Chapter 1: Parallels of the Past
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 2: The Door Swings Both Ways
Summary:
Some doors are left open without a thought. Some doors are locked without knowing they are—until something forces them open, because some doors do not close one way, but can swing both ways. And then some doors are only opened to be removed.
Notes:
Happy Thursday Sinners!!
I hope y'all have had an awesome week! We are back with Chapter 2! Another big chapter as well! I know I left y'all on a cliffhanger last chapter...and I'm gonna leave y'all dangling there a bit longer. Apologies! 🤭 But the next several chapters, these four boys will be some busy bees, especially with the trial coming up soon.
I dipped into the language of flowers this chapter too. I've always found it fascinating, but never really studied into it and always wanted to add it to my own story. So I did and the Googled description of the flowers will be in the End Notes.
*CWs: Two CWs this chapter! First scene will have smut. And the second will have brief mentions of torture. It's not too detailed, but it's there, so I'll be marking it. If you want to skip the scenes, just look for the * at the beginning and ending of the scene. I'll have a review in the End Notes.
Enjoy!! ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
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.'
Notes:
*CWs: First scene is Lucifer going from grooming to having fun with Alastor. He has his fun, before he flips Alastor onto his back (because he's being a lazy pillow princess) and helps Alastor with a blowjob. Second scene Lucifer traps Petunia in her own head to experience what she did to Harry when he was young: isolation, starved of food and love. And then wraps an angelic whip around Vernon's neck, nearly choking him to death before releasing it. It slides into him saying he's going to punish them before cutting off.
I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! Dursley's did get what was coming to them finally! And Dudley's punished in the end will be to live with his Aunt Marge...I think that's a fair punishment for him.
Flower meanings
-Foxglove: Insincerity, self-protection, complicated emotions
Symbolizes healing and danger.-Hydrangea: Gratitude for understanding, or emotional frigidity
Symbolizes coldness or detachment, but also represents a desire for apology or a deeper connection.-Poppies: Remembrance, sleep, sacrifice, death
Symbolizes Lily's sacrifice and death for Harry and Petunia's deep and quiet knowledge of it.-White Lilac: Memories of youth, innocence lost, early love
Symbolizes the bond Petunia once had with Lily before jealousy set in.-Marigold: Grief, pain, remembrance
A perfect companion to the Poppy and symbolizes the everyday pain of losing someone, especially when that grief is complicate by unresolved jealousy.These are what Google gave me and I'm rolling with it! If it's wrong, I'm sorry. (Blame Google)
Next week, Chapter 3, will be the trial! And it's also a biggin! So, see y'all next Thursday! ❤️