Cozy in There?
Chapter 9
Sanguini had thought this party would be a bore, but if he were being honest with himself, there’d been a few young students that had caught his attention; beacons of power in their own right. There still wasn’t much to hold his attention for long, as even those he found interesting felt an obligation to mingle amongst the other guests, and thus could not linger. Another gaggle of young girls kept getting closer to him, looking curious and excited, but his attention was pulled away by a sudden shift of magic in the room. A young girl with voluminous curls entered, another beacon of power in her own right, but it was the jewel eyed girl next to her that radiated with it. When the tiny fairies abandoned their post to play with her hair, he realized immediately who this must be.
“Hera Potter, I am simply delighted!” Worple exclaimed, peering up into her face; he was a rather short and stout fellow, after all. “I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, ‘Where is the biography of Hera Potter for which we have all been waiting?’.”
A look crosses her face, so fleeting Sanguini would have missed it had he not been what he was.
“Were you really?” She replied, tone polite as if asking for further information, but to Sanguini it said so much more. It spoke of a warning, a threat, not that Worple understood that.
“Just as modest as Horace described!” Worple continued. “But seriously” — his manner changed; it became suddenly businesslike — “I would be delighted to write it myself — people are craving to know more about you. If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four or five hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you-”
“A dance,” Sanguini cut in, before the young woman could seriously consider eviscerating Worple. “if you would be so kind?”
…
Hera felt more than saw the moment everyone within their small circle froze at the words, and tension sprung up. Horace looked like he’d frozen in shock, while Worple looked torn between trying to stop his friend and trying to use him as a means to get his next book. Hermione was the only one in her immediate vicinity that actually worried for her, but that was likely because she had caught the worry the others were feeling and was wondering if it was justified or not. Sanguini only gazed at her, as if he hadn’t noticed the sudden shift. His eyes flitted briefly for a moment to Worple and back again, as if trying to convey his intentions, and Hera realized what he was trying to do.
“It’s admirable of you to think you could actually save your friend from me, but I have no intention of killing him.” Hera explained, confusing everyone else while also easing his worry. “That being said, I’ll take that dance if you’re still offering.”
His only response was a nod, and to extend his hand, which she accepted.
“For the record, Eldred Worple is not really my friend.” He explained, quietly, as he lead her out to the dance floor. “I have allowed his living among my coven as a courtesy, in the hopes that it would foster change and acceptance among the wizards. I was mistaken. Instead, he believes he is my minder. When a group of girls showed up earlier, he actually handed me a pasty to distract me.”
“Like that was going to do anything.” Hera commented with a snort.
“To his credit, it did work.” Sanguini admitted, frowning. “I was so dumbfounded by the random gesture, that it didn’t dawn on me what he was doing till they were gone.”
“You’ve been alive for longer than he’s been a thought, and he actually believed you had so little control that you’d attack a group of girls if you weren’t given a pastry?” Hera asked incredulously.
He gave her a particular look at that, even as he set up their waltz as the music began. “You are powerful enough to kill me.”
“How kind of you to notice.” Hera remarked with a cheeky grin. They danced for a moment, before she noted. “You’re rather graceful.”
“Being a vampire does help.” He replied easily. “You may call me Mihail if you like, since you haven’t asked me to give you my name.”
“Hera.” She returned with a nod. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate it, under the circumstances. Asking to have your name felt counterproductive. Mihail? Not Sanguini?”
“What parent would name their kid ‘Blood’?” Sanguini – now Mihail – countered.
“Point.” Hera acquiesced, nodding to him. “So…Why didn’t you kill Worple when you realized he’d mislead you with his book?”
That lead to discussions of culture and legality. As the leader of his coven, it was well within his rights to have killed Worple for his deception. However, had he done so, the wixen community of the country would have most likely retaliated; on principle, if nothing else. By wixen definition, vampires were merely dark creatures to be put down when they got out of control. Hera mentioned her desire to create a new community off planet – as it was unlikely she could convince all of the magical world to move there – and that she’d be open to inviting his coven to be a part of that as equal citizens.
