𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐘. ㅡ Marauders Era

0 | "Your bed is on fire, love." (EXTENDED SUMMARY)

KAMILLE GRANT SEES THINGS THAT NO ONE ELSE DOES, and as a Seer that's kind of inevitable. With the reputation of Seers as loony old bats who've puffed one too many purple mushrooms she doesn't tell anyone that she sees the Potter's deaths. (Well, Lily Evans isn't actually a Potter yet, but she will be one no matter how adamant she is that she could never fall for an arrogant toerag like James Potter.) 

But the knowledge makes her ache. She had only seen death one other time in her prophecies before, and she realised too late what it had meant. Kamille usually saw what pranks she should protect herself from, which drinks had been spiked with a potion that made you shit bubbles, and the odd break-in by the neighbours' goat burying itself into her pantry at home (she would usually write to her aunt to warn her about those) -- but when she saw Lord Voldemort brutally blast through James Potter and Lily Potter sacrifice herself for her one year old son, she realised how badly she doesn't want them to die. It didn't sit well with her that she could see their deaths so vividly picturesque in her mind, and even though she didn't know them very well, more than anything she wanted them to avoid that fate and have them live long, happy lives with their young son. (̶B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶,̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶,̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶
s̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶g̶r̶o̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶u̶p̶?̶)̶

So what if summoning the Devil to stop the two from dying was frowned upon? 

If Kamille was anything, it was unconventional, and Lucifer figures that out from the moment he steps out of the smoke and chalk array to a platter of cookies in the girl's hands, a bright smile staring back at him from the backdrop of a room on fire.

"Your bed is on fire, love," he informed her.

"Oh, shit, not again!" she cried, and danced awkwardly in the spot with the plate of cookies, eyes darting back and forth between himself and the bed which was steadily starting consume the bedside table, until Lucifer stretched out a hand and she dumped the plate on him before running for her wand.

Well. That wasn't what he was trying to do at all.

Lucifer sucked it up and observed her with dark eyes. It wasn't every day a young girl summoned you into her (burning) bedroom and offered you diabetes on a Barbie plate (even if the cookies were rather scrumptious, Lucifer had a diet to keep -- but he allowed himself one chocolate macaroon anyway), even less a young girl who was actually powerful enough to do so. She was an unsightly thing, and rather plain; typical brown hair, same boring old brown eyes, and was a scrawny little thing that looked as if she was getting used to the odd shapes that puberty had granted her. But as she cast the aguamenti and doused her entire room in a jet of water so huge she'd blasted back from the force of it, Lucifer came to understand how she had managed to summon him.

So much power in such a little being.

Her body glowed golden with the burst of magic, her soul a bright, iridescent drop of honey in a sea of hot stars, and Lucifer found his mouth watering at the sight. What a feast she would be for him. The sight had sparked a long-buried memory within him, but he'd dismissed it the instant it was gone; the golden stars faded and her soul was soon dulled down and hidden beneath her sternum when she cut off the spell, and he found himself suppressing the urge to demand the girl to do magic again and again and again because there was so much power and he was starving.

(It was a good thing she had given him cookies, then. He didn't know if he'd be able to stop himself from stealing her right then and there.)

"Right," she sighed, before turning to face him. Lucifer eyed the damp walls and wooden frames of what used to be her bed and bedside table, the splashes of water that had rebounded onto her blue cotton dress. His eyes drifted up until they caught onto her lips and that infernally bright smile. "Sorry about that, sometimes it just catches on fire when I'm thinking too hard. Aunt Hera says she doesn't know what I think about for it to happen so often -- because it does, you see -- but she doesn't see the things that I do, and I -- well, this time I saw something terrible and I just couldn't stop thinking and then it lead me to--" She stopped abruptly.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows and bit delicately into his third cookie. The girl blinked at him.

"Oh! -- Sorry, I just realised I haven't even introduced myself," she said, still smiling. Did she not get tired of doing that? She thrust out a hand and then pulled it back, put it out again, and just as she was about to retrieve it again Lucifer let go of the plate and grabbed it. Her hand was warm. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I just wasn't sure what the customs were for..."

He cocked his head. "Greeting the Devil?"

He was surprised at the embarrassed flush that crept up her neck as she eyed the floating pink plate beside him. "Yeah," she grinned nervously. "I'm Kamille -- Kamille Grant. How should I address you, Sir?"

The name sounded familiar. Lucifer allowed his lips to turn upwards, eyes gleaming. "Love, you can call me whatever you like. It's your soul that I'm after."

[Written: 30/06/20]

i can't believe i'm doing this.