Godric's Hollow - Minutes Later
The roar of Sirius Black's flying motorcycle cut through the night air like a blade through silk, its magical engine screaming with the desperate urgency of a man racing against time and tragedy. He took the corner into Godric's Hollow at a speed that would have been suicidal for anyone without his particular combination of reckless courage and supernatural reflexes, the bike's wheels barely touching the ground as he navigated between the scattered debris of what had once been a peaceful village street.
The sight that greeted him as he skidded to a halt outside the Potter cottage hit him like a physical blow. The front door hung off its hinges, windows blown out, the entire structure looking like it had been caught in the aftermath of a particularly vindictive hurricane. But it was the cluster of Ministry officials, Aurors, and the distinctive figure of Albus Dumbledore that made his blood run cold with certainty.
He was too late.
Sirius dismounted the bike with fluid grace despite the trembling in his hands, his grey eyes immediately scanning for any sign of the people who mattered most in the world to him. The lack of James's distinctive laugh, Lily's bright voice, or Harry's delighted giggling told him everything he needed to know before any official could open their mouth.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said quietly, his usual grandfatherly warmth notably absent. "I'm so very sorry."
"Where are they?" Sirius's voice was deadly calm, the sort of controlled fury that every Auror in the vicinity recognized as infinitely more dangerous than shouting. "Where are James, Lily, and Harry?"
"James is..." Dumbledore paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. "James gave his life defending his family. He died a hero, Sirius."
The words hit Sirius like a curse to the chest, driving the air from his lungs and making his vision blur with sudden, overwhelming grief. James Potter—his best friend, his brother in all but blood, the one person who had never given up on him even when his own family had cast him out—was dead.
"And Lily? Harry?" Sirius managed to whisper through the roaring in his ears.
"They're alive," Dumbledore said quickly, then hesitated. "But they've... left. With someone who claimed to be able to offer them protection."
"Left?" Sirius's voice sharpened with suspicion. "Left with who? Where did they go?"
One of the Aurors, a young woman whose face was pale with shock, spoke up in a trembling voice. "He said his name was Lucifer Morningstar, sir. Said he was... said he was the Devil himself."
Sirius went completely still, his grief-stricken expression shifting to something that might have been relief, understanding, or possibly just the recognition that his world had become even stranger than he'd thought possible.
"Lucifer," he repeated slowly. "Tall, dark hair, perfect suit, talks like he's permanently auditioning for a BBC drama? Probably made some comment about the décor or the weather before casually mentioning his divine status?"
The Aurors stared at him in bewilderment, but Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes narrowed with interest. "You know this... individual?"
"Not personally," Sirius said, running a hand through his long black hair. "But I know of him. James and Lily... when they were trying to have a child, when the curse damage made it impossible through conventional means... I was the one who gave them the book."
The silence that followed this admission was deafening.
"You gave them a book on summoning entities from beyond the veil," Dumbledore said slowly, his voice carrying a dangerous undertone. "You encouraged them to make a deal with... with him?"
"I gave them options," Sirius shot back, his own voice hardening with defensive anger. "They were desperate, Dumbledore. They wanted a family, wanted children, and every Healer they consulted told them it was impossible. So yes, I gave them access to the Black family library, because at least that way they could make an informed choice instead of just... giving up."
"And you didn't think to mention this rather significant detail when we were discussing Harry's unique circumstances?" Dumbledore's tone was sharp with accusation.
Sirius laughed, but there was no humor in it. "What, and have you interfere even more than you already had? James and Lily made their choice freely, without coercion, after weighing all the risks. It was the first decision they'd been allowed to make about their own lives without someone else's agenda getting in the way."
His grey eyes blazed with fury as he continued. "Besides, everything worked out fine until you convinced them to trust Peter bloody Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper. So forgive me if I'm not particularly interested in your opinions on their other life choices."
"Peter was—" Dumbledore began.
"A traitor," Sirius snarled. "A coward and a traitor who sold out his best friends for whatever scraps Voldemort tossed his way. I told James not to trust him, told him Peter was weak, but James believed the best in people. Believed in your judgment."
He gestured at the destroyed cottage with bitter rage. "And look where that got him."