That had lead to more discussions, of course. What would her new community look like? What would the laws be? What would be allowed as far as cultural and religious practices go? Would other magical creatures be allowed to petition for citizenship, and would they also be seen as equals among their wixen counterparts? Hera did have to explain that only a select few among the wixen even knew of her idea, and so secrecy was paramount if they wished the venture to be a successful one; something Mihail readily agreed with.
“Why did you move us?” Hera wondered, after an incredibly quick twist that deviated them from their intended course.
“You’re interesting, and I didn’t wish to be interrupted.” Mihail answered honestly. “Your resident Potions Master seems to be trying to intercept.”
“He only does something like that when he thinks there’s about to be an explosion.” Hera revealed, and frowned. “I can’t think of anything about this situation that would do that.”
“There are a number of other people that have tried to intercept. He’s just the only one that’s gotten close enough for you to notice.” Mihail admitted sheepishly. “There is also another professor trying to get to you. I can tell he’s not a wizard, but I don’t know what manner of being he is exactly. Dumbledore appears to be speaking with a number of the staff, trying to keep things calm.”
“Oh.” Hera murmured, realizing what was happening. “They think you’ve ensnared me. That's the stuff of poorly written muggle novels!”
“Given what little they truly know of my kind, to them it is a possibility.” Mihail confirmed. “You have been dancing with me for quite a while now without tiring, Lady Hera. I am not entirely sure what you are, nor what that means for the full range of your abilities, though I imagine that neither do they. I have been waiting for you to convey a wish to stop or partake of a refreshment, and yet you have not done so.”
“So you’ve been pranking them without my knowledge to see how long it would be before they lost their patience and tried something.” Hera noted, chuckling when Mihail nodded. “Next time, tell me. My magic will feed it more, instead of passively like it has been. I had wondered to what bit of mischief I was lending aid. Come on. Let’s go make sure they don’t start a mob, shall we? I doubt we’ll get much of a chance to speak here after this, so send me an owl if you’d wish to discuss my idea further. ”
It didn’t take long once they got to the edge of the dance area for someone to separate them. As far as she could tell, Worple was fussing at Mihail something fierce. The vampire saw her looking over at him and rolled his eyes to convey his annoyance with the man fussing at him. She found herself sharing the sentiment, as she too was already annoyed with her own situation. Tuning back into the conversation being had at her, she realized it was Crowley who’d managed to grab her.
“Oh good, you’re actually listening now.” Crowley huffed, upon seeing this. “I’ve been rambling about cheeses for the last five minutes.”
“Yeah, that’s why I tuned you out. Didn’t even get a glimpse at whoever it was that nabbed me, and here you are rambling about cheeses of all things.” Hera huffed. “I should have stayed on the dance floor. That, at least, would have been more entertaining.”
“That was a vampire. You do realize that, yes?” Crowley scowled.
“I was fully informed of that fact before agreeing to dance with him in the first place, yes.” Hera snorted with derision, glaring at him in annoyance. “So what?”
“So…So what?” Crowley repeated, going from worriedly angry to flummoxed in about a second. “What do you mean so what?”
“Yeah. So what?” Hera repeated with a shrug. “Society is never going to get any better if we think of other magical races as monsters first and people second, and if I have my way the one I plan to build won't be that way at all. I refuse to judge someone just because they need to drink blood to survive, or if they get all hairy on the full moon, or some other ridiculous tripe. I’m going to judge a person for being a fucking arsehole.”
She walked off after saying that, leaving the man completely stumped for some odd reason.
The next morning several of the staff were surprised to see Hera sitting at the Head Table already, holding her head in her hands as she massaged her forehead. There’d been no true alcohol at the party, they knew. They’d made sure of it. There’d been nothing to make her as miserable as it looked like she felt, so they couldn’t understand what had been the cause. Severus sighed and sat next to her, knowing that – ironically enough – he had the best chance out of all of them of getting her to confess whatever it was that had done this to her.
“Potter, you look like death warmed over.” He stated by way of greeting. She opened her eyes just enough to glare at him through the pain she was in, but that only served to highlight even more that something was wrong. “Your eyes…What-”
He’d had only a moment, but he knew what he’d seen. Her eyes glowed like they had when she’d blown up his office, only now there was a fiery tinge to them. She opened her mouth, no doubt to explain, but all that came out was high pitched incomprehensible noise. Everyone in the Great Hall quickly plugged their ears to protect themselves against the pain of it, which was when every drinking glass or glass made item in the entire room exploded; including the windows. Potter winced in pain, but made to grab a biro and some paper out of her beaded bag instead of trying to speak again.
