence of Lord Magne and Lucius Malfoy together.

"How adorable," Alastor wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Did you practice that in the mirror before coming to find me? Is that how Old Tommy Boy recruits nowadays?"

He snorted, a smirk twitching at his lips. "Power." He said the word like it was a bad joke. "Is that still the pitch? Some things never change."

Lucius stared in shock, eyes wide. His polished mask gone. Embarrassment flitted across his face, red burning his cheeks as he realized others were watching. His grip on this cane tightened, fingers twitching to pull out his wand.

"Now, now, don't be so offended," Alastor said mockingly, straightening and brushing invisible dust from his coat. He waved a hand is lazy dismissal. "If that's Voldemort's idea of a proposal, it's…quite lacking, isn't it? And frankly, it's insulting."

He tilted his head, voice sharp with disdain. "What power does he have to offer me, exactly? I already have all the power I could possibly want."

A cruel smirk crawled up his face, razor-sharp and deadly. "He's nothing." The words echoed with finality, making Lucius flinch.

"Let me ask you something, Lord Malfoy…" he said, voice low and intimate, like a knife against a throat. "Do you feel like the Dark Lord has delivered on his promises to you?"

Lucius didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked away, jaw tight. The hand on his cane white-knuckled now, but he didn't speak. Because Alastor's words had struck something within him.

What had the Dark Lord delivered?

Lucius had his power, but that came with his name and status he was born with and continued to grow on his own. None of that power came from the Dark Lord. In fact, if he hadn't pleaded Imperius at the end of the previous war, all that power and status would be gone.

And their old ways? Their sacred traditions they were promised would be restored? Nowhere to be found. In fact, thanks to Dumbledore, more had been stripped away, buried under stricter bans. The more the Dark Lord rose, the more Dumbledore pushed back, their heritage caught in the crossfire.

It was frustrating. And he hated how Alastor's words made him question everything.

Alastor watched him, that insufferable smirk tugging at his lips. There was a knowing glint behind his glasses.

Finally, Lucius opened his mouth, his voice tight. "…He has…endured…"

Alastor scoffed. "A cockroach can endure, Lord Malfoy," he replied cuttingly, unimpressed. "Is that really the answer you're going with? How dull. And here I thought you had some respect for yourself left."

Lucius bristled. His lips parted, trembling with fury as he tried to defend himself. But no words came. They caught in his throat, thick and choking.

Alastor eyes narrowed slightly, waiting for answer he knew wouldn't come. "Pity…" His voice was quieter, more thoughtful. Then he drew in a breath and slowly released it through his nose.

"How about this then," he began, fingers tapping the head of his cane. "You're a clever man, Lucius. You managed to keep a hold of all the power and money after 1981—even when it's obvious you're a Death Eater. You have self-preservation, ambition, foresight…you know what you want. Yet here you are, compliant and fearful, sharing your home with a squatter and pretending it doesn't reek of death and lies."

Alastor paused, the tapping stopping. "Voldemort…Tom Riddle…promised you power and a seat at the top of a mountain of bodies and blood. And it's obvious by your lack of answer that he has failed."

They stood in silence for a few heavy beats. The last of the crowds finally dwindled and walked away, bored by the lack of drama. Just two men in quiet conversation.

Alastor gave a hum and turned to the side as if dismissing Lucius, staring down the long, dark marble corridor. When he spoke next, his voice was casual, but his words were set to cut. "I'm sure your wife is proud of the man you've become. And I'm sure your son will be grateful as well…when he's writhing under the Dark Lord's wand while you stand by and do nothing."

His gaze cut to Lucius from the corner of his eye, taking the sudden sickly pallor of his skin and wide eyes, shaken. A vicious glee twisted in his chest, a triumph already shining behind his glasses and sharpening his smirk before he shoved it down. His smile softened into something closer to pity before he turned back to Lucius. He stepped forward, slow and measured, until there was a mere five steps between them.

"But you don't have to live like that," Alastor purred, leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowed with interest. "All those empty promises, the illusion of protection for your wife and son…could be turned around. If you turn around. Took a step onto another path being offered—one right in front of you. One where promises can actually be fulfilled."

Gray eyes snapped to green, realization flickering behind them as they stared at one another. The silence between them stretched taut, neither blinking or wavering.

Then Alastor straightened with easy confidence, smile on his lips. "That's how you leave an offer," he said quietly, one hand behind his back while he drummed his fingers against his microphone once. "The offer stands, by the way."

Then, without saying anything else, he turned on the ball of his foot and strode away, coattails brushing behind him.

Lucius remained frozen, mind reeling, emotions tangled and twisted like yarn as Alastor's words swirled around in his head. He watched as the man—so much changed from the boy he used to be—walk away without another word.

He needed to leave.

Lucius turned to go—then stumbled, his cane catching him just in time. He huffed and brushed his long hair from his face, glaring down at the ground—only to freeze mid-motion.

There, on the polished floor, was a flicker.

He narrowed his eyes. The floor was black and reflective, too hard to concentrate on, but something was there. Then he saw it. A shadow moved beneath him. He blinked and shook his head, looking again.

It was still there. It grinned up at him with a long, jagged curve on it's face, eyes narrowed in a cruel mirth. Shadowy ears twitched atop it's head. Antlers loomed, branching wide and sharp with thorny tines. Then a burst of static crackled like laughter. It swirled like ink beneath his feet then zipped behind him smoothly. His head snapped to follow it, unable to help himself, as it slid beneath Alastor.

He watched as the man stopped right before the alcove. Then, slowly, Alastor turned his head—only enough to glance over his shoulder. One green eye caught Lucius', dark and amused. A large, unpleasant smirk stretched up his face. A brief, flicker of red burned across his gaze. And then it was gone. Alastor turned back to return to Sirius' side.

Lucius' heart thudded in his chest. That wasn't the boy he'd once known, not even just a powerful wizard. That look—that presence—sent something primal skittering up his spine and prickling on the back of his neck. It reminded him of the Dark Lord…only stronger.

He swallowed thickly, throat dry and thoughts jumbled.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Alastor truly was… But he wasn't sure if he could stay away either. Not with an offer like that on the table.

Chapter Text

Location: Potter Manor - Dining room

July 22nd, 1996 6:16 PM

Sirius was drunk.

His face was flushed, eyes watery and slightly unfocused, and his hair curled wildly around his head was like a dark lion's mane.

The moment they returned to Potter Manor—Andromeda turning down an invitation to go home to her own husband and daughter—Sirius' mood had shifted. From morose and detached to suddenly boisterous and full of cheer. It was…concerning.

Lucifer and Alastor exchanged wary glances as they sat at the dining table for dinner. Molly had cooked up a large roast dinner of chicken, potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding for the occasion. Across from them, Sirius threw his head back laughing at something Fred or George had said, his "tea" nearly sloshing out of his cup.

Only Remus, seated beside him, seemed to the only other person to be paying attention to Sirius mood.

To everyone else—Molly, Arthur, and the other teens—Sirius was acting like his usual cheerful self. But they hadn't seen how hollow the man had been the first half of the day.

"Should we do something?" Lucifer asked softly, leaning toward Alastor as he stabbed a potato with his fork.

Alastor hummed, twirling his fork in his fingers as his eyes never left his godfather. "Perhaps…" He flicked his gaze to Lucifer when an owl swooped in from the open window.

The bird suddenly veered around Lucifer and Alastor with a startled hoot and nearly crashed into the roast chicken before landing at the end of the table by Molly.

"Oh, dear," she murmured in concern. "Poor thing must be tired."

Lucifer and Alastor exchanged glances again, more amused this time.

"Oh, it's the evening Prophet," she said, untying the newspaper from the owl's leg. The bird took flight and zipped out the window without payment, startled hoots following it. "That was strange."

"Would you mind reading the front page aloud, Molly?" Alastor asked politely, his tone light and casual, though his eyes flicked to Sirius.

"Not at all," Molly replied cheerfully, unfolding the paper only to pause at the front page, her expression shifting into surprise. "Oh… It's Sirius' trial."

Her words cut through the hum of conversation like a cutting curse. The clink of cutlery stopped. Even Fred and George looked up.

Sirius, mid-ramble to Remus, whipped his head around so fast he neatly fell out of his chair. "Wot?"

"It's your trial, dear," Molly repeated gently, holding up the paper with a small frown. "Front page."

"BLACK INNOCENT"

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

Everyone stared, eyes going wide. "That was quick," Hermione muttered in surprise.

"Well go on, Mum, read it," Fred encouraged, George nodding beside him.

Molly frowned but scanned the paper, reading aloud.

      For over a decade, the name Sirius Orion Black has been connected with betrayal, madness, and tragedy. And everyone believed that to be true. However, this day, on the morning of the twenty-second of July, 1996, that story cracked under the weight of the real truth.

      Born into the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Sirius was raised in one of the oldest traditional pureblood households in Wizarding Britain. But even as a boy, he defied every expectation, turning his back on his family name. Those who knew him say he rejected his family's beliefs with pride—an act that, to this day, defines the man he became.

      At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sirius continued to defy expectations, sorting into Gryffindor instead of the family's usual Slytherin. There, he formed close bonds with fellow Gryffindor, James Potter, along with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. The four became inseparable and quite popular, known for their loyalty and their mischief. Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, often turned a blind eye on the boys and their pranks.

       Black's fierce loyalty to Potter was legendary—which made the betrayal that followed all the more unbelievable.

      Following the murders of James and Lily Potter on the thirty-first of October, 1981, Sirius Black was swiftly arrested and thrown into Azkaban. For twelve years, he endured the company of Dementors, until his infamous escape in 1993. Until now, the official story stated that Black betrayed the Potters and murdered twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew in a fit of madness.

      However, this day in the courtroom that hadn't seen chaos since the first fall of You-Know-Who, the truth was revealed—and it stunned even this seasoned reporter.

      Sirius Black is innocent.

       In an unusual arrangement, Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour presided in place of Albus Dumbledore, who was notably absent. During the morning's full Wizengamot trial—the first ever granted to Black—evidence was brought forward proving that no formal trial had ever taken place before his incarceration.

      Further documentation confirmed that Sirius Black had never been the Potters' Secret Keeper, and therefore could not have betrayed them.

      Black voluntarily submitted to Veritaserum, recounting the tragic events surrounding the Potters' deaths. His testimony aligned with newly revealed evidence, confirming that Peter Pettigrew—long believed dead—had been the true Secret Keeper and had staged his own death and disappearance.

      Many of the Wizengamot noted that Sirius Black was surprisingly lucid and aware of his surroundings—far more than expected for someone imprisoned for twelve years with Dementors. While the effects of Azkaban were evident, he showed signs more typical of a few months' exposure, not over a decade.

      Perhaps because he knew this whole time he was innocent? We can only speculate, dear readers.

      Still, despite Black's sound mind, Minister Scrimgeour has said that Black will be working closely with a mind healer to continue his recovery.

      Perhaps, though, the most startling revelation of the trial came from one particularly striking key witness—one who turned more than a few heads in the chamber.

      Harry James Potter.

      Believed to be missing after his mysterious disappearance late last year, he appeared in court. Alive, a grown adult, and now bearing a new name, Lord Alastor Magne. He confirmed that he had been the subject of a strange temporal magical accident, resulting in his displacement through time and, well, a far more handsome and mature appearance.

      Lord Magne provided critical evidence, including an authenticated vault verification and the long lost Potter Will—proofs which secured Sirius Black's innocence. Beyond confirming his identity and providing evidence to secure justice for his godfather, Lord Magne declined to explain the details of his temporal displacement, stating that the circumstances were "not relevant to this trail."

      Still, it is hard not to wonder how the Boy-Who-Vanished returned not only older, but so charismatic and dashing as well.

      After undeniable proof and testimony, the Wizengamot voted overwhelmingly in favor to exonerate Sirius Black at last.

      By the end of the proceedings, Black was cleared of all charges. His name, long dragged through the mud, was officially restored after nearly fifteen years. He was heavily compensated several hundred thousand galleons and will work with a mind healer as part of his recovery.

      Now, dear readers, what remains of this story is not one of betrayal—but of the failure. The failure of those in power, of those we trusted. A Lord of an Ancient and Noble House was imprisoned based solely on hearsay—with no trial, no evidence, no defense.

      How had this miscarriage of justice come to pass?

      And more importantly—how many others, like Black, have been failed by the very system meant to protect us?

      For information on the history of the Blacks, please see page 3.

      For information on the Wizengamot, please see page 4.

A quiet settled over the group as Molly's voice trailed off. Even the cutlery had been set aside.

Then Sirius snorted, letting out a low, breathless laugh. "Bloody hell. That was written by Skeeter?" He shook his head, lips twitching into a shaky grin. "Can't believe she didn't try to twist anything." Then his grin turned sly as he glanced at Alastor. "Though, she did call you out. Charismatic and dashing, eh?" He wiggled his brows.

Alastor rolled his eyes. "How generous of her," he muttered, voice dry.

Lucifer snorted, snicking beside him. "But you are charismatic and dashing, my deer. But she did forget to say how handsome and cute you are, what a good cook you are, and how your morning breath smells like something died in there," he teased, lips twitching up sharply, eyes sparkling mischievously.

"I will stab you with my fork," Alastor said coolly.

"I'd let you," Lucifer replied immediately, leaning in slightly.

Alastor sighed and pressed his hand against Lucifer's face, shoving him back in his seat, ignoring his husband's giggles.

Sirius snorted. "Well, if nothing else, I finally have something nice in the paper about me," he said, tapping his fingers against the side of his mug. "Feels a bit weird."

"You deserve it," Remus said, voice quiet but firm, his gaze steady. "Every word of it, Siri."

Sirius' smile turned more genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders under Remus' words. "Thanks, Moony."

Molly nodded, folding the paper and setting it aside. "I agree, dear," she said, then looked toward Alastor. "And you. I'm sure it wasn't easy being back in that courtroom, much less having to explain who you really are. You were very brave, Alastor."

Alastor's invisible ears pressed back briefly before he perked them forward again, sending Molly a kind smile. "Thank you, Molly. It wasn't as hard as I anticipated. Though it did help when I put Umbridge in her place."

"What?!" Fred and George both cried out, suddenly leaning over their plates to gape at Alastor.

Hermione froze in surprise and Ron stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth.

Remus almost choked on his tea, sputtering and coughing. Sirius reached over and thumped on his back.

"How?!" George demanded, nearly rising from his chair.

Alastor blinked, lips quirked up one side. "I may or may not have outright said that she was color blind, which would explain the way she dressed," he said with a half-shrug. "Then told her that I mustn't tell lies when she accused me of not being the person I said I was. She didn't like that." His smile widened.

Ron snorted and Hermione had to cover her mouth to hide a smile. Fred and George both laughed, heads thrown back. "Bloody hell!"

"You should be careful, Al," Remus wheezed, regaining his breath. "Umbridge is a nasty piece of work. She'll have a target on your back now."

Alastor waved his hand, dismissing Remus' warning. "I'm not worried about some Ministry toad at the moment. If she thinks she can come after me, she'll have a hard time doing so. She doesn't know where I live, what I'm doing, and I'm not going to be making a habit to visit the Ministry to give her the opportunity. Besides," he leaned forward, smile sharp, "I'd like to see her try."

Lucifer shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not all that worried about her either. Besides, we have bigger feet to cook," he said casually.

Alastor sighed and turned his head slowly, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "It's bigger fish to fry, Lucien."

Lucifer paused and stared at him, pursing his lips. "I knew that…"

A sudden burst of silvery light swooped in from the window, a large bird of light filling the room before stopping in front of Molly and Arthur. It opened its beak and Dumbledore's voice echoed from it.

"Molly, Arthur, emergency Order meeting. Ten minutes. Something has come to my attention that needs to be addressed posthaste," it said, before it dissolved into a wisp of smoke.

It was quiet for a moment before Lucifer opened his mouth, voice filled with disbelief, "What the hell was that?"

"Seems Dumbledore read the article," Alastor said with a proud smirk. "And that was a Patronus, love. Very good at carrying messages and defending oneself from Dementors."

Another silvery phoenix swooped in seconds later, stopping in front of Remus and Sirius this time. "Remus, Sirius," Dumbledore's gravelly voice had a tone of disappointment in it this time. "Emergency Order meeting in ten minutes. We have much to discuss. And please, if you could keep this meeting from Alastor and his husband, that would be ideal."

Every eyebrow rose as the phoenix dissolved as well, leaving the room quiet and thoughtful.

"How interesting," Alastor purred, eyes glinting. "Now, why would he want Luci and myself not there? Unless…he wants to turn everyone against us."

"Wow," Lucifer said flatly. "It's such a shame we weren't here for both messages…"

Alastor let out a sharp "Ha!" then nodded. "Oh, that man has no idea the fire he's playing with." He drummed his fingers against the table.

"Yeah," Sirius added, blinking a few times and shaking his head. "No way he's setting us against you." He groaned and rubbed his head. "I need a sober-up potion."

"Oh, I got that for you!" Lucifer said, pointing a finger at Sirius and snapping his fingers.

Sirius sighed and relaxed against the chair. "Thanks for that. Bloody useful trick."

"Well," Alastor started, pushing his chair back with a dull scrape and standing, "shall we head to Grimmauld? We have a meeting to attend." He offered Remus and Sirius a sharp, impish smile.

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Oh, I can't wait to see the look on the man's face."

Remus sighed and shook his head, standing as well. "Let's just get this over with."

"You kids don't worry about the dishes when you finish," Molly said as she and Arthur made their way over to Alastor and Lucifer. "We'll take care of them when we get back."

"How come we still can't come?" Fred asked, looking slightly put out. "George and I are of age."

"We're not discussing this again," Molly said sharply, shutting down the argument before it could start.

Both he and George grumbled, crossing their arms.

Lucifer opened a portal straight to Grimmauld, letting the other adults pass through. "Don't worry," he whispered conspiratorially. "I'll open up a really small portal so you can hear everything. Just make sure you stay quiet, otherwise the others will hear you too."

Alastor chuckled, raising a brow at Lucifer. "Oh, encouraging eavesdropping now, are we?"

Lucifer shrugged. "They deserve to know."

"Oh, I quite agree," Alastor replied, his eyes flicking from his husband to the teens still seated at the table. "They're just as deep in this as the adults," he said softly. Then he cleared his throat and stepped through the portal, Lucifer following last.

The portal snapped closed, leaving the teens all exchanging glances.

—

Location: Grimmauld Place - Dining room

July 22nd, 1996 6:59 PM

The air was thick with tension.

Members of the Order had filed into the dining room in Grimmauld, finding their seats and sitting stiffly. Several members clutched the Evening Prophet, while others glanced curiously at Alastor and Lucifer, seated side by side on one end of the table. Sirius sat just to their right, followed by Remus—an unspoken statement of where their allegiances lay before a single word was said. Molly and Arthur took the seats on Lucifer's left, a little more uncertain, but not moving.

Bill hesitated when he noticed his parents, but said nothing as he slid into the chair beside them. Tonks took the seat next to Remus, gnawing on her bottom lip. Her eyes flickered through multiple shapes and colors, and her hair shifted between her signature spiky pink and a deep blue that curled into a high ponytail. Even her skin shifted through a myriad of colors of creams and browns to greens and blues.

Moody sat beside her, his magical eye roving restlessly around, flicking from face to face. Beside Bill sat Kingsley, stoic and calm as he shifted in his own chair. Severus sat in the next seat, dark circles under his eyes evident, a blank, tight-lipped look on his face. Minerva sat beside Moody, her face firm and jaw set.

Elphias Doge and Emmeline Vance completed the circle around the table, seated on either side of Dumbledore's usual spot. Both wore identical expressions of polite concern, silent and staunch supporters.

Dumbledore entered at last, his expression carefully composed as his robes swept behind him. He paused briefly when he spotted both Alastor and Lucifer. His eyes widened imperceptibly as their lips curved into small, impish grins. He collected himself quickly, glancing to Sirius and Remus as he rounded the table and took the seat at the opposite end by Doge and Vance.

"I see everyone received my message," he said slowly, threading a hand through his long beard. "Good, good."

Lucifer leaned forward, his grin curling higher. "Soooo," he drawled, voice bright and mocking, "what are we here for? I assume it's not to talk about Molly's delicious roast she made for dinner… Or Sirius' absolutely hilarious joke he told while enjoying said delicious roast."

Alastor's smirk mirrored his husband's, but said nothing. He lounged comfortable in his seat, posture relaxed next to Lucien, chin resting in his palm and elbow on the table like he had all the time in the world.

Dumbledore ignored his comment and cleared his throat, letting his gaze settle of Sirius first, then Alastor. "I must admit," he began gently, "I was surprised to learn of today's events through the press, rather than from any of you directly."

Sirius didn't even try to hide his reaction. He rolled his eyes and grumbled, loud enough for the table to hear, "Of course you were."

The headmaster continued, undeterred by the disrespect. "I had hoped that we were united in this purpose together, that we would not keep secrets from one another. To go behind the Order's back—" he gestured loosely to the newspaper a few people had in front of them, "to create such a public spectacle of this magnitude without consultation—it was reckless."

A heavy silence hung over them for a heartbeat. Then Sirius shot to his feet, his chair scrapping violently behind him and toppling over with a loud thunk.

"Oh, come off it! Now you want transparency?" He barked out, hands flat on the table, gaze locked and blazing. "Now that you're not the one pulling the strings? Don't you fucking dare talk about secrets, Albus."

Dumbledore raised a hand, "Sirius, please—"

"No!" Sirius snapped, cutting him off. Hhe jabbed a finger in Dumbledore's direction. "You left me in Azkaban without a trial! You knew! You knew about Peter! You knew, and you said nothing! You had the power to fix this years ago. Years! But it wasn't convenient for you, was it?"

Several gasps rippled through the table, heads swinging from one end of the table to the other. But Sirius wasn't done.

"You want to talk about reckless? The only reckless thing here is you thinking you can keep playing puppet master with peoples lives!" He growled, a snarl slashed across his face.

Remus stood slowly beside him, eyes glowing a bright amber, a severe frown on his lips. "You had two years to clear Sirius' name, Albus. Alastor did it in two weeks," he said, he voice quiet, but cutting. "Sirius was your friend. You saw what Azkaban did to him. And you still did nothing."

Dumbledore's expression tightened. "Alastor snuck around behind the Order's back," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Gave information only when it suited him—"

"Oh, and doesn't that sound familiar, headmaster?" Alastor's voice finally cut through the conversation, eyes snapping in his direction. The man folded his hands atop the table, his smile small and knowing, unconcerned that his name was being thrown around.

"I must say the hypocrisy is practically oozing," he continued with a little shrug of his shoulders, voice bright with amusement. "Giving information only when it suits you? Like, I don't know—withholding a prophecy until you decided I was ready? Convenient that, hmm?"

"Those were different circumstances," Dumbledore replied, blue eyes flashing behind his spectacles. "You were a young boy. You should have been allowed to enjoy your childhood."

Alastor gave a harsh, humorless laugh. "My childhood?" He echoed, eyes hardening. "Albus, I'm fairly certain you read the Prophet on how my 'childhood' went."

Several people around the table winced, dropping their eyes into their laps. A few others frowned fiercely, brows furrowed in anger.

"Unless, of course," he went on, tilting his head to the side mockingly, "you plan on trying to tuck that away under your beard of secrets and denial as well."

Dumbledore stiffened, his lips pulling down behind said beard. "What happened in your childhood is…unfortunate," he said at last. "Surely though, you'd want to speak with them again. They are your family."

Angry voices broke out across the table—protests and sharp gasps—however, to everyone's surprise, Alastor's voice wasn't one of them. Instead, the man sat calmly in his chair, his head tilted to the side and a curious smile on his face. Slowly, the others quieted, eyes turning to him.

"You're actually serious," Alastor said at last, his voice quiet and measured. "I'm not sure if I should laugh at your stupid face or pity your failing mind and recommend you a mind healer."

A beat of silence followed after several sputters, gasps, and a single muffled snort.

Alastor gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered. "Regardless, headmaster, you frequently make decisions and withhold information to the people sitting at this very table. Perhaps you should reflect on your own words and actions before you go and judge anothers."

Dumbledore exhaled slowly, shoulders falling as if burdened his entire life. "You are right, Alastor," he said softly, his gaze falling to the table. His voice was calm now, touched with something close to sorrow. "I have made mistakes—many mistakes. I am not infallible, nor do I wish to be. Leadership…is a heavy burden. And, oftentimes, I have chosen to bear it alone."

He glanced up, eyes lingering on each face. "I made those choices not out of pride, but out of desire to protect those too young to shoulder such harsh truths. And you're correct—there were times I held onto those truths too long. I have come to regret that."

The admission was thought out and carefully worded, set out on the table for everyone to see.

"But the war is changing," he continued, voice growing stronger. "And I can only hope we move forward together, not as divided members. We face a terrible enemy. We cannot afford to tear one another down."

He turned back to Alastor, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "And you, Alastor, are a remarkable young man. Resourceful and clever. But I must question the wisdom of your secrecy—even your well-intentioned secrecy. Today, it was the trial. What of tomorrow? What might you choose to decide for us all?"

He gave Alastor a small, knowing nod, peering over his spectacles. His question lingered in the air, letting the implication to speak for him. Are you so different from me?

Alastor blinked slowly before he let out a short, scornful laugh, the corners of his mouth curling higher into a confident smirk. "My, my, how humble of you, Albus. So heavy is your crown—keeping others in the dark for the greater good."

He paused and leaned forward, green eyes gleaming with something sharp. "But let's not pretend this is about regret. You're only sorry because people have finally started snipping their strings and making decisions for themselves."

He scoffed and sat back in his chair again, lacing his fingers together atop the table. "You say you made mistakes to protect us… But what you really mean is that you didn't trust us. Not then and not now." He gave a small shrug. "And now that I've made my own decisions without asking your 'permission', you're nervous. Wondering what else I might do…"

Alastor tilted his head, eyes never leaving Dumbledore. "You ask if I'm so different from you," he stated, his smile growing colder. "Perhaps I'm not. But here's the difference between us: I never pretended to be anyone than who I am. You did."

He let his words hang in the silence, the air having grown heavy. Several people shuffled in their seats, eyes flicked between the two of them, quietly taking in everything being said.

"You say you regret your mistakes, Albus," Alastor said, his voice quieter, but still sharp. "But regret is meaningless if you don't change."

The silence dragged on after Alastor's words.

Tonks' lips pressed into a thin line, so focused that her ability mellowed out until she looked startling like her mother, Andromeda. A flicker of conflict passed through her eyes before she leaned back a little—just enough toward Remus.

Beside her, Moody grunted, his magical eye clicking in his eyepiece. It zipped between Dumbledore and Alastor. He never spoke.

Arthur grabbed Molly's hand, gently squeezing as he glanced between the old headmaster and the man he'd once known as a boy. Both powerful men in their own rights. But he already knew where both he and Molly would fall if—when—a decision came down to it.

Bill, seated beside them, tilted his head, blue eyes sharp. "He's making a lot of sense," he murmured under his breath, only loud enough for his parents to hear. But Alastor's sharp hearing picked it up anyway.

Kingsley remained silent, but a crease had began to form between his brows. Severus, ever unreadable, tilted his head subtly, dark eyes already on Alastor. While Minerva sat rigidly, lips already pressed into a firm, bloodless line. Her expression was just as firm, but she remained quiet, not even speaking up in Dumbledore's defense.

Dumbledore, perhaps sensing the unraveling threads around him, folded his hands calmly. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but slow and deliberate.

"Thank you…for your honesty," he said. He cleared his throat. "This is still a war…and we cannot afford to splinter further. So, unless anyone else has further grievances to air, I would like to assign duties for the coming weeks."

He paused, eyes sweeping over the table. No one said anything, faces carefully blank.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, turning his gaze to the Potions Master, "your position remains the same. I trust you will continue your work…carefully."

Severus only nodded once.

"Alastor—Moody," Dumbledore continued, clarifying. "I'd like you to follow up on the disappearances in the Ministry. Quietly."

Moody gave a grunt. "If you're done rattling the hornet's nest."

"Nymphadora—"

"Tonks," she corrected flatly.

Dumbledore's smile didn't waver. He continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. "I'd like you to assist Kingsley with tracking down the new muggleborns coming into Hogwarts this year."

Tonks gave a stiff nod, but her eyes flicked quickly back to Alastor.

"And Remus—" The old headmaster turned to the werewolf, his gaze gentler. "You're one of the few who can reach the werewolf packs. I know it's a difficult task, but you're our best hope at negotiating peace, or at least neutrality with them."

Remus' jaw clenched and his shoulders drew up tightly. "Of…course…"

"Wait, wait, wait—hold on," Lucifer interrupted, raising a hand like he was in the middle of class. "Why is Remus talking to the werewolves?"

A silence hung over them, not heavy, just confused.

"Because I'm a werewolf, Lucien," Remus grumbled, clearly not in the mood.

"So?" Lucifer raised a brow, frowning in confusion. "Just because you grow into an awesome wolf man once a month, doesn't automatically mean you're going to be successful negotiating with a whole pack of werewolves." He huffed and waved an arm.

He shook his head. "No, no, no. Remus is a pacifist. Don't worry, buddy, Al and I will talk to the werewolves for ya," he said with a cheeky wink.

Remus just blinked at him, bewildered. "But, I—"

"Ahh-bup-bup." Lucifer waggled a finger at him, playfully stern. "Just say 'thank you' and move on." He paused, smiling brightly. "You're welcome, by the way."

Alastor snorted. "You didn't even wait for him to speak, Luci."

Dumbledore frowned. "I must protest, Lord Lucien. This is a task that only Remus can complete."

"Uh-huh," Lucifer replied, eyes barely grazing by Dumbledore before he looked away again, smirk stretching wide. "I'm hearing you. And I'm choosing to ignore you."

Sirius barked out a laugh, head thrown back. "Hear that, Moony? Lucien says he'll take care of it. You can just relax with me."

Remus groaned, dropping his head in his hands. But his lips twitched at the corners, amused and eternally grateful.

—

Location: Malfoy Manor - East Wing Ballroom (repurposed)

July 22nd, 1996 7:56 PM

Lucius POV

The rustle of paper was the only sound in the cavernous room. Lucius Malfoy swallowed audibly, almost too loudly, as he knelt before the Dark Lord. His cool gray eyes studiously focused on the dirty marble below his knee. He kept his breathing shallow but steady, even as his heart pounded against his ribcage and the blood roared in his ears.

"…I see…"

He almost flinched as the snake-like voice echoed through the chamber, followed by the dull slap of the newspaper dropped to the floor.

"Lucius."

The single word was a hook under his ribs.

Lucius swallowed again and slowly lifted his head, face composed as he remained kneeling. "Yes, my lord?"

Piercing red eyes stared down at him from his throne. One hand supported a gaunt, pointed chin while the other rested against the armrest, long pale fingers softly tapping a slow, patient rhythm against the cool metal.

"You were wise to bring this to my attention," Voldemort said, voice high and raspy, like a slithering snake in tall grass. His eyes drifted to the Evening Prophet that now rested in front of the throne, before they pierced Lucius again.

"It seems this new Potter…Alastor, is smarter than I gave him credit for," he continued, tilting his head curiously, expression interested. "You said he turned down my offer?"

"Yes, my lord," Lucius replied, forcing the words past the rising bile. He had failed to recruit Alastor. He had failed the Dark Lord. And now…punishment would be dealt out. He mentally braced himself for the pain.

Voldemort gave a soft hum, his hand moving to remove his wand from his cloak, twirling the bone-white wood slowly between equally bone-white fingers. He watched Lucius, a soft frown on his face, as if he was debating. "I see…" he finally said, the wand pausing mid-turn. "That is…disappointing."

Then his lips curled into a cruel smile, eyes glinting with something dark. "But I would be even more disappointed if he had accepted so easily." The wand resumed its slow, deliberate roll. "I can wear him down. And if not…well, there's always the husband."

Lucius forced himself to breathe. The tension in his shoulders loosened, but only just.

"How old is Draco?" Voldemort suddenly asked.

Lucius blood froze and his heart dropped into his stomach.

"I'm sure your son will be grateful as well…when he's writhing under the Dark Lord's wand while you stand by and do nothing."

Alastor's voice echoed through his mind, swirling like a deadly storm.

"S-sixteen, my lord," Lucius managed, biting back another bout of rising bile—acidic and bitter against the back of his tongue.

"Sixteen," Voldemort echoed, lifting his gaze toward the ceiling, expression thoughtful. "Young. However…" He paused, eyes resting back on the blond, pinning him. "I think it's time Draco took the Mark. Don't you agree, Lucius?"

Voldemort's voice was quiet, gentle even. However, the dangerous edge was unmistakable, like a poisoned dagger resting softly against Lucius' throat.

Lucius's heart raced in his chest, the chill of a cold sweat beading at his temples and upper lip. He drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself as the room seemed to shrink around him. "Y-yes, my lord," he breathed, and he hated himself for how quickly it came. Nausea clawed at his throat, disgust burning hot behind his ribs. A quiet fury grew as well, sharp and useless in his gut. But he couldn't let any of it show.

Keeping his face carefully blank, he licked his trembling lips. "When would you like to see him, my lord?"

Voldemort's smile returned, pleased by Lucius' obedience. "Sunday. I have business tomorrow," he said, voice deceptively warm. "Wait for my call, Lucius. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius replied quickly, almost stumbling over the words to get them out. He slowly rose, bowed low, then turned on his heel and walked out, the soles of his shoes echoing through the empty chamber.

The door creaked shut behind him.

His thoughts raced, scattered and dizzy as his feet carried him toward his own bedroom, toward his wife. Fear gripped his spine like a vice; his throat tight that even bile couldn't rise.

He had to do something… He had to protect Draco. He had to protect Narcissa.

But how?

"The offer stands, by the way."

He froze, the words snapped through his mind like cold water had been dumped over his head. A clarity suddenly broke through the storm in his mind.

'Of course. Alastor,' he thought. Something sparked in his chest, small and dangerous: hope. The temptation to turn, to step onto another path placed neatly in front of him, filled him until he could think of nothing else.

He had to speak with Narcissa. And he had to reach out to Alastor.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's office

July 23rd, 1996 10:19 AM

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Infernal Majesty," Luna said, dipping into a graceful curtsy despite the bright yellow pants and soft pink shirt.

Lucifer blinked, eyes flicking between her and Alastor, who had just shut the office door with a quiet click. His eyes landed back on the young girl who smiled up at him with a wide, dreamy look.

"Um…" He began, raising a finger. "D-did you…did you tell her?" He asked, turning back to his husband.

Alastor chuckled softly and shook his head. "Of course not. This is Luna. She just knows things," he replied, voice tinged with warmth and amusement. "Plus, she's been blessed by Lady Fate herself."

"Ooooh." Lucifer nodded slowly, only looking slightly less lost than before. Then he shook his head and offered Luna a smile. "You don't need to call me by any titles. Just call me Lucifer."

"Oh, of course, Lucifer Morningstar," Luna replied softly. Then she reached into her bag slung across her body. "I actually brought you something."

Lucifer's interest perked, though he tried to temper it. He was a curious angel, after all. Or nosy, as Alastor would call him. "Oh, uh…you didn't have to."

"It felt right," Luna said simply, like that explained everything.

She pulled out a round object the size of a grapefruit. It clicked and whirred in her hands, making mechanical little noises like a overworked clock. Burnished brass and dark iron caught the light, covered in interlocking sliding tiles, shifting rings, and etched runes that seemed to…rearrange themselves when you weren't looking.

"It's a puzzle sphere my dad picked up when he was traveling," she explained, resting it in Lucifer's hands. "When you solve it, it becomes a different puzzle with a different solution. Some puzzles are logic-based, some are musical, some are abstract." Her smile widened, voice airy and certain. "There's an infinite number of possibilities."

Lucifer's eyes lit up as he cradled the ball in his hands, his mouth forming a small o of delight. "Really? Infinite possibilities?" He asked, then gave a pleased chuckle, expression turning smug. "Well, I am a being of the infinite, so we'll see how much that holds up."

He paused, looking at her properly, the two of them of similar height. His expression softened, genuinely touched by the gift. "Thank you…"

Luna beamed at him. "You're welcome, Lucifer Morningstar."

She dug back in her bag and pulled out a mason jar filled with some sort of green buds, peppers, bay leaves, and garlic swimming in spiced vinegar. "This is for you, Alastor Morningstar," she added serenely. "Pickled dandelion capers. I made them spicy."

Alastor's invisible ears atop his head perked and he tilted his head to the side before he carefully reached out for the jar. "How intriguing! Thank you, Luna." He untwisted the top of the jar and gave it a small sniff. The scent of vinegar and spices filled his nose first, then the faint bitterness underneath. His smile widened with genuine interest.

"I'm looking forward to trying these," he murmured, sealing the jar again. He sent it over to rest atop the counter across the room, before he reached into his shadows. "I actually have something for you as well. It's a bit last minute, I'm afraid."

Luna blinked in genuine surprise, then smiled brighter. "It's alright. I'll appreciate anything you give me, Alastor Morningstar."

Alastor chuckled and shook his head. "Just Alastor is fine, dear."

He held out his hand and a necklace dangled from his fingers. But it wasn't one made of jewels or metal. The string was a soft leather, and at the end hung a small eagle charm carved from cork.

"I remembered those…persistent little creatures that love to steal your belongings," he said lightly, mouth curving. "This will give them quite the unpleasant shock if they try it again. Just a nip, nothing that will do lasting harm. Lucifer carved it. He has much steadier hand for the fine details than I do."

Luna's eyes widened as she stared at the charm. Then her expression softened, a joy radiating from her. "Thank you," she whispered, gently taking the necklace. "I'll treasure this."

She gently slipped the necklace over her head, letting the eagle rest over her heart. Her fingers brushed over the charm, then she looked up at them. "The nargles will not enjoy this."

Alastor chuckled while Lucifer cocked his head to the side in confusion, brows drawn low as he mouthed the word nargles. Then Lucifer shook his head and decided not to question it. There was still so much he didn't know about the wizarding world.

"So," he began, trying for casual and failing because his curiosity was always simmering below the surface, "you called me 'Your Infernal Majesty'. Which…no one really does."

Luna nodded, expression soft and somewhat distant. "That's because most people don't have eyes that work properly."

Lucifer blinked. "What?"

"Most people only see what they've been told to see," Luna said simply. "That's why so many of them are wrong."

Alastor huffed a quiet laugh into his knuckles. "She's charming, isn't she?"

Luna's gaze drifted over to Alastor. "Charlie said you were funny," she added as if it was an afterthought. "She said you were scary too, but in the way that makes you feel safe."

Both Alastor and Lucifer froze.

"Wait, wait," Lucifer said, shaking his head as if trying to understand. "Charlie. As in my daughter. H-how? You shouldn't be able to speak with her. She's in Hell and you're here on Earth…"

Luna tilted her head. "Oh, we visit each other. Not here or in Hell though," she explained, voice like a sigh. "When we sleep. Fate really likes her too."

Lucifer's confusion deepened, twisting his expression into something almost comical. Alastor gave a soft hum as the surprise slowly faded, thoughts turning over in his head.

"You mean in your dreams," he murmured, finger tapping his chin. "If Fate is involved… I suppose that makes sense."

Luna looked between them, smile turning almost sad. "She says she misses you both," she added quietly, giving them a small shrug. "That she couldn't wait for more gardening projects and early morning pancakes again."

Lucifer expression softened, the edges of his mouth form into a wistful smile. "I miss her too…" he admitted, rubbing his arm almost self-consciously. "But we have important work up here. I know she knows that, but…"

Alastor placed a hand on his husband's shoulder, giving it a quiet, grounding squeeze. "When we can, we'll see her again."

Luna's face brightened. "Don't worry. You'll see her again soon," she promised, her eyes going a little dreamy. "And you're all going to be very happy about it."

"Thank you, Luna," Alastor said with a soft nod.

They were quiet for a moment, Lucifer rolling the puzzle ball in his hands before he tucked it away. When he looked up at Luna again, his expression was thoughtful. "You're full of surprises, you know," he said, then cleared his throat. "I didn't even realize how much I needed to hear that."

"She'll be a big help in the future," Luna replied, voice airier than normal. "If you accept it. I know you've been doing things alone. Fate has said so."

Another quiet fell over them, heavier.

"What do you mean?" Alastor asked, raising a brow. "I haven't been alone. I have Lucifer helping me. And Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, Madam Bones." He listed off several names, but paused when Luna shook her head.

"I know," she murmured, staring up at him. "All of that is true. But you've been trying to carry it alone anyway. You keep putting people behind you, like you're trying to shield them from a future that doesn't exist anymore."

Alastor's grin twitched and his ears turned back. "I don't appreciate being called out, Luna," he said softly, but the bitterness in his voice was directed at himself, not her.

"But it's true," Lucifer agreed, nodding once. "You know it is. You said so the other day."

