1 – for everything we take and get in this world
we pay a price
Harry doesn't know exactly what went on. One minute they were finishing the last of the cleaning of Grimmauld Place, the dirt and the dust caked under his fingernail still, then he was sprawled back on hardwood thinking, oh, we haven't clean the cobwebs from the molding yet. Only then did he register the commotion. At the edge of his sight, Ginny, George and Fred had grouped together, the two boys barracking their sister behind them, who kept trying to wedge her way outwards. Wands set, they looked not with intent but confusion. Even Ginny, usually so headstrong and self-assured, look on with puzzlement and weariness. Furious stomps ramped up the stairs, and Harry propped himself up on his elbows, groaning from the sharp pain running down his side.
Mrs. Weasley ran through the door first, "What is it, what's happened?!" Her wand already drawn, whipping about the room as she walked in, her face set in a panic. She noticed him first, closet to the door. Taking in his state she gasp, "Harry!" Eyes about, Molly Weasley settled on her children huddled together, wands pointed in front of them. Trailing down the trajectory of their wands, she was met with the source of this little incident. A girl. A girl?
Certainly, there was one. Sprawled about on newly swept dark wood, not so dissimilar to Harry himself, who she had already passed behind her on her way to the rest of the children. Wizardkind, going by the wand end poking out from her trousers. There's no guarantee the girl is not hostile, but to Molly Weasley it is a tilt in her favor – she is, after all, just a girl. Molly Weasley used to be a great many things, and still is an even greater many things, but one of the truest thing she is now is a mother, proudly so. And she has seen Bill gnawing his lips bloody, Charlie clenched and unclenched jaws and fists, Percy wet eyed and red faced, George's nubby cruddy nails, Fred picked-at scabs, Ron head set and shaky hands, and the way Ginny breathes in precise rhythm. She is a mother, and she knows frightened children. And my, is the girl frightened.
Sitting on the floor, the girl who appeared seemed too shock to do much. Short breaths passed from her lips, which opening and close in turn, doing her best impression of a fish. She ran her eyes over each person in the room, and as her eyes passes onto someone it would widen then recede, only to repeat again with the next. By this point ruckus of before faded and the thundering footsteps passed in favor of thick, oppressing silence. Never mind his side, Harry felt breathing too loudly might disrupt the strange trance they were all in, as they took in each other – the girl who appeared with them, and them with the girl who appeared. He never thought someone's eyes could get that large. Grey eyes were set in a paling face, framed by dark hair, wild and untamed if not for the band tying it back high on the head.
"And who might you be? How ever did you find your way here?" They'd never know it, but both the boy who lived and the girl who appeared would turn, head and body, toward Albus Dumbledore at the exact same moment, in the exact same way, a mirror image of one another.
"A- me? I'm- wait, what do you mean by that? I've always been – what are you doing here? This is my house! Why am I being – what the fuck is going here?" The girl had managed to work herself up, sputtering all the while, hands waving about. Just noticing the wands pointed her, she shrunk into herself and held up her hands, "Wait, wait, wait I don't know what the bloody hell this is about but- but- I'm not the enemy, I promise. I'm just – Merlin, this was not how my Saturday was supposed to go." Sharp breaths escaped from her (is she going to have a panic attack?).
It was then that Harry found his voice, "It's a Sunday. The 20th, a Sunday."
She furrowed her brows and shook her head, "No – yes! Well, no. It's the 20th, which is a Saturday."
Dumbledore trekked slowly toward her and when he spoke his voice was grave, "Sunday, the 20th of August." The girl stilled, and started on a retort before his next words froze her completely, "1995."
"That's not possible - I…seemed to have fallen through time" She said, her voice getting higher with each word. Dumbledore hummed and gestured toward the door, "Mayhaps we can discuss this in the kitchen, I don't believe doxies have been cleared from this room." He looked at her and nodded gently, "Go on, my dear"
The girl who appear breathed in deeply before making her way out, Dumbledore falling into steps behind her, Ginny shot him an incredulous look as she passed through the rest. The rest of the members of the Order of the Phoenix filing out until it was just Harry and Hermione and Ron.
Broken from her stupor, Hermione rushed to his side, "Oh, Harry! Were you hurt?!" Ron lingered by, shifting his weight from one foot onto another. "I can't believe that happened, I'm still not sure what exactly happened to be honest. How did she get here? What she meant about – "
"Hermione, let the bloke breath." Her mouth clammed shut and she looked at Harry apologetically.