When he began to recognize the symbols, Severus groaned. “Potter, my Enochian is shit. Please tell me this isn’t the only thing you are currently able to write in.”
“I’m proficient.” Crowley called out, moving to join them on her other side. “I didn’t quite understand the dialect she used when speaking though, something about demons using her brain as a bowling ball?”
Potter nodded gingerly, looking over to the man with gratefulness in her eyes.
“Here. You need these more than I do right now.” Crowley continued, handing his sun glasses over to her.
Severus tried not to react, because how in the holy fuck had he not noticed how very serpent like Crowley’s eyes were? Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on what Potter had already written. She sighed in relief once she’d put the sun glasses on, before getting back to said writing. Crowley made little comments here or there, as if replying to a conversation, which Severus realized was exactly what he was doing.
“No shit.” Crowley muttered, looking at her, clearly impressed. “Really?”
She nodded, and continued writing again.
“Care to let the rest of us in on the conversation?” Severus inquired, a bit on edge.
“Oh, right. My apologies.” Crowley admitted, a bit distractedly, not even looking over to him. “She said when she went to sleep last night, she woke up in Hell; literal not metaphorical, by the way. In front of Lucifer’s cage, and everything. It got…heated, for lack of a better word, and the demons there got a bit snippy because she was messing about with plans they’d already made.”
“Wait. Hell is real?” Pomona wondered in horrified fascination.
“Heaven too.” Crowley nodded, nonchalantly. “I don’t know why you lot are surprised. Valhalla is real, just like the Underworld, Summer Lands, what have you. They’re all just alternate planes of existence one can go to after death, given a few conditions. They weren’t even that hard to set up. Hell was a bit of a rush job in the dimension I come from, I’ll admit, which might hold true here as well.”
“And the reason her eyes glow with fire in them, and her shriek that put even the worst banshee to shame is because…?” Severus wondered, now trying to process all of that.
“Oh. Time in Hell works differently in this dimension. For her, about two months has passed, even though only the night has passed for us.” Crowley explained. “If I understand her correctly, a day here is like four months there, so four months would be forty years. You get the picture. I am glad I did not begin in this universe, if this is how demons live here. That sounds like a nightmare.”
“That does not explain what happened to her eyes and voice.” Severus reminded him.
“Doesn’t it?” Crowley countered, flummoxed for a moment, before continuing. “She was immersed in a place where those she encountered didn’t speak her language, where she spoke their language for long enough that it is her first instinct to try and speak it here, even over that ability of hers. Her eyes will return to normal shortly. Being there for that long can have wildly chaotic side effects. That’s true for every universe, I suppose. Was true enough for mine, at any rate. Her voice will return to normal as well, as soon as her mind works itself out.”
“And just why did you wake up in Hell in the first place?” Severus wondered, looking to Potter now. She quickly looked to Crowley, who nodded.
“I can explain that too.” He offered, before addressing Severus. “Chuck asked her for a favour, and she agreed to try and help. It meant waking up in Hell, perhaps more than once, to pick the first of many locks.”
“On what.” Severus demanded, though he thought he knew.
“Lucifer’s cage.” Crowley revealed. “Chuck wants to release him, in the hopes they can reconcile.”
Severus’ heart plunged to his stomach; knowing enough of Christianity in its various forms to know just how badly that could go.
“Let me see if I've got this right. You agreed to try and reconcile father and son, even knowing who that son is? This is Lucifer Morningstar we’re talking about here; the literal devil from the muggle bible, and you agreed to help him?” Severus asked, in disbelief. “Why?”
Potter began writing again, and it was some time before she finished up, handing it to Crowley so he could read it to him.
“Because Chuck didn’t order me to help him. He asked. He accepted fault for what he’d done, and showed a willingness to change. Lucifer is a manipulative arsehole for sure, but underneath the rage, he’s just a kid who sought attention from his father in the only way he thought he could get it.” Crowley read, before sighing as he looked back to her. “You’re too soft hearted, you know.”