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, his voice taking on that particularly patronizing tone that always made Sirius want to hex something, "I understand you're grieving, but you must see reason. Young Harry is gone, taken by a being of immense power whose motivations we cannot begin to understand. We need to—"
"We need to do nothing," Sirius interrupted coldly. "Lily made her choice. She chose to protect her son the only way she could, and frankly, I don't blame her. This world failed them, Dumbledore. Your grand plan, your precious Order, your careful manipulation of people's lives—it all failed when it mattered most."
He pushed past the cluster of officials and into the cottage, his movements sharp with purpose. The sight of James's body in the hallway nearly drove him to his knees, but he forced himself to keep moving, to focus on what needed to be done.
"Sirius, what are you doing?" Dumbledore called after him.
"What should have been done an hour ago," Sirius replied without looking back. He knelt beside his best friend's body, his hands trembling as he began casting preservation charms with practiced efficiency. "Lily's going to want to bury her husband properly, wherever she ends up. And I'm damn well going to make sure she has that option."
"You cannot simply—"
"Cannot simply what?" Sirius spun around, his wand raised and pointed directly at Dumbledore's chest. The other Aurors reached for their wands reflexively, but the older wizard raised a hand to stop them. "Cannot help a grieving widow lay her husband to rest with dignity? Cannot show basic human decency in the face of tragedy?"
"You know that's not what I meant," Dumbledore said quietly. "If you take James's body, if you leave to join Mrs. Potter... you'll be abandoning your responsibilities here. The Order needs you, Sirius. The wizarding world needs—"
"The wizarding world," Sirius said with bitter precision, "can go to hell. Along with your Order, your responsibilities, and your greater good. I'm done, Dumbledore. We're all done."
His preservation charms complete, Sirius carefully lifted James's body with a combination of magic and physical strength, cradling his best friend like he weighed nothing at all. As he turned to leave, something on the floor caught his eye—a wand, lying forgotten in the debris near where the nursery door had been.
Voldemort's wand. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, the brother wand to Harry's future wand though none of them knew it yet. Sirius picked it up without really thinking, tucking it into his jacket beside his own wand.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said again, and this time there was steel in his voice. "I cannot allow you to leave. Not with James, not to join forces with a being whose power we cannot comprehend. You're making a mistake that could endanger—"
"*Expelliarmus!*"
Dumbledore's wand flew from his hand before he could react, arcing through the air to land in Sirius's outstretched palm. The older wizard stared in shock, clearly not having expected such a direct assault.
"Mistake?" Sirius laughed harshly, now holding three wands—his own, Voldemort's, and Dumbledore's Elder Wand, though he didn't know the significance of the last one. "The only mistake I made was trusting you in the first place. Trusting your judgment, your grand plan, your assurance that everything would work out for the greater good."
He backed toward the door, James's body secure in his arms, his grey eyes never leaving Dumbledore's face. The Elder Wand hummed with power in his grip, recognizing its new master, though Sirius was too focused on his grief and anger to pay attention to the subtle magical resonance.
"James Potter was the best man I ever knew," Sirius said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "He was brave and loyal and stupid enough to believe that good would triumph over evil just because it was right. He died protecting his family, died because he trusted the wrong person on your recommendation."
Several Aurors had their wands drawn now, but none of them seemed willing to curse a man holding his best friend's body.
"If Lily has found someone who can protect her and Harry—really protect them, not just use them as pawns in some cosmic chess game—then I'm going to help her however I can. Even if that someone happens to be the Devil himself."
"Sirius, please—"
"No." The word was final, absolute. "We're done here, Dumbledore. All of us who actually cared about James and Lily as people rather than symbols—we're done with your war, your Order, your greater good. Find someone else to sacrifice for your cause."
He paused at the threshold, looking back one last time at the cottage where his best friend had died.
"And if you try to follow us," he added quietly, "if you try to drag Harry back into your prophecies and destinies and wars... well, I imagine Lucifer Morningstar won't be nearly as patient with you as he apparently was tonight."
With that, Sirius Black disappeared into the night, taking James Potter's body and leaving behind only the lingering scent of motorcycle exhaust and the beginning of Dumbledore's worst nightmare—a world where his carefully laid plans had been shattered by the direct intervention of powers far beyond his control.
---
## Longbottom Manor - The Same Night
The Longbottom family estate sat tucked away in the Devon countryside, protected by centuries of old magic and the more recent addition of a Fidelius Charm that made it invisible to all but a select few. The manor house itself was a sprawling Tudor structure that had weathered countless storms both literal and metaphorical, its warm stone walls and diamond-paned windows speaking of permanence and tradition in a world increasingly defined by chaos and war.