"I'm fine, I'm just a bit tussled." Harry started toward the door, eager to not miss what was going in the kitchen. This is the most exciting his summer as been so far and the promise of intrigue has dulled his anger from earlier.
He rushed down the stairs, still taking care to quietly step by the portrait of Wulburga Black, friends steadfast behind him.
"-not exactly sure how this all happened really. I don't think anyone sent me here on purpose." The girl was sat at the head of the kitchen table, swapping between gnawing at her nails and wildly waving her hands about. She kept glancing to her right, he noticed. He wasn't sure what she was looking at, the disarray behind Sirius was a sight to see for sure. She was silent for a moment, and Remus made a sound as if to speak before she sprung up, "Oh! But I was cleaning out the closet and I found some pots and jars underneath this loose board. I accidentally broke one, and that was only a couple of minutes before I found myself…here. Maybe that had something to do with this whole business?"
Wringing her hands now, she shrugged and offered an apology, "Usually I'm much more put together than this but it's all been so…"
"Do not feel contrite my dear girl, going through a process like that is sure to rattle anyone." Harry, Ron, and Hermione were fully in the room now, and Sirius' scan of the room stopped when he took in the sight of them. Harry could see clearer now, Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were back and his lips stretched into a gentle, placating smile. "We'll trying our best into looking to fix this situation. You've managed to find yourself in dangerous times, but have no fear, you'll be home soon. Now, I am Albus Dumbledore. And to my left is Sirius Black, our host." Sirius, still arms crossed, nodded his head at the girl. "And what is yours?"
She swallowed harshly, inhaling deeply, "I'm Delphi, sir." Dumbledore nodded, encourage her on, "Delphi…?"
She grimaced, looking deep in thought, before signing and resigned herself to (what? Something he doesn't understand). When she spoke again it was barely above a whisper, Harry had to strain his ears to hear, "Black."
Ah.
But it seemed Sirius didn't need to, "Narcissa's a Malfoy now. Bellatrix's a LeStrange, Amdromeda's a Tonks, all their children took their father's last name, Regulus never even had children, so" He paused, and his arms began to unfurled to hand limply at his side, "so, you must be –"
"Yours." Father and daughter stared fixed at each other. Sirius not breathing at all (having shed his prison garbs and runaway clothes for fine robes yet his pallor worse than ever) and the girl, Delphi, shagged, rugged breathing (odd jeans, ripped, faded, and frayed, tight around her ankles, a plain t-shirt, muggle fashion for the daughter of a pureblood house). And Ron and all the Weasleys there (and Harry, from a lifetime of dressing in rags not out of necessity but cruelty) knows despite it all, the materials were of good quality, fine quality, expensive in price. She didn't look like an heir to a pureblood house. She was wearing trainers and she looked like Sirius' daughter.
It's true they had similar shade of skin (an interesting fairness), and (the same) shade of eye color, and her nose rounded like his and something in Harry knows that the upper corners of their lips curved up just the same. But the Blacks had been a large and numerous family (once) and there are plenty of people who bares these similar features. What decides it for him, is the hair. Sirius' hair was this lustrous wave that he kept long, Delphi' a wild, untameable mop she seems to keep in a high ponytail, the ends of it a dark blue that blended seamlessly into her natural hair (a dye?). But they both had short, fine, baby hair framing their forehead, curling just so. And as he watched the dark locks of Delphi (the world seemed to have slowed, barely inching forward since the revelation), she reached up, curled them with her fingers, before brushing them aside (only for them to fall right back to where they were) and nervously clearing her throat.
And he knew.
Because he's seen Sirius do that exact routine before, gesture by gesture, bit by bit. He glanced at Remus and saw the slow acceptance there (he wondered what it was, what did Remus used as a baseline? Was the same as his? Still so much about them, that he doesn't know).
He gulped loud enough for the Dursleys to hear in Surrey. Delphi twisted around to seek out the source.
And for the first time, their eyes met. She…looked confused, as if trying to place a face to a name. Maybe…he looks different in the future? Maybe, she never knew him? Or of him? What if Sirius never mentioned him? (Well, that hurts). Then her eyes dragged from his up and up and up, to where traces of the cursed scar peaked from his veil of hair. She exhaled sharply and sat rigid in her seat. She searched his face hungrily, mapping every familiar and strange thing.
When she spoke her voice was grave, "Actually, sir, I seemed to have fallen through more than just time." She casted her eyes back at Dumbledore (despite the shaky hands that accompanied), "I seemed to move through universes."
Ron breathed out, "Bloody hell."
(is worth any price)