She just tapped on the glasses he’d leant her in response.
“I’ll be taking those back now, since you’re feeling well enough to be so cheeky.” Crowley retorted, taking his glasses back, though Severus noted he was much more gentle about it than the tone suggested, snorting at her completely unapologetic grin.
~`~`~
The night before…
The rest of the night hadn’t been a complete disaster, though she did have to play ‘Dodge the Worple’ a time or two. One word with Snape, and he eased up a bit. As it turns out, he’d only been trying to get to her because everyone else was panicking. She’d have to have a word with him later about what they’d really been talking about, but it was enough for the man to know she’d not actually been in danger of any kind. Hera and Hermione chose to leave early, while Salazar and the others chose to stay a bit longer; though she did feel a bit guilty for not having socialized with them much during the party.
When she went to bed later that night, she knew she’d be in for a troubled sleep. There was something in the feeling of her spine, like there was someone squeezing it. Fen and Jör sensed her discomfort, and snuggled into her when she got into her beanbag bed. It helped, even if it didn’t really ease the pain she was feeling. She woke up – or rather became aware she was ‘awake’ – when the heavy scent of sulphur filled the air.
“Well, can’t say I was expecting to start this for some time yet.” Hera muttered, before really taking in the cage before her. “He really wasn’t kidding. This thing is even more intense than the image he used to explain it. Bloody hell.”
It was more than a little intimidating up close. Yeah, Fred and George had taught her how to pick a lock, but this was so far beyond anything she’d ever attempted. Why had she agreed to even try this? She started giggling, imagining what Petunia and Vernon would have to say if they could see her now. It was fitting, perhaps, that she had ended up here.
“Where would I even start?” She wondered allowed, before seeing one of the locks light up a bit. Upon closer inspection, she saw the condition placed on it to unlock. “Oh, well at least you weren’t a complete dick. There’s a clause of consent on this one.”
She got the sense that Chuck was amused once again, before she couldn’t quite feel his presence any more. Taking a look up at the cage once more, Hera noted how she could almost see something shifting about in there. It had been aeons since the one inside had had to take up a shape that resembled human. She wondered if he still remembered how. Had he been there long enough to have forgotten what words were?
That’s when she got a terrible idea. Hogwarts school motto was ‘Don’t tickle a sleeping dragon’. Her idea, however, was to do just that. Could she annoy Lucifer Morningstar to the point where he’d lash out and talk to her? There was only one way to find out.
“Hey you.” She called out, rapping on the cage with her knuckles. “Dumbass.”
Something shifted sharply, and she got the distinct impression that she had the being’s attention now.
“Yeah, you in the cage.” She continued with a wicked grin, rapping her knuckles against the cage once more. “Cozy in there?”*
…
He’d watched her approach, of course. She wasn’t the first to do so, but she was the first to wonder about the consent clause on one of the locks. It wasn’t something he’d cared to think about much. There’d been talk among the demons – loathsome creatures that they were, no matter that he'd technically created them – about how to get him out, to start the apocalypse; as if he gave a shit about that. Lost in his musings, he was surprised when the sharp rapping sound hit the cage, and enraged when she began to insult him.
The longer he stared at her, the more he realized what he was seeing, and it enraged him. Here she was, this little upstart human, looking at him like she had all the time in the world to press every single button he had. Her grin was as shark like and wicked as one of his own would be, and her eyes slowly turned from a vibrant green to a glowing red. So his father had finally managed it, Lucifer realized. He wondered if she knew.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
Ah, so the calvary has arrived. Lucifer noticed her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew even sharper than before. She turned around to face the four vaguely upper level demons that had come to see what the disturbance was. They weren’t princes of Hell, but they were the fastest of those who knew exactly where he was; which meant that her arrival had been noticed.
“Ah, I had hoped I wouldn’t get caught so soon.” She sighs ruefully, sounding like it was meant more for herself than him or the others. “Haven’t even had a crack at the first lock yet.”