Alastor's eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a firm line. "Yes well…" He exhaled through his nose. "What would you have me do instead?"

Luna just smiled, bright and unbothered by a demon's displeasure. "Just let them in."

Alastor blinked, then let out a small, humorless laugh. "Let them in?" He echoed, like the words didn't make sense. Then he shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Luna tilted her head, a hand grasping the strap of her bag. "Why not? Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the twins aren't really children anymore. At least not where it counts." Her voice stayed gentle, but the point landed sharp. "But even if they were…they'll still bleed when they're hurt."

Lucifer tensed. Alastor's jaw tightened, eyes dropping to the floor instead of meeting hers. "You really think they'd accept me?" His voice came out quiet, but had an undercurrent of something hard. "I'm a demon, Luna. I thrive on screams and blood. No."

"You don't need to tell them everything," she said, and for the first time since she arrived, her voice wasn't dreamy at all, but steady. "But you do have to let them in." She took a small step closer. "Because they're already in the story, Alastor Morningstar. They just don't know what chapter they're in. If you want to protect them…stop trying to do it from behind a locked door."

Alastor sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, nearly snagging an antler, ears flicking in irritation. "You make it sound so simple, Luna."

"It's not," she said with a small shake of her head. "It'll be hard." Her smile softened, gentler now, voice softer. Her eyes held his. "But it'll be worth it. Let them in a little at a time. Trust them like you used to. They're your friends. They won't abandon you like you think they will."

Lucifer watched as Alastor shuffled, uncomfortable and frustrated. He reached out and rested a hand on Alastor's forearm, squeezing gently. "So, let's call a little meeting then," he said, voice encouraging. "I'll have snacks out to help. Bribe everyone with pastries."

Luna smiled, eyes sparkling. "People do listen better when they're chewing. Or at least Ron does."

A snort slipped past Alastor's lips, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Very well," he said with a sigh. "Let's gather the teens quickly."

Luna smile brightened. "Fate also has a message for you, Alastor."

He paused before he could even take a step, his gaze snapped back to Luna.

"She says that the scales like honesty. Even when it's ugly," Luna said, eyes going glassy. Then she blinked and the look was gone.

Alastor blinked, his smile frozen. But his eyes sharpened. "How…considerate of her."

Lucifer cleared his throat, suddenly determined. "Okay. Right. Teen meeting. Honesty. And snacks," he said brightly, eyes darting between the two. "I'll gather the teens, you gather the snacks."

"Right," Alastor muttered and turned toward the cooling cupboard at the back of the office.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's office

July 23rd, 1996 11:01 AM

Alastor sat stiffly on one of the three two-seater couches by the fireplace. One leg crossed over the other and his fingers were threaded together, resting atop his knees. Lucifer sat beside him as silent support, stirring his spiced apple tea with his finger hovering over the liquid. Alastor had a cup of coffee himself on the table in front of him, steam slowly rising and filling the office with a warm, rich bitterness.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat on the couch opposite of them. Ginny leaned back with her legs curled under her, comfortable, but arms crossed and expression set. Ron sat opposite of his sister, already helping himself to a third scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam—something Lucifer had whipped up the day before, still fresh like they had just been made an hour ago. Hermione sat between the siblings, ankles crossed and hands clasped together over her knees. Her brown eyes bored into Alastor, a frown firmly on her face.

Fred and George occupied the third couch between them, facing the fireplace. They'd each already had one scone, and while they eyed the remaining plate, they held themselves back. Their own expressions were unusually serious. Luna perched on the arm of their couch, one foot skimming the floor while the other swung lazily back and forth. She hummed a little tune under her breath, eyes distant, fixed on nothing in particular.

Alastor drew in a long breath, held it, then slowly released it through his nose. "Right…" he began, voice even. "I owe you all an apology."

Both Fred and George's eyebrows rose in unison.

Hermione didn't even twitch. "Go on."

Alastor nodded once and cleared his throat. "I've been keeping you all in the dark."

Hermione nodded, lips pursed. "Yeah. You have been," she said, tone sharp. She raised a brow, expecting more.

One of his invisible ears twitched, but he otherwise remained still. "And I shouldn't have been treating you like children when you haven't been in a long time," Alastor continued with a sigh. "You've been through things that no children should ever have to. You've fought for me when I was still considered your peer." His mouth tightened. "I just…I want to protect you."

Everyone remained silent, each watching Alastor as he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, wincing as the words tasted wrong in his mouth. "I'm sorry for shutting you out. For not trusting you with what I'm planning. For trying to keep you safe by taking your choice away." His voice dipped, rougher. "I just don't want to see you all get hurt or worse…killed."

His voice trailed off, softer and filled with remorse. His gaze dropped to the plate of scones and untouched coffee. He squeezed his hands together, grounding himself.

"But that's not your choice to make," Hermione finally said a few heartbeats. Her voice was equally soft, but her words were still edged with anger and hurt. "It's ours. How we help and what risks we take."

She shifted, uncrossing her ankles. She wiped her palms down her jeans, drumming her fingers against her knees. "You keep having me read all these books: history, old ways, deities. And I see how it can be helpful, but it's not helpful now."

"It's all really interesting," Ginny said, frowning fiercely at Alastor. "I read a bit as well. But it doesn't tell us what you're actually doing, or where we fit, or how we're supposed to help."

"It is important," Alastor started, fingers flexing.

"And we're not saying it isn't," Hermione cut in before he could continue. "But how is it helping right now?"

Alastor twitched, like he had been caught in a lie. He opened and closed his mouth. "It…isn't," he admitted quietly. He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Not immediately."

He glanced down at his hands, unused to seeing his old skin color. Then he looked back up, expression sharpening. "But it is important. Not just for this war, but what comes after." His voice lowered. "For the future of Balance."

He paused, then, like he was ripping off a bandage, he added, "I don't plan on staying once the war is over."

"What?!" Several voices uttered at once.

Ron nearly shot up from his seat. "Why not?!" His brows knit together, eyes bright with disbelief. "You just got back and now you're going to leave us again?"

Alastor lifted his chin, defensive, but he couldn't stop the twinge of guilt in his chest. "Because this isn't my world anymore." His gaze flicked toward Lucifer, lingering. "I belong with Lucien, in his world. And that world needs him…needs us both."

His gaze shifted back to them. "And I can't leave him," he said, voice soft yet firm.

The others all exchanged glances, an understanding passing through them before they nodded. "We understand," Hermione said softly.

"Don't like it," Ginny added with a shrug. "But we understand."

Alastor felt some of the tension leave him and nodded. "I know why you're upset. Thank you for sharing your concerns with me and for being honest." He drew in a breath, bracing himself. "But now it's my turn to be honest with you."

Ron paused, hand reaching for another scone. He slowly sat back without another delicious pastry with a frown.

"War is messy," Alastor continued. He finally shifted, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip before setting it back down. "It's nothing like what we've done together in the past. It's not puzzles that can be solved, or an enchanted chessboard we can cross in fifteen minutes. It's not learning a few spells to fight off a corrupt professor."

His mouth twisted. "War is choices. It's not an exam you can study for. It will demand things from you. Things you haven't had to give yet." He paused, eyes studying each face closely. "It will demand you to question your morals. Your mercy. Your sleep. It will demand who you choose to save…and who you don't. Because you can't save everyone."

The room went very still. Even Luna had stopped humming.

Alastor's gaze softened. "That's the other thing I've been trying to protect you from. Choices where you could lose your sense of self. Where you might have to take a life to save your own."

Lucifer, silent by his side, gently brushed his knee against Alastor's. Encouraging and grounding him.

Alastor let himself breathe for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then his gaze lifted from his knees, serious and unwavering. "So, here is your choice."

He held each of their gazes, assessing. "If you want to help me…you don't get to do it halfway. You will know things you can't un-know. You will carry decisions you can't unmake. And if you step into this, you do it with both feet."

His voice dropped, quiet with understanding. "And if you say no, I will respect that. War is hard, it's cruel. And it will change you."

He paused, letting them digest his words for a moment. "But if you say yes…" His eyes sharpened behind his glasses. "Then I will open the door and get you more involved. I will not try to shield your choices."

He leaned back, quiet. "Do you want in…or do you want me to keep that door shut?"

A thoughtful and heavy quiet followed.

Then Hermione leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and eyes bright with something fierce and unshakable. "Open the door or I'll force it open," she said quietly. "I'm in."

Ron didn't hesitate. "You can count on me, mate."

Ginny lifted her chin, determination shining in her brown eyes. "You don't get to decide for me what I can handle, Alastor," she said, voice steady. "So yes, I'm in."

Fred and George exchanged a look, equal parts serious and mischievous. Then Fred grinned, sharp and bright. "We were born with both feet in trouble."

"Might as well make it useful, eh?" George said, a small smirk on his lips.

Luna smiled like she'd known the answer the whole time. "I'm already in," she said, as if it was simply a fact.

Alastor's fingers tightened until the color started to bleed from them, then slowly loosened them. His posture shifted and his expression became more open.

"Alright," he said. "I'm opening the door."

Lucifer didn't speak. He leaned into Alastor gently, bumping his arm with a small smile.

Alastor relaxed further, the contact grounding him. His gaze moved across them again, accepting their choice. "First rule," he began, voice sharp. "If you feel overwhelmed, you say so. Pride gets people killed. I don't care who you are. That includes myself."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in thought. "Okay. So, what do we do?"

"We do what should have been done years ago," Alastor said simply. "We build structure, information. We build a plan for the future where the Ministry can't bury the truth because it's inconvenient."

He drummed his fingers against his knee, eyes jumping from face to face until they landed on Hermione. "Hermione," he began.

She straightened immediately, like she'd been called in class.

"You've been reading," he said, pausing. "I didn't give you those books because I thought you'd enjoy a good bedtime story." He caught the twitch of her mouth. "But you're right. Research without application is just information gathering dust. So, here's your application."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on him.

"I want you to start drafting what comes after the war," Alastor said. "Not silly ideals, but real fixes. How trials should work. How Azkaban should be overseen. Reforms for creature rights."

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "You want me to…write laws?"

"I want you to write the bones of them," he corrected gently. "The structure, the logic, the 'this is how we make sure it cannot happen again'. And I want you to keep it clean and simple." His smile grew. "Knowing you, you'll have it so organized that even Fudge would be able to follow along."

Hermione swallowed, her eyes turning down at her thoughts circled in her head. Then she gave a nod. "I can do that."

"Good." He offered her a smile. Then his gaze snapped to Ron. "Ron."

Ron blinked and sat up straighter, eyes widening.

"You're strategic. You see the board," Alastor said with a tilt of his head.

Ron frowned. "I mean, yeah, but I'm not…you."

"I'm not asking you to be," Alastor replied with a quick shake of his head. "I'm asking you to do what you do best." He leaned forward slightly. "I want a warboard. Contingencies."

"Like…plans?" Ron asked, brows furrowing.

"Like," Alastor agreed, "if the Ministry comes here, what happens. If Death Eaters ambush Diagon Alley while we're around, what happens. If someone is taken, what happens. Who runs, who stays, who distracts, who shields, who gets the others out."

Ron listened closely before he gave a single nod. "Okay," he said. "Yeah, I can do that."

"And," Alastor added, "you don't build these plans alone. I want you to run scenarios with everyone. Poke holes in the plans until they bleed, then stitch them back together."

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, mouth twisted to the side. Then he gave a nod, slower this time.

"Ginny," Alastor said, eyes sweeping to her.

"Yes?" She asked, brows rising.

"You have reach," Alastor continued. "A lot of friends, people who listen to you. I want you to start a student network."

Ginny's expression sharpened.

"Letters to people who can be trusted. People who are afraid and need help before Voldemort offers them a leash or death," he explained. "People who may need shelter in the future. People who could possibly help us. It's recruitment, in all but name. But don't call it that. Call it friendship. Call it looking out for each other."

Ginny's throat worked as she nodded. "Okay, yeah. I'll start right as soon as I can."

Alastor's eyes shifted to the twins.

Fred already had a grin on his face, and George's eyes glittered with mischief.

"How can we help, oh fearless leader of questionable moral alignment?" They asked in unison.

Alastor huffed and shook his head, amusement dancing across his face. "I need you two to make items that could aid others in this war. Specifically escape and distraction. The more people we keep alive, the better."

Fred and George exchanged a glance, a whole conversation passing between them. Then they nodded and turned back to Alastor.

"Yeah, we can do that, boss," George said, voice confident.

"Also," Alastor continued. "I need a way to spread the truth that isn't just the Prophet. While I have Skeeter on a leash, and she's useful, I'm only giving her certain information. I want to spread more truth out there that isn't attached to the Prophet."

Twin grins spread across Fred's and George's faces.

"Oh, we have the perfect outlet for you," Fred said.

"Lee Jordan," George continued. "He runs a channel on the wireless."

Alastor's invisible ears perked forward and his brows lifted in interest. "Wireless you say? Radio?" His lips twitched, eyes shining.

Fred leaned forward, business breaking through some of the mischief. "Lee's been running a little 'unofficial' broadcast for a few months now. Started with conspiracies on where you went when you disappeared. Grew pretty popular among the Hogwarts students. Then parents started listening to it too. So he has reach."

Alastor gave a hum, excitement bubbling up in his chest. Oh, it'd been ages since he'd been on the microphone. His smile widened. "Then I'd like if you could reach out to him. Lucien and I can help make that radio channel a little less 'unofficial' and protect it, make it difficult to trace. I assume he uses an alias?"

Fred nodded. "Yeah, he goes by River. We'll reach out to him, don't worry." He gave a wink.

"Perfect," Alastor hummed, his gaze finally drifted to Luna. "And Luna." He paused as she turned her blue eyes to him. "You see patterns other people don't. Like you said earlier, most people don't have eyes that work properly."

Luna smiled. "That's true."

"I want you to write things down," Alastor continued. "Anything that feels off. Dreams, repeated phrases, coincidences. Anything you notice that others may dismiss."

Luna's eyes lit up. "Like a collection of invisible threads."

"Exactly, my dear," he agreed with a soft smile.

Then he sat back and exhaled slowly, letting himself really look at the everybody. Not as children., but as people with spines made of shiny metal.

The air between them was easier to breathe without guilt or anger choking them.

"Alright," he said, voice low. "Welcome in."

The door was open now. He only hoped he didn't regret letting them step through.

Chapter Text

Location: Northumberland, England - Kielder Forest

July 24th, 1996 1:17 PM

"You sure this is the place?" Lucifer asked, stepping over a fallen log, a carpet of green moss covering the top of the crumbling bark. "I don't see anything around here except more trees."

Alastor paused a few paces ahead, turning to peer over his shoulder. "These are the coordinates Remus gave us," he replied, ears twitching and turning atop his head as they caught the flutter of a bird flying away. "Are you doubting your own portaling abilities now?"

"Pfft, no," Lucifer scoffed in return, lips pursing into a small pout. "My aim is flawless." He waggled his eyebrows, a sharp smirk curling up his cheeks.

Alastor rolled his eyes and turned away, walking away from his husband. "That wasn't the case this morning," he grumbled just loud enough for Lucifer to hear him, the corners of his mouth twitching.

His ear flicked back at the sudden rush of quick footsteps behind him, twigs snapping and leaves and tall grass rustling. Suddenly Lucifer was in front of him, face glowing golden like a lantern, gold-and-red eyes wide, and mouth pulled back in an embarrassed grimace.

"That doesn't count!" Lucifer yelled, words rushing out and cracking on the last one. "You shut your smart mouth! Like you haven't busted early, mister!" He pointed a dark finger towards Alastor face, making sure it wasn't within nipping range. He didn't need to lose a finger today.

Alastor's grin slid up his face, eyes crinkling as a low chuckle tumbled past his lips. "True. But it's certainly been a few decades." He patted Lucifer on his golden blushing cheek, pinching the moxie before he laughed again as he walked around him. "Come along, love. The wind changed directions and I smell something dirty and unwashed this way."

Lucifer gave a huff and crossed his arms, pouting and stomping after Alastor like a child.

It took them another ten minutes of trekking through bushes, over rotting logs, and down a rocky drop-off before a wall of stink struck both of them.

Lucifer grimaced while Alastor's nose wrinkled.

"Oh… That's—that's not a great smell," Lucifer murmured, just stopping himself from covering his mouth. He waved a hand in front of his face instead, redirecting the smell to curve around him instead. "Want me to spare you the smell too?"

Alastor shook his head. "No, I've smelled much worse than human waste, squalor, and wet dog," he said, eyes squinting as he peered through a few trees. "Though…not much comes to mind."

His ears perked forward, listening intently. After a beat, he nodded. "I can hear voices up ahead. We're very close."

"Great…" Lucifer said with a frown. "You just wanna walk in? Or do you have a plan?"

Red eyes flicked down to the shorter man, gleaming with a wicked hunger. Sharp yellow teeth glinted as his smirk curved unnaturally up his face. "Oh, I have a plan. And it involves removing the current alpha."

Lucifer raised a brow. "Classic chaos and bloodshed, then?"

"Exactly, mon ange," Alastor replied, amusement coloring his words. "Shall we?" He swept his arm out in front of him, gesturing with his staff for Lucifer to lead the way.

Lucifer huffed a breathy laugh before he summoned his own staff, the red apple top gleaming under the sunflecks filtering through the branches. Gold-and-red magic swirled, changing his outfit from a casual red button-up to his usual white suit and top hat, crown gleaming along side the apple and snake.

"We shall," he purred, his own eyes sparkling in dark excitement. He slid his blackened forefinger and thumb around the brim of his hat before he started forward, head held high and an easy, confident smile on his lips.

Alastor followed a few paces behind him, a large smile fixed in place, ears straight and cane swinging with a carefree twirl.

As they continued forward, the trees thinned, and the world changed.

A large, man-made clearing opened up before them, trampled dirt paths cutting through the earth. Tents line the edges, scattered and uneven. Alastor couldn't tell at a glance if they were wizarding or mundane, only that their canvases were stained, sagging and worn from the weather, and patched to keep them from falling apart further. Between a few tents, makeshift shelters of poles, tarps, scavenged boards, and rope were crudely put together.

And there were far too many people.

Too many for the space, despite its large size. Too many to feed properly. Too many for the meager amount of shelter.

Clothes hung off shoulders in the wrong sizes, sleeves rolled up and fraying, hems soaked dark with mud and newer filth. Faces were hollowed with hunger and sleep. There were bruises that didn't belong to clumsy and dirty living. And there were eyes that didn't look up unless they had to.

Children moved around like startled animals. Some trailed after their mothers or caretakers while others hovered a half-step behind older teens. A few had the wary, distant stare of kids who'd learned that crying didn't change anything.

Then Lucifer and Alastor stepped into view and the encampment froze.

A woman mid-scrub, knuckles raw, went still with her hands in dirty water. A man chopping wood paused with his rusted ax buried in a stump, a split log rolling to the ground. A few children who had been chasing each other stumbled to a stop before vanishing behind an adult's legs.

A hush fell over the clearing, and the stink of fear rose over the smell of sweat and wet dog. Eyes, bright, wide, and terrified, followed them as they made their way through the clearing. They stared at the two strange creatures—the antlers and ears, the gold-and-red eyes, the too sharp smiles and dark hands. Even their bright clothes and Lucifer's top hat felt completely out of place.

Alastor remained looking ahead, but he caught everything in his periphery, bodies shifting uneasily, dragging young and sickly behind larger or more able bodied persons.

Lucifer's expression tightened, his smile growing smaller and more firm, and his fingers squeezed around the apple of his staff. His eyes hardened, and anger burned inside him at the way these people were living—at how these children were living.

They strode forward unimpeded toward the center of the clearing where a crude, reinforced wooden shed stood. A dirty, frayed blanket served as the door. Voices could be heard inside, alarmed and angry before a heavy thump shook the structure.

Then the blanket was nearly ripped from the doorway as a large, gnarly man stepped out. The gathered crowd edged away, flinching as many eyes immediately dropped to the ground.

He looked like he'd fit right in back home in Hell, with pointed teeth and long, yellowed nails. His forehead and cheeks were covered in wispy, matted gray fur, and his eyes burned a cruel, feral yellow. His scent reached Alastor a heartbeat later, a foul wave of blood, dirt, sweat, and wet dog filling his nostrils.

"Who do ya two freaks think yer doin' in my territory?" Fenrir Greyback rumbled, voice low and gravelly.

Lucifer raised a brow and stopped a good ten feet away from the towering werewolf. "Was that supposed to be a question? Or a language on this plane of existence?" He asked, setting the butt of his staff down into the packed dirt, one finger tapping the apple. "Cause I have no idea what you just said."

Several faces looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. Greyback blinked, brows furrowing, then growled as understanding caught up with him. The stranger had insulted him.

Alastor cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly to speak with Lucifer. "Your Majesty, I believe he was asking who we are and why we're in his territory. However, he seems to have mashed the two questions together and gotten the language mixed up."

"Ahh, gotcha," Lucifer replied with a slow nod, acting like he just understood. Then he smiled, sharp and bright, his own pointed teeth on display. "Well, in that case, allow me to introduce ourselves."

He angled his chin up imperiously toward Greyback. "Lucifer Morningstar. Fallen angel, Devil, Sin of Pride, the Prince of Darkness, and King of Hell." His gaze flicked back to his side. "And beside me is the most vicious of demons of Hell, Alastor the Radio Demon. Who also happens to be my advisor and husband."

For a heartbeat, the clearing held its breath. Like the pause before the guillotine fell.

Then Greyback barked out a laugh, ugly and loud, like he'd coughed it up. The two werewolves behind him followed suit, snickering as if on cue. Their shoulders loosened with Greyback's confidence.

"King of Hell? Devil?" Greyback echoed, hacking the words out between laughs. He stopped suddenly, his gaze dragging down Lucifer's suit, hat, and polished staff. Then it slid to Alastor's grin and paused, an uneasiness flickering in him for half a second before he shook it off, forcing the feeling away. "Yer lost, mate. This is England, not fantasy land."

Several people shuffled in the crowd. Heads remained bowed, bodies pressed tightly together.

Greyback took a step forward, large body looming over Lucifer, eyes bearing down with vicious glee. The two men behind him spread out to either side of their Alpha, eyes narrowed, though not as confident.

"Ye don't walk into my territory wearin' pretty clothes and spoutin' rubbish," he growled, the words scraping out of his throat. "'Specially when ya lookin' like a clown who lost his circus."

Lucifer scoffed, looking bored and unimpressed. "Is that the best insult you have? Calling me a clown? I happen to like the circus," he said, placing a hand on his chest and sniffing pretentiously.

"However," he continued, lifting his staff to point it at the man. "We're not here to play to your pathetic ego. We're here to tell you that you need to stop licking Moldyshorts' toes—which are probably moldy too!—and stop being a mangy, flea-infested dick who likes to bite children and treat people like your personal breeding stock."

Utter silence. Somewhere in the camp a child made a small sound and was immediately hushed.

"Does that about cover it?" Lucifer turned his head slightly in Alastor's direction, lips pursed.

Alastor shot him a look, his eyes shining with amusement. "Yes. You covered it perfectly, my love. However, I'd like to point out that the Dark Lord's alias is Voldemort, not Moldyshorts."

Greyback's face twisted. For a heartbeat, he only stared, as if his brain couldn't decide whether it had heard correctly. Then rage twisted his face, eyes flashing with wild fury. A sound ripped from his throat, a half snarl, half scream, as he lunged forward.

The two werewolves at his back moved with him, teeth bared, surging after their Alpha like they'd been waiting for permission to be violent.

Lucifer didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his staff or a hand. He only blinked, completely bored that he had three large men charging toward him with killing intent.

Greyback's claws were a blur, reaching for the small figure in white, for the smug mouth that had insulted him like he was nothing.

And then Alastor moved.

One moment, he was standing beside Lucifer, smiling, barely paying attention. The next he was in front of his husband, his shadows shifting around his frame like serpents.

Shadow tendrils rose up from the ground and snapped around the necks of the two werewolves, slamming them down into the ground. They choked and thrashed against the leaves and dirt, fingers scraping against the shadowy restraint around their necks.

Alastor lifted his cane with both hands, catching Greyback's claws with a loud clang that rang through the clearing. A rush of wind burst outward from the impact, sending leaves skittering and rustling the hems of Alastor's and Lucifer's coats.

Everyone froze. Eyes widened and breaths caught.

"Now, now," Alastor crooned, his voice light and mocking, but a dangerous edge teased beneath his words. His smile remained, but his eyes were glowing bright red, unblinking. "Is that really how you handle your anger? No patience, no manners, no control."

Greyback snarled, lips pulled back as he shoved against the staff with both hands, but it didn't budge. Spittle flew from his mouth when he spoke. "Get out of my way! I'll tear him open!"

"Temper, temper," Alastor chided, smile curling with amused contempt. "That explains a great deal, doesn't it? But if you want a fight…why, I'd be happy to indulge you." A chuckle slipped out, low and cruel. "No need to throw a tantrum like a child."

Greyback's yellow eyes burned, furious and locked on Alastor now, as if Lucifer had stopped existing. "You're in my territory."

"And yet," Alastor replied softly, "you're not the one in charge right now. Funny."

While Greyback and Alastor glared at each other, Lucifer finally sighed like he was being inconvenienced. He turned away from Greyback entirely, facing the rest of the clearing, toward the rising heads and wide eyes, shoulders still hunched and children still hidden behind others.

He cleared his throat then addressed the remaining werewolves. "Listen up," he said, his voice easily carrying over the clearing. More faces lifted, eyes finding Lucifer instead of their Alpha.

"There's about to be a fight," he announced simply, tapping the apple of his staff once. "It will be loud. It will be violent. And yes, there will be blood. Lots of blood."

A few people flinched, faces paling. A woman's hand tightened around a child's shoulder.

Lucifer's expression softened slightly, but he kept his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I'm going to lay a sensory blanket over every child under the age of seventeen. It won't harm them, I promise. What it will do is cast an illusion over their sight, hearing, and sense of smell with something harmless. It'll last until I lift it."

He lifted a hand, a swirl of golden magic gathering in his dark palm. "And I'll offer this for anyone who isn't comfortable with violence as well," he added. "Because this is going to be horrific. I'm warning you now. If you choose to watch…that's on you."

Behind him, Greyback growled, furious that the crowd, his pack, was being addressed.

Alastor's grin widened at the sound, eyes never leaving the man's face. The other two werewolves had stopped thrashing, chests heaving, the tendrils keeping them pinned.

"How do we know you're tellin' the truth?" One man asked, stepping forward. He had a full, bushy red beard, gray dappled through it from age and hardship.

"Great question!" Lucifer replied with a bright smile. "Do you want to test it?" He raised his hand, a gold tendril lazily rising from the sun-bright orb in his palm.

The man blinked, surprised by the genuine smile. Then he clenched his jaw and nodded.

The golden tendril glided smoothly through the air before it circled the man, a golden bubble covering his head like a helmet.

"Blimey!" The man gasped. "He ain't lyin'! It's a big open field with green grass! It smells so clean…"

Lucifer twitched a finger, and the bubble popped, startling the man. He blinked a few times, readjusting his vision to the crowded clearing.

"See? Perfectly safe," Lucifer said with an easy smile. "Anyone uncomfortable with violence and blood, please raise your hand. There is no shame in protecting what little peace you want to keep." His gaze swept across the group, ignoring Greyback's snarls.

Hesitantly, several hands rose. Men and women of many ages stood with hands raised. Some held them high. Others barely raised them to their chests shyly.

Lucifer gave a single nod. "No wandering, now," he said.

Then several dozen tendrils of gold light shot from the sphere in his hand, fanning outward. They circled every child and every person with their hand raised. Golden opaque bubbles encircled their heads, several people gasping in surprise. A few children giggled, their voices bright as they called out about pretty green grass, twittering birds, and the smell of flowers and clean air.

"Make sure there's someone minding the others with a bubble over their heads," Lucifer told the others. "They might actually try to wander. Thankfully the spell will break if they get too far from me, but we don't need them walking into a tree."

The others in the crowd shuffled, remaining close to others who were given the sensory blanket.

Lucifer closed his fingers around the bright golden sphere and it vanished. Then he closed his eyes, concentrated for a moment, and clapped his hands together—his staff tucked safely under his arm. A golden dome spread out from him, enclosing the space around himself, Alastor, the two werewolves still on the ground, and Greyback. A bright pentagram in red flared at the apex of the dome and settled there, the Devil's signature.

Lucifer hummed in approval, a small satisfied smile on his face. "Just a little barrier so nobody gets hurt or splattered in blood," he explained as several people stared at it curiously.

A few people paled at the thought. Others looked thankful that they would not get covered in blood.

Lucifer walked to one edge of the dome and turned back to his husband, smiling. "Okay, Al! The stage is yours, dear hart!"

"Finally," Alastor replied, voice low and strained with restraint. He'd been waiting for Lucifer to put up the dome. Now he could let loose. "It's been far too long since I got to have a little fun."

His smile stretched wide, unnaturally curving up the sides of his face, yellow fangs glinting in the weak afternoon sun. Then he shoved Greyback with surprising strength that belied his slender frame, sending the Alpha stumbling back a few steps. Alastor released the other two men. Both gasped for air, coughing as they slowly dragged themselves up.

"How about a little three-on-one, hmm?" Alastor suggested, red eyes glinting murderous anticipation. "Make it somewhat fun for me."

*Violence begins here

Greyback snarled, hackles rising as he stepped forward. The other two men growled low in their throats, still catching their breaths as they flanked him. The three worked together to try to close Alastor in, cornering him against the shimmering dome.

Alastor's eyes gleamed with malicious intent, giddiness curling in his chest as his shadows writhed under his feet like living things. He watched them approach without raising his staff again, not even getting into a defensive position as they closed in. He just stood there, like he was waiting for something to happen.

"Grab him!" Greyback barked.

The other two sprang into action at the command. They charged at the same time, reaching for Alastor only for him to vanish in shadow. They slammed into each other, chests thudding together, forehead knocking with a loud crack. They hit the ground in a crunch of leaves and spray of dirt, limbs tangling as they groaned.

Several people in the crowd winced at the sound.

Loud laughter rang out behind Greyback. "How did you manage to fall for that?" Alastor asked, making the Alpha whirl around in surprise. Alastor gave another harsh laugh, leaning casually against his microphone, grin twitching. "That's one of the oldest tricks in a fight."

An irritated scream tore from Greyback's throat as he charged Alastor head on, one clawed hand raised to slash at the demon.

Alastor gave a sharp "Ha!" and took a single step back, the claws missing his chest by a few inches. Just before Greyback could attack again, two shadow tendrils sprang from Alastor's back and lifted him higher up and away as Greyback second swipe cut through the air where Alastor had just been.

"My, you're really bad at this, aren't you?" Alastor needled from above, voice bright with cruel delight. "What's wrong, puppy dog? Can't hit your target?"

Greyback's eyes widened, wild and bordering on insane as he roared up at Alastor, spit flying from his mouth. "Get back here, coward! I'll tear yer spine from yer arse!"

Alastor lifted single eyebrow. "I'll admit, you have decent threats," Alastor said, still hovering above them. His eyes narrowed. "But your little threat doesn't exactly inspire fear in me."

Below, the two men finally managed to untangle themselves, groaning and snapping curses at each other. They scrambled to stand beside Greyback, shoulders hunched, growls rumbling low as they glared up at Alastor, furious that he managed to make them look like fools.

"How about an example?" Alastor continued, eyes fixed on all three werewolves.

Then he began to change.

His limbs stretched beyond their proportions. Arms lengthened and claws curled; legs grew, his torso stretching. His neck elongated with several unnatural bends. The small antlers atop his head suddenly branched outwards, several sharp tines gleaming like polished bone knives. His smile carved up his face, too wide, glowing green thread pulling at the corners of his mouth as blood dripped down his chin. His eyes shifted into red dials in a black void, ticking away like a clock counting down.

He was a nightmare come to life.

Outside the dome, several people gasped and staggered back. A few clung to each other. Others went rigid, eyes locked on Alastor's demonic form.

Greyback tensed, frozen in place for a second. Hesitation flickered in his eyes as Alastor tasted the fear in the air. The other two men froze completely, eyes going wide with fear.

Everything was still for a moment.

"What's wrong?" Alastor asked, voice distorted with thick static. "You were barking earlier. Now you don't have the bite to back it up?"

Alastor loomed above them, still suspended by his tendrils. Then he snapped his neck sideways in one smooth, grotesque move, a sharp crack! echoing around them. "I will rip the beating hearts from your chests," he said, smile somehow widening, "and devour them as your souls tumble screaming into Hell."

One of the two supporters flanking Greyback—the burlier one—suddenly turned and bolted, fear stinking off him.

Alastor's eyes locked onto him, a rumble of amusement vibrating in his chest.

Greyback's head snapped and snarled to the retreating werewolf. "Coward, where do ya—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Alastor suddenly blurred past him, the smell of musk, blood, and death following. Greyback went still.

The man stumbled on loose leaves, nearly falling over. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw only his Alpha and the other werewolf still frozen in place, before he slammed into something hard. The air punched from his lungs as he staggered backwards, catching himself before he fell. But his relief didn't last as he looked up into what—or rather who—he ran into.

Alastor's grinning face hovered inches above his, a soft tick-tick-tick emitting from the static, in time with the ticking dials in his eyes. "And where—" Red-tipped claws wrapped around the man's biceps, squeezing tightly until his arms went numb. He exhaled heavily, his breath ruffling the man's hair. "—do you think you're going? There's no escape. You won't get past the dome."

The man gagged, eyes watering as Alastor's breath washed over him, the smell of blood and sweet rot overpowering. He twisted and tried to wretch free, but Alastor's grip remained tight. Instead, he tried to kick at Alastor, but even as his boots made contact with the demon's shins, he didn't flinch.

A high, raspy laugh fell from Alastor's lips, his mouth opening to show off his teeth like needles, as long as the man's forearms. "Feisty," he purred. "Good."

Then Alastor twisted the man's arms in opposite directions. A horrifying double snap rang out. There was a sickening crunch, then a wet tearing sound as the demon ripped both arms free. The man barely had more than a few seconds to scream before Alastor claws closed around the man's head and hips.

He pulled and the body came apart like a poorly stitched doll. Blood sprayed across Alastor and over the dirt in thick, dark arcs.

"Oh my god," several people murmured from the crowd. A few people looked sick. Many turned around, hands clapped over mouths to stop themselves from throwing up.

Greyback and his remaining supporter stared in disbelief and horror. The second man shook his head and started backing away.

"Nah, fuck this." He turned and fled toward the dome's wall, yelling hoarsely, "Let me out!"

Alastor dragged his long tongue over his palm, licking the blood clean from his claws. One ear twitched and his gaze slid to the fleeing werewolf, eyes narrowing. His shadow peeled out from under him and shot across the ground like a bullet. It stretched as it moved, swelling larger, darker until it climbed the inside of the dome wall directly in front of the man.

The man skidded to a stop, eyes wide as he took in the large demonic shadow. It wore a long, slash-like smile across its face, jagged antlers just like its master's branching from its head as it leered down, enjoying the panic and chaos.

The man's breath hitched. He stumbled back instinctively, turning to run in the other direction. "Please, no," he rasped.

But the shadow snapped forward and wrapped a hand around his arms and chest, squeezing tight. Before he could cry out, it hurled him backwards.

He hit the dome with a hollow, ringing thud that made the barrier vibrate like struck glass. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, spit flying. He gagged and gasped for air, eyes watering.

The shadow drew him back and slammed him against the dome again, smashing his face into the shimmering wall. A muffled crack followed as his nose broke. Blood dripped down his face and smeared against the barrier.

The shadow gave a crackle of static, eyes narrowing in amusement. Then it dragged him sideways like a windshield wiper, smearing him across the wall.

Alastor watched from across the dome, head tilted and eyes bright with dark interest, like he was observing a clever performance.

The man wheezed as the shadow pulled him from the wall again. "Greyback! Help!" But there was no answer and no rescue coming.

Greyback only stared, almost mesmerized by the brutality of the attack, caught between rage and fear.

The shadow slammed the werewolf again with another dull thud. The sound of cracking bones and thin, weak groans made several people outside the barrier flinch. Blood splattered against the dome.

It smashed him several more times. Each impact worse as bones cracked and breathing turned wet. Then the shadowy hand pulled him back, slow enough that he understood what was coming.

"Please… Stop, stop, stop," he sobbed, struggling to breathe through broken nose and shattered teeth, blood streaming down his face.

Alastor chuckled lowly. "You said you wanted out. My shadow is only trying to help."

Static popped, and the shadow's smile stretched wider. It held the man suspended in the air for a heartbeat, a moment of cruel clarity, before it drove him into the dome and held him there. Pinned to the wall like a specimen on a board.

The man cried out, his screams getting increasingly louder and shriller as the shadow applied pressure slowly, but steadily.

Most of the crowd knew what was going to happen before it did and turned away, or pressed their fingers into their ears.

The shadow pressed him flatter and flatter against the barrier until his body eventually gave. A loud, gritty crunch rang out with finality, and the man went limp. What was left slid down the shimmering dome in a slow, horrible smear before collapsing to the dirt with a dull thump.

"Unstoppable force," Alastor said simply, voice lilting in amusement. "Meet immovable object."

A quiet settled heavily over the clearing. His shadow shrank and swept back across the clearing, disappearing beneath Alastor's boots.

Greyback stood alone, chest heaving, eyes wide and shining with hate so hot it almost burned away the terror underneath.

"You…you monster," he spat, voice cracking. "I'll kill ya."

Alastor tilted his head, casually leaning on his microphone, his smile sharpening. "Monster?" He echoed, curiosity coloring the word. "Correct. I'm the monster that hunts monsters."

He gave a shrug, unbothered by Greyback's rising temper or the harsh words. "To the average person, I'm harmless. I won't touch a child or an innocent. But it's monsters like you that get my blood boiling." The last word came out as a growl, and suddenly his demeanor changed.

The playful, easygoing air around him shifted into something darker, more malicious and heavy. Dials flashed bright red in his eyes, and the static around him suddenly buzzed louder.

The hair on the back of Greyback's neck rose, a rumbling sound rising up from his chest. He tensed, glaring poisonous daggers at the demon before he lunged, claws flashing and a roar ripping from his throat.

Alastor stood smiling, static crackling and humming around him. Just as Greyback's claws came down, Alastor shifted aside, a hand snapping out to grab the werewolf's wrist. Using Greyback's momentum, he yanked the man forward, letting him overshoot Alastor. Then he swung his staff, cracking it hard against the back of Greyback's knees.

Greyback buckled and face-planted into the dirt with a heavy thud.

Shadowy tendrils shot from the ground, wrapping around Greyback's neck, wrists, waist, and ankles. They restrained him completely, preventing him from moving.

*Violence pauses here, psychological torture ahead

Greyback's eyes bulged. Spittle and blood spattered as he thrashed against the shadows, roaring and screaming like a feral animal. "Fuckin' freak! I'll kill ya! I'll kill ya!"

Alastor watched him as he circled the trapped man, stopping right in front of him. "No, you won't," he whispered easily, planting his staff between his own boots.

He leaned down at the waist, smile small but dangerous. "Do you know what I smell?" He murmured, voice soft and static-heavy. His eyes narrowed, cruel delight sparkling in them. "Fear."

Greyback snarled, jerking against the restraints, his chest heaving as he panted. "Fuck you."

"Hm." Alastor glanced past him, deliberately taking in the crowd around them. Dozens of faces watched with hunched shoulders, stiff spines, and cautious eyes.

"You've certainly made a kingdom for yourself, haven't you?" He asked quietly, voice carrying. Several people ducked their heads, faces tightening. "A kingdom built on fear, power over the weak, and just taking whatever you want from them."

His eyes flicked back to Greyback. "It would have been impressive… If not for all that."

Greyback sneered at him, silent except for his breathing. His eyes never left Alastor, a deep hatred burning in his gaze.

"Such a waste of potential," Alastor continued, straightening. "You could have had respect."

"I do have respect!" Greyback snapped.

"You have control," Alastor corrected, voice sharp, cutting off any further response from Greyback. "That's not the same."

He gestured to the crowd with his staff. "Look around you, Fenrir. Look at the dozens of people that you call your kingdom." His eyes narrowed, a cruel amusement returning. "They're just standing there…watching. Not a single one of them is coming to your aid. And they aren't calling out to stop this."

He gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "They don't respect you. They fear you… And you gave them a good reason to fear you, didn't you?"

He hummed as he turned and walked away from Greyback, staff held behind his back. His gaze swept across the crowd, most of them without the sensory blanket Lucifer had offered. Though their eyes were cautious when they looked at him. He was fine with that, he was used to being looked at like he was a monster. But he needed to direct their attention to their former Alpha.

"For years," he said, voice soft but carrying, "he made you feel small and powerless. He bit you, he beat you, forced himself on you, controlled you."

He paused, watching as several people flinch while others went hard and still, anger and resentment tightening on their faces.

