I drew inspiration for this story from BrilliantLady's story, "Harry Potter in the City of Angels" and Mackiechandler's story, "The Devil as a Father." Contains references to the kidnapping of a child.

s/13359087/1/Harry-Potter-in-the-City-of-Angels

s/13401887/1/The-Devil-as-a-Father

This story takes place before all the Harry Potter books (he's only 10 years old) and at the beginning of the third season of Lucifer.

Harry's POV

Terror. That's the first sensation that floods me as I open my eyes. A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins as I find myself bound to a chair, a gag tightly fastened around my mouth, choking off any scream. My wide eyes struggle to adjust to the surrounding gloom as dread seeps into every fiber of my being.

The voices of the men who've captured me buzz in my ears, their words incomprehensible, forming a sinister backdrop. Their faces are shadowy, menacing masks of malevolence, and their gazes gleam with greed and malice. I feel my heart pounding fiercely, like a war drum launched into my throat.

I attempt to move, to free myself from these ropes, but every effort is futile. Powerlessness creeps like poison through my veins, and I know time is running out. I have no idea how I ended up in this situation, but one thing is sure: I must find a way to escape this living Hell.

My silenced screams, muffled by the gag, turn into desperate, mute cries, and my gaze frantically roams for an exit, for an unexpected ally. Fear shrouds me like a suffocating mist, but I must endure. I must survive. I... I need to.

A loud scream escapes me, and even through the gag, the kidnappers can hear it. They approach, and I can now make out their faces more clearly, though I can only discern their general features. There are five of them, four men and one woman. They're all dressed similarly, with a couple appearing to be siblings. One on the right bears a distinctive scar across his face.

"Look who's awake," the woman comments. I know my eyes reflect my sheer terror, but as they remove the gag, I muster every ounce of self-control not to scream. That would only make things worse.

I try to steady my breathing as they continue to scrutinize me. Their faces wear expressions ranging from amusement to something darker. The room feels suffocating, and I can't shake the feeling that my life is hanging by a thread.

The one with the scarred face steps closer, his voice dripping with menace. "You're a long way from home, kid. Your folks ain't comin' back for ya, I reckon."

My heart sinks at his words. Deep down, I comprehend that my relatives, the Dursleys, wouldn't rush to rescue me. They never cared. Fear gnaws at my insides as I consider the bleakness of my situation.

"You're in our world now," another man sneers, circling me like a predator. "And in our world, we do things our way."

I swallow hard, my throat dry as dust. There's a sinking feeling in my chest, but I can't let them see my fear. Not if I have any chance of surviving this ordeal.

As the threats escalate, something inside me stirs; the room darkens as if it senses the turmoil within me.

I somehow break the ropes holding me to the chair, managing to spring forward, surprising my captors. In the chaos that ensues, I fight with all my might, driven by a primal instinct to escape. Fear, anger, and a newfound strength fuel my every move.

But they are five, and I'm just one. I feel two pairs of hands grabbing me to stop me, while a click and a chilling sensation make me realize that a gun is pointed at my head. I raise my hands to signal my surrender. Thanks to the years spent evading Dudley and his gang, I may be fast, but no one is faster than a bullet.

My heart thunders as I stand there, hands trembling and a gun inches from my forehead. Time seems to stretch, and my mind races. I can feel the cold steel against my skin; every breath I take could be the last.

The room is silent except for the heavy breathing of my captors. The scarred man's eyes bore into mine, his finger on the trigger. I swallow hard, my throat constricting with fear.
This is it, I think. This is how it ends.

Then, something extraordinary happens. The woman's lips curl into a smile, or rather, she starts laughing.

"We thought you might come in handy to divert the police's attention while we robbed the bank, but you're proving to be far more intriguing. If you can break free so swiftly, perhaps you can serve a different purpose now. By the way, how did you manage it?" she asks, her face uncomfortably close to mine. I avert my gaze, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"I don't know," I whisper, barely audible. All I hope for is another day of life.