He hears her, but the words are lost as he noticed something else. When she turned around, he saw the ghost of wings at her back. They haven’t manifested yet, that’s easy to see, but they would. He could almost see what they would look like then, but didn’t understand why his father would craft such a thing for her, or send her here. Lucifer knew without a doubt that his father had done so, but it made no sense for old fool to start meddling now.
“Lucifer...” One of the demons murmured. “You're…out? Without the Seals breaking?”
She didn't even hesitate.
“Of course not, you idiots.” She remarked with a scowl. “I'm projecting. Don't you have anything better to do? How are the plans progressing? Give me a report, since you felt it necessary to check up on me.”
There was the usual drivel, of course; Platitudes and the like. She listened with feigned annoyance, but he knew she was absorbing ever word. Through them, she learned a portion of the comings and goings of Hell, and their plans to free him. They wanted to start Armageddon, something that didn't seem to surprise her. If it did, she hid it well, and sent them away. When enough time had passed, she did a quick pivot to face the cage once more.
“Want to tell me why they bought that load of horseshit?” She demanded, glaring at the cage. “Why did they so easily believe I was you?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Lucifer countered, shaping himself into something of a humanoid shape to give her somewhere to focus her glare properly. “Think back to what you know of me, and apply that to yourself. Any of it sound familiar?”
The look that crossed her face then; the various emotions of anger and resignation were fascinating.
“We're going to have to have a talk about that later. I can tell.” She murmured to herself, before focusing on him once more. “Your father wants me to help you bust out of here before the demons try hatching their stupid plan. He's not expecting forgiveness. I've already warned him it wasn't likely, not with what he did.”
“Like you'd know a thing about what he did.” Lucifer snarled, surprising her into jolting when he slammed into the side of the cage. “Why don't you tell me what you know, before I decide to pull you in here with me? What do you say? A fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you.”*
“Is that supposed to be a reference to something?” She asked, sceptically, unimpressed. Unbelievable. “Never mind. I know that he gave you the task of holding back someone he called the Darkness, a being so powerful that even he had to lock her away instead of killing her outright, and then he proceeded to neglect you for the shiny new toy that was humanity. I know about the key he gave you to do it, and I know that he knew ahead of time that it would eventually corrupt you. I know that he created a spirit of rebellion, and then got mad when you told him no. How am I doing so far? Do I know enough for you to stop being a little bitch yet?”
“The fucking cheek.” Lucifer found himself grumbling. She only smirked in response, which was infuriating. “Fine. You know a fair bit, I suppose. Not used to him being so forthcoming, or direct. I was jealous, okay? I knew your lot would be these flawed murderous things, and yet he wanted us to love you more than him? I couldn't. And for that, God had Michael cast me into Hell.”
“Nooooo. God had Michael cast you into hell, because you went in to wreck shit just to prove that you were right. Corrupting a soul just to prove a point is still a bitch move, you know.” The girl countered, and oh how he hated her in this moment. She wasn't impressed with his words or how he'd twisted them, still true but not quite, and he can see it in her eyes.
“Fine. What's your deal?” Lucifer demanded. “What do you want?”
“I'm not stupid enough to make a deal with the devil, dumbass.” She snorted, shaking her head at him. “You agree to try working on yourself, and maybe not being such a petulant child, and I take an honest crack at these locks. If you shadow me topside, just know that I work around children a lot, and I will have something to say about it if you cause them harm in any way. Got it?”
“It's amusing that you think you have the power to stop me.” Lucifer scoffed.
“Your father likes me.” She taunted in response. “Care to test how much?”
…
He'd not been receptive to that, and unfortunately she didn't feel like whatever situation she'd landed herself in this time was coming to an end just yet. So she took the shrunken trunk out of her pocket and returned it to normal size. She gave no explanation for her resizing the trunk, nor her strange ability to disappear into it. If he wanted to be a bitch, she'd give him no more information than she would a screaming child or whiny adult. Hera knew she was sleeping, but time seemed to move differently in Hell.
How much time would she spend down here before the night was truly up? She didn't know, but she'd have her work cut out for her before she found out. In the 'morning', she'd made breakfast; arguably a bit too much, but she had a thought on that. Hera realized her gamble had paid off when a man suddenly appears in her dining room. He looks to be in his mid thirties, tall, dirty blond hair and blue eyes, a little stubble like he hasn't shaved in a few days.