"Now look at him," he continued, gesturing to Greyback with his cane. "Small…weak. Unable to hurt you or others ever again."

The crowd shifted and the air changed. Dozens of eyes lifted, staring at the man who had tormented them. A few shoulders loosened. A couple breaths caught in their throats, a realization coming over them that Alastor was correct.

Greyback looked smaller in his restraints, forced to the ground and unable to abuse them again.

Alastor turned back to Greyback, strolling up to him with a smile that looked like it had eaten the canary and its owner. "Do you feel them?"

"Feel what?" Greyback snapped, but there was less bite in his words than before.

"Them," Alastor replied, nodding his head to the crowd. "Their eyes. Their judgment. Their resentment and hatred for you."

Greyback tensed, something sour churning in his gut, mixing with the fear he refused to acknowledge. "Shut up," he said hoarsely, swallowing hard.

"No." Alastor's voice stayed quiet, but a hardness cut underneath. "Now you get to feel what they felt. Powerless and helpless. They're watching you and they see you. Every shiver of fear. Every flinch—" He reached out and tapped Greyback on the nose, making the man jerk.

"Every little thing you say and do," Alastor finished, voice buzzing with soft static. "They're watching you."

Greyback suddenly tensed, a lump forming in his throat. His eyes flicked to the crowd before he dropped his gaze…only to lift it again, like he couldn't stop himself from looking. It was different now. Not the usual fear he used to control his pack. There was fear, but it had turned inward, carving out a hollow space under his heart.

Dozens of faces stared at him. Some blank, some furious, some tight with contempt. There was no pity, no sympathy, and no fear.

His breathing sped up, shaky and lodged in his throat. "Stop looking at me," he snarled, but the words came out wrong. Thin and too close to pleading.

No one looked away. More heads lifted as they heard his voice, as the smell of fear shifted in the air from them to him, like the tide was turning.

Alastor's grin slowly widened, eyes glinting with sharp victory. "Oh? What's wrong, Fenrir?" He asked, voice dipping sweetly. He tilted his head, curious. "Don't like what you see reflected back at you?"

Greyback's eyes darted around, from face to face, body to body, desperate to find something to hold onto. Rage, pride—some old habit he could fall back on. But the harder he reached to hold onto it, the more it slipped through his fingers like smoke.

"You can feel them," Alastor said softly, voice low and smooth. "All those eyes, watching you. All those faces, judging you. They know what you're just starting to realize."

He paused, smile growing as he leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper. "That you…are nothing. And you always have been, and you always will be…nothing."

Greyback didn't answer. His jaw worked, his mouth opening slightly only to close again. Instead, a weak exhale escaped his throat, his gaze lingering on the crowd, staring.

Dozens of faces. Dozens of memories. Dozens of people who had learned to make themselves small around him. But they weren't small now.

They were watching.

His breath caught in his throat, then started coming out slow, shallow, and uneven. A chill slid up his spine and settled at the base of his neck, tightening like a collar. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He felt a crack forming within him, and the command he'd used to control everything began to slip through it. And with it, everything he'd built.

Something inside of him audibly snapped.

His eyes went glassy. His gaze drifted, unfocused, like he was looking at something far away. Panic tried to rise, but it never made it past the hollow place that now sat there—numbness.

Everything he had built up—the terror, the power, the control—was ripped from him in that moment: kneeling in the dirt like a beast, his pack unafraid, and no longer at his command.

And he didn't understand how. Only that it was.

"Hmm. My, you were easier to break than I thought," Alastor said with a thoughtful hum. "All it took was showing your pack how weak you truly are once I made you kneel. They don't fear you anymore and now you're having an identity crisis." He shook his head, almost disappointed.

"Tsk, tsk. I suppose that saves us time though," he continued with a shrug. He stepped forward, standing in front of Greyback. "But I can't wait to see what kind of screams I can pull out of you when I return to Hell. The games I can play with you…"

His lips twitched, eyes narrowing with dark excitement. "But for now…your mortal death will be a quiet one. Because you don't get a loud death. You're nothing, after all."

He paused, then tilted his head. "What's that one T.S. Eliot quote? 'This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper'." He chuckled darkly. "My dear, your world is ending with a whimper. It's nothing less than what you deserve."

Greyback's eyes flicked up. For what might be the first time in many years, there was no cruelty or hate. Just a blank, confused look, as if the man didn't know who he was anymore.

Alastor inhaled, breathing in the fear, the confusion, the undertone of panic, and licked his lips. Hunger shuddered through him as he began to grow, bones stretching, his frame rising until he stood nearly fifteen feet tall, towering over Greyback. His antlers extended, nearly scraping the top of the dome.

His shadows released the werewolf just as Alastor's large hand plucked him up.

Greyback gasped, kicking and clawing at Alastor's grip in one final, destperate attempt to escape. But there were no more snarls, no more threats. Just fear.

And fear just made Alastor's meal all the more deliciously bitter.

There was no fanfare as his jaws snapped shut around him. It was much too quick for a scream to form. One moment there was the sharp inhale, then the crunch of bones between teeth.

Outside the dome, the crowd remained still and somber. No one celebrated the death of their abuser and dictator. However, that didn't stop a wave of relief that flooded through them as they realized they were finally free.

*End of violence and torture

Alastor stood, his eyes taking in the two bodies, the blood splattered in the dirt, and the shimmering dome over his head. He let out a long exhale and slowly shifted back down to his normal size. His shadow swept out, enveloping the two remaining bodies in shadows until nothing was left but blood already soaking into the earth.

"Well," he began, ears twitching as he turned his attention back to Lucifer, "I believe that takes care of one of our problems. No more Greyback."

Lucifer raised a brow, one part of his mouth twitching. "Great job, my deer."

Then he tapped his staff against the ground. The glowing pentagram above the dome gave a single pulse. Slowly, the shimmering golden barrier lifted up and evaporated, dissolving into a soft sparkle of light until nothing remained.

"Alright," Lucifer called out over the crowd, lifting a hand. "Bubbles off."

With a snap of his fingers, the bubbles around people's heads began popping, dissolving into harmless sparks and revealing startled faces. Many blinked and looked around in confusion, noting the absence of their Alpha. The children groaned and protested, rubbing their eyes.

The crowd shifted, murmurs and voices rising to tell one another what had transpired. Greyback was gone.

Alastor turned to face the majority of the pack, clearing his throat. "Listen carefully, please," he said, voice carrying as the clearing slowly came to a hush. "Greyback is dead. As are his two little friends. That means…you're free to do as you please under two conditions." He held up two fingers.

Those who had watched the massacre tensed slightly, shoulders drawing tight, eyes flashing with wary fear as if bracing themselves for a new dictator.

"One," Alastor continued. "You will not align yourselves with Voldemort or Dumbledore." His smile grew at the expected flinches to Voldemort's name, then sharpened as the looks shifted into confusion. "You will not become Voldemort's hounds, and you will not allow Dumbledore to use you as tragic symbols to bolster himself whenever it suits him."

Lucifer snorted, watching proudly.

Alastor took a step forward, ears twitching as he picked up several murmurs. "And two: you can either join the third side, Balance," he said, gesturing between himself and Lucifer. "Or, you can remain neutral in this war."

For a few moments, the people simply looked at each other, whispering quietly. Then the same man from earlier stepped forward, his bushy red beard threaded with gray, tired eyes fixed on Alastor. He didn't look like he wanted to be the one speaking, but the eyes of the pack fell on him and an ease spread through them.

"Join…what? Neutral?" He asked, huffing a bitter laugh. He spread his hands helplessly, a tired look in his eyes. "We're werewolves."

Several others murmured in agreement, nodding their heads and hunching their shoulders on reflex.

"We don't get choices," he continued, voice tight. "We're cursed. People hate us. They'll always hate us."

"And what good is being neutral," a woman said, coming up beside the man, brown hair streaked with gray, her hand resting on his shoulder in support, "when the world already decided we're monsters?"

Voices rose, all in agreement with the two. Children tightened their grip on their caretakers' hands or shirts, looking like they wanted to cry, but had gotten too used to being called by such a cruel name.

"You keep calling yourselves that," Lucifer said, tone mild and polite. He looked at them, head tilted slightly to the side. "But you're wrong."

He paused as the crowd shifted its attention to him now. Lucifer's smile stayed in place, but his fingers tightened around his staff, spine straight as he settled into the role he didn't particularly enjoy—public speaking.

"Werewolves are a blessing," he continued. He ignored the scoffs of disbelief and protests. "Actually, you know what? I wasn't there when the blessing took place, but I can summon the one who did give the blessing."

Confusion and doubt fell across their faces as Lucifer smiled and tapped his cane against the ground.

Suddenly a large sigil appeared on the ground, glowing a bright yellow. It wasn't a pentagram though. It was a different sigil. Nobody there recognized it except Lucifer and Alastor, who had seen it all over the Gluttony Ring.

In a dazzling cyclone of lights, a figure suddenly appeared within it. The outline was feminine with four arms, wavy tail and hair, and pointed canine ears atop her head. The cyclone burst outwards like stardust, and floating above the sigil was a colorful canine demon whose hair, tail, and stomach looked like a lava lamp. Her hair and tail drifted like there was a constant breeze on her, and a pair of pixie-like wings fluttered behind her.

"I am Beelzebub, Sin of Gluttony," she spoke, her voice gentle, but commanding. She opened her eyes. "What is it that I can—"

She cut herself off, blinking as she spotted the crowd. Then her eyes landed on Lucifer, who was grinning up at her mischievously. Her face lit up and a smile spread wide across her face.

"Lulu!" She squealed. In a burst of energy, she flew directly at him, slamming into him and wrapping all four arms around him in a tight hug. "Oh! I missed you so much!"

Lucifer wheezed as Bee lifted him in the air, squeezing the air from his lungs and then some. "Bee," he croaked in greeting. "Air."

"Oops!" She released him, gently setting him back on his feet as he gasped for air, a hand pressed his chest. "Sorry! I got too excited."

Alastor snickered at his husband's misfortune, drawing Bee's attention.

"Al! Oh, it's so good to see you too!" She zipped up to him, her lower hands resting gently on his shoulders while her upper hands cupped his face and squeezed his cheeks fondly. "How's my favorite brother-in-law?"

"Hey!" Lucifer called, finally catching his breath and straightening. "How come you're all gentle with him but not me?"

"Because I'm still mad at you from the last meeting," she said, her pink eyes flicking back to him impishly. "Remember a few weeks ago, Lu? The straight three-day panic meeting?"

Alastor raised a brow. "Panic meeting?"

Lucifer sputtered and gave a forced laugh, animatedly waving his arms. "Nah-nah-nah! It's nothing, Al. Nothing at all!" He rushed out, voice and smile strained. Then he cleared his throat and smoothed down his coat. "Actually, Bee, we do need your help." He gestured to the crowd.

Bee turned her attention to the rest of the people. "Oh shhh-shoot!" She said, curbing her curse as she noticed the young ones. "Wow, that's a lot of people. And the mood is way off if you're trying to throw a party."

"N-no, Bee," Lucifer said, shaking his head. "We're not trying to throw a party. These people," he swept his arm around them, "are werewolves."

Several people shuffled, uncomfortable at being called out, many still in shock that there was a large canine-bee demon in front of them. Several children oohed at the pretty colors that were glowing from Bee's hair, tail, and tummy.

Bee stared out over the crowd in awe. "O. M. G. My babies! Look at you all! Wow!" She beamed, ecstatic to see so many, before she paused and her face turned from enthused to concern. "…Wait. But you don't look very happy. In fact, the emotional taste in the air is all off. You're all scared and miserable and…"

Her wings slowed, hovering less excitedly. She turned to Lucifer, brows pinched together, eyes shining with worry. "Lu…what happened?"

Lucifer sighed, shoulders dropping and a firm frown pulled his lips down. "Well…I'm not sure what happened between now and then, but werewolves are seen as a curse. As monsters."

"What?" She gasped, all four hands flying to her face. "What, no. No, no, no! That's not how it's supposed to be!"

She turned toward the crowd, expression gentle and movements slow. "Is that what you all really believe? That you're…monsters?"

Her question was met with mostly shuffling and averted eyes. A few people nodded though.

"Ooh, no. This isn't right," Bee murmured with a shake of her head, lips pressed together. "Making you all think you're monsters was never my intention." She paused, drawing in a breath, then floated down until her feet touch the ground in front of them. "Okay. I need to tell you all about the blessing of the hounds."

Her upper hands clasped in front of her chest, while her lower hands folded over her stomach. The bright pinks, yellows, and blues of her stomach, tail, and hair dimmed to a quiet blue.

"A few thousand years ago, one of my hellhound friends went missing during a summoning," Bee began, her voice calm and gentle. "I didn't see her for months and I grew worried. But I figured she could handle herself. She was tough."

She gave a sad smile. "Then, one day, I got a summoning. It happens more with the Sins that others, but any demon can be summoned," she explained. "And when I answered, there was a magic user there—a wizard, I think magical mortals go by." Her ears turned back slightly. "But…my friend was there too."

Her brows furrowed. "She looked almost dead," she whispered, her words coming out quieter and sadder. "The wizard told me what happened. He said he'd been apprenticed under the one who summoned her." She winced, lower hands rubbing her arms anxiously. "The dark wizard had been…torturing her. Using her for…potions. Experiments."

She swallowed thickly, the continued, voice strained but steady. "He'd been trying to help her for weeks. Sneaking her food, talking to her, healing what he could." A small, remorseful smile tugged at her mouth. "And she trusted him."

Bee's gaze dropped. "But the dark wizard found out and got upset. The last experiment had nearly killed her." Her hands tightened. "So the apprentice killed his master, freed my friend, and summoned me to get her back home."

She paused for a moment, eyes downturned as the memories swept through her.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it through her nose. "But…she was already fading. I…couldn't save my friend." Her ears dipped low and her shoulders sagged. "Not the way I wanted to."

Bee looked up to the crowd, curious faces drinking in her story. "But the wizard offered to help her in a different way. He wanted to carry her soul."

She gave a soft huff of laughter, sad and full of remembrance. "Soul magic is…very tricky. It's not one of my specialties. Lucifer's the expert on soul magic, but he did teach me a few things. So, I agreed. And through some very intricate spell work between the two of us, we wove her soul with his. A bond between two souls that shared one heartbeat."

She smiled softly. "It created the very first werewolf."

She paused, tilting her head to look up at the blue sky above her. "It was the only way for her to return home. He promised he would carry her soul until he died. Then his would part to go where they were meant to…and hers would be guided back to Hell, to be reborn as a hellhound."

Bee's gaze returned to them, steady now. "The reason you change on the full moon is because that's when the ritual happened. The moon became the anchor," she said, her voice softening. "And, it was never meant to be spread at all. I…made a mistake."

Confusion rippled through the crowd, brows drawing together.

"I thought the ritual would end with them," she continued. "One bond between the two of them." Her mouth twisted. "Buuuut magic doesn't always go the way you expect it to. Especially not soul magic."

She winced, her shoulders hunching slightly. "When we did the spell, we accidentally left a door between the two realms cracked open. Not a physical door, but a door only souls can pass through."

She paused, her pink eyes sweeping over the werewolves, her human hounds. "When a hellhound dies, their soul passes through the in-between like other souls in Hell. But because I left that door cracked open…" She exhaled. "Sometimes their soul gets pulled sideways."

She paused for a heartbeat, her arms tightening around herself. "And I'm sorry. I never meant for that to happen."

The crowd was quiet, turning over her words, going over the true origin of it. They were never meant to be a curse. It was a mistake made to save a friend.

Then the woman with the gray-streaked hair spoke, her voice steady. "Why us? Why does it happen to us?"

Bee blinked and turned her gaze to the woman. "Because the bite carries the spell," she replied simply. "It leaves a mark on your soul, like a latch. And once it started, it became self-replicating. One werewolf bite can make another."

She sighed, guilt still eating at her even after all these eons. "Once I realized my mistake, I tried to restrict it. It was meant as a blessing, shared only with those worthy of bearing the weight and comfort of the hound." Her ears turned back. "And…it's far too late to close the door I cracked open."

A thoughtful, heavy silence fell over the clearing. But it didn't last long as people started talking to each other, voices low and curious.

The man with the bushy red beard stared up at Bee, brows furrowed in thought. "So, what do we do with this…blessing?" He asked. "If we have two souls in us, then how are we supposed to live with it?"

Bee hummed, then smiled softly. "By learning," she said simply.

Several heads turned toward her, skepticism still there, supported by stubborn pride. But something else simmered beneath. A cautious hope that it might be possible to live in peace with the second soul inside them.

"You learn to stop fighting the hound inside you," Bee continued, her voice gentle but steady. "Not by forcing it back or trying to control it. Not by being ashamed of it. But by making space for it. For understanding it and accepting it." She lifted her upper hands, palms open. "It's about finding balance."

Several people exchanged curious glances, murmuring to one another.

"How?" Someone asked from the crowd.

"Well…" Bee started. "I'll teach you." Then she looked around, taking in the sagging tents, the poles and tarps, then every child pressed close to an adult, and the weary, lined faces.

"Right," she said with a decisive nod. Then her smile sharpened, a determined glint in her eyes. Her wings buzzed behind her, lifting her from the ground as the dim blue in her glow shifted to bright yellow and pink. "If I'm going to teach you, then we need to fix everything here. No more tents and old dirty clothes. No more misery and doubt and fear."

People blinked, startled. They looked between each other, suspicion warring with hope.

"We're going to build you a community," she said, voice firm and grin set.

"Wh… How?" The man with the red beard asked.

"I'm Beelzebub," she said confidently, crossing all four arms. "On that note—"

She swooped down to Lucifer, all four hands clasped together, and eyes going comically wide. "Luluuuuu… Can I pretty please bring some of my hellhounds up here to help build a community for my human hounds? Pleeeeeeease?" Somehow, she made her eyes even wider.

Lucifer blinked, then snorted, a grin twitching at his lips. "Yeah, sure. No more than a few dozen at a time though."

"Yes!" Bee pumped all four arms and shot up into the air. "Building party!"

Lucifer sighed and shook his head in fond amusement. "Keep it tame, Bee," he warned lightly.

She gasped and lifted both left hands like she was swearing an oath. "I promise. No crazy parties, no…uhh, emotional, physical, or mental enhancers. And alcohol will be limited to off the clock."

"Mmhm," he replied, grin widening. "You sure you got this?"

Bee's playful demeanor changed instantly, becoming serious again. "Yes," she replied firmly. "This is my responsibility, and I will help them."

Lucifer nodded. "Okay. I trust you, Bee. Just let Al and I know if you need anything." His eyes flicked over to his husband as Alastor approached, smile still set, but genuine.

"Absolutely," she replied with a nod. Then she beamed at them both. "Oh, I'm just glad we're in the same realm again! We'll have to meet up, and I can meet your friends, Al."

Alastor raised a brow, smile growing. "Perhaps. I have a feeling you and Sirius will get along."

"Oh boy," Lucifer replied, forcing back a snicker.

Bee beamed and turned back to the curious crowd. "Okay! Let's get started on structure outlines and foundations. We're not doing tents and shacks. We're doing houses, schools, restaurants, a whole as—butt town!"

Several children giggled. Adults traded looks of surprise, but slowly started to relax, curiosity softening their faces as they wondered what tomorrow would bring.

—

Location: Malfoy Manor - East Wing Ballroom (repurposed)

July 24th, 1996 9:29 PM

Lucius POV

Lucius stood stiffly off to the side, spine straight and head held high, his face a mask of indifference. Beside him, Narcissa was just as composed. Her hand clasped in his, hidden between the folds of their robes, and he felt the minute tremors as her fingers tightened around his. Her expression remained cool mask of apathy, but her eyes never left their son.

Draco was bowed before the Dark Lord, his left forearm presented, the Dark Mark fresh and livid against his pale skin. His breathing was hitched and shaky, his own careful mask struggling to remain in place. His jaw trembled; his eyes were too bright, but he held himself together like his life depended on it.

And Lucius, despite the way his heart pounded in his head, despite the shame curling hot and poisonous in his gut, had never been more proud of his son.

Bellatrix, beside Narcissa giggled, let out a high giggle. Her grin stretched, showing off her rotten teeth. "Well done, Draco," she cooed, twirling a strand of hair around her wand. "Making your family proud by serving so young. Such a good boy."

Lucius wanted to be sick. He wanted to silence his crazy sister-in-law up permanently. But he held. And Narcissa held. And together, they held on to each other.

"Rise, Draco," Voldemort said, voice low and wispy. "Rise, and take your place amongst the ranks."

Draco's breath caught as he pushed himself to his feet, movements careful and stiff. He kept his gaze fixed on his polished shoes. "Y-yes…my lord," he managed, the words barely more than a whisper.

He turned slowly and walked stiffly over to his parents. Narcissa reached her free hand out, touched his arm, gently rubbing it. Then she gave it a brief squeeze and dropped it again.

Lucius did not reach for his son. He did not dare. He only tightened his grip on Narcissa's hand, conveying what he couldn't.

Draco stood between them, newly marked, and Lucius felt like his family was standing right in front of Death's door. It was closed for now, but it was only a matter of time before Voldemort opened it.

And he couldn't let that happen.

An hour ago, he sent an owl. An act of desperation to save his family, but it was his decision. If Alastor could provide a new door, he'd seize the handle with both hands, dragging his family through, whatever it cost.

He prayed his owl flew fast and true. Because he didn't know how much time they had.

Chapter Text

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's office

July 24th, 1996 11:05 PM

Dear Lord Alastor Magne,

I find myself in the unenviable position of reconsidering the path I once believed inevitable. Recent events have made it abundantly clear that inevitability is a luxury afforded only to those who are already dead.

You spoke of a choice should I be willing to turn around. Of a third path not dictated by empty promises, coercion, or blind loyalty to men who use fear to rule. I would be lying if I said your words did not linger. They have.

I am interested in your proposal.

If you are willing, I would request a private meeting tomorrow evening, 25th of July. This is not a negotiation conducted lightly, nor is it one I would commit to parchment if I did not believe the stakes demanded it.

Discretion is appreciated.

Lucius Malfoy

Lucifer lowered the letter as he finished reading the letter aloud. He sat on the couch with Alastor's legs draped over his lap, hooves hanging over the edge, his husband too long for the two-seater. Lucifer's other hand rested on Alastor's abdomen, his palm glowing gold.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" Lucifer asked with a grin, gazing down at Alastor.

Alastor gave a grunt, one hand resting on his chest while his other arm was thrown over his eyes, his breathing deep and measured. He was in a partial state of undress, his coat missing and his shirt unbuttoned down his chest, the soft tawny fur spilling out over the opening. One ear gave a slow flick, remaining low.

"Seems your offer worked," he continued, then rolled of eyes. "Like it always does. You're just a master of words, aren't you, ya big ba-by."

Alastor's lips peeled back into an uncomfortable grimace. "Shut up."

Lucifer snickered, keeping his hand over Alastor's gut, gently sweeping it up and down. "Aww, poor thing. Did eating that wolf give you a tummyache?" He cooed, his voice pitching and babying. "You know what junk food does to you."

A low groan was his only answer.

Lucifer gave a teasing roll of his eyes, lips twitching before his gaze dropped back to the letter. "Tomorrow night," he murmured. "I think we can arrange that. Shall we have Seven meet him and bring him here?"

"Severus," Alastor corrected, voice low and slightly slurred. He lifted his arm just enough to peek out from beneath it, one eye half-lidded. "And yes. Tomorrow night works."

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully. "Wonder what made him contact you so quickly," Lucifer said with a curious twist of his mouth. "Want me to write a quick reply to him and contact Seven?"

Alastor sighed heavily, not bothering to correct him again. "Please."

With a pleased hum, Lucifer lifted his free hand, gold and red magic swirling lazily in his palm. The letter disappeared, another letter formed with fresh parchment midair as words wrote themselves across the page. The seal pressed itself closed before the new letter vanished in a small poof, delivering itself.

He gently lifted Alastor's legs off his lap, leaving the warm, glowing light to hover over his stomach as he stood. With a roll of his shoulders, he focused and opened a small portal the size of his head with a flick of his wrist.

A shimmering portal opened up in front of a very startled Severus Snape, silvery fumes from of a cauldron drifting in front of his face.

"Heeeeey, Sev!" Lucifer greeted with a large smile, cheeks dimpling. "Hope you're not too busy."

Severus blinked a few times before his mask of neutrality returned to his face. "Not at all, Your Majesty—"

"Ah, no need for titles," Lucifer cut him in cheerfully, waving a hand. "Just Lucifer is fine. Or Lu." He gave a shrug, before he leaned in. "Anywho, you wouldn't mind doing something for us tomorrow night, would ya? We got a letter from—"

He paused, face going blank. "Uhh…Luscious Malarkey?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Alastor corrected slowly from the couch, out of Severus' line of sight.

"Right! Lucius Malfoy. That's what I said," Lucifer said smoothly, eyes flicking to Alastor before returning to Severus. "Yeah, got a letter. He's interested in a meeting with Al. So you think you can pick him up tomorrow night? Say…ten-ish? "

Severus stared at Lucifer for a long moment. Then he sighed, his expression one of tired resignation. "Lucius?" He asked, voice in mild disbelief. He mumbled something else under his breath, then nodded. "Of course…Lucifer. I'll see to it."

Lucifer flashed him a sharp-toothed smile. "Great! See ya then!"

The portal snapped closed and Lucifer gazed down at Alastor, who hadn't moved from his dramatic sprawl. "And nooooow," he said brightly, clapping his hands once, "bedtime for you, grumpy pants."

Alastor shot Lucifer a look from beneath his arm, lips tugged down. "That's the last time I eat something so filthy."

"Uh-huh. You say that every time," Lucifer replied fondly, amusement shining in his red-and-gold eyes. "C'mon, you baby."

Before Alastor could object, Lucifer bent down and scooped him up into his arms, ignoring the half-hearted protest and low grumble. A portal opened up mid-step, and they were in their bedroom.

"Time to sleep that tummyache away," Lucifer said cheerfully as he set him down in the bed.

Alastor huffed, but didn't argue further, curling up into the blankets as his body finally gave in to the sleep it craved.

He swore next time he'd eat cleaner people.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Living area

July 25th, 1996 10:18 AM

Lucifer's POV

"I have a surprise for youuuu," Lucifer cooed, wrapping his arms around Alastor's neck from behind as he leaned over the back of the couch. His feet kicked out behind him, nearly choking his husband in the process.

Alastor didn't even flinch, leaning back into the cushions instead. "Oh? Is that so?" He asked, flipping his book shut and setting it aside.

"If you're gonna to get nasty in the common area, we can leave," Sirius said, looking up from his conversation with Remus, a large, suggestive smirk on his face.

Remus just rolled his eyes. He was sitting on the same couch, facing Sirius with his cheek resting in his hand, arm draped over the backrest. "Sirius, I doubt it's that. Lucien can be crass, but he's not tasteless enough to be vulgar with others around."

"Don't be too sure," Alastor huffed. He turned his head enough to see Lucifer in his periphery, their cheeks brushing together. "What is it?"

"Don't sound so suspicious," Lucifer said with a little pout. "It's a really good surprise. You'll love it, I promise." Before Alastor could respond, Lucifer pressed a loud and obnoxious raspberry to his cheek and pulled back, cackling.

Alastor growled and wiped his cheek, turning to glare at his husband. "Luuuci," he warned, invisible ears pulled back.

"Oh, relax," Lucifer replied, waving his hand dismissively. "C'mon, I'll make it up to you! We're going to the basement."

Alastor grumbled, but stood anyway. "The basement? I thought that's where the twins spent time crafting their latest crimes against humanity?"

"Oh, I kicked them out Friday afternoon," Lucifer said with a shrug. "They're currently in the ballroom."

"Luci, I swear," Alastor began darkly, "if those two do irreversible damage to that beautiful ballroom—"

"What can't I fix?" Lucifer asked, cutting his husband off before he could start a rant. He nabbed Alastor by his wrist and started dragging him out of the room.

"You don't want me to answer that," Alastor replied, snarking.

"Have fun in your sex dungeon!" Sirius called out behind them.

There was a sharp smack and a yelp.

It didn't take them long to reach the basement door. Lucifer opened it and dragged Alastor through, the door snapping closed with a ripple of magic. A shimmering golden barrier settled over the wood.

"Okay, so I know you're not usually a fan of surprises," Lucifer began as he walked down the long staircase, practically bouncing with restrained excitement. "Buuuuut, I figured you'd love this one. I saw the opportunity to snag it for you after Sirius' trial."

"So that's why you disappeared," Alastor said quietly, ducking under a low beam as they reached the bottom.

The basement opened into one large stone chamber, the floor cold and gray stone beneath their boots. The center of the room was clear, a perfect area for rituals and brewing. A few stone tables had been pushed to the far wall, used by the twins for their own ingredients and other suspicious items. Off to the side were two smaller rooms. One held stacks of wine, locked away via angelic barrier—no way Lucifer was leaving alcohol unsecured with two eighteen-year-olds within feet of it. The second room was a simple storage room.

Lucifer immediately went to the second door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and glanced back over his shoulder, a secretive smirk firmly in place.

"Are you ready?" He asked, drawing out the suspense. He knew Alastor hated when he did.

On cue, Alastor shot him a look between exasperation and impatience. "Just open the door, Lucifer," he demanded, crossing his arms.

"You know, I don't think you're ready with that attitude," Lucifer teased, taking his hand off the handle. He wagged a finger at his husband, tsking softly with a shake of his head.

"Lucifer," Alastor warned, teeth grinding as his eyes flashed red before returning to green. "Open the damn door unless you want to sleep down here tonight."

"Rude," Lucifer gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. But he relented with a dramatic sigh and opened the door, the barrier falling.

He watched as Alastor finally looked inside, and his smile became a thing of pure, wicked glee when Alastor's jaw quite literally dropped open. It was a very rare thing to surprise his husband, and he took immense pride in managing it.

"How did you—" Alastor began, but stopped himself, biting his tongue as he stared in wide-eyed shock.

"I told you," Lucifer purred, his eyes darting to the woman in pink slumped on the floor. His grin sharpened. "I saw an opportunity."

Silence stretched between them as they both stared down at an unconscious Dolores Umbridge sprawled on the floor of the storage room. Her wrists were bound in front of her—her arms too stubby to restrain behind her back—and a strip of good old fashioned duct tape covered her mouth. It wasn't strictly necessary. Lucifer had kept her unconscious since Friday, only waking her to feed her in the middle of the night. But…presentation was important.

"Soooooo," Lucifer broke the silence, pleased that Alastor was still staring. "You don't have to chase her down now. I know you love the hunt, but I figured I could do something nice for you." He gave a small shrug, pressing his lips together nervously as he waited for Alastor's reaction.

Alastor finally blinked. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head. "You always manage to surprise me, mon ange," he said, turning his gaze to Lucifer. A slow smile curled up his face as he stepped forward.

He gently grasped Lucifer's chin, tilting his head up just so, a wicked glint flashing behind his disguised green eyes. "Remind me to reward you properly later, my dearest, sneaky little devil," he purred, his voice deep and sultry, leaving no room for any misinterpretation.

A shiver skittered down Lucifer's spine and settled hot and heavy in his gut, cheeks warm as he swallowed thickly. "O-oh?" He squeaked. He cleared his throat, trying to be suave and missing by a mile. "Well…I'll certainly be looking forward to that reward."

Alastor chuckled, low and husky. He leaned forward and pressed a teasing, chaste kiss to Lucifer's mouth before pulling away and letting him go. "I think I'll have my fun now though."

Lucifer melted, a wobbly, lovesick smile spreading across his face. "Of course, my deer. I'll leave you to it. I'll be upstairs," he replied, his voice dreamy.

He turned to leave, floating up the stairs, already lost in hazy thoughts of what exactly Alastor's reward might entail.

"What's with the smile?"

Sirius voice cut through the fuzzy fog swirling in Lucifer's brain.

"Huh?" Lucifer blinked, suddenly realizing he was back in the living area, sitting on the couch Alastor had vacated. Remus and Sirius were still there, both watching him with curious expressions.

"Oh," Lucifer said easily. "Alastor really liked his surprise and said he's going to reward me later." A soft, giddy giggle slipped from lips and his sappy smile returned full force.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look. Brows raised before Remus sighed and shook his head while Sirius' grin widened.

"Oh yeah?" Sirius drawled, deliberately ignoring Remus disappointed glare. "What kind of reward? You think he might tie you up and have his way with you?"

The question was clearly meant as a joke.

Lucifer answered anyway. "Fuck, I hope so."

Both men choked on their own saliva. Remus in horrified shock, and Sirius in open, astonished glee.

"Really?" Sirius asked, grin stretching so wide it nearly split his face. He leaned forward. "Sounds like it's been a while, eh, Luci?"

Lucifer groaned and nodded, dropping back against the cushions. "It's been ages since Al tied me up," he complained. "He can get super creative in the bedroom."

"Creative, huh?" Sirius echoed, egging Lucifer on. "And pretty dominant, I take it?"

"Oh, nah. Al prefers to sub," Lucifer said casually, waving a hand. "I mean, we switch it up, but he definitely prefers to take rather than give. But you know, sometimes I want to be the bottom, okay?"

He paused and blinked when the sound of a dying goose reached his ears. He turned to see Remus clutching his chest.

"No. No, no, no, no, stop," Remus rushed out, looking genuinely distressed. "I do not need to know this about my godson."

"I do!" Sirius shot back, his eyes wide with a maniac glint. He looked like Christmas had come early with drugs and alcohol.

"Sirius!" Remus snapped, giving him a 'are-you-fucking-serious?' look. "This is your godson!"

"Yeah," Sirius agreed calmly. "Which is why I don't want to watch. But these are just details. It's different."

Remus stared at him, mouth agape before he waved his hand, gesturing wildly in disbelief with both hands. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

Lucifer blinked, glancing between them. "You know, if you two need pointers, Al can do this thing with his tongue—"

"NO!" Remus shot to his feet, quickly fleeing from the room. "No, no, no! I am not staying for this!"

"I'll tell you later, Remy!" Sirius called after him, an unapologetic grin stretched wide. "So, what can Al do with his tongue?"

Remus was gone. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Sirius' voice carrying down the hall seconds later.

"Merlin's balls! He can do that?!"

—

Location: Potter Manor - Basement

July 25th, 1996 10:34 AM

Alastor's POV

Alastor hummed as he stared down at the unconscious form of his old professor. Though, she didn't really deserve that title. Old torturer? That seemed more fitting.

His lips curled slowly up his face, sharp and menacing. 'Oh, do I have a score to settle with you.' He summoned his cane and leaned against his casually, completely relaxed as if he was just waiting for the kettle to boil.

His shadow stretched long across the floor, its jagged smile widening as shadowy antlers branched out over crates and walls. It darted forward, trailing up Umbridge's spine like a deadly shade, slowly wrapping around her. An inky claw trailed across her face, almost gentle, before it grasped her face tightly and gave her a rough shake, waking her.

Her eyes snapped open immediately, bulging. They darted around the small room before they landed on Alastor. She made an attempt to speak, but the duct tape prevented her to a muffled squeal.

Alastor tilted his head, lips pursed before nodded to his shadow.

The shadow obeyed. It took a corner of the tape and ripped it free in one swift motion.

Umbridge gasped sharply, blinking back the sting. "Wh-what…? Potter! Your friend is deranged! He kidnapped me! This is treason! This is against Ministry law! I can have him Kissed for this!"

She continued to bluster and fume, her face flushing a bright-red as Alastor stood there, a single brow slowly rising up his forehead.

"Well?" She snapped. "Don't just stand there. Untie me, you useless half-wit!" She huffed, her cheeks full of air as she tucked her chin in, exaggerating her double chin.

Honestly, it made her look even more like a toad and Alastor had to stifle a snort.

"Potter?" He asked casually. "I thought you were under the impression that I wasn't Harry Potter, Miss Umbridge."

She sputtered, looking insulted. "That's not—the witness circle remained green under the Truth Charm."

A soft laugh tumbled past Alastor's lips. "Oh, so now you believe the witness circle. When it's convenient for you." He drummed his fingers against the top of his microphone. "Well, I don't go by that name anymore. It's Alastor now. Much more dignified, don't you think?"

"I don't care what name you go by," Umbridge snapped, lips pressed into a thin line. "Untie me at once!"

"Mmm…no." Alastor's smile sharpened just slightly. "You see, my husband went through quite the effort to keep you alive until he could hand you over to me."

"What—" Her mouth flapped open and closed several times, attempting to find the words.

"He's a wonderful husband," Alastor continued, ignoring her piscine impression. "Very thoughtful to get me such a wonderful gift. While he's correct that I do enjoy the hunt…there's just something profoundly romantic about having one's prey delivered on a silver platter."

Umbridge blinked a few times, trying to process the words. Then she lifted her chin, forcing her composure back into place. "You're making a very grave mistake," she said coolly, though her voice wavered slightly. "Do you have any idea what this will do to your reputation? Once the Prophet—"

Alastor gave a sharp laugh, cutting her off. "Oh my," he cooed, voice pitching up as his fingers brushed over his lips. "You seem to be under the impression that the world functions according to your silly little rules."

Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. "The Minister will not allow—"

"The Minister," Alastor interrupted softly, glancing to the side as if the conversation was starting to bore him, "has no legal authority over me. I'm not even a British citizen anymore." His eyes snapped back to her. "And I would very much like to see Scrimgeour try to detain a demon. Particularly one married to the King of Hell."

Umbridge's nostrils flared. Her eyes flicked over him, looking at him like he was the crazy one in the room. "You're mentally unstable," she said coldly, the words sharp with fear. "Do you even hear yourself? Demon. Hell. This is exactly why people like you should be monitored, contained, and corrected."

Her voice rose as she continued speaking, climbing higher with every word. "You think you can threaten me because you have powerful friends? Because you're hiding behind some…disgusting, perverted relationship?"

Alastor's smile stayed in place, but his eyes narrowed. Something dark and dangerous glinted behind his glasses.

Umbridge leaned forward against her shadowy restraints. "You will release me. Now."

Alastor exhaled through his nose, soft and amused. Then, he simply dropped his glamor.

One moment, he was a normal man with a human disguise. The next, he stood at his full height, too much red and sharp teeth. The air thickened with the faint buzz of static, and the shadows around the room twisted, wisps peeling away before vanishing like smoke.

Umbridge's breath caught in her throat, eyes going impossibly wide. "N-no," she stammered, her voice thin and cracking. "No, no, no, no! This isn't allowed! You can't be here! You can't be real! You can't, you can't!"

Alastor tilted his head, his smile curling up his mouth, sharp yellow teeth bared. The static spiked around them as he stepped forward, crouching down in front of her. "That's enough of that now," he commanded, voice soft and sinister, staring balefully at her like she was something unpleasant he'd found under his boot.

He leaned forward a little and inhaled, slowly and deliberate. Then he lifted a hand and tapped her nose with a red-tipped claw, almost playful. "Your fear is doing a lovely job of masking the smell underneath. Rotten meat, cheap perfume, and self-importance." He chuckled unkindly. "And while I would normally savor your screams, I'm afraid I'm a bit impatient today. So, I think we'll jump right into the fun part."

He stood suddenly, turning to walk away. "Shadow, search her pockets. I wonder…" He snapped his head around while his body remained in place, a sickening crack echoing through the small room. Umbridge's face bled of all color. "If you carry a special little quill on you."

Alastor's shadow tightened around Umbridge's form, thin tendrils unfurling from it like searching fingers, digging through the pockets of her dirty pink blazer.

She squeaked and tried to squirm away, but froze again when Alastor tutted at her.

"Be still…my shadows tend to bite," he said gleefully, daring her to challenge his word.

Most of the tendrils retreated empty. One held up her wand, offering it to Alastor. He plucked it from the shadow and set it aside on one of the crates. Another tendril pulled out a long wooden case, giving it to its master willingly.

Alastor hummed and opened the case, curiosity brewing. But he had a feeling he knew what was inside. The corners of his mouth twitched when a black feathered quill sat in plush red velvet lining. The dark tip gleamed in the low light of the storage room. The simplicity of the quill was certainly misleading, which made it all the more dangerous.

He gently plucked the quill from the case, twirling it idly between his fingers. "Such a simple thing that's caused dozens of children pain," he murmured, then paused, his crimson eyes falling to her. "Including my own, once upon a time. I remember carving the words into my own flesh. 'I must not tell lies'."

He stepped toward her again, eyes narrowing dangerously, voice dropping. "You made children write all sorts of nasty phrases. Made them cut their hands open again and again and again," he growled, lips pulled back into a snarl. "You made them bleed."

Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, his smile was small and polite again, his eyes shining, and his posture loose. "I have an idea."

At a silent command, his shadow sliced through the rope binding Umbridge's wrists, freeing her hands. But it remained coiled around her body, keeping her prisoner, sitting on the ground.

Then, his shadow hauled her upright, five feet of a squirming pink toad, standing before the Radio Demon.