"Hmm, I suppose everyone has their secrets," she comments, her fingers gripping my chin and forcing me to meet her gaze. "Tell me, do you have an interest in staying alive?" What a question to ask. Of course, I want to live. I can't respond verbally; my heartbeats drown out any words. But I force myself to nod.

"Good," she remarks with a mischievous grin, finally releasing my chin, and I lower my gaze once more.

The woman's laughter echoes in my ears as they deliberate my fate. I can feel their gazes, probing, scrutinizing, as if they're sizing me up for something sinister. My heart continues to race, and I know that, somehow, I have dodged a bullet—literally.

But the reprieve is brief. The woman's tone becomes steely as she gazes at me, her voice dripping with a chilling resolve. "We thought you were just a lost child, kid, but now you've got our attention."

I gulp, my throat parched, and fear coils within me like a relentless serpent. I don't want to be a part of whatever "this" is. I don't want to be involved in their criminal schemes. My mind races with thoughts of escape, but the gun-wielding captors loom far too close.

The scarred man, his cold eyes locked onto mine, issued a sinister ultimatum. "You're in it now, kid. You're gonna help us, willingly or not."

My instincts scream at me to resist, to fight, but I'm outnumbered and outgunned. I'm just a child against these ruthless criminals. No matter how fast I can run, I cannot take them all on.

Reluctantly, I nod, my heart heavy with despair. I have no other choice. I have to bide my time, find an opportunity to escape, and hope that someone, somewhere, would rescue me.

The woman seems pleased with my compliance, a sinister glint in her eye. "That's better, kid. You'll find out soon enough what's at stake here."

As they discuss their nefarious plans, I can't help feeling like a pawn in their dangerous game. My reluctance weighs heavily on my soul. I cannot shake the dread that this newfound association with criminals will only lead me deeper into a world I want no part of.

The next day. Harry's POV

My palms are slick with sweat as I clutch the duffel bag they thrust into my trembling hands, ready to be filled with stolen goods. A whirlwind of emotions rages inside—fear, anger, and a gnawing sense of helplessness. I don't belong here, among these planning a heist.
This is not who I am.

As we step out of the vehicle, the air grows heavy with tension. The woman, her unwavering gaze locked on me, repeats the dire consequences of any misstep. "A bullet to the head," she says, her words sending shivers down my spine.

The bank's entrance looms ahead, and my heart races like a frantic animal trapped in a cage. The mask they've forced me to wear feels like a cold and suffocating shroud, a constant reminder of the role I'm being compelled to play. I am no longer Harry Potter, the boy who lives an ordinary, miserable life. Now, I'm just another face among criminals.

As the entrance swings open, my apprehension escalates with every step we take. I cling to the shadows, moving hesitantly, my own footsteps echoing like drumbeats in my ears. The masked criminals glide through the bank with chilling precision, their movements calculated, their voices reduced to hushed whispers.

The bank's unsuspecting patrons remain oblivious to the storm about to descend upon them. Fear tightens its grip on my gut as I watch the adults, their weapons concealed beneath clothing, drawing closer to the bank's staff.
My role is distressingly simple – blend in, create chaos, and divert attention away from their true intentions.

Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a straightforward armed robbery takes an even darker turn. It appears that someone managed to alert the police, and now I spot a couple of patrol cars outside.

"Shut everything down," the woman orders, and the other gang members comply. I follow suit, my heart sinking as the situation turns more sinister. People who were just looking to tend to their banking needs have now become hostages, their lives hanging in the balance with every second that passes.

The security guard is handcuffed on the ground, and the cameras are swiftly deactivated. With the shutters closed, we are inside, and the police cannot intervene.

Disoriented and terrified, I scan the scene in search of help that can't come. I observe the unfortunate individuals caught up in this nightmare with me. Among them are a few older people, but thankfully, no children... except me.

My heart begins to race again, my breathing grows labored, and I struggle to breathe under the mask pressing against my broken glasses. My gaze lingers briefly on a tall, imposing man with dark skin and a mysterious look. He doesn't appear frightened, and I can't help envying him for his composure. He's comforting a white-haired older woman while casting a stern eye on the criminals. In his eyes, I detect a spark that speaks of justice.