Inside, Frank and Alice Longbottom were just putting their fifteen-month-old son Neville to bed when reality tore itself apart in their sitting room.
The golden light that preceded Lucifer's arrival was considerably more controlled this time—no exploding windows or screaming dimensional barriers, just a gentle radiance that slowly intensified until four figures stepped through what appeared to be a doorway made of pure starlight.
Lucifer emerged first, still impeccably dressed despite having just annihilated a Dark Lord and relocated across dimensions. Behind him came Mazikeen, her dark eyes immediately scanning the room for threats with predatory efficiency. Lily followed, Harry sleeping peacefully in her arms, and bringing up the rear was a figure that made the temperature drop several degrees—Death herself, though she wore the appearance of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and kind eyes.
"Well," Lucifer said cheerfully, looking around the comfortable sitting room with its chintz furniture and family portraits, "this is much more civilized than the last place we visited. No blown-out windows, no piles of ash, no traumatized Ministry officials. I do appreciate good interior design."
Frank and Alice Longbottom stood frozen in their nightclothes, wands drawn but clearly uncertain whether they were facing friends or foes. Frank was a tall, solid man with the bearing of a career Auror, while Alice was small and fierce with the kind of determined courage that had made her one of the Order's most effective operatives.
"Lily?" Alice whispered, her voice filled with shock and desperate hope. "But we heard... the reports said that Godric's Hollow was attacked, that Voldemort..."
"Voldemort is dead," Lily said simply, her voice carrying a weariness that seemed to age her years. "James is dead too. And I'm done with this war, Alice. Done with all of it."
"James," Frank said quietly, his face going pale with grief. "Oh, Lily..."
"I'm sorry," Alice added, moving toward her friend with obvious concern. "Is there anything we can do? Anything you need?"
"Actually, yes," Lucifer interjected, stepping forward with that easy charm that somehow managed to be both reassuring and slightly unsettling. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. Lucifer Morningstar, fallen angel, part-time ruler of Hell, and as of tonight, Harry Potter's rather unconventional guardian."
Frank's wand hand tightened. "You're..."
"The Devil, yes," Lucifer confirmed cheerfully. "Though I prefer to think of myself as cosmically misunderstood. I'm also the reason little Harry exists at all, having provided certain... assistance... to his parents when conventional methods proved insufficient."
Alice looked between Lucifer and Lily with dawning understanding. "The book Sirius gave you. The ritual you mentioned."
"Worked perfectly," Lily confirmed, shifting Harry in her arms as the toddler stirred sleepily. "Though I suspect none of us anticipated quite how dramatically it would complicate our lives."
"The point is," Lucifer continued smoothly, "Lily and Harry will be coming with me to a different world entirely. Somewhere safer, somewhere they can build a new life without Dark Lords and prophecies and people who think children are acceptable casualties in their grand designs."
He paused, his expression growing more serious. "The question is whether you'd like to join them. Because I have it on good authority that Voldemort's remaining Death Eaters are likely to panic now that their master is gone, and panicked Death Eaters tend to make very poor decisions about who they blame for their circumstances."
"You're offering to take us away from here?" Frank asked slowly.
"I'm offering you a choice," Lucifer corrected gently. "Stay and continue fighting a war that's already over, dealing with the aftermath and the inevitable political maneuvering that follows any major conflict. Or come with us to a world where your son can grow up without worrying about blood purity fanatics or ancient prophecies determining his fate."
Frank and Alice looked at each other, one of those wordless conversations that longtime partners can have in seconds passing between them.
"What about the others?" Alice asked finally. "Remus, the Tonks family, people we care about?"
"Already on the list," Lily assured her. "We're gathering everyone who matters, everyone who's tired of being used as chess pieces in other people's games."
From upstairs, the sound of a baby crying interrupted the conversation. Neville had apparently been woken by the magical disturbance and was making his displeasure known.
"I'll get him," Alice said automatically, but Lucifer raised a hand to stop her.
"Allow me," he said with a gentle smile. "I have some experience with frightened children, and I suspect young Master Longbottom might benefit from a more... authoritative... presence to calm his nerves."
Before anyone could protest, Lucifer had moved to the bottom of the stairs and was climbing them with fluid grace. They heard his voice drift down from the nursery, speaking in that warm, cultured tone that somehow managed to be both commanding and comforting.
