# Meanwhile, at the Salvatore School...
The headmaster's office at the Salvatore School had witnessed its share of absurdities—arguments over whether detentions should include werewolf pups cleaning classrooms in their wolf forms, endless budget meetings where "supernatural property damage" had its own line item (with subcategories for "Klaus-related" and "Other"), and at least three different parent-teacher conferences where the parent tried to eat the teacher.
But this?
This was in a league of its own.
Alaric Saltzman stared across his desk at Harry Potter, who looked far too relaxed for someone who had just dropped what could only be described as a biblical-level bombshell. The boy sat there like this was all perfectly normal—posture impeccable, expression calm, hands folded neatly in his lap like he was discussing weekend plans instead of cosmic intervention. He looked less like a student confessing to catastrophic news and more like a very patient lawyer explaining traffic laws to particularly slow clients.
Alaric, meanwhile, was already halfway to grabbing his "In Case of Existential Crisis" bourbon bottle from the bottom desk drawer.
"Let me make sure I've got this straight," Alaric said, pouring himself a generous glass and holding it up like a shield against the conversation. "Your guardian—Lucifer Morningstar. The Lucifer. Fallen angel, Prince of Darkness, Destroyer of Worlds, ruler of Hell, all that jazz—is gathering Hope's entire family for what you called... a cosmic intervention?"
Harry tilted his head, green eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that suggested this was his absolute favorite part of the whole ordeal. "That's the gist of it, yes. Though I'd recommend you avoid 'Prince of Darkness' when you meet him. Father finds it a bit melodramatic. Terribly outdated branding, really."
Alaric blinked slowly. "...Branding."
"Exactly." Harry leaned forward slightly, all British charm and perfectly infuriating teenage composure. "He much prefers just 'Lucifer.' It's more approachable. More... Netflix friendly, if you will. Better focus group testing."
Caroline Forbes, who had been speed-pacing behind Alaric's chair like an over-caffeinated hummingbird with anxiety issues, skidded to a stop so abruptly her heels squeaked against the hardwood. "I'm sorry, are you seriously giving us Lucifer Morningstar's professional rebranding preferences right now? What are we supposed to do, update his LinkedIn? 'Lucifer Morningstar, Former Angel, Current Cosmic Consultant, Enjoys Long Walks Through Dimensional Rifts?'"
"Only if you're making business cards," Harry said, a wicked little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "He does appreciate proper stationery. Gold-embossed, naturally. Helvetica font is acceptable, but Comic Sans is grounds for eternal damnation."
Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose so hard he was probably leaving permanent indentations. "I need more bourbon. A whole lot more bourbon. Maybe an entire distillery."
Caroline crossed her arms, fixing Harry with the kind of glare she usually reserved for students caught cheating on finals. "Okay, sass-master junior, let's circle back to the main event here. You said 'intervention.' As in... the literal Devil is about to host a family therapy session with the Mikaelsons? The same Mikaelsons who turn family dinners into bloodbaths and consider 'healthy communication' a sign of weakness?"
Harry's smirk widened into a grin that could only be described as dangerously charming, the kind of expression that made teachers everywhere instinctively reach for detention slips. "Spot on. Except instead of tissues and awkward silences, it'll involve restructuring reality at a cosmic level. Tremendously efficient, really. You'd be amazed how well centuries of trauma bonds heal when Father's involved. He has this way of cutting through emotional nonsense that would make Dr. Phil weep with envy."
Alaric, glass halfway to his lips, froze completely. "Did you just describe restructuring reality like it's a group therapy exercise? Like it's something you do on weekends for fun?"
Harry shrugged with the casual indifference of someone discussing the weather. "Technically, yes. Though I suppose 'fun' is relative. Hope's family supplies the angst and centuries of unresolved emotional baggage. Lucifer supplies the metaphysical expertise and cosmic authority. I provide supervision and translation services. Easy as breathing."
Caroline made a strangled sound that was half-laugh, half-scream. "Did you just—did he just say 'easy as breathing'? Ric, he said cosmic intervention is easy as breathing. A fourteen-year-old just told us that reality restructuring is easy as breathing."