Alastor bent at the waist, closer to her height while holding the quill out for her. "Take it, Dolores," he crooned, voice syrupy sweet.

She shook her head. "N-no! I won't!"

Alastor's lips twitched, but he showed no other sign to her words. "That's a shame." His eyes cut to the shadow restraining her. "I suppose you leave me no choice then. I'll just have my shadow guide your hand for you."

*Torture begins here

The shadow around her tightened, tendrils reappearing and wrapping around her arms and wrists. Her shoulders were yanked back, her arms lifted above her head, the shadows moving her around like a marionette.

She let out a sharp, panicked sound as her limbs were moved and jerked around without her consent.

"Much better," Alastor praised, voice bright. He held the quill out again. "Let's try again. Take the quill."

Umbridge shook her head frantically even as the shadow forced her hand forward. Her fingers closed around the quill against her will. "No, no, no," she shrilled. "Stop this! I forbid it!"

Alastor snapped his fingers and a small desk and chair appeared in a flash of green magic, a large pile of paper resting on the flat surface. "We have so much to cover in today's lesson, Dolores! Where do you think we should start, hm? 'I must not tell lies' perhaps? It is a personal favorite." His grin widened. "Or 'I am not as important as I think I am'? Oh, I think we'll start with that one. Keep you humble and all that nonsense."

Umbridge's breath came out in quick, shallow bursts. Her hand trembled around the quill, fighting even as the shadow steadied her hand.

"I'm not as important as I think I am," Alastor prompted, voice bright and sharp.

A sharp, strangled yelp tore from her throat as the shadow forced her to put the nib to the paper and started writing the words out. Bold red lettering bloomed across the page, gleaming wetly under the light. Pain flared on the back of her hand, a hot rash slowly coloring her pale skin as she finished the sentence.

"Hm. Keep writing," Alastor commanded, turning away to pluck her wand from the crate. He twirled the short stick between his fingers thoughtfully.

The shadow continued to puppeteer her actions, forcing her to write the sentence over and over again until the page was filled with shimmering scarlet words. Deep, weeping gashes were carved into the back of her hand, the words 'I'm not as important as I think I am' glaring at her, truth written in her flesh.

Alastor stepped up to her, snatching her hand up and pressing his forefinger against the wound. Fresh rivulets of blood oozed from the cuts, making the squat woman whimper in pain. His eyes narrowed in satisfaction before letting her go just as quickly, licking the blood from his finger.

He made a face, scrunching his nose. "Hm…much too sweet for me. Almost sickeningly so," he groused, acting offended. "Though, cleaner than Greyback. Still, you're not up to my taste."

"T-taste?" Umbridge squeaked weakly, pain and confusion lacing the word.

"Indeed," he replied, shooting her a sharp smirk. "I'm a cannibal, darling. But you're disgusting."

His eyes lit up as horror washed over her face. "There's another perfect phrase," he purred. "Shadow, have our guest fill another page with 'I am a filthy monster'."

His eyes cut to her again, sharper and crueler. "Because that's what you are, Dolores. You're a filthy monster who preys on children's pain and those you believe lesser than yourself. But here's the truth."

He leaned in and pressed a finger over the message already in her skin, emphasizing his next words. "You're not important," he whispered, grin dark. "And I think this next message really should…sink in, for you as well."

He watched as his shadow forced the nib down on a fresh piece of paper. The words bled into existence beneath the blood quill, crisp and scarlet, then echoed into her skin moments later. The words scratched themselves into her forearm not far from the first message.

His smile sharpened, a malicious glee shining behind his crimson gaze.

And they continued like that for hours. New phrases, new phrases. New truths carved into her skin across her body. I must not tell lies. I am a failure to society. I am weak. I am an ugly toad. I deserve to be hated. No one pities me. Everyone loathes me. I will die and no one will care.

And just because he was feeling whimsical, he made sure she filled out two whole pages with I hate cats and I hate the color pink, over and over again in neat little strokes.

Blood flowed freely from under her sleeves and over her fingers, making the quill slick, but still the shadow forced her to continue. Splotches of bright red bloomed under her clothing. More messages hidden beneath. More confessions pressed into her skin. Her sins written across her very person.

Umbridge's sobs had gone small and quiet. She sat hunched in the chair, trembling. Her breathing had gone uneven and thin.

Alastor hummed in delight, a cruel dark expression on his face. He inhaled slowly, tasting the air. "Oh, how your fear and pain bitter your scent. Delicious." He ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Now, I have a feeling you want this pain and torture to stop, don't you?" He asked, his voice almost sympathetic, but the sharp smile contradicted his tone. "Well…I can make it stop. For something in return."

Umbridge shuddered, weak whimpers slipping from her thin lips. Her eyes were glazed over with pain. He could tell. She wanted this to end.

*Torture ends here

"W-what…" She wheezed out, her voice hoarse and fraying at the edges. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing too significant," Alastor purred, waving a hand dismissively. "Something you barely use now." He met her gaze, grin small, but razor-sharp. "Your soul."

"My…s-soul?" Confusion and dread mixed beautifully across her flat face. "Wh-what do you want with my soul?"

"Well, that's for me to know," he said with a shrug. "Just hand over your soul and this suffering will end."

She shook her head, weak and frantic. "No. I won't," she whispered, shaking.

Alastor tilted his head. "Very well. It's your choice," he accepted easily. "What should we have you write next then?"

Umbridge's breath hitched. Her eyes widened and stared down at the empty sheafs of paper still on the desk, to the quill still held fast in her hand by the shadow. Pain throbbed in time with her pulse, torn skin screaming beneath her clothes, the shadow around her arms tightening in anticipation, ready to force the quill back down.

"N-no," she rasped, voice cracking. "No more."

Alastor's smile brightened, delighted. "Oh, but we've only just started," he said lightly, like they hadn't been going for hours already. "We haven't even gotten to your educational decrees."

Her gaze darted around, desperately searching for anything that looked like an exit. But there wasn't one. Only stone, boxes, and his shadows. Only him.

"I… I'll do it," she blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I'll give you my soul. Just make it stop."

Alastor stared at her for a beat. Then he offered her a pleasant smile. "Oh? You will?" He asked, voice gentle.

Umbridge nodded quickly, swallowing hard. "Yes. Yes. Just…stop."

His grin sharpened suddenly. "How wise of you," he murmured sweetly, praising her like a pet that just learned to sit.

He cleared his throat and stepped up to her. "Allow me to lay out the terms. Your soul will belong to me, and we'll end your current punishment. Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand, a sickly green light already glowing from his palm.

Surely she wasn't so blind to ignore the wording. It was right there.

"Y-yes. Deal," she said, hesitantly reaching for his hand.

Ah, she was. How predictable.

He wrapped his fingers around hers tightly, and an explosion of wind and green light surrounded them, rattling the crates and making the door rattle on it's hinges. His antlers grew and branched out, barely fitting in the small room. A violently loud cervine bugle echoed through the room and the basement shook

A bright green chain manifested in Alastor's hand, spectral links forming. It snapped upward until a collar encircled Umbridge's throat with a sharp, metallic clink that sounded far too real for something made of magic.

Umbridge choked on a gasp and nearly fell out of the chair. Shadow held her upright until the deal fully sealed. Then it unraveled from her and disappeared back under its master's feet.

"Ahh," Alastor heaved a long, exaggerated sigh. His smile brightened. "I do love when a deal goes my way."

Umbridge sagged against the desk, her breathing coming out in hurried, ragged puffs. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, glassy with shock.

Alastor watched her for a long moment, head tilted up in self-satisfaction. Then he gave a soft hum. "There," he said gently, patting her on her shoulder with a gentleness that hadn't existed before. Right where he knew a line had formed. He gave it a little squeeze. "No more lines."

She shuddered, relief flooding her face so fast it looked like she was about to pass out. "Th-thank you," she choked.

Alastor blinked once, then laughed. "Oh dear," he murmured, his free hand coming to cover his mouth, his staff tucked under his arm. "I don't think you fully comprehend what you agreed to, Dolores."

Her eyes snapped up to him, confusion bleeding into fear so quickly he almost laughed again. "Wh-what?"

Alastor leaned in closer, smile growing. "I promised that your current punishment would end," he said sweetly. "And it has." He traced one red-tipped claw along her jawline.

She went rigid, her breath catching in her throat, every instinct within her screaming at her to run.

"But I never promised you safety," he whispered lowly, eyes narrowing in predatory delight. His finger curled, claw poised right under her jugular, like a knife teasing. "Scream."

Her mouth fell open.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Living area

July 25th, 1996 3:55 PM

Alastor hummed happily as he wandered back into the living area, smile bright and relaxed.

"Look who's finally showing his face again," Sirius said, looking up from a game of Exploding Snap. He'd clearly lost a few rounds, judging by his lack of eyebrows.

"Have fun?" Lucifer asked with a sly smile, holding a few cards between his fingers.

Alastor sat down on the couch beside him, doing his best not to interrupt their game. "I did. Thank you, mon ange," he replied softly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the top of Lucifer's blond head.

The other two men paused, raising brows as Alastor initiated affection.

Sirius' smirk sharpened, remembering some of the details Lucifer had told him hours ago. He reached for his drink, taking a sip.

Remus' nostrils flared and he eyed Alastor in concern. "Why do you smell like blood? Fresh blood at that."

"Oh, it's not mine," Alastor quickly assured, waving a hand casually. "It all belongs to Umbridge."

Sirius spat out his drink, tea spilling all over the pile of cards. The pile went off with several pops like fireworks, sparks snapping up and scattering across the coffee table.

"Damnit!" Lucifer cried out, scowling. He tossed his cards down in frustration. "I was winning this time!"

Remus stared gobsmacked at Alastor. "I'm sorry… Did you say Umbridge? As in Dolores Umbridge?"

"The same Umbridge that is a psychotic, racist, bigoted bitch?" Sirius asked, patting a few embers out from his sleeve.

"The very same," Alastor confirmed.

Sirius whipped his head toward Lucifer, eyes wide with disbelief. "That was your gift to Al?"

Lucifer nodded, looking entirely too proud of himself. "Yup! Nabbed her right after your trial. Wasn't that hard." He gave a lazy shrug.

"You kidnapped a Ministry official," Remus said, tension tightening in his voice. "Nobody likes her, but she's still important!"

Alastor gave a laugh, eyes crinkling with dark mirth. "Actually, I let her know—very, very thoroughly—that she wasn't important," he said with a wicked smirk.

"You were down there for hours," Lucifer said, tilting his head up to stare at Alastor. "What did you do to her?"

Alastor hummed, puffing up in satisfaction. "Would you believe that she was still carrying her blood quill on her?"

Lucifer's mouth dropped into a small 'o', eyes lighting up. "You didn't."

"I did," Alastor replied, smile widening.

"Blood quills are illegal outside official documents," Remus mumbled, eyes flitting between the two. "What was she doing carrying one on her person?"

Alastor raised a brow. "I suppose I didn't mention that she used it as corporal punishment on the students at Hogwarts during her tenure last year…"

"What." Sirius and Remus said simultaneously.

"Including myself, but those scars are long gone," Alastor said with a casual shrug. "The only students safe where mostly purebloods. And even then, not reliably. Not even first years were spared her punishment of 'writing lines'."

It was quiet for a beat, both men gaping.

"I'm going to kill her," Sirius growled, fingers curling into fists at his knees.

"Oh, not to worry. She's already dead," Alastor said lightly.

Sirius and Remus stared at him as silence hung over them once again.

"You killed her?" Remus asked, his voice a strained whisper, as if he was afraid to say it louder.

"Of course I did," Alastor said simply. "She was a monster that needed to be put down. Just like Pettigrew. Just like Voldemort."

"Cheers to that," Lucifer said, lifting up his glass, taking a sip. He offered the glass to Alastor.

Alastor took a swig and grimaced. "You know I don't like apple juice," he growled, scowling down at his husband.

"I know," Lucifer said, snickering. He took the glass back before Alastor decided to dump it over his head.

"So…Umbridge is dead. Dead dead?" Sirius asked, brows drawn close.

"Dead dead," Alastor confirmed.

Sirius stared at him, eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure something out. "How long did it take you to bloody kill her?"

Alastor blinked. "Not that long."

Remus exhaled, rubbing his temples to try and stave off a headache. "Dare I ask… Why were you down there so long, Al?"

Alastor's lips twitched, amused. "Like I said. She still had her blood quill on her." He leaned forward, smile growing just a bit bigger. "So I made her write her own sins and faults into her flesh."

Remus looked physically pained, mouth twisting.

Sirius' mouth slowly fell open. "That's…brilliant…"

"Then after hours of doing that," Alastor continued, leaning back again, "I promised her we were done. Let her breathe that sweet breath of relief…" His eyes gleamed. "Then I killed her."

Remus let out a long, heavy sigh and dropped his face into his hands. "What has my life become," he muttered, voice muffled. "I should be stopping you from killing people. I shouldn't be…secretly happy that she's dead." He paused, breathing in a shaky breath. "What is wrong with me?"

Sirius patted Remus on the shoulder, face set in mock concern. "Don't worry, Moony. Just think, she can't hurt anyone anymore."

Alastor tilted his head, watching Remus. He felt a little miffed, but he understood that Remus wasn't built for this. He was a gentler soul. Someone who frowned at the idea of cruelty even when it was aimed at someone who deserved it..

One invisible ear twitched and he sighed. "Remus," he said, voice soft. "I understand that you're uncomfortable. But this is who I am now." His gaze remained steady. "I hunt down monsters. Umbridge was a monster. It's one of the many ways I keep Balance."

Remus' shoulders dropped, tension bleeding from him slowly. He looked up, hazel eyes heavy with resignation. "I'm sorry. I know that," he whispered, lowering his hands. He leaned into Sirius, the mock concern on Sirius' face shifted into something genuine. "I'm not judging you, Al, I swear. I'm just…not used to someone talking so openly about…torment and death." His throat bobbed. "And enjoying it."

"At least who isn't Voldy," Sirius said, wrapping an arm around Remus' shoulders. "Or barkin' mad."

"I understand. We all have our vices," Alastor said, nodding. He pressed his lips together in thought. "Though, I'm sure you'll agree with me that some monsters are better off dead than roaming free. …Like Greyback, for example."

Remus' head shot up from his hands, eyes widening. "Greyback? Wait. Is he…?"

"Dead?" Alastor offered, watching him. "Yes. I killed him yesterday. Broke him until he felt small and insignificant. And then I killed him."

Remus went very still.

"You killed Greyback?" Sirius asked, impressed. "We knew you went to see the werewolves yesterday, but… Damn."

"And they agreed to neutrality," Lucifer jumped in, eyes alight. "Right now, I have a…well, essentially, my sister, Bee, helping them out. She's really good at coordinating. So, she's building them a community."

That got a jolt from Remus. "Wait… A community? Like a village? With buildings, food, and safety?"

"And education, jobs, medicine, and money," Lucifer said, ticking off his fingers. "The whole foundation. I'll have to drag you there some day actually. Er, after you know the big secret."

He shot them a challenging smirk. "Think of it as motivation."

Remus' throat worked. "Merlin…" he breathed, his expression softening. "All those kids…"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Sirius began, rubbing between Remus' shoulders, "but…I think we have to go to the library and research."

Remus almost reeled back, staring at Sirius like he'd suddenly grown a second head. "Who are you?"

"Shut it," Sirius bit out, but there was no heat to his words. "Or I'll make you."

Remus gave him a wide-eyed stare, frozen, cheeks tinged pink.

"Kinky," Lucifer said, his smile stretching as he waggled his eyebrows.

"N-not like that!" Remus sputtered, snapping his head back to Lucifer, face burning.

Sirius pursed his lips, considering. "I don't know. Maybe."

"What?!" Remus yelped.

Sirius barked out a laugh and winked. "I'm just taking the piss, Remy. Relax."

Lucifer snickered, reaching for his glass of apple juice. "Well, you know… Remember, if you ever need advice, just ask Al and I."

Remus groaned, dropping his head in his hands again. "I can't with this group."

Alastor huffed, his mouth twisting. "Do not ask me," he replied firmly. Then, just to be a nuisance, he snatched the glass from Lucifer's hand and downed the rest of the juice with a grimace.

"Hey!" Lucifer squawked, mouth agape. "That was mine!"

"I know," Alastor said, clearing his throat, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ugh. I don't know how you can drink that sugary concoction."

Lucifer snatched the glass back and pouted down at it with an exaggerated, wounded noise. "Well, you put weird things in your mouth." He glanced up, still pouting "So don't judge my dietary habits and I won't judge yours."

Alastor huffed, lips twitching. "We both know that's not happening."

Lucifer huffed dramatically and set the empty glass back down. "You owe me a new glass of apple juice."

Alastor replied with a roll of his eyes. "C'mon, Luci. We should prepare for tonight. We'll have a guest." His eyes flicked back over to his godfathers. "Good luck in your research."

Then he grabbed his sulking husband by both forearms and hauled him to his feet, steering him out before Lucifer could start negotiating for more than just juice.

They really did have to plan for tonight. Depending on how Lucius wanted to proceed, they'd have to be prepared for anything.

Chapter Text

Location: Salisbury, England

July 25th, 1996 9:52 PM

Lucius POV

Lucius Malfoy almost shifted his weight nervously before he caught himself. His heart was racing in his chest and his nerves were on edge, but he refused to look uncertain. Especially not with his wife beside him, her perfect mask in place, her posture poised and her expression composed.

He knew she was nervous as well. He could see it in the way her eyes darted around, how she pressed her lips together, the way her fingers tightened around his elbow. But still she stood with practiced grace, spine straight and her breathing even and measured.

He hadn't planned on bringing Narcissa, but she had insisted, and once she decided something, arguing or dissuading her was pointless. He'd already told her of the events that happened after the trial last week. How Alastor Magne took his words and spun them into something new. How he dismissed the Dark Lord's offer with cold laughter, then masterfully offered his own. And of the mysterious shadow with the static laugh that slid under Alastor like a loyal pet.

Alastor's words still echoed in his head and that shadow still flashed across his vision, unable to not remember that afternoon. He wasn't sure if this meeting was going to be a good idea or not, but he and Narcissa agreed they couldn't leave Draco under the Dark Lord's hand. Or the wand held in it.

Movement drew Lucius' attention. Someone was crossing the bridge toward them, the river below softly lapping at the shoreline. A tall, dark figure approached them with slow intention, obviously their guide.

Lucius' stomach tightened, because the silhouette looked extremely familiar.

"Severus," Narcissa greeted with a nod of her head, polite as always in public. She moved as though they had planned this, even as her eyes widened in brief surprise and confusion.

"Evening, Narcissa," Severus replied voice low. "Lucius."

"Severus," Lucius greeted, his confusion slipping through despite his control. "A strange coincidence, meeting you here tonight."

Severus gave a small nod. "Quite." His gaze held Lucius' a beat too long. "I want to say I'm surprised, but I expected something to crack after Draco received the Mark. I will admit, I didn't expect it to happen so quickly. Unless…" He paused, his dark eyes boring into Lucius' gray. "You spoke with him after the trial."

Lucius swallowed and tilted his chin up, refusing to be ashamed. "I did. And he made quite the offer. Though…" His voice trailed off, a trepidation flickering in his gaze.

"You're unsure whether it's the right choice," Severus finished, understanding clear on his face and in his tone.

"Is it?" Narcissa asked. "For Draco?"

Severus' eyes flicked to her, softening imperceptibly. "For Draco?" He echoed, sighing softly. "Yes."

A silence settled around them, broken only by the sounds of the trickle of water and distant night noises.

"But," he continued, his gaze moving between the two Malfoys, "you'll have to give something in return. They won't just accept another child to protect for nothing. They'll likely ask for your loyalty."

Narcissa's fingers tightened around Lucius' arm again. "You gave them yours."

Severus's jaw flexed, his eyes falling to the damp pavement, then nodded. "Yes," he said, voice quiet, but unwavering. "They offered me something neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord could have."

He looked back up. "They'll tempt you. They'll tell you what you want to hear… But the difference between them and the others is that they'll seal their words with a binding deal."

"The Unbreakable Vow?" Lucius asked, eyes widening.

Severus shook his head. "Not quite. They make deals, Lucius. Something that benefits both parties. They're tempting, but they're fair."

Lucius' brows furrowed in thought, his gaze falling to his wife to find the same thoughtful look on her face. "'Cissa?"

Her blue eyes met his, beautiful and unwavering as her face firmed. "Whatever it takes to protect our dragon."

Lucius nodded immediately, steadfast beside her. He turned back to Severus. "Very well."

As if on cue, a distant clock chimed for the hour. Ten o'clock. A shimmering golden portal opened beside Severus. Lucius felt his composure falter and he felt Narcissa give a minuscule jolt.

"Lucien's magic," Severus explained. "He can create portals to get around. It's…extremely convenient." He shook his head and offered for them to step through first.

Lucius approached cautiously, unable to see the other side. He drew in a slow breath before he stepped through, Narcissa following quickly. Severus followed last, the portal snapping closed behind his billowing cloak.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's office

July 25th, 1996 10:00 PM

Alastor's POV

Alastor's invisible ears pricked as he heard the hum of Lucifer's portal flare to life. He hummed to himself as he set glass tumblers upside down on a black leather serving tray, accented by bold red stitching. In the middle he set a crystal decanter of his favorite rye, the amber color color catching the light and throwing warm, sepia reflections across the tray. Beside it, a stainless steel ice bucket and tongs sat, holding perfectly round ice balls, freshly carved and faintly misting in the air.

On the counter was a magical kettle, steam rising from its spout, showing the water was boiled and ready. A small box of different flavored teas and tea cups nearby in case a guest wanted tea rather than whiskey.

"Oh!" Lucifer softly exclaimed behind him. "My lady, we weren't expecting you, but welcome," he greeted warmly.

Alastor turned just enough to look over his shoulder. Not only had Lucius arrived, but Narcissa Malfoy as well. She stood a few inches taller than Lucifer, graceful and poised as a lady of nobility.

Lucifer gave a respectful bow, took her offered hand and placed a gentle kiss to her pale knuckles. "Lucien Magne," he said, before respectfully releasing her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Narcissa raised a perfectly styled brow in brief surprise, then nodded. "Narcissa Malfoy, Lord Magne."

"Oh please," Lucifer said, shaking his head. "There are two Lord Magnes here. Just call me Lucien. It'll get confusing otherwise."

"Actually, it's because he doesn't like being called by his title," Alastor cut in, carrying the serving tray over, the corners of his mouth twitching up gently. He set the tray down on the coffee table next to a second tray filled with macaroons, shortbread cookies, sausage rolls—just something to help with the alcohol.

Then he turned to Narcissa and offered the same courtesy Lucifer had, a gentle brush of his lips to her hand. "Enchantée, madame. Alastor Magne, mais appelez-moi Alastor, s'il vous plaît (Pleased to meet you, my lady. Alastor Magne, but please call me Alastor)."

Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully as the portal snapped closed, Severus lingering a short distance away. "Okay, show off."

Alastor simply straightened and shot Lucifer a wink. He turned his attention to Lucius and offered a respectful nod. "Lord Malfoy, welcome. I'm pleased you gave my offer some consideration."

Lucius's lips pinched slightly, his eyes darting between both Magnes before he cleared his throat and nodded. "Lord Alastor Magne. Yes…" He paused, choosing his words with care. "Something…came up that made this meeting much more…imperative."

"So you mentioned in your letter," Alastor replied. He gestured toward one of the couches with an open arm. "Please, sit. I have no doubt we have much to discuss."

Lucius and Narcissa settled on one couch while Lucifer and Alastor sat opposite of them. Severus was invited to take the third remaining couch between them.

"Whiskey, tea?" Alastor asked, looking toward Narcissa first. "Lady's choice."

"Tea please," she murmured with a small nod.

With a snap of his fingers, and the wooden tea box, a teacup and saucer, and the steaming kettle floated over smoothly from across the room. "Choose whatever flavor sounds good."

Narcissa's eyes widened slightly at the casual use of wandless, wordless magic. She exchanged a heavy glance with her husband before she carefully reached for the box of teas, sifting through the multiple flavors.

Both Lucius and Severus opted for a glass of rye. Lucifer poured the whiskey from the decanter with fluid ease and set their glasses down with a soft clink.

"I will say," Narcissa said at last, sipping her chamomile and honey tea."I wasn't expecting such hospitality."

"Well," Alastor replied, pouring himself a few fingers of amber liquid, the round ice turning slow and lazy in his glass, "we are the hosts." His smile sharpened a fraction, pleasant and cunning all at once. "It seems only fair, considering you've come al this way to listen to our offer."

He leaned back casually, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind Lucifer as he took a long sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on Lucius. "Now… Lucius," he drawled, cocking his head to the side. "What is it you want from us?"

Lucius sat almost too stiffly, cradling his glass between his hands. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful and measure. "I want to know what you can offer us," he hedged, fingers tapping against the glass nervously.

Lucifer hummed, settling back into the cushions, the warmth of his husband's arm a familiar, comfortable weight between his shoulders. "There isn't much we can't do," he said lightly, then shrugged. "So it all depends on what you want."

He raised a brow, his expression tinged with impatience. "Honestly, if you want to dance around the subject for the next hour, we can. But it'll be faster if you drop the games and just say what you want."

Alastor huffed a quiet laugh. In true Lucifer fashion, he batted away the decorum and political maneuvering like a hardheaded battering ram. His husband knew how to play the long game, professionally step through negotiations, but there were moments he just didn't find it necessary to take those extra steps than to just get right to the heart of the matter.

Lucius sputtered, cheeks faintly pink as he tried to catch the words half formed on his tongue.

But his wife beat him to it.

"We want to protect our son," Narcissa said bluntly. She raised her chin, eyes cold and steady, daring them to reject her words.

"'Cissa," Lucius hissed, alarm flashing across his face.

Narcissa's eyes cut him a hard look, expression set in stone. "I will not bet our son's life, Lucius."

"And you shouldn't have to," Lucifer replied, all humor gone. He leaned forward and set his glass down, his hand lacing together as he rested his elbows on his knees. "I have a daughter." He held Narcissa's gaze. "The life of your child comes first. And I would do whatever it took to protect mine."

The tension in Narcissa's shoulders eased. A soft exhale escaped her, and something fragile and sad slipped through her pureblood mask, a glassiness to her eyes that wasn't there before. "My Draco," she murmured, a hand pressing to her chest as she gazed at Lucifer. "He's…he's only a boy. Sixteen." Her voice caught, but she forced herself to continue. "And the Dark Lord has already marked him."

Alastor's brows shot up, his glass pausing halfway to his mouth. "He's already been marked?" He asked, lowering his drink. "When?"

Lucius stared down at his untouched drink in his hands. His mask held for a moment before it also started to crumble. "Last night," he admitted, voice hushed and rough.

Lucifer's expression sharpened instantly, heat flaring behind his eyes. "So that asshole is involving kids now?"

"He always has, Luci," Alastor said with a scoff, setting his own drink down. "He's been trying to kill me since I was one."

"Right," Lucifer muttered, frowning fiercely. "He doesn't discriminate."

"And that's something him and Dumbledore agree on far too easily," Alastor grumbled, mouth twisted unpleasantly. "Using children." He inhaled slowly through his nose, then let it out slowly, steadying himself.

Then he leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees, and voice smoothing into something more deliberate. "Lady Malfoy. Lord Malfoy. You want to protect your son. And we can provide protection by offering him sanctuary here." He gestured, sweeping his arm out. "But, the big question is…what are you willing to do to save him?"

"Anything," Narcissa answered without hesitation. She set her tea cup down and rested her hands on her knees, leaning forward, eyes bright with fierce intent. "I will do anything and give anything to make sure my son is safe from harm. Even my own life."

"Narcissa," Lucius said, surprise coloring his voice. He quickly set his own drink down, turning slightly to face her, brows pinched in concern. One hand reached out for hers, resting over her fingers to ground them both. "My dear, what are you…?"

"I'm trying to protect our son, Lucius!" Narcissa replied, voice sharp with panic. Her free hand closed over his, squeezing hard. "Look me in my eyes and tell me you wouldn't do the same. That you would protect him."

Lucius let out a heavy exhale, his shoulders dropping as something in him finally gave. His gaze fell from her face to their joined hands. He swallow,. "I would protect him with everything too."

Narcissa's grip loosened a fraction, like she'd been bracing herself for the wrong answer.

Alastor gave a soft hum, a small, thin smile on his face. "Good," he said softly. "Then we can speak plainly."

The couple looked up, startled as if they had forgotten where they were. Their attention snapped back to Alastor and Lucifer.

"Yes, right," Lucius said, clearing his throat with his free hand, but didn't release his wife's hand. He straightened again, mask partially back in place. "Sanctuary would be…ideal."

Lucifer hummed and tilted his head back a little, his eyes flicking between the couple. "We can keep him here, safe and sound," he agreed.

Then he softened, gazing at Narcissa in understanding, recognizing another parent's fear. "But I need you to understand," he said quietly. "Because it's not just him in danger." He pressed his mouth into a thin line. "That psychotic monster you call a master will break him. He'll make your son do things that will stain him. Things he'll have to carry for far longer than you realize."

He drew in a breath and watched them, their trepidation growing. "It's not just your son's life on the line here…but his soul."

Narcissa sucked in a sharp breath, her shoulders tensing, hands tightening around her husband's. "I understand," she said quietly, swallowing. "What would you want from us?"

Alastor leaned forward, reaching for his drink to take a quick sip, before he set it back down. "Well, secrets kept, of course. You keep ours, we'll keep yours," he said almost breezily. "Also, a certain degree of loyalty."

"I can gather intel," Lucius said quickly.

"We already have Severus doing that," Alastor said. "But more doesn't hurt. Also, recruitment. Each of you moves in circles we don't. A quiet word here, a private conversation there. People who are tired of empty promises and being used like a chess piece."

"And to be clear," Lucifer picked up smoothly. "We're not looking for people to fight for us. Al and I can handle that. What we need are people for the future. People who can keep the Balance we're trying to establish after the war is over."

Narcissa studied them carefully, eyes keen. "You seem confident that you'll be winning this war."

A slow, cunning smirk curled up Alastor's face. "Oh, we're quite confident. I have steps and plans that go beyond just winning." His eyes glinted. "We have solutions. We have high-ranking names sitting comfortably in our front pocket who are interested in what Balance would look like. And we can offer things people actually need, the kind Dumbledore and Voldemort can only promise."

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't ya, love?" Lucifer drawled, eyes gleaming in amusement as he watched his husband fondly.

Alastor ignored him with the practiced ease of being married for so long. "So, secrets kept, on both sides. You assist with intel where you can, and help with recruitment," he explained, laying out the terms simply.

He tapped his fingers against his knees, watching them. "In return, Draco stays here at Potter Manor, safe and sound. We can also provide one emergency extraction, should either of you find yourselves in immediate danger."

Then he paused, letting the words settle. "And one last thing," he tacked on, lips twitching. "I need one favor from you specifically, Lady Malfoy."

Narcissa blinked once, then lifted her chin a fraction. "You don't get to just add surprises to a bargain," she said coolly. "I want to know the details before I agree to anything."

"Sharp woman," Alastor praised, chuckling. "The favor is simple. I need a specific item from your sister's vault."

"Bella?" Narcissa asked, brows pinching together, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "What would you possibly need from my sister's vault?"

"The cup of Helga Hufflepuff," he replied easily. "Believe it or not, it will help us immensely."

Lucius, Narcissa, and Severus all stared at Alastor like he had dropped his glamor or something.

"Helga Hufflepuff's cup?" Lucius asked, incredulous. "That's been missing for decades."

"Well, yes," Alastor said, unbothered, "because Tom Riddle killed the last person who had it and kept it out of sight. Now he's entrusted it to Bellatrix to safeguard. But I do need it in order for plans to go forward."

"And why do you need with this cup?" Narcissa pressed, studying him intently, looking for any possible lie.

Alastor's lips twitched, amused and impressed that she didn't just agree right away. Though, it was a little inconvenient, he could respect someone who asked all the right questions.

"It's an item that can help bring about Riddle's downfall," he replied, his tone lowering, eyes never leaving hers. "Riddle put something precious inside of it to ensure his 'immortality'."

Severus sucked in a sharp breath, coughing almost violently. "You've got to be kidding me," he mumbled when he found his voice again, a hand on his chest.

"Ah, ah," Alastor tutted at him mildly. "Don't ruin the suspense."

"How important?" Narcissa asked, unshaken.

Alastor exhaled slowly. She was really going to make him earn this favor. "Lord Malfoy," he said suddenly, turning his gaze to Lucius, "do you remember how furious Voldemort was when he realized his diary was not only gone, but destroyed?"

All color drained from Lucius face and his eyes widened. He swallowed hard and he nodded slowly, a haunted look in his eyes. "I've never seen him so furious."

Alastor nodded. "That's because it was a similarly precious anchor that ensured his 'immortality'. Destroy them all…" His smile sharpened, quiet and cruel. "And we destroy him."

Narcissa's stare never wavered from him. "You assume I can access my sister's vault," she said, raising a brow.

"If you can't, I'm sure Bellatrix trusts you enough to grab something from her vault for her," Alastor said, eyes fixed on her.

Narcissa stared at him for a long minute. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I can come up with something," she said coolly, her shoulders set confidently.

"Marvelous!" Alastor exclaimed, clapping his hands together. The noise was startlingly loud after the quiet, serious conversation. "Now," he leaned forward in excitement, "shall we get a contract written up?"

At that question, Lucifer snapped his fingers. In a flash of light, a golden scroll unfurled in the air between them, the terms of the deal already written in glowing script.

"It just requires our signatures at the bottom," Alastor said lightly. "But if you wish to read it over—just to ensure everything is exactly as we agreed—then by all means."

Lucius reached for the floating scroll, his fingers hesitant as he grabbed the contract. When it didn't burn him or do anything strange, he pulled it closer for both he and Narcissa to read it together.

There, the deal was written out in glowing ink. Everything both sides had agreed to stared back at them. Lucius exchanged a long and heavy look with his wife, a entire conversation being held between them without either saying a single word.

Narcissa finally looked away first, her blue eyes studying both Alastor and Lucifer. "I have a question."

Her eyes turned to Lucifer, calculating and curious. "The scroll," she began, nodding toward the contract in Lucius' hands. "You produced it without a wand or incantation. And earlier, Severus brought us through a portal." She paused deliberately. "That's not wixen magic."

Lucifer held her stare for a moment, lips twitching into a small secret smile. "No," he agreed simply. "It's not… But I also didn't hear a question."

Narcissa conceded with a single nod. "Very well. If it wasn't wixen magic, then it could mean that you're not human. And if you're not human, then you're some form of magical being." Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "But what kind?"

A soft chuckle slipped from Lucifer. "You're really observant, Lady Malfoy," he said, eyes alight with intrigue. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm and elbow on his knee. "You're correct. I'm not human at all." He didn't elaborate further.

Her eyes narrowed, her frown deepening. "But you're not confirming what you are."

"Mmmm, no," Lucifer replied slowly, grin growing. "I'll give you a hint. Because we don't want to blindside you and we'll be looking after your son." He leaned back, eyes sparkling. "I'm a being that you won't find on your Ministry's registry."

"And I hope that isn't going to be an issue," Alastor tossed in, voice pitched up with faux cheer, while something dangerous coiled beneath it. "Lucien not being human. I know how…certain pureblood circles can be." His grin grew sharp and a hard edge glinted from behind his glasses. "Blood purity and all that nonsense. But here, in this house, if Balance is going to work, you'll have to be more…open-minded."

Lucifer shot Alastor a puzzled look, lifting a brow. "Blood purity?"

"I'll explain later, mon ange," Alastor replied, gently patting his knee before returning his attention to the Malfoys.

"It won't be an issue, will it?" He smiled almost sweetly at them, but there was something too cutting to it. "Because Voldemort won't protect your son," he said, tilting his head slightly, keen gaze flicking between them. "And neither will Dumbledore."

Lucius' shoulders tightened and his jaw worked like he wanted to argue, but his wife's sudden sharp look stopped him. He cleared his throat. "No," he said stiffly. "It's…no issue."

"As long as you can protect Draco," Narcissa stated firmly, far smoother than her husband. "I don't care what you are."

The sharp edge to Alastor's smile eased and his gaze tempered. "Excellent. Glad we could come to an understanding." He rolled his wrist and a red and black fountain pen appeared between his fingers. He offered it to Lucius. "And you'll have no issues signing the contract."

Lucius blew a long sigh through his nose before he finally reached for the pen. His eyes darted across the conditions of the contract once more. Then, after a final moment's hesitation and an encouraging squeeze from his wife's hand, he signed his name at the bottom.

Narcissa took the pen and contract next and signed her name without preamble. Spine straight and expression composed, she handed the pen back to Alastor as if she hadn't any doubts to their deal.

The contract floated over to Alastor and he quickly and efficiently signed his name. Lucifer followed a heartbeat later. As soon as he finished signing, the scroll rolled itself up and vanished in a cloud of red-and-gold particles.

"There we have it," Alastor said. "The deal has been sealed. Now," he leaned forward, pouring himself a few fingers of rye from the decanter, "when do you want to relocate Draco?"

"As soon as possible," Narcissa said, her breath catching in her throat.

"'Cissa, we can't be too hasty," Lucius murmured gently, resting a hand between her shoulders. "I want him safe as much as you do. But we have to be smart about this, or we risk the Dark Lord noticing before Draco's even out of reach."

She exhaled, shoulders dropping as her husband grounded her back to reality. "I…I know."

"Draco still needs to do his first mission," Lucius explained to Alastor, brows pinched and mouth pressed into a thin line. "We won't know what it may be until the Dark Lord assigns it to him."

Lucifer perked up, pausing mid-chew on a macaroon. He swallowed and shook the rest of the macaroon at Lucius. "We can work with that actually," he said, smile growing. "Once you figure out what his mission is, we can meet him partway to his destination or whatever and pick him up from there."

Alastor cocked his head, invisible ears flicking toward his husband. "That could work," he murmured. He took a quick swig of his drink before he continued, studying Lucius from across the coffee table. "You just have to make sure Draco know that we'll be picking him up."

"It's not a bad plan," Severus said, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. "I could attempt to be assigned to the same mission. New recruits rarely go alone. Usually a senior Death Eater will accompany them."

Lucifer popped the rest of the macaroon into his mouth with a hum, nodding.

Alastor turned his gaze to Severus. "Good. You can send us a Patronus the moment you have details."

Severus inclined his head once. "Understood."

"Then that's the plan," Alastor said, glancing at the Malfoys. "You keep playing your parts, Severus keeps close, and the second the assignment is given, we move."

Lucifer lifted a hand, palm glowing a soft gold glow. Two red feathers appeared, floating above his open fingers, then drifted neatly over to Lucius and Narcissa. "Your emergency extraction," he explained as they both gently took hold of the feathers. "If you're ever in danger, these will bring you back here. Just keep it on you."

Narcissa nodded, holding the feather close while Lucius slid his in his inner cloak pocket. "Thank you," she murmured quietly, her eyes softening. "Not just for this, but for…helping my son. For treating us fairly when we've always been on the opposite side. For not…taking advantage of us."

"Only someone truly evil would take advantage of parents only wanting to protect their child," Lucifer said, expression sober.

"We're on the same side now," Alastor added, voice quieter. "Even if you don't have a full understanding of Balance yet. We'll explain in time. We simply don't have the luxury tonight."

"Don't worry, we'll call for our own meetings eventually," Lucifer continued, smile returning to his face. He was incapable of being serious for too long. "Won't that be exciting, Al? War meetings."

Alastor huffed and shook his head fondly. He turned his attention back to Lucius and Narcissa. "Lord Malfoy. Lady Malfoy. We'll be ready when you let us know."

Lucius exhaled and slowly stood, Narcissa following. "We will do what we must."

Lucifer stood as well and held out a hand. "I'll make a portal back to where Sev met you. Be safe and be careful." He rolled his wrist and a golden portal swirled into existence.

Then the Malfoys were gone.

"Severus," Alastor said before he follow. "Please stay. We'd like to speak with you before you leave."

Severus, who was halfway to standing, sank back down with a resigned sigh. "Of course."

The portal snapped closed.

"Alright," Lucifer began, relaxing back into the cushions again. "Al and I have had a thought. Something that could…distract both Rumblerats and Volterra."

Severus raised a brow and flicked his dark gaze to Alastor, the question clear in his eyes.

Alastor sighed. "Dumbledore and Voldemort. Honestly, he's ancient and terrible with names, Severus."

Lucifer paused, blinking before he narrowed his eyes at Alastor. "You try remembering names when you're billions of years old," he huffed, pursing his lips into a pout. "Plus, I don't care to remember them specifically."

"Ah, so it is a petty thing too," Alastor replied, teasing. "Before you derail the conversation further, Luci, perhaps you should tell Severus what you were saying."

Lucifer blinked, face blank. "What was I saying?" He asked, then jolted as if he just remembered. "Right! Our thought! Our distraction."