"Now then, young man, what's all this fuss about? Yes, I know there were some rather dramatic magical signatures just now, but there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm a friend of your parents, here to discuss some rather important matters with them."
The crying stopped almost immediately, replaced by what sounded like delighted baby laughter.
"That's better," Lucifer's voice continued approvingly. "You're a brave little fellow, aren't you? Yes, I can see it in your eyes—you're going to grow up to be quite the hero. Though hopefully with fewer people trying to kill you than your friend Harry has to deal with."
A few minutes later, Lucifer descended the stairs carrying a perfectly content Neville, who was looking up at him with obvious fascination.
"Remarkable child," Lucifer observed, settling into one of the chintz armchairs with Neville on his lap. "Very strong magical core, excellent instincts, and absolutely no fear of cosmic entities. I approve."
Neville reached up to pat Lucifer's cheek with one chubby hand, babbling happily in the way that babies do when they're completely comfortable with someone.
"He likes you," Alice said with obvious surprise.
"Children usually do," Lucifer replied with genuine warmth. "They haven't learned to be afraid of things they don't understand yet. Plus, I suspect young Neville here has inherited his grandmother's excellent judge of character."
"You know Augusta?" Frank asked.
"We've never met, but I know of her by reputation," Lucifer said with obvious respect. "Any woman who can face down Bellatrix Lestrange and live to tell about it has earned my admiration. Though I understand she's rather... formidable... when it comes to family expectations."
"That's one way to put it," Frank muttered.
"The point is," Lucifer continued, "you have a choice to make. And unlike most of the choices you've been forced to make recently, this one is entirely yours. No pressure from the Order, no greater good to consider, no prophecies to fulfill. Just a simple question: do you want to give your son a chance to grow up somewhere safe?"
Alice looked down at Lily, who was holding Harry with the fierce protectiveness of a mother who had already lost too much.
"James would have wanted this," Lily said quietly. "He would have wanted Harry to be safe, to be happy, to choose his own path. If we stay here, if we let Dumbledore and his plans dictate our lives... Harry will never be just a child. He'll always be the Boy-Who-Lived, the symbol, the weapon in someone else's war."
"And Neville?" Alice asked.
"The prophecy could have applied to him too," Lily pointed out. "Born as the seventh month dies, parents who defied Voldemort three times. If Voldemort had chosen differently..." She shuddered. "Neville could just as easily have been the target. And who knows what other prophecies are floating around, what other cosmic nonsense might try to claim our children?"
Frank was quiet for a long moment, studying Lucifer with the careful assessment of a career Auror. "If we came with you... what would we be walking into? What kind of world are you offering us?"
"One without magic," Lucifer said honestly. "Or rather, one where magic exists but is largely hidden, controlled by humans who understand the need for subtlety. There are supernatural elements—demons, angels, the occasional god walking around causing trouble—but they're managed, regulated, kept from interfering too much in mortal affairs."
"And you?" Alice asked. "What's your role in this world?"
"I run a nightclub in Los Angeles," Lucifer said with obvious amusement. "I help people figure out what they really want, I punish the truly wicked when they cross my path, and I play piano better than anyone else on the planet. It's surprisingly fulfilling, actually."
"You run a nightclub," Frank repeated slowly. "The Devil... runs a nightclub."
"I have excellent taste in music and even better taste in alcohol," Lucifer said with a grin. "Plus, nightclubs are wonderful places to observe human nature. You'd be amazed what people will tell you after a few drinks and some good jazz."
From outside, the sound of a motorcycle engine approaching at high speed interrupted the conversation. Lily's head snapped up, her face brightening with hope for the first time since they'd arrived.
"Sirius," she breathed.
Moments later, there was a sharp knock at the front door, followed by the distinctive voice of Sirius Black calling out: "Alice, Frank, it's Sirius. I know it's late, but I need to talk to you. It's about James and Lily."
Frank moved to answer the door while Alice stayed close to the others, her wand still ready despite the familiarity of the voice. The preservation charms Sirius had cast were holding perfectly, and he carried James Potter's body with the careful reverence of a honor guard.
"Sirius," Frank said quietly as he opened the door. "We heard about the attack. I'm so sorry."
"He died protecting his family," Sirius replied, his voice thick with grief but steady with purpose. "Died because we trusted the wrong person." His grey eyes found Lily across the room, and his expression softened with relief. "Lily. Thank Merlin you're safe."