"Yes, I heard him," Alaric said flatly, then knocked back the bourbon in one determined gulp. "I just wish I hadn't. I also wish I'd called in sick today. Maybe moved to a different state. Changed my name. Taken up accounting."
"Honestly, you're both overreacting," Harry said lightly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like he was discussing homework instead of apocalyptic family reunions. "You'd think none of you had ever hosted divine entities before. Oh wait—that's right. You haven't. Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"
Caroline pointed an accusatory finger at him, her voice pitched into that dangerous territory between exasperation and homicide. "Fourteen! You are fourteen years old! You don't get to sound like a snarky Bond villain crossed with a supernatural guidance counselor!"
"Bond villains wish they had my hair," Harry said smoothly, running a hand through his perpetually messy dark locks with deliberate arrogance. "Also, their evil plans never involve helping people. Terribly inefficient, really. Where's the satisfaction in world domination if no one's actually happy?"
Alaric groaned, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his soul. "I'm going to die of secondhand stress before this is over. Or liver failure. Possibly both simultaneously."
Caroline whirled on him, eyes flashing with the kind of intensity that had once terrified Klaus Mikaelson. "Don't you dare! You're not leaving me alone with Mister Lucifer's Etiquette Guide over here. We're in this together, Saltzman. Till death or retirement, whichever comes first."
Harry leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered by their mounting panic, and checked his watch with the casual precision of someone who actually had cosmic intervention scheduled in their calendar. "Speaking of which—Lucifer and the Mikaelsons should be arriving any moment now. Father's remarkably punctual. It's one of his more endearing qualities."
Alaric nearly choked on air. "Arriving. Here. Soon. As in—the Devil and the entire Original family in our zip code? All at once? On our campus?"
"Within the hour, yes," Harry confirmed with casual cheer that belonged in a tourism brochure. "Cosmic transportation is remarkably efficient when you're dealing with beings of Father's... caliber. No flight delays, no lost luggage, no crying babies. Just pure dimensional convenience."
Caroline's jaw dropped so far it was practically scraping the floor. "The Mikaelsons. As in Klaus Mikaelson. The Original Hybrid. The one who practically trademarked 'creative violence' and put 'historical property damage' on the map. The man who thinks subtlety is a four-letter word and considers mass destruction a form of artistic expression. That Mikaelson family?"
"Among others, yes." Harry's grin took on a faintly conspiratorial edge, like he was sharing insider information about celebrities. "Though you'll be pleased to know Father thinks very highly of Klaus. Says they've collaborated quite successfully in the past. Apparently, destruction on a biblical scale requires excellent teamwork and shared creative vision."
Caroline blinked rapidly, processing this information like a computer trying to run software it wasn't designed for. "So let me get this straight: the Devil and Klaus Mikaelson are... professional colleagues? They have a working relationship?"
"'Colleagues' might be overstating it," Harry said thoughtfully, tapping his chin like a professor considering a particularly interesting thesis. "But professional respect? Absolutely. Mutual admiration for each other's work ethic? Certainly. They've saved the world a time or two, depending on how you define 'saved' and whether you count the collateral damage."
Alaric poured himself another drink with hands that were definitely not shaking, thank you very much. "Fantastic. Just fantastic. The Devil and Klaus Mikaelson. Professional partners in cosmic chaos. I need a bigger bottle. And a different career. Maybe something nice and safe like bomb disposal."
Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin sharpening into something that could cut glass. "You might want to make it two bottles, Headmaster. Because when Lucifer arrives, you'll want to be at your most... welcoming. He does so hate it when people forget their manners. Last person who was rude to him spent three centuries as a traffic cone in downtown LA."
Caroline threw up her hands in defeat. "Unbelievable! This is my life now. Babysitting teenagers who casually schedule coffee dates with Satan and give hosting advice for the apocalypse. What's next? Restaurant recommendations for the Four Horsemen?"
"Actually," Harry said, perking up with genuine enthusiasm, "Uncle Gabriel makes excellent reservations. He knows all the best places in every dimension. Though I'd avoid the seafood—interdimensional shellfish can be dodgy."
"Uncle Gabriel?" Alaric repeated weakly.