Alastor reached for his glass and downed the remaining amber liquid in a couple of large gulps, setting it back down. "Continue, my love."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him. "Somehow…I feel like downing your whiskey wasn't necessary."

Alastor gave him a small, innocent smile. Though the gleam in his eyes was anything but innocent. "No idea what you mean. Continue."

"Hm." Lucifer studied his husband a few seconds longer before he shifted his attention back to Severus. "We came up with a way to distract the other two old men. We think it'd be a fun little duck chase if you slipped both men some information about me. Specifically," he paused, leaning forward with a lazy and impish smirk. "That I am a non-human king."

Severus raised a brow, studying the man. "You want them to figure out who you are?"

Lucifer scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "They aren't going to figure me out. Who's automatically going to think that the Devil himself has come up from Hell and decided to involve himself in on some human war?"

Severus gave a small grunt. "I suppose that makes sense," he conceded. "They're likely to believe you're a vampire…or some other creature. Devil certainly isn't a thought that pops into many wizards' minds."

"That was my thought," Alastor agreed with a nod. "They won't have all the details that others have. Remus and Sirius know a lot about Lucifer, but they still don't know what he is."

Severus blinked. "They don't know yet?"

Alastor shot him a sharp grin. "We're making them research."

"Sirius Black is doing research?" Severus asked, his mask slipping.

Alastor hummed, clearly amused. "Quite shocking isn't it?" He tilted his head back slightly. "I know you two don't get along—and I don't blame you—but he's fairly determined to figure Luci out."

"If he starts taking notes, I'll assume the world is ending," Severus muttered dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

Alastor barked out a loud, pleased laugh. "Considering I'm married to the Devil, I'll give you a heads up if that's true."

Severus' mouth twitched. It was almost a smile, if he squinted.

"Do," he said flatly. Then his gaze dropped to his glass as he slowly swirled the rye within. His expression slowly bled into weariness. "Because the world ending would, quite frankly, be less inconvenient than the last few days I've had."

Lucifer's brows lifted. "That's saying something."

Alastor's invisible ears flicked forward with attention. "Severus," he said, voice gentler, but edged. "What happened?"

For a moment, Severus didn't answer. He stared down at the amber in his glass like it might be an easier solution. Then he set it down. "It's Dumbledore," he said quietly.

Alastor raised a brow, unimpressed. "That narrows it down," he muttered. "What is he doing now?"

Severus grunted and shook his head. "It's his hand. He's been cursed. I only just found out the other day."

"Cursed?" Lucifer asked, lifting his brows.

Severus' eyes flicked up. "Yes. His left hand is blackened. And it's slowly spreading up his arm. He's done his best to contain it, but now requires someone with a more extensive knowledge of dark magic. So he turned to me. I've been brewing a potion to help slow it."

Alastor and Lucifer exchanged a heavy look. "Is that what you were brewing last night?" Lucifer asked.

Severus nodded. "My third attempt. I'm more hopeful with this one than the last two."

"This curse," Alastor said, leaning forward, an intense interest in his gaze. "It's going to kill him, isn't it?"

"Slowly and painfully," Severus replied. "I don't know how he became cursed. Only that it's been at least a couple of weeks."

"You think you can find out?" Lucifer asked, watching him.

"I can," Severus said. "Though I don't know how forthcoming he'll be about it."

Alastor nodded in understanding. "In the mean time, think you can do your best to slow down the curse?" He asked, his smile returning, thin and mean. "I don't want him dying before I can squeeze every secret from his old, brittle bones and make him suffer. I don't want him to die until I ruin him."

Severus raised a brow before he nodded. "I'll do my best." He picked his glass up again. "Here's to hoping I live long enough to see you do it." He took a deep drink.

Alastor gave a small chuckle, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Now, before you go, I have something for you."

He snapped his fingers, and in flicker of bright green magic and shadow, a sealed envelope appeared in his hand. He leaned over and offered it to Severus. "It's from Lily, addressed to you."

Severus had been reaching for the yellowed envelope when he froze, hand halfway to the innocent paper. His dark eyes widened and stared at his name scrawled in achingly familiar handwriting. For several heartbeats he didn't move—stunned, like he'd been hit with a spell. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached the rest of the way and gently took the envelope with surprising care.

He slipped it in his cloak pocket and cleared his throat. "I'll…take care of it," he said stiffly, gaze flicking away from their knowing looks. "And…thank you." He drained the rest of the whiskey, set his glass down, and stood.

"You wouldn't mind opening a portal back home," he said—just as a portal opened up beside him anyway.

"I got you covered, Severitus!" Lucifer chirped with a sly smile.

Severus stared at him flatly for one long second.

Alastor just shook his head. "Let us know when you feed Dumbledore and Voldemort your 'discovery'."

Severus nodded and stepped through, the portal snapping closed behind him.

—

Location: Spinner's End - Severus home

July 26th, 1996 1:27 AM

Severus POV

Sev,

I'm writing this "just in case," and I hate that I feel like I have to. But here I am. And here you are. Reading it.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for not reaching out again. I'm sorry that we ended up on opposite sides of this bloody war. Because we're friends… Or we used to be…

I don't know how to fix what happened between us. I don't know if it even can be fixed. But I'm writing anyway because I remember who you were before all the school politics, before the war impacted us…

I have a favor to ask you.

Can you look after Harry?

If something happens to James and I, if something happens to Sirius or Remus or the Longbottoms… Then please. Please look after him.

He's so good. He's just a baby. He deserves a chance to grow up without fear. I'm not asking you to love him. Just keep him safe.

Please, Sev.

Thank you.

-Lily

P.S. I'm putting this here so you know it's really me: you still owe me one Chocolate Frog card, and I"m still peeved about it.

The edges of the letter were worn, softened by fingers that had read it over and over and over again. The parchment was yellowed with age—fifteen years and nine months. Of course he knew exactly how long she'd been gone.

And the man who was holding the letter—dressed in black, long, greasy hair hanging over his face like a mourning veil—was broken anew.

Severus' breath hitched, uneven and shallow. His hand gripped the parchment until it shook, and a single tear splattered onto the bottom of the page, just barely missing the looping handwriting.

He bowed his head. A quivering exhale slipped past his lips, and regret and guilt flooded his chest like the drink he poured into his glass: inevitable, and all at once.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

But his apology would never reach her.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's office.

July 26th, 1996 1:34 PM

"This isn't a meeting," Alastor said from in front of the fireplace, "it's just a quick check-in."

Two of the three couches were occupied by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George. However, Sirius and Remus had joined them on the remaining couch. Lucifer stood a step behind Alastor with his hands clasped behind his back, watching him curiously.

"As promised, I said I'd keep you all in the loop to the best of my ability," Alastor continued, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "I'm doing that now. However, first order of business: the radio."

His gaze fell on Fred and George. They straightened up like they were at attention. "Were you able to get in contact with Lee and tell him about my interest?"

"Sure did," Fred replied with a lazy smile, lifting his chin.

"As if you could doubt us," George added, placing a hand on his chest. "He's on board with whatever you have planned. So long as you're okay making his network official and hard to trace like you said."

"Perfect," Alastor said, the corners of his mouth lifting up in satisfaction. "Did he say when?"

"Friday, the twenty-ninth," Fred said.

"Three days," Alastor murmured, tapping his fingers against his chin. "I can do that."

"That's so soon," Hermione said, eyes widening.

Alastor nodded. "Exactly. The sooner I can get my voice on the airwaves, the sooner people can hear what I have to say. The sooner we can get more people adjusted to the future of Balance."

Remus made a noise. "That's not a bad strategy. What exactly are you going to be talking about?"

Alastor gave a small hum, his grin stretching higher. His eyes gleamed bright with a mischievous edge. "The truth," he said simply, but didn't elaborate further. "You'll just have to listen in, won't you?"

"I don't think I've ever met anyone more dramatic than you," Sirius said, chin resting lazily in his hand as he gave a half eye roll.

Alastor shot him a smug grin, chest puffing up in pride. "Why thank you!" He cleared his throat. "Moving on. A few things have happened since we spoke a few days ago. At least one of those things will have an impact on this house."

The teens all exchanged glances, brows raised before they turned back to him.

"One, I have scheduled an interview with Skeeter on the twenty-eighth," he continued. "Sirius and Remus already know this, but Skeeter is actually already under contract with Luci and I. So I'm not worried about her writing some scandalous nonsense or whatnot." He waved his hand dismissively when he noted the worried expressions on the teens' faces.

"That explains why her articles actually make sense now," Ginny muttered.

"She's an awful woman, Alastor," Hermione said, frowning. "Are you sure you can trust her?"

"No," he replied simply. "Which is why she's under contract. She breaks the contract, then a certain…secret of hers gets slipped out for all the wizarding world to hear about."

George let out a long, appreciative hum. "Ah, good ol' blackmail!"

"We approve," Fred added, nodding solemnly.

"You're blackmailing Skeeter?" Hermione asked, brows shooting up.

Alastor smirked and tilted his head. "Is that a problem, Hermione? I wouldn't think so, considering you've also blackmailed Skeeter in the past."

It went quiet for a heartbeat.

George's jaw dropped. "You—"

Fred clutched his chest like he'd been smacked there. "Hermione."

George pointed at her accusingly, looking scandalized. "Our sweet, innocent Hermione?"

Fred shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. "Do something so heinous?"

Then both smirked widely at her.

"We are so proud of you," George said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

"Truly," Fred agreed, wrapping an arm around George's shoulder. "A momentous day."

"Oh, shut up, you two," Ron grumbled with a roll of his eyes. Ginny snickered beside him while Hermione just shook her head.

"I don't have a problem with it," she explained. Then she hesitated, like she was weighing her words. "I guess I was just…surprised. Are you using the same method I used?"

Alastor smiled pleasantly. "I can neither confirm nor deny," he said lightly, "as that falls under the terms of the contract that I must uphold."

Her gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing. Then she nodded and dropped the subject.

"Carrying on," Alastor continued. "Two, I met with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy last night, and we struck up our own contract."

Everyone sat up straight, brows raised and mouths dropped open.

"Wait—what?" Ron blurted, ears starting to turn red. "The Malfoys? But they're slimy Death Eaters!"

Nobody else vocally protested, but doubt was obvious on everyone's faces.

"I understand your concern," Alastor began, his voice gentling while still remaining firm. "And you're not wrong to feel that. But I do know what I'm doing. The Malfoys, Lucien, and I all set terms and agreements for a deal that would benefit both parties."

He held up his hand before Hermione could jump in. "I can't give you the details. What I will tell you is that Draco will be staying with us at some point in the near future."

"Are you bloody joking?" Ron protested loudly, mouth agape.

"Malfoy?" Ginny echoed, disbelief painted on her face.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Look, I don't know much about my cousin, Draco," Sirius cut in, "but I do know Narcissa." He shrugged, expression sober. "She's a smart woman. She'll do whatever she has to, to protect her family. And if her son is in danger…"

"But—but," Ron sputtered, confusion and outrage colliding. "It's Malfoy."

Alastor sighed and gazed over at Ron, his frown small, but eyes filled with quiet frustration. "I know you don't get along with him. And I'm not asking you to like him. I'm not even asking you to forgive him. I'm very aware how much of a bully he's been. But, let me put this into perspective bluntly."

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the rest of the teens. Ginny dropped her gaze, lips pressed tight, avoiding the disappointment on his face.

"Draco is sixteen," Alastor said, voice firm and low. "He is not Voldemort. He is not some irredeemable villain from a storybook. He is a boy your age, who is in more danger than anyone in this room." He paused, watching them. "Lucien and I are offering him safety and shelter at his parents' request."

He drew in a breath and held it for a moment before he exhaled through his nose. "Just be civil with him. That's all I'm asking. His parents are putting their very lives on the line to protect him. And as long as I keep my word, they'll keep theirs." His mouth twisted faintly. "That loyalty matters to Balance."

He watched them again, noticing the guilty looks on each of their faces, even Ron's.

"And don't worry," he said, his voice gentler. "I'll be speaking with Draco about being civil as well." He sighed, shoulders dropping. "Just…give him a chance."

The teens nodded slowly, eyes still downturned at the reprimand, muttering "okay" and "yeah, alright," hoping he'd move onto the next thing quickly.

"Damn, Al," Sirius said, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. "You went full dad on them."

Alastor huffed and shrugged. "I wanted to make sure I got my point across. If it means I must use my 'dad voice' as Luci calls it, then so be it."

"It's honestly really hot," Lucifer said matter-of-factly.

Alastor didn't even dignify him with a response as he moved to the next topic. "Lastly, August first is coming up. That day is Lughnasadh, the harvest festival." He glanced over the room, gauging the faces turned up in curiosity. "Lucien and I plan on celebrating, and I'd like for everyone else to as well, but I will not force you. It is an old traditional holiday celebrated by both mundane and magical alike."

He paused for a moment, waiting for any protest, then continued. "If you are interested, then we could use some help prepping. We'll need plenty of food, a proper ritual table, wood for a bonfire—a day set aside for nature and the deity of the Mundane."

"Count us in!" Fred exclaimed, smile wide.

George nodded beside him. "Anything to celebrate!"

"You said food, I'm in," Ron said with a shrug.

Hermione's eyes lit up, thoughtful. "I think it would be fascinating to see how it's actually done."

Ginny gave a shrug and nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"We're in!" Sirius said, throwing an arm around Remus' neck and hauling him close enough to nearly choke him. Remus rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"Lovely!" Alastor said brightly. "That concludes everything then."

Brows furrowed and looks exchanged between each other when they realized that Alastor had skipped a date.

July thirty-first.

He didn't even look like he had noticed that he had missed the date. He simply clapped his hands together before waving them in a shooing motion. "Go on then. Go rest, read, stir up chaos. We'll reconvene later."

And with that, he turned and crossed the room to leave. All the while, the rest of the occupants in the room lingered for a moment longer.

Nobody said it. However, they were all thinking about July thirty-first.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Ballroom

July 26th, 1996 11:50 PM

The ballroom felt…empty without music.

Alastor stood near the center of the spiraling mosaic floor, his glamor still up despite the time, and his staff set between his boots. Moonlight pooled across the polished floor in pale rectangles, pouring through the tall windows. Everything still gleamed from the cleanup after the twins—who were, thankfully, settled back in the basement.

He hadn't come here with any sort of purpose. He'd simply been walking, his boots carrying him through the halls of Potter Manor in the dead of night. His thoughts refused to settle, his plans within plans looping around in his head like a needle stuck in a groove.

There was still so much more to do, to plan. There was always something that required his attention, people that needed to be positioned. He'd admit, within the privacy of his own mind, it was a lot.

His fingers drummed silently against the head of his microphone, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

But he had Lucifer. And Bee was here, helping with the werewolves—which lifted quite the bit of weight off his shoulders. The goblins were content after the meeting between Lucifer and Ragnuk. Slowly, but surely, they were drawing more people to their side from both the Light and Dark.

One invisible ear flicked and he drew in a deep breath. He held it for several seconds, then slowly let it out through his nose in a long, quiet exhale.

Goblins, werewolves, vampires, giants, house elves—the list went on. He supposed he could possibly look into the giants next. Though, he didn't have much faith they'd even agree to neutrality. Vampires…he'd never actually met one before and he knew next to nothing about them.

He mentally tacked on creature research on his growing list and immediately felt annoyed with himself for it.

Alastor shook his head suddenly, trying to knock the needle off its groove. Maybe he should just replace the whole record entirely, change the song.

'There's an idea,' he thought, tapping a claw on the top of his staff with an audible tink.

A slow, jazzy tune began to play, echoing through the large chamber and rising toward the chandeliers. And finally, slowly, the tension bled from his taut frame and his mind gave a sigh of relief.

A hand slowly slid over his waist, and Alastor froze on instinct. Then he felt the familiar press of his husband's body against his side—a warm, steady weight at his back and along his arm—allowing his muscles to uncoil.

"Hey you," Lucifer murmured, resting his chin on Alastor's shoulder. "Needed some space, dear hart?"

Alastor stood quietly for a moment, the low saxophone crooning like a lullaby. "Yes," he admitted quietly, swallowing. "My head is…busy."

"Mm." Lucifer leaned in closer, his other hand slowly tracing down Alastor's left arm until it found the hand coiled around the head of his staff. His fingers curled over Alastor's, a gentle anchor in case he needed it. He pressed a kiss to Alastor's sharp shoulder. "I figured."

He hummed along to the music, his face tucked into Alastor's shoulder, thumb stroking slow circles at his side. With a unhurried shift of his feet, he slowly started to turn Alastor toward him, guiding him, until they were facing each other. One hand settled on Alastor's waist. The other kept Alastor's hand like he didn't want to let go.

"Dance with me," he said softly, already pulling Alastor into a lazy step.

Alastor move with him without thinking, an amused sigh slipping past his lips. His fingers tightened around Lucifer's, and his other hand—still grasping his staff—rested near Lucifer's shoulder.

"You know, this isn't really the music you ballroom dance to," he teased lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"So?" Lucifer tugged him closer, grinning up at him. "Who cares? It's just you and me here."

Alastor rolled his eyes. His shadow, ever helpful and meddlesome, reached up from under Alastor and wrapped a tendril around the staff, lifting it away and freeing its master's hand.

Lucifer's eye sparkled. "Even Shadow thinks you should stop brooding and just dance."

Alastor gave a quiet huff, but his eyes softened as Lucifer pulled him closer.

"Fine," he murmured, tone resigned. But he leaned in anyway, his hand settling more securely at Lucifer's shoulder. "If you insist on dancing, then at least let me choose something we can actually sway to."

Lucifer's grin widened. "That's my deer."

Alastor flicked a finger toward his microphone, and the music changed. A gentle piano riff started—slow, warm, and romantic.

Lucifer froze for only a second, recognition flashing across his face. He shook his head and drew Alastor into an easy rhythm without missing a step.

Alastor's expression shifted into something softer as he followed Lucifer's guide. They easily fell into step, unhurried and simple, just the two of them. He hummed along for a moment, leaning close until his breath tickled Lucifer's ear. Then he started to sing.

"Someday…when I'm awfully low," he crooned, voice low and smooth. "When the world is cold. I will feel a glow just thinking of you. And the way you look tonight."

Lucifer's breath caught, his grip tightening just a little more around his husband's waist. He swallowed and tipped his head back to gaze up at Alastor, eyes soft. "Sap," he whispered, his smile wobbling.

Alastor gave an airy laugh, lips twitching. He kept moving as he sang, his voice quiet and only for Lucifer. "Oh, but you're lovely with your smile so warm. And your cheek so soft. There is nothing for me but to love you. Just the way you look tonight."

A flush bloomed across Lucifer's cheeks, and a soft laugh barely made it past his tight throat. He pulled Alastor into a slow circle, their feet barely lifting from the floor as they shuffled along. His eyes, warm and filled with devotion, never left Alastor's face. Even with their glamors up, he could still see the deep red of his eyes.

Then he leaned forward, his lips just brushing against Alastor's chin. "With each word, your tenderness grows," he sang back, his voice so soft and angelic, a perfect compliment to his husband's. "Tearing my fear apart. And that laugh that wrinkles your nose. Touches my foolish heart."

Alastor's smile deepened, his expression softening into something unmistakably tender. His heart squeezed in his chest as he felt everything Lucifer held for him, the same fierce love and devotion that he carried in return.

The next verse started, and Alastor joined in, the voices harmonizing, soft and gentle. It wasn't perfect, but they didn't need to be. They only needed to be close.

"Lovely, never, never change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I, I love you. Just the way you look tonight," they breathed together, the lines more of a promise than a lyric. "Just the way you look tonight."

The piano eased until it grew quiet again. They slowed with it, shuffling to a stop as the last notes faded into the high ceiling.

Alastor leaned down just as Lucifer leaned up, their lips meeting in a chaste, lingering kiss.

Alastor's hand rose to cup Lucifer's soft, flushed cheek, thumb running lightly beneath his eye. He nudged closer, brushing his tongue against his husband's, an invitation that pulled a breathless sigh from him.

Lucifer made a soft sound into Alastor's mouth and pressed closer, his forked tongue inviting Alastor in. One hand slid up from his waist to rest against Alastor's neck, his thumb finding his pulse point and holding it there, feeling the way it fluttered delicately under his touch.

They supported one another as their mouths moved together. Then they pulled away, breaths mingling as they pressed their foreheads together.

"How's your head now?" Lucifer whispered, voice ragged and low. "Better? Quieter?"

Alastor hummed, his eyes fluttering open to gaze down at him. "Better."

Lucifer's lips quirked into a soft, relieved smile. "Good," he murmured. Then pressed a quick kiss to Alastor's nose. "Let's go to bed, my heart."

Chapter Text

Location: Diagon Alley - Skeeter's Office

July 28th, 1996 9:33 AM

"Ah, Lord Magne. Please, come in," Rita Skeeter simpered, stepping aside to invite Alastor into her office.

Alastor entered with an easy, practiced grin, hands clasped behind his back as if he wasn't strolling into the nest of a vulture. "Good morning, Rita," he replied smoothly, sweeping past her.

He stopped at her desk, his grin tightening when he noticed the same small chair from the last time he visited. With an irritated huff, he vanished it and summoned his own, a red-cushioned, high-backed chair from the shadows. Then he smoothly sat, brushing invisible dirt from his pant leg.

Rita's painted smile twitched at the casual use of magic as she closed the door with an audible click. She strode across the room, her heels clicking as she approached her desk and sat behind it. She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses before she picked up her quill—an ordinary self-inking quill rather than her Quick Quotes quill.

"Now, Lord Magne," she began, her voice slightly pinched beneath the seasoned sweetness, "I'm so happy you decided to accept my invitation for an interview."

Alastor's smile widened. "Oh, of course, Rita," he said, waving a hand dismissively, like the idea was nothing more than a casual chore. "Now that my return is public, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to spread the happy news further, would it? I would like to get the truth out there."

"Ah ha…yes," Rita said, her voice tapering off. She tapped her quill against the parchment in front of her. "Now, I've prepared a series of questions. And of course, per our…deal, I'll ensure nothing makes it to the final print that you don't approve."

"Oh, I know you will," Alastor said calmly, cruel amusement flickering over his face.

With a tap of her wand on her quill, it spun up on its own and set the nib against the parchment, ready to write.

"On this fine morning of the twenty-eighth of July," she began, her voice poised and professional, "this reporter is joined by the man once known as Harry Potter—now the charming Lord Alastor Magne, age thirty-six. How are you this morning, Lord Magne?"

Alastor's smile shifted to something smaller and relaxed. "Quite well, Miss Skeeter. I hope this day finds you well, also," he said smoothly.

Rita nodded. "It certainly does now that I get to sit down with a man as delightfully refreshing as yourself," she teased, shoulders lifting flirtatiously. "Now, I have a few questions, if you don't mind answering them."

"Go right ahead," Alastor replied, gesturing with a hand.

"Now," she said, her acid green manicured nails tapping lightly against her desk, "the last the public saw of you was right before Christmas holidays let out in December of 1995. You were a fifteen-year-old Hogwarts student, set to take his O.W.L.s at the end of the year. Then you disappeared before students were set to return after the holidays."

She smiled, all teeth. "I suppose this a two-part question, if you don't mind this reporter's curiosity. How did you disappear—and can it be repeated?"

Alastor gave a faint hum, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I'll answer the second part of that question first. No, the incident cannot be repeated. Nor should anyone try, because they will only succeed in killing themselves," he said matter-of-factly. His eyes narrowed, like he wanted to make an additional comment, but decided that his morbid sense of humor wouldn't be appreciated at this moment.

"As for the first part of the question," he continued, pushing his glasses up his nose, "I'm not entirely sure. All I remember is a tugging sensation, then spinning. When I disappeared I was with Albus Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries." He lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "So who knows what—or who—dragged me through time and space."

Rita paused, a single brow raising in interest. "You were with Albus Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries?" She echoed slowly, eyes gleaming. "Why would the Headmaster take you to the Department of Mysteries during the holidays?"

Alastor gave a half-shrug. "Oh, he wanted me to listen to a half-cocked, phony prophecy that made absolutely no sense to the current situation," he said with a chuckle. "It was absolutely ridiculous, Miss Skeeter. Nothing worth mentioning." His smile sharpened. "It hardly matter anyway, since last I heard the prophecy had been smashed."

"How fascinating," Rita said, leaning forward, fingers threaded and tucked under her chin, elbows supporting her head. "So you were dragged through time and space. I'm sure I'm not the only one curious as to where and when you wound up."

Alastor beamed and leaned forward himself, suddenly eager. "New Orleans, Louisiana. The heart and home of jazz," he proclaimed proudly. "Late December of 1975—right on the cusp of the new year. Twenty-one years in the past. From the age of fifteen to thirty-six."

"And you never thought to return to Britain?" Rita asked sharply, arching a pointed brow.

Alastor gave a fuller shrug, unbothered. "I didn't see the point," he admitted, leaning back against the cushion. "My friends had yet to be born. My parents and godparents were little more than children themselves." His mouth twitched. "The same age I was, in fact."

He paused, tilting his head up, eyes roving over the plain tiled ceiling. "I decided to see this as an opportunity," he said quietly. "A new start where nobody knew who I was. I changed my name, a kind woman took me in, and I made new friends. I grew up how I was supposed to grow up." His smile thinned. "Not under the heavy hand and harsh words of my 'relatives'. But under the kind guidance of a woman I happily called mother."

Rita tilted her head with sharp curiosity. "A mother figure?" She asked with a curious lilt in her voice. "Tell us about her."

His eyes flicked back down to her, a single brow raised. "Hmm, well she was kind enough to take a strange teenager off the street who was very obviously in the wrong country," he said simply. "She made sure I was taken care of despite having little to no money. She worked closely with others in her community. She was a hedge witch. She provided medicine, salves, potions, and cures to those that couldn't afford to see a healer. In return, people would repay her kindness with their own."

He gave a small sigh, nostalgia fluttering in his heart. "They were simpler times. A small, tight-knit community that helped their neighbors with food, clothing, medicine, labor, lessons of education—anything you can think of, we all helped one another. And my mother was one of the most beloved in the community."

"You speak of her in past tense," Rita said sharply, the quill scratching beside her head.

Alastor gave a quiet, bitter chuckle. "You're correct. Unfortunately, she passed away due to an illness when I was a young adult," he said, keeping the details deliberately vague. "A few years after my mother passed…I abruptly left New Orleans."

"Where did you go?" She asked.

Alastor's lips twitched before they slowly curled up his face. "I won't say. But I will say it's much hotter than a Louisiana summer," he said, amusement clear in his voice.

Rita gave a disappointed huff, but pressed on. "Is that where you met Lord Lucien Magne?"

A breathy laugh escaped him, and he nodded. "It is indeed. I met Lucien not long after I arrived," he said with a soft smile, unable to keep the affection from his voice. "Eventually we married and we've been together ever since."

"Ah, married and off the market then," Rita said, a keen grin returning to her face, eyes glinting behind her bejeweled spectacles. "This reporter must send her apologies and condolences to all those witches and wizards who believed that Lord Alastor Magne would be single and available. Alas—this handsome, charming gentleman has his own beau."

Alastor hummed. "Hm. Well, c'est la vie and all that." His smile sharpened for a moment. "It matters not. I was never interested in another other than Lucien himself. He has this…" He paused, searching for the right word that would perfectly describe his husband. "This dramatic flair to him that nobody else seems to have. One that matches my own."

"Dramatic flair?" Rita echoed, genuinely taken aback. "He sounds like quite the character."

"Oh, he is," Alastor agreed. "He is many things, and I would not have married him otherwise."

"I see." She cleared her throat, her eyes flicking down the the parchment of questions before her sharp gaze was back on Alastor. "You have a husband, however, this reporter is quite curious. Do you have any children?"

"As a matter of fact, we do," Alastor said, surprisingly open about the question. "Lucien has a daughter from his previous marriage with his ex-wife. When we married, I happily took on the role of step-father."

Rita blinked in surprise, lifting her chin from her folded fingers and leaning back in her chair. "Oh! A step-father, how delicious!" She giggled, shimmying her shoulders. "Do you have plans on having any more children?"

Alastor tilted his head before shaking it. "Not likely. Lucien and I haven't spoken about any future adoptions, but who knows what the next several years may hold. Anything can happen," he said with a shrug.

There were children in Hell, yes—both Hellborn and sinners—but it wasn't a topic that had come up between them.

Rita hummed and pursed her lips before looking down at her questions again. "Now, Lord Magne, you wouldn't mind if I asked a few questions about your early childhood, would you?"

"Not at all, Miss Skeeter," he replied, his smile growing in faint amusement.

Rita sat up straighter, eyes alight. "Now…you grew up with your mother's sister and her husband, and from what this reporter found, in such an atrocious and deplorable way. Growing up, why didn't you go to anyone to try to leave behind the life of abuse?"

Alastor raised a brow at the bold question, fingers tapping lightly against his knees. "Many—though not all—abused children are conditioned to believe that they're worthless," he said calmly. "We're taught that if we speak up, no one will believe us. Or worse, someone will believe us, and the punishment at home with be worse for it.

His smile thinned, eyes narrowing. "My relatives threatened to throw me into an orphanage more times than I can count. They made sure I had plenty of horror stories about what happens to children there." He paused, voice even. "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't." He gazed at her, eyes flashing behind his glasses.

Rita jerked back, paling slightly. "A-ah, yes. Of course," she muttered, her eyes dropping down to the parchment. "That makes sense. Next question."

Her eyes flitted across the page as she gathered her composure again. "The Prophet recently ran an interview with the Dursleys. Do you have anything you'd like to add or dispute about the article?"

"Hm, no." Alastor shrugged. "They were quite accurate. Color me surprised." The corners of his mouth twitched when he noticed the irritated flash behind Rita's glasses.

"Do you think you could ever forgive your relatives for everything they said and did to you?" She asked, her smile a little more strained.

Alastor scoffed then laughed. "Haha! Oh, absolutely not!" He replied without hesitation, waving a hand. "In fact, I hope they burn in Hell." His eyes flashed red for a split second before they were green again. "I'll meet them down there."

Rita swallowed thickly, fingers twitching against her desk. "Ah… When did you realize your childhood wasn't normal?" She quickly asked, jumping to the next question.

"Hmm." Alastor grinned in satisfaction. "When I made my very first friend on the Hogwarts Express. Mister Ronald Weasley," he said, Ron's name coming out fond. "I learned a great deal from him, in fact. Not only that my childhood wasn't normal, but so much about the wizarding world. I was ignorant of magic until I received my Hogwarts letter, so everything was new and exciting. So much so, that the thought of my relatives and my life growing up felt…" He searched for the word. "Irrelevant."

Rita nodded, her eyes glancing at the quill as it wrote everything down word for word. "How did Hogwarts impact your view on your childhood? Do you think it helped? Do you think anyone at Hogwarts noticed?"

Alastor tilted his head as he thought about her questions, fingers drumming against his knee. "Hogwarts had quite a big impact on me. Like many before me, it became my home. My friends became my family, and I did much to protect them—to protect the school." His gaze sharpened. "I'm sure we'll get into that later, but every year was its own…challenge."

He drew in a breath. "Do I think Hogwarts helped me? In a way, yes. And, oddly enough, I think my relatives helped me survive the challenges I faced at Hogwarts, as well." He gave a humorless chuckle. "As for whether anyone noticed my obvious abuse—I can't say for sure. No one ever mentioned it. No one pointed out how small I was compared to my peers, or how I avoided crowds and loud noises."

He shrugged lightly. "I don't fault most people for it, mind you. It wasn't their fault I was deliberately placed with abusive relatives and was never checked up on."

His eyes cut to Rita knowingly, and his grin sharpened as he noticed the way her brows shot up her forehead, realizing what he wasn't saying.

"I see," she replied, her own gaze sharp. She lifted her chin before she spoke again. "You mentioned challenges for each year you were at Hogwarts. Care to elaborate on that?"

Alastor gave a deep chuckle, darker this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling in dry amusement. "Oh, where to start?" He asked rhetorically. "First year alone, there was a troll that entered the school, which my friends and I knocked out."

He started ticking things off his fingers. "Then there was the incident where my broom was cursed during my first Quidditch match. There was a Cerberus hidden in the third-floor corridor of the school, guarding a series of puzzles—if you managed to get past the three heads trying to eat you. And, ah yes, my favorite bit: You-Know-Who possessing the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor by parasitically sitting on the back of his head like a grotesque, two-faced horror drama, all to get the Philosopher's Stone hidden in a magic mirror."

The scratching of the quill was the only sound in the room as it wrote down every word.

Rita's jaw had gone slack. Her eyes widened the more he spoke, not only horrified by the information, but thrilled by how much material his first year alone would make.

"Off the record," Alastor added, voice lowering. "I did tell you—you wouldn't need to embellish any of these stories, Miss Skeeter."

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's office

July 28th, 1996 5:10 PM

Alastor's ears twitched and turned back as another musical chime echoed from across the room. He pressed his lips together to stop the twitch of his upper lip and the growl that was lodged in his throat. His narrowed eyes flicked up from the letter he was writing to spot his husband on one of the couches by the fireplace, the flames flickering low.

Lucifer was laid out on his back, his hooves facing Alastor, one ankle propped against his knee. Hedwig perched comfortably on his shin as Lucifer's attention stayed glued on the puzzle Luna had gotten him. The clicks and whirs were subtle, almost soothing, until yet another magical chime pierced the air sharply, causing one of Alastor's ears to flick to try to shake the ringing loose.

"Lucifer," Alastor called softly, his tone terse and short. "Can you please take a break from that infernal puzzle?"

"I'm almost done though," Lucifer mumbled absentmindedly, clicking another section into place only for it to chime again. "For real this time."

"Lucifer." Alastor's fingers curled around the fountain pen in his hand, voice straining. He could feel a vein starting to throb in his head. "You said that," he glanced at the clock, "ninety minutes ago. For everything that is unholy—put. It. Down."

Lucifer paused and peeked through the gap between his legs to spot Alastor's bright glare, tense shoulders, and pressed ears. He laid there for a few moments, his eyes darting between the puzzle in his hands and his obviously irritated husband. The temptation to continue despite Alastor's quickly rising temper was…well, tempting. But Lucifer decided it'd be wiser to put the puzzle down until Alastor was out of the room.

He gave a sigh and pout, setting the puzzle on the coffee table before he crossed his arms and slumped down the couch, careful not to jostle Hedwig.

"Thank you," Alastor said with his own quiet sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. His ears slowly turned forward again as he dropped his attention back to the letter he'd been writing.

Lucifer huffed, bored now. He watched Alastor through the gap between his legs. "What are you doing again?"

Alastor paused once more, staring down at the parchment with a flat look before he turned the same look to Lucifer. "I told you already."

Lucifer blinked. Had he? "Okay, but I obviously wasn't listening."

Alastor felt his eye twitch. He heaved a heavy sigh and set the pen down on his desk with a soft clatter, his other hand covering his eyes. 'Don't toss him out the window. Don't strangle him. He's into that stuff.'

"I am…writing letters, Lucifer," Alastor replied slowly. He removed the hand on his face, staring across the room. "To our allies and potential allies, telling them to tune into tomorrow's broadcast."

"Oh." Lucifer blinked, pursing his lips. "Right… Sorry."

Alastor waved him off and picked up the pen again, scratching a few more lines down before folding the paper and sealing it within an envelope. He set it atop the pile of other letters in the corner of his desk and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out with a quiet groan.

"Hedwig," he called gently, a claw tapping on the surface of his desk. "Here, my lady. I have a task for you."

Hedwig blinked her golden eyes open slowly with a quiet grunt, her head turning in his direction. She puffed up her feathers and shook where she perched on Lucifer's shin, then spread her wings and flew the short distance across the room to land neatly on Alastor's desk.

"Hello, my dear," Alastor cooed, gently running a crimson finger over the soft feathers of her breastbone.

She whistled softly, nipping at his finger in affection, before clicking her black beak at him, curious and impatient.

"Right," Alastor said, reaching for the thick stack of letters. "I have a mighty task for you. I need each of these letters delivered today. I know it's a lot, my dear, but I would not give this task to you if I didn't think you could do it. Besides," he paused, smiling down at the snowy owl with a fond look, "I would trust no other but you."

Hedwig barked, puffed up her chest, and flapped her wings with approval, a soft laugh coming from Alastor. Then she held out her leg, eyes bright with pride.

"That's my girl," he praised as he tied the bundle of letters together then secured the string to her leg. He tapped the letters with a claw, a flash of neon green surrounded the letters briefly, making them lighter. "Now, make sure each recipient only takes their letter with their name on it. If they start to get nosy, make sure to give them a good peck."

Hedwig gave another bark. Then, with a click of her beak, she spread her wings and took off, flying out the open window into the cloudy sky.

"Who did you write to?" Lucifer asked, now laying on his stomach, his chin propped on the armrest to stare at Alastor. "Specifically."

Alastor's gaze drifted from the open window to the smaller man across the room and hummed. "Amelia Bones, Andromeda Tonks, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, the Malfoys, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Bill Weasley, King Ragnuk XII, Bee and the werewolves, and several department heads in the Ministry."

Lucifer's mouth slowly opened as the list grew longer. "Wait…did you tell me all that earlier?"

Alastor released a breath through his nose, amusement shining in his eyes. "No, mon ange. I did not. Just that I was writing letters to our allies."

Lucifer hummed, shifting so he was on his knees, leaning on the armrest with his elbows now. "What makes you think they're all going to tune in?"

Alastor's smile curled up his face, knowing. "Oh, I put a little…incentive in the letters. Everyone loves a good mystery." His eyes gleamed. "And what's more tempting than the promise of truth?"

"Huh," Lucifer said with a wide smile, eyes hooded. "Yeah, that'd draw my interest." He tilted his head. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Alastor gave a playful scoff, clearing his desk before standing. "More than ready," he said, brushing down his buttoned shirt. "It'll be nice to be back on the radio. Even if it isn't my show."

"No, but you're gonna help the kid who runs it, right?" Lucifer asked, sitting up on his knees, watching his husband. "Hide the signal better than he's already doing—make it harder to trace?"

Alastor nodded as he approached Lucifer. "Easy enough for the Radio Demon to hide a pirated radio signal and prevent it from being traced," he said with a small, prideful smile.

"Of course," Lucifer replied with a roll of his eyes, grin widening. "How could I have ever doubted you?"

"Exactly what I'm thinking, mon ange," Alastor teased and leaned over Lucifer, fond amusement sparkling in his gaze. He tapped Lucifer on his flat nose before drawing back, chuckling at the pout on his small husband's lips. "Now, I'm going to go help Molly with dinner. You…" He gestured to the puzzle on the coffee table. "Go ahead and finish that. I'll send Shadow when dinner is ready."

Lucifer's pout turned into a beam, eyes snapping back to the magical puzzle. "See you at dinner!" He chirped as he practically dove for the ball, already turning sections again, the object clicking and whirring.

Alastor sighed and shook his head. "Never change, my love," he murmured as he turned to leave.

—

Location: Knockturn Alley - Hidden radio studio

July 29th, 1996 8:49 PM

"You sure about the name, mate?" Lee asked, sitting across from Alastor at a small table.

Alastor's lips twitched up into a wide, amused smile. "Positive, River."

Lee shrugged. "Alright then. Fred and George vouched for ya. I mean…" He paused and looked Alastor up and down. "You definitely look like Potter all grown up. Wouldn't have believed ya if it weren't for Fred and George."

"That's fair," Alastor replied with a shrug, his fingers drumming gently against the wooden table.

His eyes swept over the tiny room, a small studio underneath a building in Knockturn Alley. The walls and floor were cold, gray concrete, while the ceiling was made up of flimsy tiles, stained and full of holes. A few firelit sconces were placed on the walls to light up the room. Lee had managed to squeeze in a small table and a few chairs, making the space feel almost claustrophobic.

On the table was a clutter of parchments, quills, inkwells, and a couple of water cups for Lee and any guests. As well as a few wireless microphones, layered with charms and magic. One already sat in front of Lee, and he placed another in front of Alastor.

Honestly, Lee had done well to hide his radio station. Despite the questionable room, the wards weren't anything to turn your nose up at. The room was layered with spells and charms that blurred his signature and kept curious eyes from finding the place. It also helped that Lee required every visitor to take a magical vow that they'd keep the location secret, and they'd never reveal their real names in association with the broadcast.

It was honestly smart, Alastor was impressed.

"Just a few rules before we start," Lee said, checking the time with his wand. "First, we don't use real names. The vow should stop us from using them, but it won't stop us from hinting. Appreciate it if you tried not to hint at who I am, and I'll do the same."

"Not to worry," Alastor promised, nodding.

"Second," Lee continued, sliding some parchment to the side to clear the center of the table, "if I cut you off, it's not because I'm trying to control you—it means something's wrong."