"Sirius," she said, rising carefully with Harry still in her arms. "I was hoping you'd come."
"Where else would I go?" Sirius asked, then noticed Lucifer sitting comfortably in the armchair with Neville. "Ah. So you're the famous Lucifer Morningstar. Lily's told me quite a lot about you over the years."
"All good things, I hope," Lucifer replied with that charming smile.
"Actually, yes," Sirius said with a tired laugh. "She always said you were surprisingly reasonable for an entity of cosmic evil."
"I prefer 'morally complicated,'" Lucifer corrected. "And I'm not evil, exactly. More... selectively vengeful."
Sirius set James's body down with infinite care, then moved to embrace Lily and Harry both. The toddler reached out to pat Sirius's face, babbling something that might have been his godfather's name.
"Hey there, little man," Sirius whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "Your dad would have been so proud of you. You were so brave tonight."
"He was," Lily agreed quietly. "They both were. James and Harry both."
"I brought something for you," Sirius said, pulling two wands from his jacket. "Voldemort's wand, and... well, this one belonged to Dumbledore until he decided to try stopping me from leaving with James."
He held up the Elder Wand, still unaware of its true significance. "It's been calling to me since I took it. Strange thing—feels more powerful than any wand I've ever handled."
Lucifer's eyebrows rose with interest. "May I?" he asked, extending his hand.
Sirius hesitated for a moment, then passed the wand over. Lucifer held it delicately, his expression growing thoughtful as he examined the ancient weapon.
"Well," he said after a moment, "this is unexpected. Do you have any idea what you've acquired, Mr. Black?"
"Dumbledore's wand?" Sirius replied.
"The Elder Wand," Lucifer corrected quietly. "The Deathstick. One of the three most powerful magical artifacts ever created, legendary for its ability to make its wielder unbeatable in combat. And it's chosen you as its master."
The room fell silent as the implications of this sank in.
"I defeated Dumbledore?" Sirius asked weakly. "In actual combat?"
"You disarmed him," Lucifer confirmed. "Which, according to the wand's rather particular standards, makes you its new owner. Congratulations—you're now in possession of one of the most sought-after weapons in magical history."
He handed the wand back with obvious amusement. "Though I'd recommend being very careful who you tell about this. The Elder Wand has a rather bloody history, and people have killed for much less."
"This night just keeps getting stranger," Frank muttered.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Mazikeen called out as she appeared in the doorway. She'd been conspicuously absent during most of the conversation, but now she was back, and she wasn't alone.
In her hand, she held a struggling, squeaking rat.
"Found him," she announced with obvious satisfaction. "Took some doing—the little bastard was hiding in a drainpipe about two miles away, probably hoping to wait until the heat died down before scurrying off to find new masters to serve."
Lily's face went white, then red with fury as she recognized the rat. "Peter."
"Peter Pettigrew," Mazikeen confirmed, holding up the rat so everyone could see its distinctive missing toe. "The traitor who sold out his friends and got James Potter killed."
"Transform him," Lily said quietly, her voice deadly calm. "I want to look him in the eye when I kill him."
"Lily—" Alice started.
"No," Lily cut her off, her green eyes blazing with a fury that would have impressed demons. "This piece of filth betrayed us. Sold us to Voldemort. Got my husband killed and nearly got my son murdered. I want him to face what he's done."
Mazikeen grinned, showing far too many teeth. "I like you more every minute."
She pressed the tip of her dagger against the rat's throat, just enough pressure to draw a single drop of blood. The magical compulsion was immediate and overwhelming—Peter Pettigrew had no choice but to transform back into his human form.
He appeared as a short, balding man in his early twenties who looked like he hadn't slept or eaten properly in weeks. His watery eyes darted around the room frantically, looking for escape routes, but finding none.
"Hello, Peter," Lily said quietly, her voice carrying a coldness that would have frozen fire itself.
"L-Lily," Peter stammered, his voice high and reedy with terror. "Thank Merlin you're safe! I've been so worried, I tried to warn you but the Death Eaters, they captured me, tortured me for information—"
"Stop," Sirius said flatly. "Just stop, Peter. We know. We know you were the Secret Keeper. We know you betrayed them willingly."
Peter's face went white, then began cycling rapidly through various expressions as he tried to find an angle, a story, anything that might save his miserable life.