"Archangel Gabriel. Lovely fellow, if a bit prone to pranks involving locust swarms and spontaneous musical numbers. Family gatherings get interesting."
Caroline sat down heavily in the nearest chair. "Archangel Gabriel is your uncle. Of course he is. Because why wouldn't you be related to the entire celestial hierarchy? Are you going to tell us next that you're cousins with the Easter Bunny?"
"Different department entirely," Harry said seriously. "Though Father did help design the chocolate egg distribution network. Logistics nightmare, apparently."
Alaric drained his second glass and reached for the bottle again. "I can't. I literally cannot process any more of this conversation without professional help. Or a lobotomy."
Harry's posture shifted subtly—still confident, still radiating that unshakeable British composure, but something warmer crept into his expression. Something that reminded them, despite the cosmic family connections and casual references to reality restructuring, that he was still fundamentally a fourteen-year-old kid who cared deeply about his friends.
"Dr. Saltzman," Harry began, his tone smoothing into something more diplomatic but still carrying that underlying thread of sass, "I know this feels like too much. I know it sounds completely barking mad, and I know every instinct you have is probably screaming that this is going to end in disaster. But you need to understand something important: Hope has been carrying this alone for months."
Alaric's hand stopped halfway to the bottle. Something in Harry's voice—a note of genuine concern beneath all the wit and charm—made him pause.
"She's been sneaking into your restricted library section after hours," Harry continued, his green eyes serious now, "combing through texts that probably haven't been touched since Merlin was a spotty teenager, putting herself in real danger every single night because she's absolutely desperate to reunite her family. She's researching primordial entities and binding magic that would give most graduate-level scholars nightmares."
"She's been in the restricted section," Alaric said slowly, processing this information with the growing horror of a teacher realizing they'd missed something crucial. "The really restricted section. The 'might accidentally summon an elder god' section."
Harry nodded grimly. "Extensively. And honestly? Her grasp of cosmic horror and reality-bending magic is genuinely impressive for someone her age. Terrifyingly so, if we're being completely accurate. Unfortunately, her methodology..." He made a little hand-wave, the universal gesture for total disaster waiting to happen. "Let's just say it's been more Gryffindor than Ravenclaw. More 'charge in headfirst and hope for the best' than 'careful research and measured approach.'"
Caroline let out a sharp laugh that was equal parts fondness and pure exasperation. "Of course it has. Because why would any of our students ever come to us with potentially world-ending problems when they can just solve them through midnight research sessions, dangerous magical experimentation, and catastrophically terrible life choices? It's like they think we're here for decoration."
"In her defense," Harry said, and there was real affection in his voice now, the kind that made it clear just how much he cared about Hope, "most adults she's tried to go to for help have offered... containment strategies. Very practical. Very safe. Utterly useless if your actual goal is putting your family back together instead of just managing the separation forever."
Alaric felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest. "We've been trying to help her cope with the situation, not fix it."
"Exactly," Harry said, and his voice was gentle now, understanding rather than accusatory. "Telling Hope to 'just accept separation forever' is like telling a drowning person, 'Have you considered not breathing water?' Technically sound advice, practically useless, emotionally devastating."
The office fell quiet for a moment, the weight of Harry's words settling over them like a heavy blanket. Outside, the late afternoon sun was starting to slant through the windows, painting everything in golden light that seemed almost prophetic.
Alaric lowered his glass completely, his expression tightening as the full scope of what he'd missed became clear. "So she's been sitting in my library for months, researching cosmic parasites and reality-altering magic while I've been worrying about... standardized test scores and college prep."
"SATs, Hollow infestations, same difference," Harry said lightly, though his eyes remained serious. "To be fair, standardized testing might actually be worse for your mental health. At least cosmic entities are honest about wanting to destroy you."
Caroline stood up and resumed her pacing, but it was different now—less frantic, more purposeful. "Okay, so Hope's been playing with forces beyond human comprehension because she's desperate to fix her family situation, and we've been offering her therapy instead of solutions. I can see why that might be... insufficient."
"Spectacularly insufficient," Harry agreed with a rueful smile. "Which is why Father finally decided to intervene directly. He's not particularly fond of watching teenagers slowly destroy themselves trying to solve problems that are well within his power to fix."