Alastor raised a brow and nodded. "Understood," he replied simply. "I don't normally have another on the airwaves with me—" at least someone he wasn't torturing, and even then their input mattered little, "—so, this is a new experience for me."

"Right," Lee murmured, sitting back in his chair. "George did say you run your own broadcast. What do you do?"

"Oh, everything," Alastor said with a shrug. "Music, gossip, true crime, weather, current events, advertisements. It's just me, as well."

Lee blinked, his brows raised. "That's…a lot of work."

Alastor smiled. "It is indeed. But I thrive, and I have a schedule I follow religiously."

"Huh," Lee said, impressed. "Good on you, mate. I hope to do something similar one day."

"Well, aren't you already?" Alastor asked, raising a brow, eyes sweeping around the room. "Granted, I'm sure you'd like something more official."

Lee nodded, checking the time again. "Yeah, definitely something more official. But for now—with the war—this'll do." He glanced up at Alastor. "Ready?"

Alastor nodded once, an easy smile on his face.

Lee pulled a board out from under some parchment, a magical instrument with lights and switches. He drew a breath, then flipped a switch. The device hummed with a spark of magic, and the largest light lit a bright red.

"Good evening, Britain," he said, low and smooth as he leaned close to his microphone. "You're listening to Truthwatch. I'm your host, River."

He tapped his wand against the board, and a soft musical tone played.

"If you found this broadcast, keep it to yourself. If you didn't find it on purpose, welcome in," he continued. "Either way, you're here now, so you may as well listen."

He paused for a beat, tapping his wand against the device again. Soft, gentle music started playing, and he turned a knob to adjust the volume so it wasn't too loud.

"Truthwatch exists for three reasons. One: The Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network aren't telling you everything. Two: there are people resisting the Dark who deserve to know they're not alone," he continued, setting his wand down next to him. "And three: fear spreads faster than facts. And I'm here to put those rumors to rest."

He pulled some parchment closer, dark eyes sweeping over his handwriting. "First and foremost, let's acknowledge some of those rumors," he said, voice tightening. "You-Know-Who isn't some sort of god or boogeyman. He's just a man. A powerful, vicious, psychotic man—but still a man. And he can be beaten. He can't kill you with just a glance."

He shook his head before his voice softened.

"Before we go any further…we're going to do something both the Prophet and WWN refuse to do properly. We're going to acknowledge the dead." Lee paused, bowing his head slightly. "For the muggles who never knew what hit them. For the muggleborns and half-bloods hunted for existing. For the purebloods who refused to kneel. For the families that will never get answers. For everyone who died because someone else wanted power…" His voice softened as he cut the music, the small room falling silent. "Please, let's give them all a moment of silence."

Lee paused, closing his eyes and touching his chin to his chest for a full minute. Then he opened his eyes and restarted the music with a tap of his wand.

He exhaled, a little shaky. "Thank you. Now, normally, Rapier, Tentacula, and I would be giving you advice on how to survive Death Eater attacks, or sharing a list of Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers. But not tonight, my loyal truthwatchers."

He lifted a finger in the air, smiling faintly. "Tonight, I have a new guest." His eyes turned to Alastor. "He asked to come on air under a name that I think you'll understand. He isn't here to sell you hope, but to give you the truth." He nodded. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

Alastor leaned forward, smile easy. "Thank you, River, for having me. Please, call me Balance."

—

Location: Potter Manor - Living area

July 29th, 1996 9:08 PM

Lucifer's POV

An old radio—provided by Alastor, of course—sat in the middle of a low coffee table in the casual living room. Around it, everybody sat comfortably, listening to the broadcast with cups of tea or juice—or something stronger, in Sirius' case.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were curled up together on one couch, scrunched shoulder-to-shoulder with Ron squished in the middle between the two girls. He had an annoyed look on his face, but didn't protest his sister and one of his best friends using him as a pillow.

The twins sat on the same couch, Fred's legs actually draped across George's lap, tangled in a familiar sibling way. Molly and Arthur had taken up the only armchair of the room by the fireplace, the hearth cold. Molly sat mostly in Arthur's lap, her own cup of tea cradled in both hands as she listened to the broadcast.

Sirius and Remus sat on the second couch with Lucifer. Sirius leaned back against Remus with his knees bent up, enjoying his adult drink. Remus rested in the corner of the couch, one arm thrown over the back behind Sirius, while his other hand held his tea, the steam rising from the mug.

Lucifer sat on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under him, and smiling faintly at the radio as he heard his husband's voice flowed through the speaker.

"Thank you, River, for having me. Please, call me Balance."

"He's not even being subtle," Hermione said with a light scoff, chin resting on Ron's shoulder.

"Sounds like Al," Fred said with a shrug, a small smile on his face.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if Al has ever been subtle," George added. "Even when he was Harry."

Lucifer gave a soft laugh, his eyes flicking to the twins before they were glued to the radio again. "Oh, he can be when he wants to be. But not when it comes to radio." His smile widened. "He has a big personality, and it only gets bigger behind the microphone."

"Balance. That's a dramatic name," River said, his voice piqued with curiosity. "Why that name? I like to ask each guest why they chose the name they did. Does it have anything to do with the rumors of a secret third side of the war rising?"

"Ah, so that rumor has been going around," Alastor said, a touch of smugness in his voice that was impossible to miss. "Yes and no. Yes, in the case that I am in full support of the third faction slowly rising against both the Dark and the Light. And no, as it means something quite personal to me."

River made a noise into the microphone. "Hold on. Now I'm curious. You don't support the Dark or the Light side? Is that even possible? To support neither?"

A soft hum came through the speakers. "Yes, it is possible. I hadn't planned on getting into this, but since you asked, I'm more than happy to explain."

There was a pause before Alastor's voice sparked through the speaker again. "I do not support the Dark side for obvious reasons. They kill and slaughter innocent people who have done nothing wrong. They're trying to build an empire on the death and suffering of others—others they deem unworthy of even breathing the same air." His tone sharpened. "Just because your birth or your family is different from another's does not make you superior. It just makes you an idiot for buying into such utter drivel."

Lucifer snorted, his grin growing sharp in amusement. "Don't hold back now, Al."

Sirius gave a low whistle before he took a sip of his drink, a small smirk on his lips.

It was quiet over the radio for a moment before River's voice finally cut through the silence. "I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." He gave a laugh, amusement clear. "Cheers for that. Good to know you don't support the Dark side. What about the Light side then?"

Alastor gave a heavy sigh. "I have different reasons for not supporting the Light side. One, the leader, but I'm not going to get into that, as it's personal."

Everyone in the room gave some sort of nod of understanding.

"But a very good reason I do not is because it's making the magical world stagnant," Alastor said, voice firm. "The Light side, for a frustratingly long time, has been labeling anything they don't understand as 'dark' or 'dangerous'. If you do not understand something, perhaps you should pick up a book instead of falsely labeling something you deem 'dark' because your reading level and comprehension skills are below that of the average child."

River gave a choked sound of surprise.

Several jaws dropped. Sirius was frozen for a second before he started howling with laughter, his head thrown back into Remus' shoulder.

Fred stared at the radio, agape. "Merlin's—"

"—balls," George finished, both grinning from ear to ear.

"That…was brutal," Remus said, eyes wide.

Lucifer smirked. "He has such a way with words."

Alastor cleared his throat. "And because they are mislabeling many spells, rituals, potions, beliefs as 'dark and dangerous', they are stifling magic itself. Over a thousand years of tradition has been smothered. Traditions that have brought in new magic—or renewed the magic of those who practiced them. Instead, many magicals have Christianized holidays shoved down their throats. Christmas instead of Yule, Halloween instead of Samhain, Easter instead of Ostara." He paused briefly. "These traditions exist to thank the deities for their blessings in magic, life, food, whatever may come."

There was a click before Alastor continued, everyone listening closely. "I don't mean to go off on a tangent, River, but this information is important because many of the wixen on the Dark side are traditionalists. There are those on the Light and Neutral sides who also celebrate these 'dark' holidays, and who participate in rituals that cleanse their magic. However, many of them are frustrated and have turned to the Dark side because You-Know-Who has promised that he would restore these traditions." He paused. "Granted, the psychopath has promised many things that he does not plan on keeping, but that's beside the point."

His voice carried on through the speaker. "The Light side only wants Light magic. But that's impossible for all of wizarding kind to survive on one source of magic. And many of the Light side—many wixen in general, really—probably think they know the exact difference between Light, Gray, Dark, and Black magic, but in truth they, in fact, do not. Many presume Light equates to good and Dark equates to bad, but it's so much more complicated and nuanced than that."

"Right…" River replied, his voice tilting up. "But I have a feeling you're going to tell us the difference."

"Stop me if it becomes too much," Alastor said.

Lucifer could easily picture Alastor waving his hand at the host, a large, toothy grin on his face. He gave a sappy sigh, then propped his chin on his fist and his elbow on the armrest, smiling at the radio.

"No, no. This is actually interesting," River replied quickly. "Please go on."

"Let's start with Light magic," Alastor continued, his voice shifting to something more academic. "Light magic is powered almost entirely by structure and discipline. There is no real emotion in Light magic. If your wand movement, incantation, and magical output are correct, then you can cast the spell. Charms like levitation, shield charms, summoning, the basics of Transfiguration, and healing diagnostics fall under here. The caster doesn't need to feel anything strongly. Even a tired, calm, or emotionally numb wizard can still preform these spells perfectly with little thought. Light magic is clinical and academic. It requires focus, clarity, and knowledge. This is the magic Hogwarts mainly teaches, and the Ministry prefers, because it's predictable and controllable."

"Why didn't I bring a notepad?" Hermione groaned, pressing her forehead into the back of Ron's bony shoulder. "This is so fascinating."

"Then you have Dark magic, which is powered by emotion," Alastor continued, unaware of his friend's plight. "These spells don't just use magical power, but they use the caster's emotions as a catalyst. The Killing Curse, for example, requires genuine murderous intent. While the Patronus Charm—yes, the Patronus Charm is Dark magic—requires a memory strong enough to generate joy powerful enough to repel despair."

"Bloody hell, make him stop," Sirius muttered, blinking his eyes as if he was struggling to keep up.

"No, Hermione's right," Remus said, leaning forward over the back of Sirius' head, his chin brushing his black curls. "This is very fascinating."

Sirius rolled his eyes fondly, lips twitching. "Nerd."

Alastor's voice continued. "These spells don't function correctly without an emotional charge. Someone can know the incantation and the wand movement perfectly, but still fail if the emotional state isn't there. Dark magic is volatile, but powerful. Our emotions power the spells. That's why many Dark spells tend to hit harder, faster, and more brutally. However, there is a danger to them if one is not careful. When magic feeds on emotions like rage or vengeance, the caster risks reinforcing those emotions within themselves as well."

"That's…" River's voice trailed off. "Wow."

"Now here's where things get really interesting," Alastor said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Because Gray magic blends the structure of Light magic with the emotion of Dark magic. It's flexible. Ritual magic, oath magic, blood wards, binding magic, and many ancient traditions fall into this category. For example, a blood protection ward might require precise runic construction, but also the intent to protect someone deeply."

Alastor suddenly gave a low chuckle. "And that should sound familiar to a lot of you older wizards who remember the end of the first Wizarding War with You-Know-Who. Because that's exactly what Lily Potter did to protect young Harry Potter. Gray magic, blood protection. It's why the Killing Curse backfired, using her sacrifice so that he could live."

The room froze. Sirius' and Remus' eyes widened, their jaws dropping, struck dumb. Molly's hand flew to her mouth in surprise. The teens all stared at the radio in varying degrees of shock.

"But I won't get into that," Alastor said, laughing easily, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb over the radio.

"He is not just going to drop that info and then not explain," Remus said, voice flat with disbelief.

"He is," Lucifer said, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"Gray magic," Alastor continued, his voice light and airy, "is circumstantial. It adapts to the situation, borrowing the discipline of Light magic or the emotional force of Dark magic depending on what is required. This makes it extremely powerful—but also dangerous if the caster lacks self-awareness. Gray magic demands balance within the caster, because they are mediating between intellect and emotion."

"Merlin's beard," River said, his voice low. "That's… That's a lot to wrap my head around, I'm not going to lie."

"Well, I still haven't touched up on Black magic yet, so hold onto the edge of your seat, River," Alastor said with a chuckle. "Black magic is something different altogether. It doesn't simply use emotion. It consumes the caster's humanity over time. The magic becomes parasitic. Instead of drawing power from will or emotion in a controlled way, it feeds on destructive impulses—hatred, cruelty, despair—and gradually starts reshaping the caster's magical core."

"What?" Remus asked, his voice dropping. "How…how can he possibly know that? Is that in a book somewhere? In the Potter library?"

"I haven't seen it in the Potter library," Hermione said with a frown, her brows scrunched together. "I would remember something like this."

Lucifer hummed, tilting his head. "My guess is it's something he learned from Death. They have passed knowledge on to Alastor before. Though, they prefer that Al does his own research."

Molly and Arthur exchanged a glance, confused and concerned.

"This is why repeated use of certain spells or rituals leads to visible corruption," Alastor continued, drawing in a breath. "Twisted behavior, loss of empathy, obsession with power, physical changes, and magical instability. This should also sound familiar to many. You-Know-Who is obviously disfigured and barely looks human. He's cruel, obsessed with power, and his magic—while powerful—is unstable. As well as Bellatrix Lestrange. A mad woman who thrives on the torture of others and knows very little outside her own madness."

There was a pause and another sound of something being placed on the table. "Black magic isn't simply Dark magic. It's self-corrupting magic. A spell or ritual may work…but the price is usually something from the caster themselves. And it is never worth it."

Alastor gave a small, dramatic sigh. "Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why I've gone on this tangent of the different classifications of magic." Lucifer could hear the smile in his husband's voice. "And that's because the Ministry has been misclassifying magic for centuries, categorizing magic morally rather than structurally. The Light faction is trying to purge emotional magic entirely, believing it dangerous. They're attempting to reduce magic to pure technique and regulation. However, emotion is part of magic's nature. Suppressing it creates imbalance. Meanwhile, the Dark faction embraces emotional magic, but allow it to spiral into cruelty."

He continued without pause. "Both sides have misunderstood the system entirely. Magic requires both structure and emotion, but neither should subdue the other. When one side overwhelms the other, magic becomes imbalanced. And when that happens, magic tends to die. If magic dies, then there are less wixen in our world and more squib. Even with Magic herself struggling to grant us mere mortals her gift, we are a slowly dying race of our own apocalyptic demise."

He gave a sudden laugh. "That is, of course, if the mundane don't find us first and reinstate the witch trials."

It was quiet over the radio for a moment before River's voice finally spoke up. "I am…flabbergasted. What you just explained really puts into perspective how stupid this war really is."

Alastor gave a sharp laugh. "Isn't it, though? The Light side thinks they're doing good by banning Dark magic, but what they're really doing is strangling magic. Meanwhile, the Dark side is literally killing other magicals for not bending the knee to a psycho-maniac who only wants power and has been twisted by Black magic. Especially when, if you think about it, many of the wixen on the Dark side only want their traditions back."

"That's absolutely mental," River replied, his voice slightly muffled, like he was covering his mouth.

Alastor hummed. "This is why I have chosen to support the third faction, Balance. To bring back the traditions and the rituals of Dark magic while also supporting the academic structure of Light magic. Combining these ideals together—balancing magic—is really how we should be viewing the future of our world. Because one without the other will only lead to our own destruction."

"Seems Al has finally decided to lay it all out there," Lucifer murmured with a thoughtful frown.

Hermione hummed. "He hasn't explained what he means by Balance yet to us. So this…this was extremely helpful."

"I'll say," George said. "He really cracked the whole war wide open."

"Or at least explained it better than the Ministry ever could," Fred added, a sharp smirk on his face.

Alastor made a noise of amusement. "To think, I didn't plan on coming on here tonight to explain magic and all it's misclassifications. Or the factions of this war. But to tell you a simple, yet complicated story about a man."

"You didn't plan on talking about any of that?" River asked in mild surprise.

"Hm, no, actually," Alastor replied, though he sounded quite unconcerned. "But the opportunity presented itself, and who am I but a humble man who recognizes a chance to spread the knowledge to the uninformed? Knowledge is power, after all. And all you listening should feel just a bit more powerful this evening. Bravo, you!"

Lucifer snorted. "Smartass."

"Alright. If you aren't here to chat us up about magic, then why did you decide to come on the air?" River asked, curiosity coloring his voice.

"To tell you the truth about Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Ron's, Hermione's, and Ginny's eyes all went wide, each going stiff.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she managed to scratch out, "What?"

"He's…gonna talk about Tom?" Ginny asked, her voice thin and fragile.

Ron drew in a sharp breath before he wrapped an arm around his sister, his eyes distant.

Lucifer frowned as the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione became quiet. His eyes flicked between them before he remembered what Alastor had told him about the diary and the whole debacle in Ginny's first year.

"Oh, that's right," he murmured softly, his brows pinching together in concern. He pressed his lips together, watching Ginny for a moment before his eyes darted back to Molly and Arthur. The parents looked torn and guilty. Lucifer decided he'd speak with them later, after the broadcast.

"Who's Tom Marvolo Riddle?" River asked, carrying on after only a few seconds of pause.

"I'm so glad you asked, River," Alastor said, his grin heard over the radio. "Allow me to inform the masses of this very complicated person."

He cleared his throat. "Tom Marvolo Riddle was born in an orphanage in London on the thirty-first of December, 1926. His father was a wealthy mundane man, Tom Riddle Senior, and his mother was Merope Gaunt—a witch from an old bloodline that had long since fallen into poverty. She was expected to marry her own brother and procure an heir to keep the Slytherin bloodline 'pure'. But she sought her own salvation in a handsome mundane man. So she dosed him with a love potion, eventually married him, and conceived Tom Riddle Junior. However, she made the mistake of believing that if she stopped feeding Tom Senior the potion, he would stay and still love her."

A quiet scoff was heard through the speaker. "Evidently, that wasn't the case. As soon at Tom Senior was clear of the potion, he left, abandoning a pregnant Merope. She refused to go back home, so it's assumed she wandered London until she found herself at the orphanage, where she gave birth. Unfortunately, she only lived long enough to name her son after his deadbeat father before passing away."

"That's…really messed up and sad," River replied slowly.

Alastor gave a hum. "Indeed it is. However, this child grew up to be quite the powerful wizard. He was already leaning to control his magical outbursts without a wand, using his emotions to punish his bullies at the orphanage and steal from them. He took things to quite the extreme. Killing a roommate's pet rabbit, tying other children to a rock at low tide and not releasing them until they were almost drowned. Truly nasty things."

Lucifer shook his head. He could imagine Alastor trying not to get angry. While he knew Alastor loved torture, he didn't tolerate cruelty toward children.

"When Tom turned eleven, just like every mundane-born or raised magical child, he was visited by a professor," Alastor continued, his voice growing soft. "Albus Dumbledore was the Transfiguration professor at the time. He introduced Tom to the wizarding world and told him about magic. However, his disposition changed when he learned Tom possessed a special ability that carried through all of Slytherin's line."

"He was a Parselmouth," River said without hesitation. "I imagine he didn't treat Tom very kindly after that? Considering many wixen view Parseltongue as a mark of a dark wizard."

"You'd be correct," Alastor replied smoothly. "But as you learned earlier, dark does not mean evil. However, we can agree there was something deeply wrong about this child if he could easily torture others before he even arrived at Hogwarts."

River made a noise of agreement. "I take it things got worse as he grew older."

"You're quite perceptive, River," Alastor said easily. "Yes. But he hid it extremely well. To most of his professors and fellow students, Tom Riddle was an exemplary student. Prefect, Head Boy, handsome, and quite intelligent. He had nearly everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. Except for Albus Dumbledore."

Alastor's voice soured slightly, but he pushed on. "I'll give the old man this much—he was right to be cautious around Tom. Because after graduation, Tom worked a bit at Borgin and Burkes before he disappeared for several years—decades even. When he did return, his visage wasn't quite the same. His mannerisms had become more cautious, more paranoid, and openly crueler. He wasn't quite as handsome, his magic wasn't as stable, and his brown eyes had turned red." Alastor paused. "I'm sure you can take a guess as to why."

"He was using Black magic," River said after a few seconds of quite.

"Correct," Alastor said sharply. "You see, Tom Marvolo Riddle is terrified of Death. He seeks immortality and power. In order to gain power, he needed a following. To gain followers, he made them promises they wanted to hear. That they too could have power. Power over the mundane, the weak, the unworthy. That they would be recognized and praised for their atrocious acts of murder and torture, and that they would be free to use as much Dark magic they wanted. That they would no longer have to hide."

A banging sound suddenly came through the speaker, a hand slapping against a table. "You don't mean—No way! No!" River's voice peaked in incredulity. "You're saying this Tom Riddle is You-Know-Who?!"

"Precisely," Alastor purred, soft laughter on the edge of the word. "And if you don't believe me, his birth name is an anagram for his Dark Lord name. Go ahead. All of you listening from home or office. Write out Tom Marvolo Riddle on a piece of parchment or with your wand. Then, letter by letter, write out I am Lord V—yes you have to spell it out. I am not saying the name to respect the host here. But I have no issues saying his ridiculous, made-up title. In fact, I'll be calling him Tom from now on. That is his name, after all."

A snicker came through the speaker.

"Blimey," River's voice followed after a few moments of only music. "He's right. It is an anagram. …I don't know how I feel about that."

"It's something an egotistical child would come up with, isn't it?" Alastor asked with a huff of laughter.

"Wait, wait, wait. I just realized something," River said, his voice creeping louder. "You said Tom's parents were a witch and a muggle—mundane… That means, You-Know-Who is a half-blood."

"A half-blood spouting blood purity," Alastor continued. "Who leads an army of mostly purebloods. Don't you love irony?"

"I can't—I mean the entire hypocrisy of it!" River said, his tone still loud with disbelief. "That's mental."

"And now you know the truth about You-Know-Who," Alastor said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Now you, and everyone listening, knows that the megalomaniac is a half-blood hypocrite, warped by Black magic, and terrified of Death. He's not a deity or god. He is a twisted old man. And he can be killed. Let that sink in."

A pause stretched over the radio, filled only by the low hum of music before Alastor spoke again, his voice calmer, but no less sharp. "And if that truth unsettles you, it should. Because people are dying in the name of a man who built himself into a legend to hide how painfully human he really is."

Everyone around the room was quiet, thoughtful and distant expressions on their faces.

"But let me be clear and reiterate what I said earlier," Alastor said, his voice growing sharper. "Both the Dark and the Light are killing magic. The Light with its slowly squeezing hand around Magic's neck, and the Dark by the bodies piling up around us."

Ron swallowed hard, silent. Hermione's fingers curled tighter around his arm. All the adults were stony-faced, eyes hard and fixed on the radio.

"This war," Alastor continued, "is not about defeating one twisted man. It is about deciding what kind of world will be left after his defeat. One of fear and propaganda? One of rigid control and dying magic?" He gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Or do you want something better? Something…Balanced?"

River let the silence sit for a moment before clearing his throat. "Well," he said, sounding a bit at a loss, "that was Balance. Ha. Now I get the name."

A few soft laughs broke through the room, everyone breathing a little easier.

"That was quite the load of truth," River continued. "Thank you, Balance, for joining me tonight and putting the truth out there. To everyone who's tuned in, you've been listening to Truthwatch. Next broadcast is scheduled in three days. Password: Balance. Stay safe. Stay smart. And remember to keep each other safe."

There was a brief pause. "Good night, Britain."

Then the music swelled slowly, carrying the broadcast out.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Living area

July 29th, 1996 10:30 PM

Lucifer's POV

"Can we talk?"

Molly and Arthur looked up from their quiet conversation to see Lucifer standing a few feet away.

The broadcast had been over for about twenty minutes now. The teens had already left to do their own things, and Sirius and Remus had also left, muttering something about a certain book.

"Of course, Lucien," Molly said, still tucked into Arthur's lap in the chair. "Is everything alright, dearie?"

Lucifer paused, watching the two. "I think so, but…I wanted to talk to you about your daughter." He winced. "I promise I'm not trying to overstep. I just…I just noticed how she reacted when Al started talking about Tom. And…Al told me about what happened with the diary in her first year at school." His voice softened, taking on a cautious tone. "That has to be pretty traumatic, and I couldn't help but think of my own daughter."

Molly pressed her lips together and looked away, shame flickering across her face. Arthur's face grew tense, his kind eyes hardening as his jaw clenched.

Lucifer kept his voice quiet and calm. "Have you…looked into getting her to see a doctor? Er…a healer?"

"We have," Arthur said, his voice clipped. His hands curled into fists on the armrests.

Lucifer winced, pressing his lips together. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to tell you how to parent her—"

"We know, Lucien," Molly interrupted, turning back to him, unshed tears clinging to her lashes. "We're not upset with you, I promise. We're just…disappointed in ourselves." She drew in a shaky breath, one hand resting on her chest. "We feel like terrible parents, failing our Ginny. We know she needs to see a mind healer about what happened. But…"

Tension left Arthur's frame as quickly as it had entered, a heavy sigh escaping him. "We can't afford a mind healer. We want to help, but the only thing we can do is to continue what we have been doing."

"Which is reassuring her, holding her during her nightmares," Molly said, sniffling quietly. "Checking in on her, making sure she knows we're there for her."

"To the point where she gets upset with us," Arthur added with a sad smile.

Lucifer gazed at the two of them. They were struggling parents—not because they couldn't make time for their children, but because they couldn't get their daughter the help she needed because of money.

"Let me pay for it," he said suddenly, the words tumbling out of his mouth without a second thought. Not that he would taken them back. Because he did mean it.

"What—absolutely not," Molly protested immediately, shaking her head furiously, wisps of fiery red hair falling from her bun. "I refuse to burden you with this, Lucien."

"Let me rephrase," Lucifer said, brows furrowing. "I am paying for this. Because your daughter's health is more important than any amount of gold."

Molly sat stunned, her brown eyes wide. Arthur's mouth moved up and down, trying to find words. "Lucien… You can't—"

"I can, and I will," Lucifer replied curtly, his voice booking no argument. "Find your daughter this mind healer person, and I'll pay. Don't worry about cost." A smile curled up his face. "I'm a king. I can afford anything."

They sat in the chair, staring at him for a moment longer before Molly finally burst into loud sobs, a hand flying her mouth. Her free hand reached out to grab one of Lucifer's, squeezing it tightly. "Y-you don't have to…"

A sob broke her sentence up before she took a breath to steady herself. She tugged a handkerchief free from the front pocket of her robes, dabbing her eyes as she tried to compose herself. Arthur gently rubbed her back, his lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes looked suspiciously glossy.

"Thank you," he choked out, swallowing thickly. "You…don't realize how much this means to us."

Molly nodded, her breathing still uneven. "Thank you, thank you, Lucien." She squeezed his hand again. "And bless you and your big heart. I'm not sure how we could ever repay you."

"Don't," Lucifer said, shaking his head. "You don't have to. In fact, I'll refuse any money you try to give me." He smiled gently at the couple. "Think of it as my way of thanking you for looking after Al. He needed people like you in his life when he was young. You were the parents he never had."

Molly started sobbing again, tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Then she was out of her husband's lap and squeezing the air from Lucifer's lungs, her tears soaking his shirt.

Lucifer blinked, frozen in surprise. Then he relaxed and wrapped his arms around the blubbering mother, his smile soft with understanding. "You're great parents. But it's okay to accept help," he murmured, rubbing her back gently. "And I'm going to help."

Arthur slowly stood, brushing his fingers through his thin, red hair, before wrapping his arms around both his wife and Lucifer. "Thank you, Lucien," he whispered.

Lucifer stood there quietly, wrapped in an embrace by both Weasley parents. It wasn't often that people truly thanked him for something. At least not without expecting something in return. But they didn't even know who he was, not truly. They knew he was a king, knew he had money, and that he could help. And yet, they never once thought to ask him to ease their burden.

He swallowed, his throat bobbing as he blinked a few times. He swore he had a bit of dust in his eyes.

"Wh-whatever you need from us," Molly sobbed, her voice trembling with emotion, "whatever it is, j-just ask. You're such a good man, L-Lucien."

The air in Lucifer's lungs seized. His heart felt like it stopped for a few seconds before it started racing against his ribcage. 'Nope. Okay. That's not dust anymore,' he thought, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to stop them from wobbling. It didn't stop his eyes from getting a little wet. He buried his face into Molly's hair, his breathing just a little shaky.

The sudden rush of green flames from the fireplace startled all three of them. They jumped, but stood together in a three-way embrace, eyes wide and damp.

Alastor stepped out of the hearth, brushing away some soot down the front of his coat. He froze when he spotted his husband and the two Weasley parents all hugging—eyes red, cheeks flushed, and raw emotion written clearly across their faces.

He arched a brow. "What did I miss?"

—

Location: Malfoy Manor - East Wing Ballroom (repurposed)

July 29th, 1996 10:51 PM

Draco kept his breathing as steady as he could. His shoulders were squared, his chin held high, and his gaze straight ahead, but his heart hammered in his chest, threatening to break right through.

"I have your first task, Draco." Voldemort's hissing voice echoed around them. The man slowly circled the teen, red eyes taking in every twitch and every breath. He didn't elaborate. His bare feet scuffed against the floor behind Draco.

Draco swallowed before he opened his mouth. "Wh-what would you have me do, my Lord?" He asked quietly, his voice strained with fear as he tried to keep it steady.

Voldemort gave a hum from behind him.

Then Draco felt the man's presence closer—too close. The hems of the Dark Lord's robes brushed against Draco's calves. The warmth of his body hovered at Draco's back, not touching him, but close enough that Draco couldn't stop himself from tensing.

"I need you to visit the werewolves," Voldemort whispered, his voice directly in Draco's ear.

The smell of rot brushed over Draco's face, and he only just stopped himself from gagging. He swallowed again, almost tasting the bitter bile rising in the back of his throat.

Voldemort pulled away, cool air dancing against Draco's back. "Greyback hasn't been answering my messages," Voldemort continued, circling the teen again before finally stopping in front of him. His eyes narrowed, his thin lips set in a firm, disgruntled frown. "I am…displeased with this turn of events. And I need you to go to their hovel and remind them of their place. That they are not above us wizards and they answer to me."

His gaze bored into the teen, searching before he continued. "Tomorrow morning, you will order their flea-infested leader, Greyback, to return here at once. Or he will suffer the consequences. Do you understand your task, Draco?"

Draco drew in a breath, his heart fluttering and his stomach churning. "Yes, my Lord," he scratched out, his breath hitching before he could stop it.

"Good," Voldemort replied, finally turning away. "You are dismissed. Don't disappoint me, Draco."

Draco gave a shaky bow before he rushed out of the ballroom, his heels clicking against the marble floor.

A cold dread seeped into his very soul the moment the doors shut behind him. One hand flew to his chest, bunching up a fistful of his shirt in his trembling, pale fingers. He gasped for air as he stumbled away on unsteady feet, his mind swirling with terror as he rushed to find his parents.

He was doomed. He was going to die tomorrow. If he was lucky, that was all that would happen.

Bile rose up in the back of his throat, and he couldn't swallow it down again. He bent over one the potted trees and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. He coughed, tears wetting his eyes as the bitterness coated his tongue. He stood there for a few moments after he finished, his breathing ragged and uneven as his throat burned.

Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and forced himself upright, feet still unsteady as he continued to his parents' bedroom. He barely made it to his parents' door before his knuckles hit the wood in a frantic rhythm.

The door flew open almost immediately.

"Draco?" Narcissa's voice cut through the fog in his head, sharp and alarmed.

Draco stumbled inside and nearly collapsed, just catching himself on an armchair. Lucius was instantly on his feet from where he'd been sitting in another chair, his face draining of color as he watched his son stumble—pale, shaking, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Draco, what happened?" Lucius demanded, his voice tight with panic, reaching out to steady his son.

Draco opened his mouth, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the green patterned fabric of the chair. Terror clawed at his throat, snatching the words from him before he could get them out. His breath hitched, before he finally scratched out, "He's sending me to Greyback."

A heavy silence hung over the family.

Narcissa made a strangled sound, one hand clutching at her neckline. Lucius froze beside Draco, his expression terrifyingly blank.

"T-tomorrow morning," Draco continued, his voice cracking. "He wants me to go to the werewolves."

Narcissa finally moved, both hands gathering her son in her arms. "No," she whispered, her voice wavering. "No, no. Not my dragon."

Lucius turned away sharply, one hand bracing against the mantle of the fireplace, his jaw clenched so hard his body trembled. "This is not happening."

Draco swallowed, tasting bitter acid again. "I'm going to die," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Greyback is going to kill me. And if he doesn't…then the Dark Lord will when I come back empty-handed."

Narcissa's grip tightened, pressing her son closer. "You are not going to die," she said, her voice suddenly hard as diamond. Her blue eyes found her husband, sharp and determined.

"Lucius," she said, drawing his attention. "Send word to them. Now."

Chapter Text

Location: Potter Manor - Dining room

July 30th, 1996 7:33 AM

That morning was fairly tame and quiet one. Hermione, Fred, and George were at the breakfast table in varying stages of consciousness, while Ron and Ginny decided to sleep in that morning. Around the table, the adults spoke quietly and enjoyed a breakfast of eggs, potatoes, bacon, and jam on toast. The soft murmur of voices was broken when the beat of an owl's wings cut through the dining room.

Hedwig, bright-eyed and dependable, flew through the open window with a rolled up newspaper in her talons. She flew over Sirius's head, blowing his hair into his face and making him sputter into his coffee. Remus snickered beside him.

She landed beside Lucifer, nudging his arm with her head and gave a expectant whistle.

Lucifer immediately set his cup down started showering her with praise and affection. "Oh, such a smart and good girl," he cooed, stroking along the feathers of her wing. "Oooh, you have some feathers out of place. Looks like someone needs a good preening."

He smoothed out a few feathers before Hedwig screeched and ducked under his hand, clicking her beak in protest.

"She wants a treat, love," Alastor said, cutting into his eggs without looking up.

Lucifer easily passed her a small slice of bacon while magically untying the paper from her leg and passing it over to Remus.

"Thank you," Remus murmured, unfolding the paper. He paused for a moment, eyes sweeping over the words before he sighed and turned his attention to Alastor. "So…your interview with Skeeter was successful, I see."

One invisible ear twitched in Remus' direction as the rest of the table looked up. "Indeed it was," Alastor said, lips twitching at the corners. He flicked his gaze to the paper. "She released the first installment, then."

"First installment?" Hermione asked, her brows drawing together.

"How many are there supposed to be?" Fred asked, spearing a few potatoes with his fork.

"And what did you talk about?" George asked, propping his elbow on the table and resting his cheek against his fist to look past Fred.

Alastor took a quick sip of his coffee before he set the cup down. "We touched a bit on where I went, my childhood with my relatives, and then dove right into my Hogwarts years."

Hermione's fork clattered against her plate. "What?"

Fred and George exchanged a look, wide-eyed and surprised.

Alastor hummed in amusement. "This article should be the first year. I believe Rita will be dedicating each school year its own article. So, that should be five in total."

"Oh, that should make her happy," Lucifer commented, still petting Hedwig's wing while feeding her another piece of bacon.

"Five?" Hermione echoed, her mouth falling partially open. "But…did you go into everything? How detailed were you?"

Alastor raised a brow. "I omitted nothing except maybe a name or two," he said. Then he leaned forward slightly, a crooked smile settling into place. "And I was quite detailed. I intend to paint a large, bright target on Dumbledore's back."

Remus suddenly jerked upright, eyes fixed on the article in his hands, the paper crimping in his tightening grip. "You fought a full-grown mountain troll?!"

"Wait, really?" Sirius asked, leaning into Remus, looking far more interested. "That's brilliant."

"'Fought' is a generous term," Alastor said, shrugging his shoulders. "We survived it. Rather impressive for two eleven-year-olds and one twelve-year-old, all things considered."

"But—" Hermione's eyes darted over to Molly and Arthur, both of whom looked slightly pale at the thought of a mountain troll in Hogwarts. "What about…?"

"Hermione, relax," Alastor said, his voice softer. "I already spoke with Molly and Arthur. They know Ron was involved, and they've agreed he won't get in trouble for anything that happened in the past."

"Oh." Hermione visibly relaxed, a faint flush rising on her cheeks. "Good. That's…good."

"You-Know-Who was in the school the whole year?!" Remus yelled, his voice jumping to a pitch Alastor had honestly never heard from the man before.

"What?!" Molly and Arthur yelped together, their faces blanching with new horror.

Sirius jerked back beside him, rubbing an ear with a grimace. "Blimey. You got Remi up a few octaves. Honestly impressive. I think I've only managed to do that three times in my life."

Remus gaped at the paper, his grip loosening on the Prophet that it almost slipped from his fingers. "He was…there. All year. He was…teaching children," he muttered under his breath.

"He was," Alastor confirmed, lips tugging down into a frown. "And we were very lucky he didn't do worse than give terrible lectures with his over-the-top stutter, and making everyone smell like garlic by the end of each class."

Hermione and the twins winced at the memory.

"But first year isn't even the worst year," Alastor continued with a shrug. "Second year was downright dangerous, and fourth year was just…well, abysmal." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, if not for the Dementors in third year, I'd say that was my most peaceful year."

He paused as Sirius and Remus gave him strange looks. "Dementors. I knew I was forgetting something." He turned toward Lucifer, who had returned to his own breakfast. "Luci, we need to do something about the Dementors as well. However, I'm not entirely sure how they would affect you."

Lucifer blinked, setting his cup down. "The soul-sucking demons?"

Alastor nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "Indeed. Though I'm not sure how they would affect me either…" He gave a low, considering hum, narrowing his eyes. "I should probably practice my Patronus charm. It's been a lifetime since I used it."

"Well, we won't find out until we come across one," Lucifer said, completely unconcerned as he took another bite of his toast.

"Or a hundred," Alastor muttered dryly, a flicker of glee flashing behind his glasses.

Sirius cringed. "Never. Again."

"Agreed," Alastor replied. He polished off the rest of his coffee and set it aside. With a lazy wave of his hand, he banished his and Lucifer's dirty dishes to the kitchen before standing from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Sirius asked with a curious frown. He didn't even blink at the wandless and wordless display of magic anymore.

"Apologies, but Luci and I have an appointment to make," Alastor said, brushing a few stray crumbs from the front of his red coat. "We received an urgent owl late last night, and we must be going before anything…unscrupulous happens."

Remus snorted, the paper abandoned in the middle of the table. "I don't suppose we'll find out later?"

"Oh, you will," Alastor said with an amused grin. "I guarantee you'll find out before lunch."

Lucifer stood and stretched his arms over his head with a small groan. "We shouldn't be too long."

He took a few steps away from the table then opened a portal. Alastor stepped through first before Lucifer followed a second later, vanishing from sight.

Sirius pouted at the empty space they had left behind. "I still want to know how he does that."

"Maybe we'll find out in the library," Remus replied, sighing. "Hurry up and eat. We have more research to do."

—

Location: Northumberland, England - Kielder Forest

July 30th, 1996 8:00 AM

Draco's POV

"Can't believe I got saddled wit' da Malfoy brat. And forced to check on da mangy mutts."

Draco ignored the bitter muttering of his…for lack of a better word, babysitter. He didn't know Jugson well, only that he was as brutish as a werewolf and as fanatically loyal to You-Know-Who as his Aunt Bella.

He shuffled behind the larger man, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot as the weak morning light struggled to pierce through the veil of heavy gray clouds overhead. He hoped it didn't start raining. He rubbed his left forearm, hoping the action would simply rub away the mark there. The Dark Mark had only been on his arm for a few days, and already it felt like a leash choking his soul.

"Oi, 'urry up," Jugson called over his shoulder, voice low and gravelly. "Da sooner we get dere, da sooner I can 'ave some fun." A dark, ugly smile spread over the man's face. "Sometimes Greyback lets us play wit' da bitches."

Draco recoiled in disgust, his nose wrinkling as his expression twisted. He swore some of the Death Eaters were more beastly than the actual beasts. But he had no say in the matter. The Dark Lord had assigned Jugson to Draco to ensure he completed his first mission.

He'd rather it had been his godfather with him instead.

"Draco."

His head snapped up when he heard Severus' voice. His eyes widened when Jugson stopped short so suddenly Draco almost walked straight into his broad back.

"Oi! Severus!" Jugson called out, baring a grin with too many teeth. "What you doin' 'ere?"

Severus' dark eyes flicked from Draco to the older man, one brow arching ever so slightly. "Jugson. I wasn't aware you were the one assigned to Draco."

"Ugh, yeah," Jugson replied, his upper lip curling in annoyance. "Don't like it, but da Dark Lord's orders." His smarmy grin returned. "Still, might as well 'ave fun, eh? Why don't you join us? Teach dis whelp 'ow to 'ave fun wit' da bitches. Get some experience."

Somehow, Severus managed to keep his mask perfectly in place. "Charming," he drawled dryly. He walked past Jugson to stand beside his godson, hands clasped behind his back. "I'll have to pass. Besides, there's been a change in plans."