"You don't understand!" he pleaded. "Voldemort was going to win! Everyone could see it! He was too powerful, too clever, too—the Order was falling apart! I had to choose a side!"
"You chose wrong," Lucifer observed mildly, rising from his chair with Neville still in his arms. The baby seemed perfectly content despite the growing tension in the room.
"Who—who are you?" Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Someone who takes a very dim view of people who harm children," Lucifer replied pleasantly. "Someone who has extensive experience with traitors, betrayers, and cowards. Someone who is very, very good at creative punishment."
His eyes began to glow with that inner fire, and for just a moment, Peter caught a glimpse of what he really was—ancient, terrible, beautiful beyond mortal comprehension, and absolutely without mercy for those who deserved none.
"P-please," Peter whimpered, falling to his knees. "I was scared! I didn't want to die! You have to understand, I never meant—"
"You meant every word," Lily said quietly. "Every choice. Every betrayal. You looked Voldemort in the eye and gave him our location willingly. You condemned your best friends to death to save your own worthless skin."
"I'll do anything!" Peter babbled desperately. "Anything you want! I can give you information about the Death Eaters, about Voldemort's plans—"
"Voldemort is dead," Mazikeen informed him with obvious relish. "Burned to ash along with all his little soul anchors. Your information is worthless, just like you."
Peter stared at her in shock. "Dead? But... but that's impossible! He was immortal! He had Horcruxes!"
"Had being the operative term," Lucifer said cheerfully. "Turns out that splitting your soul makes you rather vulnerable to divine fire. Who would have thought?"
"So you see, Peter," Lily continued in that terrifyingly calm voice, "there's nothing you can offer us. No information we need, no service you can provide. You're just... worthless. A traitor who sold his soul for nothing."
"Please," Peter whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I'm begging you. Show mercy. For the sake of our friendship, for the years we spent together—"
"You destroyed our friendship the moment you chose Voldemort over us," Sirius said coldly. "You destroyed it when you decided James and Lily's lives were worth less than your own comfort."
Lily stepped forward, her wand raised, her face set in an expression of absolute determination. "James Potter was the best man any of us ever knew. He was brave and kind and loyal to the end. He died protecting his family, died believing the best in people even when they didn't deserve it."
Her voice grew harder. "You don't deserve to live in a world he died to protect."
"*Avada Kedavra.*"
The green light struck Peter Pettigrew in the chest, and he crumpled to the floor without a sound. His watery eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and for the first time in months, his face was peaceful.
The room was silent for a long moment.
"Good," Mazikeen said approvingly. "Clean, efficient, well-deserved. I respect that in a human."
"Feel better?" Lucifer asked gently, handing Neville back to Alice so he could move closer to Lily.
"No," Lily admitted quietly. "But I feel... finished. Like I can finally let go of the anger and focus on what matters."
She looked down at Harry, who had slept through the entire confrontation. "What matters is making sure my son grows up safe and happy, somewhere he can choose his own destiny."
"Then let's go home," Lucifer said warmly. "All of us."
Frank and Alice looked at each other one more time, then nodded in unison.
"We're in," Frank said simply. "Whatever world you're offering, it has to be better than this one."
"Excellent," Lucifer replied, moving to the center of the room. "Though I should mention, we have a few more stops to make first. The Tonks family, Remus Lupin, and Amelia Bones. They've all been offered the same choice, and I suspect they'll all make the same decision."
"The more the merrier," Sirius said, carefully lifting James's body again. "Though I have to ask—what exactly are we walking into? What kind of life are you offering us?"
Lucifer's smile was warm and genuine. "A chance to be human, Mr. Black. A chance to raise your children, pursue your own interests, make your own choices without prophecies or greater goods or Dark Lords dictating your fate."
He gestured, and golden light began to gather around them once more. "A chance to be happy. Revolutionary concept, I know, but I'm rather fond of it."
As the portal began to open, reality bending and warping around them, Lily took one last look at the world she was leaving behind. A world of war and loss, of prophecies and manipulations, of children used as weapons in other people's games.
"Goodbye," she whispered, and meant it.
When the light faded, they were gone, leaving only the body of Peter Pettigrew and the lingering scent of sulfur and new beginnings.
Behind them, the war was over. Voldemort was dead. And the Boy-Who-Lived was about to discover what it meant to have the Devil for a godfather.
Somehow, Lily thought with the first genuine smile she'd felt in months, that seemed like the best possible outcome for everyone involved.
---
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