Alaric studied Harry carefully, noting the way the boy's entire demeanor had shifted when talking about Hope. The sass was still there, the wit and charm and impossible confidence, but underneath it was something fierce and protective and utterly sincere.
"And you believe this ritual of your father's will work?" Alaric asked. "You're telling me that Lucifer Morningstar can just... fix the Hollow? Reunite the Mikaelson family? Solve a problem that's been tearing Hope apart for years?"
Harry didn't flinch or hesitate. In fact, his grin returned, sharp and confident and absolutely unshakeable. "Dr. Saltzman, my father once rewrote the fundamental laws of physics because he didn't like how they affected someone he cared about. He's restructured entire dimensions over breakfast because the previous version was aesthetically displeasing. One parasitic entity in one timeline?" He gave a little shrug, utterly blasé about cosmic intervention. "That's not even a warm-up exercise. That's barely a Tuesday."
Alaric stared at him. "You did not just describe exorcising an ancient cosmic horror as 'barely a Tuesday.'"
Harry leaned back, folding his arms with that maddening teenage composure. "Would you prefer Wednesday? I can move it to Wednesday if that makes you feel better. Or Friday—Father does enjoy ending the week with a bit of dramatic flair."
Caroline made a sound somewhere between laughter and hysteria. "Unbelievable! Do you hear yourself? You're fourteen years old! You shouldn't even know what a cosmic parasite is, much less describe its elimination like you're scheduling a dentist appointment!"
"To be fair," Harry said with mock seriousness, "dental work is considerably more unpleasant than cosmic exorcism. At least with ancient horrors, you know they're trying to kill you. Dentists are much more subtle about their evil intentions."
"Harry—" Caroline's voice pitched into that sharp, exasperated mom-tone she wielded like a precision weapon.
He held up a hand, cutting her off smoothly, and when he spoke again his voice was soft but absolutely firm. "All joking aside, Caroline, you should know this: my father doesn't take family lightly. Protecting the people he cares about is... non-negotiable. Completely and utterly non-negotiable. That includes Hope now, because she's my friend and she matters to me. Which means she's under his protection too."
The room went very, very still.
For once, Alaric didn't reach for his bourbon. He studied the boy in front of him—this maddeningly sarcastic, too-charming-for-his-own-good, impossibly powerful kid—and saw not just teenage bravado but absolute, unwavering certainty. The kind of certainty that was both deeply reassuring and utterly terrifying.
Caroline, her voice quieter now, asked, "So... you're saying we should just... trust the Devil. With Hope's life. And with the literal fabric of reality. Just... hand over control to Lucifer Morningstar and hope for the best?"
Harry didn't blink. His voice remained calm, steady, with that undercurrent of sass that somehow didn't diminish the weight of his words at all. "No. I'm saying you should trust someone who has both the power to fix this mess and the personal investment to make absolutely certain it's done right. Lucifer isn't perfect—trust me, I live with him, I know his flaws better than anyone. But when it comes to protecting the people I care about?" His smirk returned, subtle but fierce enough to light the rest of the room on fire. "He's bloody unstoppable. And Hope is definitely someone I care about."
The weight of that statement hung heavy in the air, pregnant with implications and promises and the kind of teenage loyalty that could reshape worlds.
Alaric cleared his throat. "There's... there's something else, isn't there? I can see it in your face. You've got that look you get when you're about to drop another bombshell."
Harry's grin turned slightly sheepish. "You're getting disturbingly good at reading me, Dr. Saltzman. Yes, there's something else. Hope doesn't know about any of this yet—the family gathering, the ritual, my father's involvement, any of it. As far as she's concerned, she's still slogging through research in the library every night, convinced she's going to handle everything herself like some sort of magical Atlas carrying the world on her shoulders."
Alaric's hand froze halfway to the bourbon bottle. His eyes narrowed with the sharp focus of someone finally seeing the complete picture. "You're telling me she's been burning the candle at both ends, sacrificing sleep and sanity, convinced she has to solve this world-ending disaster completely on her own... and she has no idea that help is coming?"