Jugson's face twisted into confusion. "Wot?"

A bright golden light suddenly shimmered into existence. Draco squinted, blinking hard against the brightness until his vision refocused. A strange disc of swirling gold hovered in the air ahead of them, spinning softly like some strange doorway. It wasn't any magic he had ever seen before.

"What da bloody fuck?" Jugson squawked, stumbling back as he was the closest to the golden light.

"Perfect timing," Severus muttered under his breath, but he was close enough that Draco caught it.

"Tsk, tsk." A chipper voice came from the light just as a man stepped through. "Such language."

The newcomer was as tall as Draco's father, with a wide, sharp grin, bright green eyes behind sleek black glasses, and a strange staff. The man looked…very familiar. But Draco was certain he'd never met him before.

"Who da bloody fuck are you?" Jugson snarled, yanking his wand out of his robe pocket and pointing it at the tall stranger.

"Wow, you're not very bright, are you?" A second man said as he stepped out behind the taller man. He was shorter with slicked back blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The golden doorway behind them swirled to a close with a soft pop.

He crossed his arms with a lazy smile on his lips, smaller than his partner's. "Pretty sure my husband said something about watching your language. There are young ears present."

Jugson sneered in confusion, his eyes darting between the two strange men. "W-wot…?"

Draco slowly reached for his wand tucked in his upper robe pocket, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. His gaze flicked to his godfather, questioning. Severus only gave the barest shake of his head, his attention never leaving Jugson and the two obviously foreign men.

Draco let go of his wand and slowly lowered his hand back to his side, his eyes returning to the strangers.

The taller man cocked his head to the side, sharp amusement painted across his face as he regarded Jugson like he was something unpleasant he'd found on the bottom of his boot. He tapped his fingers idly against the head of his staff. "Not bright at all. Likely from all the inbreeding and too many knocks to the head from old Tommy boy."

The shorter man gave a snicker, his own mirth gleaming in his bright eyes. "And he hit every branch on the way down out of the ugly tree too," he added, his smirk turning wicked and mean. "Do you think he knows we're insulting him?"

The taller man gave a soft, thoughtful hum. "I'm not sure. Perhaps we should ask." He turned his full attention to Jugson, whose face had turned a horrendous puce.

"Excuse me," he said, loud and slow, enunciating each word with cruel care. "Are you aware that you are being insulted?"

There was something in the shape of that grin, the look in those green eyes, that tugged uncomfortably at Draco's memory. Unfortunately, he didn't get the time to follow the thought.

Jugson bellowed in rage and flung a spell from his wand straight at the taller, smirking man. "Reducto!"

They had moved so smoothly, it looked like it had been rehearsed before. The two men shifted in a single elegant motion. The taller man pivoted on the ball of his foot, and the shorter man spun with him until they had neatly swapped places. The blond lifted one hand as the red curse hurtled toward him and caught the spell with a single finger.

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

The man twirled his finger once, then flicked the spell carelessly off to the side and away from everyone. It slammed into a nearby tree. The trunk exploded, bark and splinters raining down to the forest floor. The tree gave a heavy groan, shuddered, then tilted and crashed down with a thunderous boom.

Draco, Jugson, and Severus had all ducked—Severus' arms wrapped protectively around his godson—as debris rained down around them. Wide-eyed, they stared at the fallen tree before turning their attention back to the man.

He still stood with one arm outstretched, his posture loose and perfectly as ease, a devilishly sharp grin curling up his lips. Beside him, the taller man looked just as unbothered, like they hadn't just been attacked with a powerful curse that could've killed them. However, his green eyes were keen and gleaming with something dangerous.

"H-how…?" Jugson sputtered, his voice strained as he gaped at the two.

Severus straightened, pulling Draco upright with him, but kept one arm wrapped around him as he pulled him back a few discreet steps.

Instead of answering, the blond man dropped his hand, adjusted his light blue vest, and gave a faint, disapproving sniff. "Alastor," he said, his tone sharp with a quiet, unspoken command.

*Brief violence here

The taller man—Alastor—tensed, then moved. He lunged at Jugson, his grip on his staff shifting until he held it like a bat. Then he swung the head of it straight into Jugson's face like the man's head was a bludger with a dull, sickening crack.

Draco winced, jerking in Severus' firm, steady grip.

Jugson's head snapped back from the blow, blood spurting from his nose and mouth as he cried out in pain, spattering onto the front of Alastor's coat. He dropped his wand as his hands flew to his face. But he didn't get long to recover.

Alastor twirled his staff and swung it hard into Jugson's stomach, forcing a choked retch from the wider man as he doubled over. In the same motion, Alastor grabbed him by the arm, spun him around, and shoved him face-first into the dirt and leaves. Somehow, his staff vanished in a curl of shadow as he wrenched both of Jugson's arms behind his back and pinned him there.

Alastor looked down at him with a cruel grin, his eyes glinting with something dark and malicious as his grip tightened.

Jugson started screaming. He bucked wildly beneath Alastor, trying to throw the man off, but he didn't so much as blink. In fact, it looked like he wasn't going to stop putting pressure on Jugson's arms until they broke.

*Violence ends here

"Alastor," the shorter man called again, his voice softer this time, but the command beneath the word crystal clear.

Alastor froze for a moment before easing some of the pressure from Jugson's arms, keeping the man pinned to the ground.

Draco gawked, his mind scrambling to catch up to everything that happened in the last ten seconds. He'd never seen one of the Dark Lord's men overpowered so quickly. Especially not through muggle means. These men…were dangerous.

The blond man walked closer to Alastor and Jugson, bent to pick up Jugson's fallen wand, and twirled it carelessly between his fingers. "Well, that was easy," he said lightly.

Alastor scoffed. "Did you expect it to go another way, mon ange?"

"Not really," the man replied with an amused grin. Then he set the wand on fire. Bright orange and yellow flames licked at the wood, sparks snapping and popping from it as if the wand was objecting to its death.

"Dat was my wand…" Jugson moaned weakly.

"Oh, trust me," Alastor said, voice dropping into something colder. "You're not going to need it."

The blond shot Alastor a small smirk before his expression softened to something more open, turning toward Draco and Severus. "Sev! Thanks for the heads-up this morning."

"Of course, Lucien," Severus muttered, his expression shifting from intense focus to boredom. "I had no desire for my godson to face Greyback." He face twisted enough to let real disgust slip past his mask.

"Greyback…Greyback," the man—Lucien—muttered, tapping a finger to his chin thoughtfully.

"The werewolf from last week, Luci," Alastor said, a note of fond frustration in his voice.

"Oh, right!" Lucien snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that guy's dead."

Severus just stared at him, like Lucien had just casually announced the weather had changed rather than the death of one of Voldemort's most dangerous allies.

"Greyback is dead and you haven't said anything?" He asked, his voice stern and disbelieving.

Lucien blinked blankly for a second before giving a sheepish smile. "That's what I'm doing now?"

Alastor sighed and looked over at Severus. "I'll send word to the allies that Greyback is dead and the werewolves are neutral."

Severus gave a single nod before he turned his attention back to his godson.

Draco's eyes flicked between Lucien and Alastor, his posture tense and uncertain, though he tried to maintain the same aloof composure of his father and godfather. He felt like he was…somewhat successful.

"Draco," Severus said, drawing the teen's attention. "Your parents should have told you that they have arranged for your safety." He paused, then gave a small sigh and gestured toward the two men. "Meet Lord Lucien Magne and his husband, Lord Alastor Magne."

Lucien smiled widely at the teen. "Yup! Good old mom and dad made a deal with Al and I to keep you safe," he chirped brightly. "They asked us to hide you somewhere away from old Tim, and they promised they'd help with recruitment and spying for Balance."

Draco's brows furrowed, mouthing the word 'Tim' in confusion.

Alastor turned to look over at Draco. "He means Voldemort. Tom Riddle. Luci is just terrible with names."

Jugson sputtered up a protest beneath Alastor, jerking slightly, but Alastor held him firm. "'Old on! Da Malfoy's are traitors? Severus! Do someting! Or—" He cut himself off, twisting his head in a failed attempt to look behind him. "Wait… You're all traitors?"

Alastor tightened his grip, eyes narrowing. "It appears there is a brain behind those dim eyes."

Lucien gave a strained hum, tilting his head back and forth. "I wouldn't call them traitors. I prefer the word…opportunists!" His smile returned, razor-sharp.

"Unfortunately for you, Jugson," Severus began, his tone bland, "you were simply the unlucky oaf assigned to my godson on this mission."

"Wrong place, wrong time," Lucien said with a shrug. "It happens, buddy. Don't sweat it."

Jugson grunted and started flailing beneath Alastor, who sat astride him, lips twitching in dark amusement.

"Y-you just wait until da Dark Lord 'ears about dis!" He hollered into the dirt, spitting a leaf from his mouth.

Alastor gave a bark of laughter, his lips curling further up his face. "And…how is he going to find out?"

"You seem to be under the impression that you're walking away," Lucien said, eyebrows raised. "You're face down in the dirt, at my husband's mercy—which he has none of—and you no longer have a wand." He tilted his head to the side in curiosity. "How is Hokey-Pokey going to find out if nobody here is going to tell him?"

"Hokey-Pokey?" Alastor asked, arching a brow as he shook his head. "Luci, these names…"

Lucien ignored him though and turned back to Draco. "Yeah, so, you'll be staying with us until we can get rid of big, bad, evil guy," he said nonchalantly. "Well, both him and the puppet master."

Draco was barely keeping up with what was happening; he was so confused. His parents made a deal with these lunatics for his safety? They were going against the Dark Lord? And his Uncle Severus too? And who was the puppet master?

He turned his gaze toward his godfather, brows pinched together in bemusement. "Uncle Sev… What's happening?"

A heavy sigh left Severus' mouth as he turned fully to Draco. "Your mother and father are concerned for your safety, Draco. They never wanted you to become a Death Eater, never wanted this life for you." His voice grew quieter, more severe like when he was teaching Potions. "It's not glorious. It's not something to be proud of. It is a future that is littered with death and destruction."

Draco's throat tightened, his breath catching. He knew his parents hadn't wanted this life for him. They had protested quietly when the Dark Lord decided he was to be Marked. But they had never had a choice. When the Dark Lord gave an order, they obeyed or suffered the consequences.

But to hear that his parents were fighting back, quietly and covertly shifting their loyalties to another side of the war just to protect him… They were putting their lives on the line just to save his.

His fingers curled into tight fists at his side, and he drew in a shaky breath.

Severus paused, eyeing Draco for a moment. "I joined Balance because they made an offer that would guarantee my freedom. They've made promises, Draco, and they've kept them. The future they are building is more preferable than what the Dark Lord or Dumbledore have painted."

Draco frowned, gaze dropping to the ground in thought. His parents didn't want this for him. They never wanted him to become like them, to serve a psychotic tyrant they themselves were forced to obey—or be crushed beneath his wrath.

He swallowed, lifting his gaze again to his godfather. "What about them?"

Severus expression hardened, his dark eyes intense. "They know precisely what they're doing, Draco. Your safety comes before their own."

"They also have a failsafe in case something goes wrong," Lucien said gently. "I made sure of it. Their safety is also part of our deal."

Draco straightened, smoothing a hand down the front of his robe as he carefully slipped his mask back into place. "Well," he said at last, his voice cool despite the lingering tightness in his chest, "if this is what you call a safe rescue mission, I would hate to see what you consider reckless."

Lucien blinked once before he giving a soft snort.

Alastor gave a low chuckle, his green eyes locking onto Draco's gray. "Trust me. You wouldn't be able to handle our more reckless extractions."

Draco stared at the taller man—the warm darkness of his skin, the bright gleam in those green eyes—it all tugged insistently at the edges of his memory. He knew this man. Somehow, he did. But, irritatingly enough, he could not place him.

Still, both his parents and his godfather trusted these men enough to switch sides—and trusted them to protect him. And for the moment, it was enough for him as well.

Lucien hummed and turned on his heel, rolling his wrist and new disc of golden light appeared in front of him. "Well then," he said brightly, gesturing Draco and Severus toward the portal. "Manor first. Then we can debrief you, have some tea, and get you set up in your own room."

Draco didn't move right away, eyeing the swirling golden portal hesitantly. Then his gaze slid to Jugson, who was still pinned into the dirt beneath Alastor and breathing hard through a bloodied mouth.

"What about him?" He asked.

Alastor looked down at the man beneath him, his grin growing. "Don't you worry. I'll handle him."

Lucien glanced over at his husband. "Five minutes."

Alastor let out a soft, offended scoff. "Luci. Five is not nearly enough."

"Five."

"My dearest light," Alastor began, his voice turning sweet, but there was still a sharpness beneath it, "I need at least ten minutes. He's a murdering rapist…and he bled on my coat."

Lucien rolled his eyes affectionately, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your coat is already red, dear hart."

"Yes," Alastor replied, as if that was painfully obvious. "But now it's tacky, and I have to wash it."

Severus made a strangled sound.

Lucien gave a soft chuckle, the warmth in his eyes clear to see. "Uh-huh. Okay. Fine, ten minutes. Then I'm opening a portal and you're stepping through it whether you're finished or not."

Alastor's grin turned bright, though it didn't lose its wicked edge. "Always so generous, mon ange."

"Don't get too carried away," Lucien said, turning back towards the portal. Then he waved Draco toward the portal. "After you, while the day's still young."

Draco shook himself and turned away from Jugson and Alastor, a strange, squirming pit opening in his stomach. He felt like he did not want to be here much longer. So he quickly followed his godfather through the portal.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Alastor's Office

July 30th, 1996 8:38 AM

Alastor stepped back through the reopened portal with a satisfied sigh and a pleased curve of his lips. He brushed some dirt from his sleeve absently as he turned his attention to the rest of the room.

Lucifer was on their preferred couch, leaning back against the cushion with one leg crossed over the other. Draco and Severus sat opposite of him, both painfully straight-backed, fingers threaded together in their laps. The etiquette of the upper class on full display.

On the coffee table were glasses of water and one pumpkin juice in front of Draco.

He raised a brow, then moved around the back of the third couch, settling beside his husband.

"Have fun?" Lucifer asked, his voice tinged with knowing amusement.

"I did," Alastor replied lightly, offering him a more genuine smile. He turned his attention to Draco and Severus. "Why so serious? Relax, you're safe now."

Draco pressed his lips together before they shifted into a scowl. "Am I?" He asked harshly, his tone clipped. "I don't even know you."

Alastor gave a soft snort before he took a small sip of his water, the ice clinking faintly in the glass. "Don't be silly, Mr. Malfoy. Yes, you do."

"Besides, we made a binding deal with your parents we'd keep you safe," Lucifer added, letting his head thunk against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His own posture was much more relaxed than those across from them.

Alastor gestured his head toward Lucifer in agreement. "We did. You can ask Severus, he was there when your parents and ourselves signed it."

Severus let out a short, sharp exhale through his nose. "Alastor and Lucien are correct. As…eccentric as they are, they will keep their word."

Draco slowly relaxed, though his spine remained stiff and the suspicion never left his face. His gray eyes stayed locked on Alastor. "I know you," he said, his voice low and accusatory. "How do I know you?"

Alastor's smile thinned, amusement glinting in his very familiar green eyes. "Well, I went by a different name before I traveled through time and grew up," he said casually. "I suppose you haven't seen this morning's Daily Prophet yet."

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and the newspaper appeared in his hand in a brief flash of gold. He floated it over to Severus, who took it without so much as a bat of his eye.

His gaze moved over the article, years of skimming student essays allowing him to read the article rather quickly. He arched a brow, but showed little other reaction. "This is just your first year at Hogwarts," he commented, his gaze lifting back to Alastor. "You did considerably more that year than I realized."

"So much for the Hogwarts rumor mill," Alastor joked dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It's incorrect ninety percent of the time anyway."

Severus gave a grunt of agreement, setting the paper down on the coffee table.

"But to answer your question, Mr. Malfoy," Alastor continued, his gaze flicking back to the teen, "I go by Alastor now, but I used to go by Harry Potter."

The way he announced it was so casual that it took Draco a moment to catch up.

Draco's eyes widened and his mask slipped completely. "What?" He demanded, hands moving to grab the cushion he sat on. "You're—no. No, you're not."

"Very well," Alastor said easily. His eyes narrowed as he tapped his chin. "Let's see, my memories are vaguely foggy, but I'm sure I can convince you."

He hummed for a few seconds before his face lit up. "Ah-ha! I believe I have just the memory to convince you." He turned his gaze back to Draco, his grin sharpening.

"When we first met on the Hogwarts Express, you had been looking for Harry Potter. Well, lo and behold, he had been sitting with Ron Weasley, and jealously burned in your little heart at the sight," he said, tilting his head. "So you decided to insult Ron, calling him poor, thinking that would gain my friendship."

He scoffed, then gave a soft chuckle. "It did quite the opposite. Then—oh, who was it? One of your gormless bookends thought it'd be a good idea to try and steal some of the sweets we bought. Only he wasn't expecting Ron's pet rat and got quite the nasty bite on his finger, didn't he?"

Draco stared at him incredulously, his mouth partly open. "No…" He said, shaking his head slowly. "Potter was scrawny. A noble, reckless Gryffindor with the social grace of a Niffler in a vault filled with gold."

Alastor inclined his head. "A fair assessment of my younger self."

Draco blinked. "You're serious."

"No, he's downstairs," Alastor replied, quick as a whip. Lucifer snorted and Severus groaned. "But I'm not joking."

Draco narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, studying Alastor's face closely, seeing the similarities. "Potter."

"Malfoy," Alastor replied in the same clipped tone, his old British accent cutting through the word.

Draco jerked back at the immediate familiarity. Then he tried to compose himself, drawing himself up with all the dignity he could recover. "Of course you would get yourself tangled up in something impossible like time travel and somehow come back even more insufferable."

Alastor laughed loudly, his grin widening in delight. "And yet you're sitting in my office, in my manor." He gestured loosely to the room around them before reaching for his water again, taking a large drink.

Draco frowned, clearly realizing the same thing. He bristled slightly. "Shut up, Potter."

Alastor scoffed, setting his glass back down. "If you're going to try to insult me, at least use my correct name," he said indifferently. "I go by Alastor Magne now. I've shed the name associated with the—" he wrinkled his nose in visible distaste, "—Boy-Who-Lived."

Draco opened his mouth, either to argue further or ask a question, Alastor wasn't sure which, but he was cut off by Lucifer with a sharp clap of his hands.

"Well then!" Lucifer announced loudly, startling the teen. "You can struggle with that identity crisis later. I need to remove the parasite from your arm."

Both Draco and Severus froze. Draco's hand instinctively went to his left forearm before he could stop it.

Lucifer stood from the couch, stretching one arm across his chest. "C'mon, kid. Let's get that stupid brand off your arm."

"I'm sixteen," Draco grumbled automatically, before he looked toward Severus.

"Everyone's a kid to me," Lucifer said with a shrug. He froze when he heard Alastor clear his throat pointedly behind him. "Except for my husband." His voice pitched up. "Because that…that would be fucking weird."

Severus nodded to his godson. "Allow Lucien to remove the Mark, Draco. You don't want to keep it."

"Plus, removing it will really sell the story that you're dead," Lucifer said casually.

"What?" Draco asked sharply, finally pushing himself up from the couch.

"The story will be that Greyback grew angry and killed you and Jugson," Alastor said calmly. "He caught Jugson by surprise, and you can't apparate, so unfortunately, an underage wizard is easy prey."

"And it will keep the bad guy from looking for you," Lucifer added, ignoring how the color drained from Draco's face as he stepped closer, only slightly shorter than the teen.

Draco shook himself and slowly unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, yanking it up and exposing the Mark. It looked darker in the morning light than he remembered. Fresh and ugly, still too new against his pale skin.

Lucifer reached out, one hand wrapping around his wrist gently but firmly. His other hand hovered over the Mark, a fierce frown pulling at his face. "Sev," he said, voice soft but clear. "Could you can stand behind him in case he collapses?"

"Collapses?" Draco echoed, his head jerking around just as his godfather stood and stepped into place behind him.

"This probably isn't going to be pleasant," Lucifer warned. "I fully expect you to buckle and scream."

"I'm not going to scream," Draco shot back immediately, a scowl settling on his face to hide his nerves.

Lucifer made a noncommittal sound before he drew in a breath. He held it for a moment before slowly releasing it, his eyes fluttering closed. Then, his palm hovering over Draco's forearm began to glow a soft gold.

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Then pain slammed suddenly into him like a bludger. He jerked violently, but Lucifer held him firmly in place, the light flaring brighter until stars burst across Draco's vision. He turned his head away, a strangled noise tearing from his clenched jaw.

Lucifer focused on the parasite attached to Draco's soul. It was a stubborn knot of Black magic that shouldn't have existed, so it wasn't hard to find the thing. However, it had already sunk itself in deep—vines and thorns buried in the teenager's silver soul, latching on like a demonic leech. A black smirch on the soul's natural shine.

A deep frown pulled at Lucifer's mouth as he began slowly and meticulously prying each thorn from the soul, careful not to damage what lay beneath. One by one, he peeled the perverted magic away from Draco's soul, unwinding it.

Draco gasped and nearly dropped to his knees, but Severus caught him under his arms with a grunt, supporting him. A cold sweat broke across his temples, and his breathing became shallow and stuttering.

Lucifer blew out a steady breath as he pulled the last few thorny vines free from the soul, then gave one final tug. Now that the parasite was no longer holding onto anything, its invisible vines writhing around it, it easily came away. Slowly, the Mark on Draco's arm darkened into an angry, deep black before it peeled away from his skin, losing its shape until it was a tangle of Black magic held in Lucifer's hand.

"Whew," Lucifer breathed, opening his eyes.

"Impressive," Alastor murmured, his eyes roaming over his husband. The skin of his hands and forearms had turned their usual soot-black, and his irises had bled from blue back to red, but the rest of his glamor was still held. Then his gaze fixed on the magic in Lucifer's palm.

Draco panted as he sagged back against Severus, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes, licked his lips, and managed to get his feet under him again.

Severus helped steady him, but his dark eyes were already fixated on the black mass in Lucifer's palm—and the fact that Draco's forearm was now clean.

He had actually pulled the Dark Mark from his godson.

"Nasty little parasite," Lucifer said, glaring down at the magic in his hand. He pursed his lips and began squeezing the mass, snuffing out the writhing ball until it suddenly collasped in on itself and died in a small puff of black smoke.

"There, all done." He dusted off his hands before reapplying his glamor over the places where it had slipped. "Easy peasy!"

Alastor let out an amused huff. Then turned his gaze back to Draco.

The teen shakily sat back down with Severus' help, his disbelieving gaze fixed on his blank forearm. "Easy?" He echoed, lifting his head to stare at Lucifer. "Great…"

He slowly drew his sleeve back down and rebuttoned his cuff, adrenaline still racing through his veins, his heart still thumping against his ribcage. "What do I do now?" A determination suddenly surged within him, bolstered by the adrenaline. "Cause I'm not just going to stay hidden here while the rest of you decide the future. My future."

Lucifer raised a brow, still standing. Everyone turned their attention to Alastor when the man cleared his throat.

"I have an idea," Alastor said, a sharp smirk cutting across his face. "You don't wish to be useless while you're stuck here. And the Weasleys, plus Luna and Hermione, are already helping me in many ways."

Draco sneered instinctively at the names.

Alastor's eyes narrowed immediately. "You can make that face all you want, Mr. Malfoy, but as long as you're in this manor, you will be civil with everyone here," he said firmly, his tone suddenly stern.

Draco jolted and straightened as if it had been his father that had snapped at him. Severus raised a brow, a subtle flicker of surprise passing through his gaze.

"I don't care about your history with each other, or the bad blood between the Malfoys and Weasleys," Alastor continued, his eyes set on Draco, not giving the teen an inch. "I've already spoken with the others, and now I'm telling you the same thing. You will be civil. There will be no bullying, and no snide remarks about blood or monetary status while you remain here. It's time to stop living in your father's shadow and start becoming a man of your own standing."

"Yes sir," Draco replied instantly before he could stop himself. Then he froze. He blanched slightly when he realized he had called Potter sir. His cheeks heated at once, and he pressed his lips together in mortified silence.

"Now," Alastor continued, letting up on his tone, "if you would like something to do, I have an idea."

Draco wanted to grumble under his breath, but refrained. "What sort of idea?"

Alastor stood and tugged at the cuffs of his coat before walking over to the fireplace, the low glow of the embers just barely lighting the hearth. "Balance is not Light. Nor is it Dark," he said. "It is a precarious equilibrium of the two. The scales need help to maintain this balance so that neither side can be allowed to grow more than the other, lest we allow an imbalance like it is now."

Lucifer settled back into the couch and grabbed his glass, smiling into his water.

"And," Alastor continued, turning away from the mantle to fix his gaze on Draco, "if you're up for a challenge… I could use your help."

"My help?" Draco asked, his pale brows rising, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why?"

Alastor shrugged. "You're clever, observant, resourceful, and you understand politics, blood prejudice, and the rot that's festering inside the Ministry." He drew in a breath. "I am offering you…instruction. A mentorship, if you will."

"Mentorship?" Draco echoed, feeling strangely like he had been hit with some absurd repeat jinx. "Hold on, don't we hate each other? Why would you want to mentor me? And in what, exactly?"

Alastor let slip a sigh. "No, I don't hate you. I never actually did. I found you mildly annoying, but that was about it."

Draco's face twisted in offense.

Alastor continued, ignoring the expression. "And I want to mentor you for the reasons I listed, and for the solid fact that you are the future of the wizarding world. As are the many children and young adults. It would be remiss of me if I were to ignore the future of the wizarding world's citizens to help uphold Balance rather than allow it to crumble as soon as Luci and I leave."

He paused, pursing his lips in thought. "You could become one of Balance's pillars instead of another child shaped by someone else's war. I can teach you to recognize an imbalance and how to correct it."

Draco's brows drew together. "Mentoring in Balance?" He asked slowly, turning the words over. It sounded…unique. And challenging.

Unconsciously, his hand moved to cover his left forearm where the Mark used to be. It was gone. He hadn't had it long, but the moment he had been Marked, he felt like branded livestock—his father and godfather among them. But now it was gone. He was no longer Marked.

He was free. He could make this choice himself. He could say no.

His gray eyes flicked back to Alastor—a name he would struggle to get used to—and opened his mouth. "I accept."

A slow smile turned up Alastor's lips and he nodded. "Very good. Then we have an agreement."

"Great!" Lucifer said, pleased. Then he hauled himself up off the couch. "C'mon, Dragon. I'll show you to your room."

Draco scowled, but stood. "Don't call me that," he snapped lightly, but followed anyway.

Alastor watched them go before he moved to sit again, taking a refreshing sip of his water. "Now," he began, lifting his gaze to Severus.

"You didn't shake on it," Severus murmured, watching him closely.

Alastor tilted his head. "I'm not going to drag a teenager into a demonic deal, Severus. I have standards."

Severus was quiet for a moment. "I suppose that's one of the big differences between you and the Dark Lord and Albus."

"We have many similarities, I'll admit," Alastor replied, leaning back into the couch. "But we also have our differences. My moral compass, as skewed as it may be at times, seems more fine tuned than their own."

He snickered slightly. "Though, speaking of the two squabbling old men…" He tilted his head. "Have you managed to spread that little rumor about Lucifer yet?"

Severus blinked. "The one of him being a non-human king? Not yet," he replied with a slight frown. "I plan on seeing Albus tonight to examine his hand. I'll tell him then."

"And Tom?"

Severus gave a hum. "I'll tell him after I'm done with Albus. No doubt the Dark Lord will appreciate the information." He finally reached for his own water and took a sip.

Alastor nodded, lips tugging up in a smug grin. "Then we sit back and watch them chase their own tails like naïve little children."

"A pleasant thought," Severus admitted, with a nod of his head.

Alastor lifted his glass in a lazy salute. "While they waste time, we'll be making moves."

—

Location: Hogwarts - Headmaster's Office

July 30th, 1996 8:53 PM

Severus' POV

Severus muttered a spell under his breath, his wand waving over the cursed, withering hand. He turned Dumbledore's wrist carefully, studying the deadened flesh under the light. The curse had not advanced as quickly as it might have without his intervention, but it was still there, still eating away at the old, stubborn headmaster.

"Severus," Dumbledore spoke after several minutes of silence. "How is it?"

"It is holding," Severus replied after a moment. "For now."

Dumbledore hummed, nodding his head sagely. "A comforting thought."

"It wasn't intended to be," Severus said dryly. He released the hand and stepped back, quietly stowing his wand in his upper robe pocket. "You'll be fortunate if you live another year."

"Then I shall simply be moving on to the next great adventure," Dumbledore said with a genial smile.

Severus managed to bite back a bitter snort. 'Great adventure indeed,' he thought sardonically.

He cleared his throat, drawing Dumbledore's attention. "Albus," he said, pausing intentionally. "I have been holding something back since our last Order meeting."

Dumbledore raised a bushy brow. "What is that, my boy?"

He cringed internally, but pushed on without so much of a slip of his mask. "I overheard Lupin and Black speaking about Lucien."

That got Dumbledore's full attention.

"They have found out that Lucien is not…human," Severus said slowly, as if tasting his words. "Black referred to him as non-human, but couldn't say if he was being or something different. They do not know. Lupin also mentioned him in connection with a kingdom, as well."

Dumbledore went very still, his blue eyes sharpening behind his spectacles. "Royalty?"

Severus gave a single nod. "That was my understanding."

Dumbledore fell silent, his gaze falling to his desk in thought. "How intriguing," he murmured softly, his good hand stroking his beard. "Do you have any theories, Severus?"

Severus' lips twitched into a faint frown, a flash of irritation in his gaze. "I do not."

Dumbledore hummed, disappointed but not surprised, and slowly turned his gaze back to Severus. "I see. Perhaps I shall do some reading on magical kings and lords." He paused. "Have you mentioned this to Voldemort yet?"

"Not yet," Severus said. "I intend to tell him next time I see him."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. Best to tell him. We wouldn't want to place you in greater danger than necessary, Severus."

Severus didn't comment, his face impassive. "Of course."

—

Location: Malfoy Manor - East Wing Ballroom (repurposed)

July 30th, 1996 9:13 PM

Severus' POV

"My Lord," Severus said, bowing his head subserviently.

Voldemort stood with his back to him, facing a pair of tall glass doors that overlooked the Malfoy gardens. Nagini slithered around her master, hissing softly as her beady eyes watched Severus.

"Severus," Voldemort greeted, turning his head slightly, but not enough to look over his shoulder. "You come with some news at last."

It wasn't a question.

"I do," Severus replied, lifting his head, mask fully in place. "I have come across some interesting…information. It's about Lord Lucien."

Voldemort stilled. Then, very slowly, he turned, the hem of his robe brushing against the floor. "What of him?"

"I overheard Black and Lupin speaking of him in terms that suggest that he is not human," Severus said carefully. "They also spoke of him as something old…and that he hails from his own kingdom."

The silence hung over the cavernous room. Then Voldemort smiled. "Is that so?" His red eyes fell to Nagini briefly before they returned to Severus. "Do you know what he is?"

Severus shook his head. "Neither do Black or Lupin. They are still trying to determine it for themselves."

Voldemort gave a soft, contemplative hum and began pacing the floor slowly as he thought. "How very interesting," he said. "I find myself more inclined to meet this man now." He physically paused and turned to Severus again. "Though Alastor Magne declined my first offer."

His expression sharpened. "Severus," he said softly, "perhaps he will be more forthcoming if the invitation comes from you."

Severus highly doubted that. But he kept the thought to himself.

"Of course, my Lord," he murmured, bowing again.

Chapter Text

Location: Potter Manor - Kitchen

July 30th, 1996 10:02 PM

"So, is Draco all settled in?" Remus asked, glancing up from his steaming cup of tea.

Alastor, leaning against the kitchen island in lieu of sitting, flicked his gaze to Remus. "For the most part," he replied quietly.

"Dinner was a little tense," Sirius said, muttering over the rim of his own cup of tea. "He looked like we were all about to attack him."

Alastor gave a quiet huff. "Well, he's a moody teenager who was just displaced from his home, forced into hiding, separated from his parents, and dropping into a house full of other teenagers that, quite frankly, he doesn't get along with."

Sirius grunted and gave a single nod of begrudging agreement.

"While also," Remus added, "finding out your school rival is now a fully grown adult. That has to be confusing for him."

Alastor's lips twitched into a small, amused smile. "Indeed. It likely didn't help that I told him that I never hated him, just found him annoying."

Sirius snorted, eyes sparkling and grin stretching wide. "Blimey. Straight for his pride, then."

"Oh, I'm quite good at that," Alastor murmured smoothly, his lips curling further up his face. "Knocking prideful assholes off their high horses is a talent of mine."

"Speaking of prideful assholes," Sirius began, "where's Lucien? Haven't seen him in a couple of hours."

"Ha!" Alastor barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, he's a little tied up at the moment. Despite being here, he's still a king, and unfortunately still has duties."

"I thought his ex-wife was taking care of things?" Remus asked.

"She is," Alastor said casually. "But this is more personal."

Remus raised a brow, but shrugged, dropping the subject. He took a hearty drink of his tea and sighed softly as some of the tension finally began to ease from his body.

"Think Dumbledore's seen the article yet?" Sirius asked, resting his cheek into his fist.

"Oh, most definitely," Alastor said, a glint of dark amusement in his gaze. "Though I'm surprised he hasn't summoned everyone for another 'emergency meeting'." He scoffed.

"I feel like he's going to be busy with a few howlers," Remus said, blinking slowly as tiredness began to settle over his face.

"That, or he's busy with the new rumor Severus provided him," Alastor said, his mouth quirking into a crooked smirk.

"What new rumor?" Both Sirius and Remus asked simultaneously.

"Hm." Alastor smirked mischievously at the two, his gaze flicking between them. "Oh, just that Lucien is some sort of non-human king."

The sleepiness disappeared from Remus' face, his eyes suddenly alight with disbelief. Sirius straightened in his chair. "Wot?"

"Why would you do that?" Remus asked, his words coming out quickly in a panic.

"Relax," Alastor reassured coolly, waving a dismissive hand. He shifted his weight and stood a little straighter. "He—and Tom as well—have literally no context. They'll both be starting from zero." He drummed his fingers along the counter. "Besides, it's a red herring."

"A what?" Sirius asked, his brows pinching together.

"A ruse," Alastor explained. "Something to keep both old men running around in circles, chasing a rumor while Luci, myself, and the rest of Balance move through the shadows a little easier."

"Huh." Remus frowned in thought. "That's brilliant."

"But what if he or Riddle do figure it out?" Sirius asked, tapping a random rhythm against the side of his mug.

Alastor snorted. "They won't," he said with easy confidence. "If Hermione and you, Remus, are struggling to figure Luci out, then they have absolutely no chance."

"Oi, what about me?" Sirius asked, a hand going to his chest in faux offense.

"Don't be facetious, Padfoot," Remus teased, lips twitching.

Sirius reeled back as though struck before scowling at Remus, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Fuck you."

Remus simply stared at him, one brow arching, and didn't say a word.

"On that note," Alastor said quickly, "I'm heading to bed. Ta-ta!" He quickly dissolved into shadow on instinct, making a swift exit from whatever that was.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Master Bedroom

July 30th, 1996 10:16 PM

Alastor reformed within his and Lucifer's bedroom, his glamor melting away as the shadows retreated. He gave a soft sigh, a sound of relief as he took several steps toward the dresser. As he walked, he slowly started to undress. The soft whisper of fabric barely made a sound as he removed his bow tie and set it atop the wooden surface. His monocle followed with a quiet click. Then he quickly toed off his boots, crimson hooves sinking into the carpet, and draped his coat—now clean—on the tall, traditional coat rack beside the dresser.

"And how have you fared this last hour, my love?" He asked nonchalantly, his red gaze sliding from his coat to his husband.

*Smut ahead

Lucifer hung completely nude suspended beside the bed, his wrists tied together and held high above his head by thick shadow tendrils that disappeared into the ceiling like living smoke. Another curved possessively around his thin waist and up his heaving chest before disappearing over his shoulder and down his back. His head was tipped back, exposing his pale throat and the bright golden flush that had spread across his cheeks down to his shoulders. His blond hair was mussed and damp around his temples from sweat, and his mouth hung open as his breathing came out uneven and shallow.

The points of his black hooves just barely brushed above the carpet as he dangled above it. A low, breathy moan slipped from his throat as his body gave a slight jerk, his next inhale stuttering in his chest. His fingers curled into his palms, the dark skin paling under the strain.

Then there was Alastor's shadow.

It was pressed possessively against Lucifer's lower half, its shadowy hands curled around his hips, preventing him from swaying too much while its long, cool tongue wrapped around his hard length. A buzz of static crackled from it, its simple features obviously pleased as it sealed its mouth over Lucifer's cock, sucking it down and causing the bound man to jerk and whimper, muscles pulling taut.

Alastor took in the scene as if he were studying a complex piece of art, arms crossed, one hand resting on his chin, and his head tilted to the side. However, his eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction, and his smile was anything but innocent curiosity. He watched as the muscles of Lucifer’s hips twitched under his shadow’s cool touch, the skin rippling, a shudder running through the smaller man’s frame.

It was all so fascinating.

"Hmm." He closed the space between them, careful not to interrupt his shadow's thorough and slow movements, stopping in front of his husband. "Are you enjoying my gift, mon ange?" He asked softly, gently grasping Lucifer's chin and tilting his head forward enough to see his dazed expression.

Lucifer's eyes blinked slowly up at Alastor, glazed over with obvious desire. A shudder skittered up his spine, causing his body to twitch as a broken gasp left him.

Alastor's gaze dropped down as his shadow began to bob its head more earnestly. Curiously, he could see Lucifer's cock twitching within the inky silhouette. He watched for a moment as his shadowy extension kept its tongue wrapped around Lucifer's length, its jagged smile still carved into its face as it continued to pleasure him. He could feel the tingle of friction within his own mouth and on his tongue as Shadow enveloped Lucifer’s cock down to the root.

Alastor almost cleared his throat around the phantom pressure.

Then, his eyes slid back to Lucifer's face, the golden flush brighter, causing his skin to give off a soft glow.

"It appears you're enjoying it very much," he murmured, his thumb brushing against Lucifer's bottom lip teasingly. His smile widened as the forked tongue darted out from his husband's mouth, just to get a small taste of him. He gave a slight tsk and pressed his thumb more firmly against his husband's lip, pulling it down to reveal a few sharp teeth.

"Eager, aren't we?" He moved closer until his clothes brushed up against Lucifer's heated skin, drawing another helpless sound from the man. "Good," he purred, his voice dropping into something darker and richer.

He lowered his head until his mouth brushed against Lucifer's pointed ear, inhaling the sweet scent of spiced apples, the depth of the smoke and fire, and the sharp bite of ozone mixing with the salty sweat and musky scent of sex. He hummed low in Lucifer's ear, his hand trailed down from his mouth, over his chest, along his side, the lower Lucifer's backside. Then he gave the cheek a generous squeeze that made Lucifer jolt.

"Because," he whispered, his words slow and husky, "I've not had my way with you yet."

An obscene moan tore from Lucifer's throat, his head falling back again now that Alastor wasn't holding it up. He writhed, tugging at his restraints, arching to press closer. However, Alastor's shadow held him firm at the hips, keeping him exactly in place.

A low chuckle rumbled up from Alastor's chest as he trailed his lips from Lucifer's ear to his neck, watching as the way his husband tilted his head instinctively—offering him access without thinking. He pressed a soft kiss to the frantic flutter of Lucifer's pulse, and his eyes dropped to the shadows behind him. The tendril wrapped around Lucifer's body had slithered down his back—the muscles jumping from the cool sensation—going over the red markings before slipping lower between his cheeks, the tendril moving in and out to fully prep him.

"You make such a lovely sight," Alastor said, his voice rough. Then he cleared his throat and—reluctantly—stepped away. His eyes narrowed in satisfaction when Lucifer gave a sharp whine of protest.

"Now, now, my love," he murmured almost gently. "No whining. I won't leave you for long." His eyes darted down to Shadow again before returning to Lucifer's face—dazed, desperate, and full of want. "Let Shadow finish first."

He moved toward the bed to sit, his crimson-tipped fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt as he slowly began to undress, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him. He easily shucked off his red shirt, allowing it to fall to the floor with a muted thwump, before his hands moved to his pants, the sound of the buckle and zipper joining the indecent sounds his shadow was dragging from his husband. His grip tightened on the waistband of his pants as he watched, his own cock stirring within the confines.

Lucifer squirmed as his shadow dragged its mouth slowly from Lucifer's cock until just the tip remained. It swirled its tongue just as expertly as its master, before it sank fully back down, burying its face into the blond curls. Inky claws tightened around Lucifer's hips, holding him steady as he jolted and arched, a choked moan catching in his throat.