Meanwhile, inside Lucifer's penthouse. Lucifer's POV

I sigh as I stand up from the piano bench. The past half-hour has been spent composing a piece, but in the end, I'm far from satisfied. I straighten my shirt and head to the liquor cabinet, pouring another generous glass of whiskey. Yesterday has been another fruitless day in my search for the person who kidnapped me, took away my Devil's face, and returned my wings. I swear to my dad I'll make them pay, but everything feels futile until I unearth new clues.

After all my time spent with the police, I should have learned this lesson, but it's maddening! The Detective still doesn't believe me, and she's staying a lot more at the station, trying to convince the new lieutenant that she's the department's finest detective. Not that there's any doubt, especially with my assistance in the investigation. However, it irks me that she doubts my claims about the kidnapping. We discovered another body in the same spot where I was taken. Yet, all we have is a criminal's statement that the Sinnerman orchestrated my abduction.

As I empty yet another glass of Single Malt, the phone rings, jolting me from my thoughts. I rush over to it, hoping it's the detective with some fresh information. But instead, the screen displays a name in bold letters: Detective Douche. What on earth could he want?

Despite my annoyance, I answer the call with a smirk—one of my signature Lucifer smiles. As always, I respond in a calm and cheery tone, "Hello, Detective Douche."

"Hey, Lucifer... where are you?" he asks in his bland Dan voice, unusually worried. Has something happened to the Detective or her spawn?

"In my penthouse, why?" I retort, though a hint of worry gnaws at me, fearing for Trixie and Chloe's safety.

"There's a bank robbery," he replies.

"Why should I care?" I respond sarcastically, even though a rising tension begins to grip me, worrying about the safety of Trixie and Chloe.

"Because your brother is one of the hostages," he states, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Amenadiel may have lost his powers, but he shouldn't be foolish enough to get himself killed during a robbery.

"Well, thank you for letting me know. Now, if you don't mind, I'll return to minding my own business, and you should do the same," I answer him, dripping with acid.

"Lucifer, you should come here," he insists. Apparently, he fails to grasp my priorities. I have more pressing matters than babysitting my brother.

"My brother can take care of himself. Why should I come?"

"Because the thieves are asking for you," he explains. This is peculiar. I know many criminals, but none who would resort to robbing a bank. My silence prompts Detective Douche to continue. "It seems Amenadiel mentioned you, and they've decided that if you make a deal with them, they'll release all the hostages."

"So, the LAPD requires my assistance?" I inquire, just to be sure, though I've already decided. "But you'll owe me, and when I call on you for a favor, you'll comply." Daniel doesn't seek my help often, so this is a golden opportunity. He doesn't concede immediately, but the thought of the trapped hostages moves him, and he eventually agrees.

Fifteen minutes later, inside of the bank. Harry's POV

It has been approximately fifteen minutes since the imposing man proposed the deal, which could potentially secure the release of all the hostages. The woman who coerced me into this terrible robbery reluctantly agrees, seemingly convinced that this man holds a significant reputation among criminals and never breaks his word.

I cast a mournful gaze upon the other victims of this robbery, silently wondering if there is something more I can do. But now, I feel powerless, confined to waiting for the commands of my captors.

As the scarred man completes yet another round of surveillance, he returns and orders the other criminals to escort the hostages to separate rooms. Their intent is clear—to prevent potential escape when the negotiator arrives. Slowly, all the hostages are led away and locked in different rooms, leaving only me, the woman, the man with the scar, and the two remaining hostages in the main hall. The captives are bound to chairs just as I have been, but I know I can do nothing to assist them.

A sense of despair settles over me as I sit on the ground. My heart, which once raced with fear and anxiety, now seems to beat in slow, deliberate thuds, marking the passing seconds until the arrival of this famous man.

I can't help studying the two hostages who remain with me. One is the dark skinned brother of the man we are awaiting, his eyes reflecting hope and dread. Still, I understand that it is not for his safety that he fears but for that of the people with him. The other, a woman in her thirties, appears frightened and resigned.