"Correct." Harry's delivery was still maddeningly polite, but there was genuine sympathy in his expression now. "And when her family arrives..."
"It's going to be emotional," Alaric finished grimly, already seeing the trainwreck unfolding in his mind's eye. Hope's abandonment issues plus surprise family reunion plus cosmic intervention plus the stress of a reality-altering ritual. His blood pressure spiked just thinking about it.
"Spectacularly emotional," Harry confirmed, nodding like a young professor grading a correct but obvious answer. "She's been carrying guilt about their separation for years, blaming herself for the Hollow situation, convinced that she's the problem that needs solving. Now imagine combining that with the shock of her entire family showing up unannounced, the overwhelming relief of a potential solution, the stress of a ritual that literally tinkers with the fundamental structure of reality, and the realization that help has existed all along but she didn't know about it..."
He trailed off, spreading his hands in a gesture that encompassed the full scope of the emotional hurricane heading their way.
Caroline, who had been listening with growing comprehension and horror, stopped pacing entirely. "Oh God. She's going to feel like we've all been lying to her. Like we've been letting her suffer when we knew there was another way."
"Bingo," Harry said softly. "Overwhelming doesn't begin to cover it. We're talking about a complete emotional meltdown of epic proportions, combined with teenage tribrid powers and the kind of guilt complex that would make Catholic saints weep with recognition."
Alaric rubbed his temples where a headache was building. "So what do you need from us? Because like it or not, this is our school, Hope is our student, and even if Lucifer himself is waltzing in here with a cosmic rescue package, Caroline and I still have responsibilities. We're not just going to stand on the sidelines."
Harry's expression brightened considerably, and for the first time since this conversation began, he looked genuinely, purely pleased rather than smugly confident. "That's exactly what I was hoping you'd say. Mostly we just need space and understanding. The ritual requires somewhere large, private, and structurally unremarkable—so your gymnasium will work perfectly. But more importantly, Hope is going to need emotional support. Anchors. People she trusts absolutely, people who can keep her grounded while the universe does a bit of creative rearranging around her."
"The gymnasium," Alaric echoed, already picturing the incident reports he'd have to file. Reason for property damage: Cosmic intervention hosted by the Devil. Estimated repair costs: Please contact Lloyd's of London. "Fine. We'll make it work. But just so you know, Klaus Mikaelson has a very well-documented track record of solving emotional problems with creative violence and artistic destruction. Combine that with your father's apparent flair for the dramatic, and I'm anticipating at least half the building going up in flames before this is over."
Harry's smirk was pure British mischief, the kind of expression that had probably gotten him detention in multiple dimensions. "Relax, Dr. Saltzman. My father has excellent insurance policies. Both literal—Lloyd's of London owes him more favors than you'd believe—and metaphysical. Reality damage is well within his repair budget, and structural damage is practically pocket change."
Caroline stopped pacing entirely, spun on her heel, and gave Harry her best are you absolutely kidding me right now look. "Oh, wonderful. So we're covered for both property damage and cosmic apocalypse. That's tremendously reassuring. I feel so much better about hosting Hell's family reunion in our gymnasium."
"Glad to help," Harry said brightly, radiating the kind of cheeky teenage sincerity that made adults everywhere question their life choices.
Caroline pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath like she was reciting a prayer or a shopping list. "Cosmic intervention, reality restructuring, Mikaelson family drama therapy, Hope's emotional breakdown, potential property damage, and explaining all of this to the school board... all happening in our gymnasium on a Tuesday. This is fine. Everything's completely fine. I'm totally handling this with grace and professionalism."
Harry beamed at her like she'd just announced she was adopting him. "It will be fine, actually. Genuinely fine. Lucifer specifically asked for you both to be present during the ritual. He believes Hope will feel safer and more grounded with trusted authority figures nearby. People who care about her educational and emotional development."
Alaric choked slightly on his next sip of bourbon. "He requested our presence. Specifically. Lucifer Morningstar personally requested that the school administrators be present for his cosmic family therapy session. Am I supposed to feel honored or absolutely terrified?"