Alastor swallowed around the phantom feeling of Lucifer’s cock hitting the back of his throat, his body tensing slightly as he finally removed his pants and boxers, kicking them into a pile with his shirt. "Why are you holding back, Shadow?" He asked, crimson eyes fixed on the inky silhouette. "Haven't you edged the poor angel enough?" The question came out more amused than concerned, his gaze sparkling. "Unless you've given him some release already in the hour?"

Static spiked as Shadow's eyes narrowed, drawing another ruined sound from Lucifer as a leg jerked reflexively. The vibration of the static traveled straight through him from the cool mouth wrapped around his cock, twitching and flushed gold with need, pre-cum dripping from the tip.

The room hummed with the familiar buzz of radio static as Shadow held up a single finger. It seemed exceptionally pleased with itself.

"Only once?" Alastor asked, a breathy laugh of disbelief leaving him. "When I told you to toy with him, I wasn't expecting you to edge him mercilessly." Despite the words, he wasn't upset. He knew his shadow was a mischievous thing, prone to twisting his orders sometimes or ignoring them entirely when it pleased.

"Get on with it," Alastor commanded softly while taking his own half-hard cock in hand, stroking himself slowly. He leaned back on the bed, bracing himself with his free hand, eyes on the scene. "Finish, then you're dismissed."

Shadow's ears turned back, and it gave a hiss of displeasure as it pulled its mouth off of Lucifer, pulling a whiny moan of displeasure and relief from the bound man. The inky silhouette glared at its master with a crooked frown, but gave a staticky huff and obeyed. It knew it could play again later.

Alastor watched as his shadow stopped teasing his husband and swallowed Lucifer down in one smooth motion. Static buzzed from it, vibrating through Lucifer and drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from the man. Lucifer's legs jerked and he yanked against his restraints, pulling his body up as he writhed and shook in raw ecstasy. Obscene sounds tumbled from him, his body lurching and spasming as Shadow set a quick, relentless pace.

"Ah-ha—fuck," Lucifer breathed, the word strangled and rough. A strained groan tore from his throat as he yanked hard on the shadow tendrils, muscles shaking and taut with effort, the heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter. The way the cool mouth glided over him, the vibration that seemed to sink into his bones, the way its tongue pressed firmly against the underside of his cock, and how he'd been teased mercilessly for so long—he didn't last much longer.

He arched his back, his eyes squeezing shut as he cried out incoherently. His cock twitched within Shadow's wispy mouth as he came—like white ink in dark water, his spend was swallowed up by the shadows, leaving behind nothing but heat and shaking limbs. His body trembled as he gasped, then he went limp within his restraints, panting heavily as Shadow pulled away with a jagged smirk.

Alastor let out a low sound of approval as he watched Lucifer come undone under his shadow's ministrations, his hand stroking his cock to fullness. "Well done," he purred, voice low and smooth as honey, eyes tracing along the lax, trembling form of his husband. "Thank you, Shadow. You did a wonderful job."

Shadow preened under its master's praise, its wispy ears flicking, head tilted to the side, static crackling with smug satisfaction. Then it melted into an unidentifiable mass of darkness and slipped beneath Alastor, retreating for the time being.

Alastor stood, brushing a hand through the fine fur of his stomach and crossed the small distance between him and his husband. Slowly, gently, he reached down and cupped Lucifer's chin, lifting his head until their eyes met. His thumb stroked the flushed apple-red moxie of Lucifer's cheek, reverent and loving, a grounding touch. "My, you fall apart so pretty for me."

Lucifer blinked blearily at him, his mouth still parted and eyes unfocused. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he tried to regain control of his wits. He shook his head and pried it weakly from Alastor's fingers with a groan, grimacing as goosebumps rose across his flesh. He rolled his wrists and wriggled slightly, testing the restraints.

"S-smug bastard," he rasped, the words scratching out of his throat roughly.

Alastor chuckled and leaned forward, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to the red marking on Lucifer's cheek. "Correct," he purred, eyes hooded as he met his husband's gaze. "But I'm your smug bastard."

The golden blush deepened across Lucifer's face. He forced his mouth not to curve up, pressing his lips together instead and gave Alastor a half-hearted glare.

"So you're…not enjoying my gift?" Alastor asked knowingly, head tilted, eyes wide in mock concern. He gave a small tsk. "And here I thought it was a rather lovely gift in return for the toad." He dropped his hand finally, circling Lucifer until he stood behind him.

He reached out and gently traced the tendril down to where it disappeared between the cleft of Lucifer's cheeks, ears flicking forward at the sharp inhale he drew from the man. The corners of his mouth turned up in satisfaction.

"I apologize it took so long for me to reward you, mon ange," he said, voice dropping as he tapped his shadow and the tendril slowly slipped from Lucifer with a lewd, wet noise. "We have been a tad busy though, so you'll have to forgive me. But," he leaned in closer, lips brushing the nape of Lucifer's neck, "I'm making up for it now."

Alastor finally took the last step and pressed himself flush against Lucifer's back, his skin hot. His mouth latched onto the side of Lucifer's neck, sharp teeth scraping and raising angry lines in the skin, followed by the the flat of his tongue, soothing the sting with possessive care. His hands trailed down Lucifer's sides, feeling the way the air hitched in his chest before he grasped his pale hips, claws pressing against the alabaster skin. He hummed and sealed his lips over the spot on Lucifer's neck, sucking hard enough it would leave a glowing golden bruise.

Lucifer choked out a low groan, his head easily falling to the side as his breath came out in shaky puffs.

Alastor hauled him closer, pressing them together intimately and grinding his cock along the cleft of his husband's ass with a groan of his own. He rolled and rocked his hips, a delicious friction building slowly with every drag. Claws pricked at the supple skin of Lucifer's hips as Alastor bit down hard into his neck, drawing a sharp yelp that bled into a moan.

He laved his tongue over the bite, the barest trace of divine blood tingling his taste buds—not enough to make him drunk. He jerked his hips again, harder, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. His flushed cock twitched, and he watched as a bead of pre-cum dripped from the tip, landing on the small of Lucifer's back.

But the friction alone wasn't enough. He wanted more. And judging by the wanton sounds Lucifer was making, so did he.

And who was Alastor to deny his husband—especially when Lucifer had already offered himself so beautifully?

"You were good for my shadow, weren't you?" Alastor asked, the words low and rough, the static thick in voice. He growled as he rutted against Lucifer before forcing himself to pull back, shaking with restraint. Using one hand, he helped align his cock and pressed the swollen head against Lucifer's stretched hole. "And now you'll be good for me, right? Let me fuck you?"

Lucifer tensed, a whimper catching in his throat as one leg stretched back to hook around Alastor's, keeping him close. He gave a frantic nod, all reason gone from his thoughts, his focus narrowed down to the hot length resting against his opening. "I-I—yes," he choked out, hoarse and wrecked. "I'm…good. So good. Please."

Alastor hummed in approval, nipping at the bruise on Lucifer's neck before his lips trailed up to his pointed ear. "Good," he purred. Then he drove his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one, claiming motion.

Lucifer gasped, yanking on the tendrils and arching, a broken noise scraping out of his throat. "Ffffuck…yes," he rasped, claws digging into his palms.

Alastor groaned and gave a shuddering exhale as the tight heat squeezed around him. It had been ages since he'd been buried within his husband, and he wanted to savor it, wanted to feel every second rather than race toward the finish line. He held himself still, drawing in a deep breath, holding it, then exhaling slowly, hot against Lucifer's skin.

"Mon ange," he murmured, pressing his face into the nape of Lucifer's neck, "you feel like heaven and sin." His body quivered in an effort to stay still, just feeling the amazing, heated grip around his cock. His ears drooped low in bliss, and his tail gave a couple slow sweeps behind him.

Lucifer's body twitched and a whimper slipped out. "S-so…full," he breathed, voice hitching. His cloven toes curled, then with a frustrated huff, he hooked his other leg back, locking it with Alastor's. "M-move."

A throaty chuckle rose from Alastor. "Aren't you a demanding little thing?" He murmured, amusement dark and pleased. "Tied up as you are." He dragged his tongue up from between Lucifer's shoulders to the edge of his hairline. His eyes fluttered open—not realizing he had closed them—and flicked down to where Lucifer had both his ankles locked behind Alastor's calves. A sharp smile tugged at his mouth, preening at the fact his husband still couldn't keep himself from touching Alastor, even held so helplessly in place as he was.

"Prideful little devil," he purred, the words falling from his mouth as praise. He groaned and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Lucifer's shoulder. "Very well. However, I don't intend to be gentle, my love."

With no other warning, Alastor's grip tightened on Lucifer's hips, holding him steady, and moved. He pulled out abruptly, dragging a pitiful whine from his husband, then he slammed back in hard, punching a violent, choked sound from Lucifer.

"Motherfff—" Lucifer bit his tongue, back arching as his claws dug harder into his palms, golden ichor welling up. "Holy fuck, Al."

Alastor chuckled, eyes narrowing in wicked amusement. "Too much?" He teased, rolling his hips, slow and lazy. He really had no intention of stopping, and he knew Lucifer knew that.

"Fuck you," Lucifer growled, voice strained.

"Hm. Not tonight," Alastor replied nonchalantly. Then he pulled out and slammed back in again, holding there as Lucifer gasped once more. "Tonight, I'm fucking you."

Lucifer's mouth opened—snark on the tip of his clever, forked tongue—however Alastor cut him off. His claws bit in as he tightened his hold and set a brutal, possessive pace. A feral growl rumbled up from his chest as he pistoned his hips, leaving no room for thought, just desire.

Little sounds and stuttered breaths spilled from Lucifer in sharp, helpless bursts, every desperate noise dragged from him with every snap of Alastor's hips. The shadow tendrils squeezed tighter as Lucifer began actively tugging on his restraints now, and a few rivulets of golden blood trickled down the soot-dark skin of his forearms.

"Look at you," Alastor murmured, voice thick and breathless. One hand moved to clutch Lucifer's chin, fingers digging into his cheeks as he tilted Lucifer's head back and to the side. "Falling apart around me. At my touch." He leaned in and dragged his tongue up the side of Lucifer's neck, leaving a wet trail that cooled against the heated alabaster flesh.

Lucifer shivered, a strained sound of both need and protest slipping from him. He pulled his face free easily, head dropping to rest against his chest as he panted.

Another growl ripped from Alastor's throat, this time in bitter frustration. His eyes narrowed as he slowed, realizing a problem he very much didn't like.

He couldn't see Lucifer's face.

Annoyance simmered hot in his chest at how badly he wished to see his husband's expressions, but couldn't in this position. The way Lucifer's pride would crack under the pleasure, red-and-gold eyes bright with want, mouth open around tantalizing noises and half-formed words. The way that golden blood would brighten his face, head falling back, baring that long, slender line of his throat, his hair mussed and damp, forming its own false halo around his head.

Alastor longed to see all of that. Now.

He stopped his movements suddenly. Then, reluctantly, he pulled out of Lucifer. His hands remained firm on Lucifer's hips, keeping him steady.

Lucifer whined and kicked a leg loose, the tip of his hoof trying to find purchase on the floor below and failing. "Al—" He choked, writhing against the restraints and attempting to rehook his leg back around him, but Alastor took a small step back and Lucifer's other leg fell free as well. "Why'd you stop?"

"Hush," Alastor said quietly, voice low and sure. "I want to see you."

He turned Lucifer around easily, guiding him until his back faced the bed. He ignored Lucifer's needy whine as the tendrils dragged him over to the mattress until he hovered beside it. With a snap of his fingers, the tendrils vanished like smoke and Lucifer fell.

He landed on his back with a soft jolt, his breath knocked from his chest, arms shaking from the sudden lack of strain. He blinked up at the ceiling, his oversensitive body and hazy mind struggling to understand the new position—wide-eyed, flushed, and looking completely wrecked.

It was perfection.

Alastor followed immediately, standing over Lucifer. One hand caught Lucifer's thigh, purposefully pushing it up and to the side as he crawled up the line of his husband, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. He settled between his husband's thighs, his free hand sliding up to cradle his jaw, forcing him to meet Alastor's gaze.

"There's my pretty angel," Alastor murmured, satisfaction curling through every word. "Much better. Now I can see you fall apart for me." His thumb brushed over Lucifer's cheek with startling tenderness before he leaned down and brushed his mouth over Lucifer's, their breaths mingling.

Lucifer froze, breath catching in his throat as his eyes fluttered closed under the loving touch. Tension bled from him on a slow exhale as he reached up to slide his hands over Alastor, needing the contact.

But Alastor stopped him, catching a wrist, eyes sharp and bright as he spotted the golden blood. Slowly, he brought Lucifer's arm to his mouth and swept his tongue up the dark skin, tasting the dried blood as he cleaned it away. He followed the trail up to Lucifer's soft yet callused palms, lapping at the golden ichor, his tongue swirling where the cuts had already healed.

A small, quiet whimper fell past Lucifer's lips as he watched, fingers twitching and hand trembling. The wet, hot glide of Alastor's tongue against his palm sent a fresh rush of heat straight to his gut, deepening the flush on his cheeks. He watched with hooded eyes as Alastor pressed a soft, soothing kiss to the center of his palm when he finished.

Then he moved to Lucifer's other hand, giving it the same loving and worshipful treatment. The flat of his tongue tracing up his arm, following the remaining trail like it was the sweetest honey.

Alastor pressed a slow kiss to the second palm before drawing away, his gaze fixed on Lucifer's glowing face and dazed eyes. He took in everything, exactly as he had wanted. The feverish desire in those bright eyes, the heat of his burning cheeks, the sweat that dappled his forehead and darkened the hair at his temples, the way that pink tongue swept over his bottom lip—he drank it all in like a parched man in the desert.

"Beautiful," he purred, his voice deepening as he released Lucifer's wrist. He leaned down and pressed his nose to Lucifer's jaw, inhaling sharply—scenting his husband. "And all mine."

He ground his hips into Lucifer's, their cocks sliding together, the friction deliciously maddening. The movement pulled a quiet gasp from Lucifer, and Alastor's mouth curved up, relishing the control he had over such a powerful being, knowing he held the man's heart indisputably. It was a heady, powerful feeling.

Lucifer reached for him again, determined to touch and claim him in return. Hands slid over Alastor's sides and to his back, fingers gliding through soft tawny fur as claws skimmed the skin beneath deliberately. His legs parted further and wrapped around Alastor's hips, dark ankles locking at the small of the taller man's back. He could feel the soft fur of his husband's tail tickling his ankle as it wagged back and forth.

And as hard as he tried to stifle it, a small giggle still managed to slip free.

"Shut up," Alastor grumbled, nipping sharply at Lucifer's jaw and watching as a bruise started to bloom across the snow-white skin. He knew exactly what his husband found so funny, and he hated that he couldn't control his traitorous tail.

Lucifer smiled up at him, cheeky, eyes sparkling with amusement. "But you have such a cute tail," he cooed, sticking his tongue out and bapping Alastor on the nose.

Alastor growled, pulling his upper lip up in exasperation, affection still clear despite it. Then his expression changed to a familiar mischief, eyes gleaming.

Lucifer stilled, eyes widening.

"My silly little devil," Alastor began, his voice sweet as poisoned honey, "you're not really in the…position to be teasing me." He rolled his hips down firmly, putting pressure on their trapped cocks and drawing a choked noise from the man beneath him. His grin widened, desire and smug satisfaction burning side by side in his gut.

"So I suggest," he murmured, slow and dangerous, "you watch what comes out of that smart mouth."

Lucifer shivered, his claws digging into Alastor's back, heels pressing closer—still feeling every sweep of that adorable tail. "I thought you liked my smart mouth," he shot back, snarky despite the breathless and obvious hunger in his voice.

Alastor gave a low chuckle, his heart squeezing. He loved it when Lucifer fought back. "Oh, I do. Especially when it's quiet and wrapped around my cock."

Lucifer flushed bright gold at Alastor's blunt words, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth.

"But," Alastor continued, sliding his thumb under that lip and pulling it free slowly, "I don't want that right now." His crimson eyes darkened with intent. "I want to hear every little gasp and sinful sound. I want to see every desperate expression…and feel every shiver and clench around me."

He leaned in and bit down on Lucifer's bottom lip, giving it a light tug. He watched as those golden eyes nearly rolled back and Lucifer's face went slack. With a satisfied hum, he let go, soothing the sting he'd left with a quick, chaste kiss, his gaze never leaving Lucifer's face.

Shifting, he hooked both hands behind Lucifer's knees and pushed them up. Lucifer squeaked in complaint, but Alastor ignored it, focusing instead on trying to reposition while his stubborn husband continued to keep his ankles locked around Alastor's waist.

"Having trouble?" Lucifer asked slowly, his voice rough as a lazy grin quirked up his mouth.

Alastor shot him a dry, knowing look. With a grunt, he successfully managed to drag Lucifer's legs a little higher, up over his tail—while steadfastly ignoring the heavenly tingles it sent straight through him—and strained grunt from Lucifer. He smirked sharply down at his husband.

"Having trouble?" He shot back, taunting.

Lucifer scrunched up his face indignantly, sticking his tongue out.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, a wicked gleam there as he quickly adjusted himself before Lucifer could react. In one smooth motion, Alastor drove his hard cock back into him, filling Lucifer again so suddenly it stole all sound from his throat.

He forced himself to remain still. If he moved again right then, he didn't think he would last in the next few seconds—and he didn't need Lucifer teasing him about 'busting too early'.

Sometimes he hated his husband.

Lucifer choked on his next inhale, his mouth falling open, eyes fluttering closed, and his head fell back against the blankets with nary a sound. A low, broken groan slipped from him as his legs tightened around Alastor and his claws dug in, raking angry, bleeding streaks down Alastor's back.

Alastor hissed through his teeth, ears pinned back as pain bloomed across his back, then turned molten ,a crackly growl rumbling deep inside him as it mixed deliciously with the pleasure already trickling through his veins. He pressed his mouth against Lucifer's collarbone, teeth grazing the soft white flesh and raising stinging lines, dragging another wanton groan from the man beneath him. His lips quirked as his tongue followed, soothing the pain.

He gave a slow roll of his hips, pressing in deeper. A shaky breath left him as the tight heat squeezed exquisitely around his length, his fingers digging into the underside of Lucifer's knees as the muscles jumping under his touch. His forehead dropped against Lucifer's shoulder, hot breath ghosting over the flesh and raising goosebumps.

Lucifer's hold tightened around Alastor's quivering frame, his claws retracting from his back to soothe the sting he'd left there. His ankles pressed closer, knees gripping Alastor's waist as he refused to let go.

Alastor finally moved, sliding out slowly, torturously, then rocking back in, making sure Lucifer felt every single inch of him. Claws pricked at the flesh behind Lucifer's knees, holding him as he set a devout rhythm with his hips and body, soft hums and praises falling like a whispered litany for only Lucifer to hear.

They came together again and again—slower and softer than the hard thrusts and desperate movements from earlier. Yet, the intensity, the heat, the passion between them, only grew with every fervent breath, every muttered praise, and every hitch of their hips.

Alastor gave a low grunt as he snapped his hips again, his breath quick and hot. He pulled back just enough that Lucifer made a soft, needy whine, shivering as the heat between them was awash with the cool air of the room. Fingers gripped Alastor's sharp shoulders as if letting go might mean the end.

"Easy," Alastor breathed, sweeping hair back from his face, damp with sweat. His ears pricked at the whine, and his heart squeezed in his chest, demanding he soothe his love. "Don't be dramatic, my love. I'm only adjusting."

Lucifer opened his eyes and puffed his cheeks, pouting. "But I'm so close," he whined petulantly.

Alastor didn't bother holding back the roll of his eyes. Or even deign to answer his husband.

Instead, he pulled Lucifer up slightly, lifting him from the mattress, and pressed them close again, holding Lucifer's smaller body flush to his own larger frame. His arms wrapped around Lucifer, large hands gliding up the smooth skin of his back, fingertips brushing over the raised markings of his hidden wings. He buried his face in the place where Lucifer's neck met his shoulder, a sigh slipping free.

Lucifer hummed in return, his own hands returning to Alastor's back, fingers spreading through the fur. His body trembled as he tightened his grip around the taller man, suspended above the blankets.

Alastor peppered gentle, sweet kisses along Lucifer's neck, ears low. "Hold onto me, love," he murmured, giving a pleased hum when Lucifer obeyed.

He moved again. His pace was a little quicker now, hips rutting harder with the new angle and close hold. One hand dropped from Lucifer to brace against the bed, keeping them pressed together without them tipping over, his claws digging into the blankets as the fabric bunched in his grip. He rocked his hips with a low groan, feeling the clench of Lucifer's inner walls around his cock as he glided in and out smoothly.

"Ah, fuck," Lucifer moaned, voice ragged, his breathing shaky and shallow. He clenched his jaw as he pressed his forehead into Alastor's shoulder, a tremor racking through his body as his cock dripped pre-cum against his stomach. "I'm… Alastor—please—"

A growl slipped low from Alastor's throat as he jerked his hips and pressed as deep as he could go into his husband, his own breathing uneven and coming out in quick, ragged puffs. "Close already?" He tried to tease, but the words came out as desperate as Lucifer's. He was close to the edge himself.

"Don't hold back, for me, my light," he said, his lips trailing up to Lucifer's ear, voice low and sultry. "Let go. I've got you."

Lucifer gave a strangled whine and tensed, muscles shaking. Alastor rocked into him a few more times, his thrusts punching breathy ah's from his lungs, each one steadily growing in volume until he finally shattered.

An obnoxiously loud moan echoed around them—because Lucifer had to be, and because he loved being loud compared to how quiet Alastor was. Heat finally consumed him. Cloven toes curled, and his hold only tightened as his body trembled. Streaks of cum spilled across his stomach and into the fine fur of Alastor's, warm and sticky.

Alastor gave a staticky grunt of his own, teeth gritting tightly as he followed Lucifer over the edge. His breath caught in his throat as he tensed, and the static spiked like feedback, buzzing around them in time with Lucifer's obscene sounds. His cock pulsed within his husband's tight walls, releasing his hot seed and filling him.

 He didn't move away, clinging to Lucifer just as fiercely as Lucifer clung to him. Both gasped for air—ragged and shaking—breathing each other in. Slowly, Alastor laid them both down on their sides, Lucifer still wrapped around him, Alastor's hands still spread over the sweat-slick skin of Lucifer's back.

 *Smut ends here

Alastor pressed his mouth to Lucifer's jaw and breathed out, long and slow, letting the last of the tremors fade. His tail gave a lazy sweep, brushing lightly against Lucifer's ankle.

Lucifer's breath hitched, a snicker slipping free into Alastor's throat.

"Don't," Alastor muttered in warning, voice tight, but fond.

Lucifer only hummed, smug even while wrecked, and held him closer. His fingers traced slow circles over Alastor's back—wordless, but full of devotion all the same.

Alastor huffed and closed his eyes, letting Lucifer to hold him as they laid together, still close and tangled up, though neither seemed to be in any rush to move.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Master bedroom

July 31st, 1996 7:57 AM

Alastor awoke the next morning without the usual noise of chaos. Despite the vast size of the manor and the silencing runes along the doorways and windows—those only kept sound in, not prevent them from hearing what was happening outside the room—he usually heard something. Between his sharp ears and his shadows scattered throughout the manor, Alastor tended to pick up every creak of the floorboards in the halls, every background murmur in the common rooms, and every distant clatter from the kitchen.

And he might have drifted back to sleep if his stomach hadn't betrayed him first.

Something rich and savory reached his nose—something unmistakably meaty—followed by the bitter bite of coffee. His stomach turned traitor before his mind had fully woken.

He cracked one eye open, keeping the rest of his face pressed in the pillow.

Lucifer was perched on the edge of the bed with a lazy, prideful grin, an over-the-top silver breakfast tray in his hands, and a suspiciously mischievous sparkle in his gold-and-red eyes for how early it was.

"Goooooood morning, my deerest hart, love of my life~," Lucifer sang softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin widened. "Breakfast?"

Alastor blinked slowly, lifting his head. His ears still drooped low, and there were sleep creases on his cheek from the pillow. "…What have you done?" He asked, voice rough with static and sleep.

Lucifer wiggled in his spot in excitement, and somehow, miraculously, the tray didn't so much as rattle. "Happy birthday~," he sang again, a little louder this time.

Alastor let out a long, suffering exhale and dropped his face back into the pillow. "Luci," he groaned, muffled by the soft fabric, hands still tucked underneath.

"I knooow," Lucifer replied, rolling his eyes fondly. With a little magic, he made the tray hover in the air beside the bed and crawled fully onto the mattress, kneeling next to his exasperated husband. His hand slid over Alastor's back gently, cleaning away the last traced of dried blood clinging to his fur from the night before. "You don't like celebrating it."

"I'm dead," Alastor snarked, turning his face just enough to glance at him, a wry frown on his mouth. "Why should I celebrate my birthday when I've been dead for over sixty years?"

Lucifer pursed his lips and tilted his head in thought. "Because," he said finally, quieter now, "it reminds you that you were you before any of this." He lifted a hand quickly when Alastor's mouth opened to argue. "I know you're a demon now, and I love that about you. But you're still a human soul, too. And I love how human you can be."

Alastor huffed, but didn't answer.

"Besides," Lucifer continued, his grin returning, softer. "I think your birth is worth celebrating." He leaned over and pressed a series of sweet kisses across Alastor's fuzzy shoulders and nuzzling the fawn spots there. "I don't know where I'd be if you were never born and if I'd never stumbled upon your territory."

Alastor hummed, one ear giving twitching absently as he took in Lucifer's words. "Probably buried under a horde of a few thousand rubber ducks, locked away in your palace, and useless."

"Hey!" Lucifer squawked, pinching Alastor's side and startling a bleat from him before Alastor slapped his hand away. "You are incredibly rude, you know that?"

"You're only now just realizing this?" Alastor snarked, rubbing his side with a halfhearted glare.

Lucifer hummed and leaned over Alastor again, lips twitching up. He pressed his face against Alastor's head, his mouth brushing up against the dark fur of his ear. "But I like it when you're rude to me," he whispered. "It's hot."

Alastor's ear flicked, skimming the side of Lucifer's cheek. "Is that where we're at this morning?" He asked lightly, amusement bleeding into his voice. "I thought I was about to have breakfast in bed?"

"That's right! Breakfast!" Lucifer shot back, suddenly delighted again. He snapped his fingers and the tray floated over to him. "I made you one of your favorites." He waggled his brows.

Alastor's ears perked forward in interest and he lifted his head. "Oh?"

He rolled over and stretched languidly—very deliberately—his heart giving a pleased little jump when Lucifer's expression shifted from excitement to openly gawking. He let out an exaggerated, low groan, pops and snaps echoing from his limbs, before he sighed and sat up.

The bright gold blush spreading across Lucifer's cheeks was deeply satisfying.

"Breakfast, mon ange?" Alastor prompted, voice light and playful.

Lucifer shook his head, blinking quickly. "Yes! Breakfast!" He cleared his throat and held the tray up, puffing up proudly.

"I have for you today, dear hart," he announced formally, "one delicious, savory omelette stuffed with pepperjack cheese, onions, mushrooms, and your favorite red peppers…" He paused, grin stretching wider. "And I got the venison straight from your favorite butcher in Cannibal Town."

Alastor's brows shot up, eyes lighting up. "Did you now?" He asked, reaching for the tray and placing it carefully in his lap. He eagerly cut into the omelette, steam rising from the fluffy yellow egg as the smell of succulent meat and earthy vegetables grew stronger.

He gave a soft hum, mouth watering as he took his first bite. He chewed thoughtfully, savoring the combination of flavors—heat from the spices and peppers, an earthiness from the mushrooms and onions, and a richness from the meat—dancing across his tongue. Then he grabbed the mug of black coffee, perfectly hot and bitter, and rolled his eyes at the bright Birthday Boy! written in bold letters before taking a long drink. He sighed, rare contentment settling warm in his chest as he ate his meal under his husband's bright and delighted gaze.

Finally, when the plate was empty and the last of the coffee was gone, he pushed the tray aside. His shadows took it away without preamble. Then he tugged Lucifer close and pressed a firm kiss to his lips.

Lucifer squeaked in surprise, but easily melted into the soft, familiar movement. The kiss was short and sweet, but still warm with love. "Happy birthday," he murmured softly against Alastor's mouth as he pulled back.

Alastor huffed and rolled his eyes, but the small, soft curve of his mouth betrayed him. "Thank you, my love," he replied quietly.

Lucifer leaned back, face alight with excitement. "Now, I'm just getting started on the spoiling," he said, bouncing beside him. "I have options!"

"Options, hmm?" Alastor asked, huffing a soft laugh at Lucifer's exuberance.

"Yes!" Lucifer beamed, shifting forward on his hands and knees. "I've got three options for you. One, a good brushing—because I've been neglecting your fur." He gestured to the tangles beginning to form in the longer fur at Alastor's chest. "Two, a nice hot bath with some scented bubbles. Or three," His grin turned wickedly pleased. "Morning sex."

Alastor snorted at the third option, unable to stop the chuckle that slipped free. Of course Lucifer would throw sex on the list. He was insufferable and insatiable.

"Or," Lucifer leaned closer, voice sweet, "all three."

"You," Alastor leaned forward as well, their faces inches apart, "are ridiculous."

A bright laugh burst free from Lucifer as he sat back on his knees. "You knew that when you married me, my deer."

Alastor sighed, heavy, fond, and full of mirth. "That I did," he admitted softly, but there was no hint of regret in it at all. "You know…a hot bath actually sounds wonderful."

Lucifer's grin turned victorious. "One hot bath with scented bubbles coming right up," he announced. Then he bounded from the bed and toward the ensuite. "I made sure to grab the apple and sandalwood soap from home for you."

Alastor shook his head, affection tugging at the corners of his mouth as he swung his leg over the side of the bed, hooves pressing into the carpet. His ears flicked forward at the sound of the water starting, and Lucifer's humming drifting through the open doorway.

His heart gave a small, unexpected twinge in his chest as he listened to Lucifer bustling about for the sake of a single morning. All this effort for one day—one date on the calendar Alastor had stopped caring about.

A birthday.

He'd been dead for decades. He didn't see the point in celebrating something that had happened so long ago that it barely felt like it even belonged to him anymore. It was literally a lifetime ago for him.

And yet…Lucifer insisted. Charlie, Cece, Mimzy—his sisters, his found family—they insisted as well. Every year, without fail, they teased and poked at him until he gave in, until he sighed and let himself be loved.

Alastor's mouth twitched despite himself, his gave softer. 'Ridiculous creatures, all of them.'

But he knew; he'd never change a thing about any of this.

—

Location: Potter Manor - Dining room

July 31st, 1996 12:12 PM

Alastor hummed softly under his breath, content as he followed Lucifer toward the dining room for lunch. Breakfast had, of course, been delicious. But it had been hours ago and he was starving for some more food—less cannibalistic in nature this time.

The morning had been very pleasant. A long soak in hot water and apple and sandalwood bubbles. Then a proper brushing that, miraculously, hadn't turned into sex.

Until it did…

Alastor would admit, under threat of boredom, that part had been his fault. He had been happy and relaxed in a way he hadn't in several months, so he had to show Lucifer his appreciation.

Now, perfectly put together for the day, his hair curled, bow tie straight, and white tailored shirt crisp. He was looking forward to lunch and the inevitable noise of the household.

Though, somehow—despite being pampered all morning—he'd already managed to forget what day it was.

"Happy birthday, Al!"

He froze in the doorway of the dining room, his invisible ears perking sharply forward and tail fluffed up on instinct.

Everyone was there. Molly and Arthur, and their children: Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. Hermione stood beside Ginny with Luna on the other side. Off to the side, looking a bit out of place, stood Draco, arms crossed and expression stuck somewhere between baffled and offended.

Then Sirius and Remus stood together. Sirius shoved a noise-maker into his mouth and blew it with an obnoxious phrrrm! while Remus, wand already raised, flicked it with dry amusement. A party popper sound cracked through the air, and a soft fall of confetti drifted down toward the floor slowly.

Alastor blinked once, tension slowly bleeding from his stiff frame with a reluctant exhale. He turned a pointed, light glare down to Lucifer beside him. "This," he said flatly, "is your fault."

Lucifer sputtered, placing a hand on his chest. "Hey! They did this themselves!" He protested, wiggling his fingers. "They came to me. They remembered your birthday too."

"What?" Fred asked, lips twitching up into a mischievous smirk. "Don't like celebrating your birthday, Al?"

"Yeah," George piped up, crossing his arms. "Getting old, old man?"

"You don't look a day over one hundred," Fred teased, snickering beside his brother.

Alastor shot the twins a dry, sarcastic glance, then rolled his eyes. "Not exactly. I don't see the point in celebrating."

Both Fred and George looked genuinely offended by that, stammering in exaggerated indignation.

"Besides," Alastor continued, ignoring their dramatics with practiced ease. His eyes swept over the room and—well. It looked like Charlie had somehow gotten a hold of the decorating supplies, because everything was painfully over-the-top and…sparkly.

Streamers shimmered in red and gold from corner to corner on the walls. Red candles floated high above the table. A miniature sized Quidditch team flew laps down the length it, dodging confetti shaped like golden snitches, broomsticks, and goal hoops.

Along the table, lunch had been laid out like a feast: fried chicken, roasted carrots and potatoes, sausage and wild mushroom pasties, and beans and rice. Then in the center was a cake in the shape of a golden snitch, its wings glittering silver. Finally, beside it, a small plate of Alastor's favorite dessert: pain au chocolat with dark chocolate and cayenne peppers.

Alastor blinked and drew in a breath. "This…" he finally said, voice caught between disbelief and reluctant warmth. "This is a lot."

"Nonsense," Molly huffed, waving her hands. "This is the bare minimum we could put together on such short notice. And you deserve it, dearie."

"Hope you still like Quidditch," Arthur said before Alastor could speak up again. "We know you like radios and cooking, but…" He gestured to the miniature Quidditch team flying the length of the table.

A soft, indulgent sigh slipped free as Alastor looked over the table again. "I do," he assured them slowly. "But I haven't been on a broom since I was fifteen."

"What?" George asked, eyes widening. "The youngest seeker in a century?"

"Not been on a broom since he was fifteen?" Fred echoed, equally horrified. "Blasphemy. Sacrilege!"

"We must fix this as soon as possible," George declared, nodding sagely.

Alastor raised a brow, lips twitching in amusement. "I don't have my broom. In fact, I don't know where it is."

A flash of guilt crossed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny's faces.

Alastor, of course, caught it. "Let me guess," he said, eyes sliding to the three of them. "Dumbledore has it. Along with the rest of my old things?"

"Yeeeah," Ron admitted with a shrug. "Sorry, mate."

Alastor waved him off, unbothered. "Not to worry. I'll just steal it back. It's not like the old goat has it locked away and under surveillance."

Lucifer shot Alastor a look. "Why would you insult goats like that?"

Alastor gave a loud "Ha!", grin stretching wide. "You're right. I shouldn't be subjecting the poor goats by comparing them with that old fool."

"Tut, tut," Molly said briskly, drawing everyone's attention. "No need for this negativity now. It's a party." She started waving toward the table. "Sit. Eat. You can complain about old men later." She shot Alastor a quick wink.

Alastor blinked—then gave a low chuckle as he finally moved to sit.

Lunch blurred into warmth and noise. Plates were filled and, in some cases, refilled. Molly hovered, making sure everyone ate, particularly Alastor and Lucifer who were "much too scrawny" in her opinion. Arthur talked animatedly about rubber ducks and other muggle contraptions with Lucifer, the two joking and laughing easily like old friends. Sirius laughed too loudly, but he appeared infinitely more relaxed than he did last week after his trial. He leaned against Remus and pestered him who smiled more than he spoke. Hermione and Ginny whispered to each other, eyes darting now and then toward Draco, who sat stiff as a board near the end of the table on the other side of Molly and Arthur. He watched everyone and ate little, even with Molly's prompting. Ron and the twins began brainstorming a new prank item, something to do with balloons. Luna sat contently beside the other two girls, serenely enjoying her roast potatoes.

And through it all, Alastor ate and enjoyed the company, pleasantly surprised at how content he felt. His invisible ears twitched low atop his head as he caught snippets of conversations around the table. By the time cake—and his pain au chocolat—appeared, Alastor had a small, warm smile he couldn't even pretend to hide.

He had his husband by his side—loud and completely unapologetic about it—their thighs pressed together and their ankles locked around each other's beneath the table. He had his found family around him; his godfathers, his old childhood friends he always thought of as siblings, Molly and Arthur, who filled the role of parents without him ever having to ask. And Draco, his strange rival, no longer rival. Now a reluctant pupil he'd decided to take in under his wing.

As strange as it was…it fit. Like puzzle pieces clicking together to form a picture he hadn't known he'd been missing.

The only missing pieces were his daughter and his sisters. He would have loved to have them here as well. Not for the sake of celebrating him, no, no. But just…here, in the warm atmosphere, together.

Presents happened quickly—something Alastor certainly hadn't expected. Molly gifted him a leather-bound book, pages filled with recipes in neat handwriting, margins crowded with little notes and adjustments—decades of Prewett family recipes she'd cooked and tweaked over the years. Arthur, almost shy but very eagerly gave Alastor an old tabletop wireless radio. It was dusty and missing many of its parts—Alastor estimated it was from the 1940s, maybe the late 1930s—but it was perfect. He couldn't wait to restore it.

The twins, in their usual fashion, had gifted Alastor some of their more popular prank items—Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Weather in a Bottle, and some newly crafted Decoy Detonators. Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Luna all chipped in together. It wasn't an expensive gift—quite thoughtful actually. It was just a plain notebook and a bit of clever charmwork. The cover was a reinforced deep red leather, enchanted with never ending pages with privacy charms so only Alastor could read it, and a self-updating index so he could find pages quickly.

Then Sirius—the mischievous mutt that he was—had hauled the wireless onto the dining room table and got it working. A slow, brassy tune spilled into the room, filling the corners and making Lucifer's eyes light up.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, delighted. He snatched up Alastor's hand and yanked him from the chair before he could object.

Alastor sighed, long and overly dramatic, but let himself be led to an open space near the radio. "Just the one dance," he warned, fondness bleeding through the faux annoyance.

Lucifer grinned up at him as he pulled him close, eyes gleaming with warm mischief. "Mmm, nah. I think you have more than one dance in you, dear hart."

Alastor rolled his eyes, but didn't bother replying. He simply fell into step with his husband, a slow, unhurried sway to match the song.

Arthur joined them with Molly, swaying close and talking low with soft smiles all too familiar with one another. Fred and George dragged Ginny and Hermione into a dance, spinning them wildly around out of tempo and uncaring, laughter tumbling from the girls.

Ron stayed seated as long as he could before Luna somehow managed to get him on his feet. She twirled to her own rhythm, perfectly content, while Ron stood beside her awkwardly, attempting a spin or two before ultimately giving up.

Draco stayed as far away from the chaos as he could, arms crossed and radiating unwelcome misery. Though, it certainly didn't stop the twins and a cheerfully ruthless Ginny from cornering him. They managed to force him into a few stiff, miserable steps before he escaped with a scowl and a faint pink tint to his ears.

Sirius pulled Remus from his chair despite a half-hearted protest that melted into reluctant laughter. He turned Remus around the small dance area, hand on his waist, his shoulders straight and chest puffed up in a mockery of proper dancing technique. He spun the taller man around with flair, earning soft laughter and several long-suffering eye rolls from Remus.

Sirius only laughed loudly in return, eyes bright with mischief. He lightly teased Remus about the flush on his cheeks and the red tint to his ears, before dipping him deeply.

"Don't you dare drop me, Sirius," Remus warned as his grip tightened on the man's shoulder and hand, recognizing the impish glint in his eyes.

"Aww, you're no fun, Moony," Sirius said lightly, crooked smirk on his face. But he let Remus back up.

When the song ended, like Lucifer had correctly predicted, Alastor didn't pull away. The next song started, a more bluesy tune to which Alastor took the lead this time, tugging Lucifer to him.

Lucifer let out a low, knowing chuckle, the corners of his mouth stretching wide. "Told you so."

"Shut up," Alastor murmured, rolling his eyes on principle, even as his own smile grew. Then his gaze swept up past Lucifer's head, taking in the room again.

Molly and Arthur had switched dance partners—Molly was now with a reluctant-but-relenting Ron, while Arthur was danced with Ginny. The twins had claimed Hermione and Luna, Fred and George easily keeping up with Luna's whimsical movements while Hermione tried her best, smiling through it. Remus and Sirius were, surprisingly, still moving too. They were just swaying back and forth as they spoke, Alastor's sharp hearing catching the word James.

Alastor hummed softly, his attention returning to a curious Lucifer, head tilted in a silent question. Alastor merely shook his head with a gentle smile, fingers tightening around his husband's hand.