My gaze lingers on their eyes, windows to their turmoil before I lower my head in shame for my own participation in this criminal act. The room feels tense and suffocating, and the weight of my choices presses heavily upon me as I await the fateful moment when the man will enter the door, uncertain of what will unfold next.

Lucifer's POV

I arrive at the crime scene in my Corvette, which I leave next to a police car. I look around and smile as I recognize Daniel. Let's say I'm not too worried if the Detective is safe. They let me come closer, looking at me as a hero, then I approach Detective Espinoza.

"There you are, Lucifer," he exhales. I hate him when he does that.

"Detective Douche." How good does this name sound to him? "So, can I get in?"

"You need to wear a bulletproof vest first, just in case," he explains. I look around again.

"Is the Detective here?" I ask, and Dan looks confused.

"No, Chloe's gone to a day-trip with Trixie to Santa Monica." So apparently the Detective has finally managed to put work aside to dedicate herself to having fun. I should invite her to LUX tonight.

"Well, then I don't need this," I say, handing him back the vest. "Is there a specific plan? Things I can't promise?"

"Aren't you the king of promises?" A policewoman for whom I did many favors in just one night intervenes adoringly.

"More like the king of Hell, but since I'm retired, I'd say so." She laughs, then walks away again, and Detective Douche shakes his head.

"You can promise whatever you want, but if you can get us to capture them, that's better."

"Hmm, so many requests," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'm going to ask you for a big favor, Detective Douche." Having said this, I approach the entrance, and slowly, the door opens, revealing the internal situation. The police cannot shoot. Otherwise, Amenadiel and another woman sitting next to him will die. There's also a short and skinny criminal who catches my attention. I enter, hands exposed to show that I have no weapons, and then the door closes behind me, returning the room to total isolation.

"Hello, criminals," I greet, smiling, hands in pockets. I dealt with many of them in Hell. They want something stupid, then they get it and want more until they kill themselves without enjoying their loot.

"Are you Mr. Morningstar?" A woman asks me. I could guessed she's a woman from her body's shape; however, the robustness deceived me for a moment. All the thieves in that room were wearing balaclavas. The two tallest held machine guns, while the smallest sat on the ground. Looking at him closely, he could be a child for his stature.

"The one and only," I answer. "I know you want to make a deal with me, but I'm usually the one who makes the deals, so tell me, what is it you truly desire?"

I lock my eyes with the woman, even though they are obscured by the balaclava. Luckily, her eye contact is enough to make her confess her deepest desires, even more profound than robbing a bank.

"I don't want to go to prison." She replies. This is definitely normal, but I hear in her voice there is fear of what could happen to her there. "I want to run away with the money and Phill and live my life in Argentina." a strangely specific desire. Who knows who this Phillip is anyway.

"And who is this Phill?" I ask.

"It's me." replies the other man holding another machine gun. So I lock my eyes with him, and without asking the question, he tells me, "I want to marry Angela." They look at each other. I fell that they want to kiss, but a new voice interrupts them.

"What happened?" A guy, maybe in his twenties, holding a gun, asks.

"So, let's make a deal, I'll get you out of here, and you'll owe me a favor." I cut it short, not wanting to explain everything to the newcomer

"What?! We'll free the hostages for you," The woman replies. I like her, she's confident.

"But I don't care about the hostages," I repeat; I am determined to get as much as possible from that situation.

"We will kill your brother if you don't help us." The man with the scar continues.

I sigh. "Go ahead; I've wanted to kill him since the beginning of time. Well, maybe a few centuries after the beginning of time."

"We will kill you," The newcomer threatens, pointing the gun at me. I roll my eyes.

"I dare you to try, young daredevil" I reply provocatively. My gaze forces them to think about what they want at any cost so I can get what I want.

"We accept," the woman finally says. "You go and call the others," she orders the newcomer boy.

Apparently there is some other criminals in the bank.

I hope this story can be good. I apologize for any errors, but English is not my first language, however if you can give me any advice it will always be appreciated. See you in the next chapter.