"Both," Harry said sweetly, with the kind of sass that carried centuries of British sarcasm encoded in its DNA. "But you should know he was quite impressed the last time he visited campus. Said he genuinely admired what you've both built here—a school for supernatural teenagers where they're treated as people with potential rather than monsters to be contained or problems to be managed. He wanted to thank you personally for that."
Caroline blinked rapidly, processing this information. "The Devil... wants to thank us. For running a good school. For treating supernatural kids like actual human beings instead of walking disasters." She let out a small laugh that was equal parts incredulous and slightly hysterical. "Okay. Yep. That's it. That's officially the weirdest professional compliment I've ever received, and I once got told I looked 'sparkly enough to eat' by a delusional warlock who thought I was made of fairy dust."
"Better than being compared to a snack," Harry offered cheerfully. "Shows he appreciates your educational philosophy rather than your nutritional value."
Alaric groaned, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his soul. "I cannot believe I'm sitting here listening to workplace compliments from the Devil's teenage etiquette consultant."
Before Caroline could formulate a proper retort, the office lights began flickering. Not random, electrical-problem flickering, but rhythmic, pulsing, like the heartbeat of something far too large and powerful to fit inside a simple room. The air grew thick and warm, humming with supernatural energy that made every hair on their bodies stand at attention and their supernatural senses scream warnings.
Caroline froze mid-pace. "Please tell me that's just the power grid having issues."
Alaric's knuckles went white around his bourbon glass. "Unless the power grid suddenly upgraded to celestial wattage and started running on pure cosmic energy, then no. Definitely not the power grid."
Harry stood smoothly, brushing invisible dust off his perfectly pressed jacket with the casual ease of someone announcing dinner reservations rather than the arrival of biblical entities. "Ah. Perfect timing." He glanced at them with a grin that was equal parts reassurance and teenage smugness. "They're here. Right on schedule."
Alaric muttered into his glass with the resignation of a man accepting his fate. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for this conversation to make sense."
Caroline huffed, folding her arms and fixing Harry with a look. "Ric, you're never drunk enough for our lives to make sense. That's not a bourbon problem, that's a reality problem."
Harry was already moving toward the tall windows with a spring in his step that suggested he was genuinely excited about whatever cosmic chaos was about to unfold. "Don't worry about the alcohol levels. You'll want clear heads for this anyway. Lucifer's dramatic entrances are something of an art form—you'll want to appreciate the full experience."
Through the office windows, golden light began flaring across the campus like a time-lapse sunset on steroids and cosmic enhancement drugs. But this wasn't ordinary sunlight. This was layered, thrumming, alive with power that whispered both "welcome home" and "prepare yourselves, mortals" in equal measure. The kind of light that rewrote physics just by existing.
Caroline shaded her eyes with a perfectly manicured hand, squinting against the supernatural glare. "Oh, that's subtle. Not ominous at all. Just a casual divine light show on a Tuesday afternoon. I'm sure the neighboring schools won't notice anything unusual."
Harry leaned one shoulder against the window frame, completely unfazed by the apocalyptic light show, as though cosmic arrival effects were roughly equivalent to school fire drills in terms of excitement level. "Portal magic," he explained with the casual tone of someone discussing public transportation. "Father likes to arrive with appropriate flair. It's very much his style—dramatic, but also practical. Why bother with commercial airlines and customs when you can bend the fundamental laws of physics and show up looking absolutely fabulous?"
Alaric squinted through the increasingly intense blaze of light, his teacher instincts warring with his survival instincts. "You're calling that an entrance? That looks less like 'arrival' and more like 'celestial hostile takeover of our entire zip code.'"
Harry's mouth curved into a grin sharp enough to cut diamond. "You should see his wedding entrances. This is actually quite restrained by Father's standards."
The golden glare reached crescendo levels, swallowing the entire front lawn until looking outside was like staring directly into a second sun. Then—with an almost audible snap of displaced reality—it receded, leaving behind a neat little group of figures standing on the grass as if they'd just strolled casually out of thin air.
Which, judging by the lingering shimmer of displaced dimensions around them, they absolutely had.
"Right then," Alaric said, dragging on his jacket with movements that were only mostly steady and professional. "I suppose we should go... welcome our guests. Any final tips for greeting fallen angels, Original vampires, and whatever other cosmic hitchhikers decided to tag along for the ride?"