“I thought you were supposed to be hot.” Hera blurted, and then slammed her hand onto her face. “One day, I will develop that filter everyone says I'm supposed to have.” She takes her hand off her face, and sees that he's just standing there looking amused. “Breakfast?”
“I don't need to eat.” He shrugged, before taking a noticeable interest in his surroundings. “You put this inside of a trunk? Feels…homey.”
“Mr. Wiseacre is brilliant. This is mostly his work.” Hera admitted. “Does not needing to eat mean that you can't, or you just haven't tried?”
“Haven't tried. Wasn't curious enough.” Lucifer admitted. “I think I get why Father likes you, and if I'm right you can just forget any hope for developing that filter you were talking about.”
“We are going to have to have words about that, damn it. I hate being right.” Hera grumbled, turning to make both of their plates. “He tried making a spirit of rebellion chaotic enough that he couldn't always predict them, and then he got mad when you acted exactly as expected. Fuck.”
“I said I don't need to eat.” He reminded her when she placed the plate of food on the table in front of him.
“That's not the same thing as not wanting to try it. If you don't want to, don't eat it. If you want to try it, it's there.” Hera replied, choosing to sit on the opposite side. “So…thoughts?”
“So I'm supposed to be hot, huh?” He teased, sitting down and grabbing the fork to try some of the food.
“Look. I haven't read the thing, okay? I only know what the Dursley's yelled at me. Granted, they weren't religious or anything. They just wanted the neighbours to believe they were. You know, perfect family and all that. There's a priest I know that's tried to explain a bit of it to me, but there's too much to dissect at once.” Hera tried to explain. “I remember him telling me that you were the first, the favourite. He said you were created to be perfect in wisdom and beauty, to be flawless. He said you led the choirs, and all that jazz.”
“Your priest says a lot.” Lucifer remarked, before taking a bite of egg. “This is the first time I've ever tried eating. How would I know if I like it?”
“Trust me, if it tastes bad, you'll know.” Hera replied with a snort. “You give any more thought to what I said?”
“I'm not forgiving him.”
“I'm not asking you to, not now; maybe not ever. That's not a part of the arrangement I have with your father.” Hera reminded him. “I'm not taking a crack at those locks until you agree – honestly agree and mean it – that you'll work to be a better person. I'm not asking for sainthood here. You no longer have the key corrupting you, but you've spent the last several thousand years having an epic sulk. You've got issues, Dude.”
“Do you even realize who you're talking to?” Lucifer asked, disbelieving and clearly affronted. “Just because Father has some weird fascination with not being able to predict you doesn't mean you can just do or say whatever you want.”
“I know. I just don't care.” Hera admitted, and waited. He looked like he was about to explode with anger, so she decided to continue. “I get that I don't quite understand the magnitude of things, but I know enough. I'm not going to hold you or him up to any vaulted importance. That's what got you lot into this mess in the first place.”
“I don't understand this. You defend him in one breath, and then disparage him in the next.” Lucifer remarked, studying her. “Do you not believe in God?”
“Oh, I believe in God, alright. I just don’t believe the bastard deserves to be worshipped.”* Hera pointed out, before it dawned on her how that might be taken. “One day, I'm gonna say something like that and get struck by lightning or something. I just know it. Also, he's been going by Chuck while walking around in his humansona.”
“I did not just hear that.” Lucifer snorted, trying not to laugh now. “Humansona? Really?”
Hera waited until he was about to try a bit of pumpkin juice, barely containing her smirk, before adding. “My bróðir calls him Sky-Daddy.”
AN: Sanguini's 'name' was taken from corvusdraconis.
First quote is a nod to Glenn from The Walking Dead - "Hey you. Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank. Cozy in there?"
Second quote is one of Lucifer's own from Supernatural, though you can take it as the song as well lol - "I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you."
Third quote - Oh, I believe in God, alright. I just don’t believe the bastard deserves to be worshipped – alexaloraetheir’s friend, Tumblr Post
Also, I had to throw in a reference with the 'humansona' thing lol. I saw it in a pic of a tumblr post, where seaflying-fliptuna made a comment with that word, and I couldn't not use it lol