Harry straightened his own jacket, clearly delighted at being the resident expert on apocalypse etiquette. "Be polite, be honest, and don't take anything too personally. They're family, which means yes—there will be drama. Someone's feelings will definitely get hurt, someone else will monologue extensively about destiny and sacrifice, and there's a reasonably high chance of property damage. But it's the good kind of drama, the kind that comes from caring too much rather than not caring at all. So you'll be fine. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Caroline interjected, raising an eyebrow.
"Well..." Harry spread his hands in a gesture of cheerful honesty. "You should probably avoid making direct eye contact with Uncle Klaus before he's had his morning coffee. He tends to bite when he's under-caffeinated."
Caroline snorted despite herself. "So does Hope. Must be a family genetic trait."
"Oh, absolutely," Harry said with genuine enthusiasm. "Family tradition, right after brooding dramatically in corners and making speeches about love being both strength and weakness."
Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose one more time for good measure. "Okay. So we're going with polite, honest, and no sudden movements around under-caffeinated Original Hybrids. Got it."
"Don't forget the compliments," Harry added helpfully. "Father appreciates good manners, and the Mikaelsons respond well to acknowledgment of their various talents and achievements. Just... maybe avoid bringing up the more destructive historical incidents unless you want a three-hour lecture on context and artistic vision."
Caroline finally gave in to the smile that had been tugging at her lips. "You know, Potter... for someone who was raised by the Devil, is friends with the most powerful tribrid in existence, and casually juggles literal apocalypses before your voice has even finished changing—you're surprisingly well-adjusted. Weirdly normal, considering your circumstances."
Harry preened like she'd just knighted him for services to British charm. "Thank you kindly. Though to be completely fair, the night is still relatively young. Family reunions have a particular way of unlocking everyone's more... colorful personality traits. By midnight, you may be revising that assessment to 'charming menace to society with excellent hair and questionable judgment.'"
"The keyword there is may," Caroline pointed out.
"The keyword there is excellent," Harry shot back with a smirk, running his hand through his perfectly messy dark hair.
Alaric snorted under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching despite his best efforts to maintain professional composure. "Well, here's to surviving the evening with our sanity and our building relatively intact. Nothing says 'quality higher education' like hosting cosmic intervention and supernatural family therapy on the front lawn."
"Don't forget reality restructuring in the gymnasium," Harry added cheerfully, as if this was a perfectly normal addition to the evening's agenda. "Might have to include that in your next newsletter to parents. 'This month's activities include: advanced placement testing, cosmic horror exorcism, and interdimensional family counseling.'"
Caroline groaned theatrically. "Oh wonderful. Another parent newsletter. I can't wait to explain that our biggest educational challenge this semester isn't standardized testing—it's managing collateral damage from mystical family reunions and reality-altering therapeutic interventions."
Alaric gave her a sideways look, his expression dry as dust. "Honestly, Caroline? That'll probably be the least controversial thing we've had to explain to parents this academic year. Remember the incident with the werewolf in the chemistry lab?"
"Point taken," Caroline conceded.
They headed for the door, the golden glow outside painting everything in shades of destiny and dramatic revelation. Harry walked just a little faster, a little straighter, that confident grin flickering between excited kid at Christmas morning and experienced general heading into a familiar but challenging campaign.
Because this wasn't just about magic, or prophecy, or even saving the world from cosmic horrors.
This was about Hope—getting her family back together, freeing her from the Hollow's influence once and for all, and finally giving her the chance to breathe without impossible choices and devastating sacrifices crushing her shoulders.
And if that meant cosmic theatrics, Mikaelson family arguments, reality restructuring, and at least one wall getting dramatically demolished for the sake of an emotional monologue?
Well, Harry thought with the bright, unshakeable confidence of someone born to navigate chaos with style—some things were absolutely worth the mess.
Especially when the mess meant pulling families back together and giving Hope Mikaelson the happy ending she'd been fighting for her entire life.
Even if it did mean writing "sincere apologies for temporary dimensional restructuring and minor reality displacement" in the next school board meeting minutes.
After all, some educational experiences were just more... educational than others.
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