"I sense there's something in the wind,

That feels like tragedy's at hand..."

- "Sally's Song", Amy Lee

1.

"Thank you, Pandora," Molly Weasley said with feel that morning to her neighbor Pandora Lovegood, who stood in the middle of the Weasleys' chaotic living room with a cheerful smile.

'Chaotic' was a bit of an understatement. Molly Prewett had married Arthur Weasley for love, not money. She felt that, sometimes - not regret, precisely, but something like missed opportunities. She and Arthur had moved to Devon and set up shop in a stone pig-pen next to a tiny Tudor-era building out in the countryside. They had almost no money, Arthur taking a minor government job in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office because that was what interested him - it was like studying history or an art with no double major or minor at a Muggle university - and they had built their home from the mud up, so to speak. From the pig pen.

Today it was a four-story redbrick building with several chimneys atop it. It teetered precariously to the side, because Arthur and Molly were not exactly architects and could not have afforded one anyway, and also because they'd just kept building as they'd had more children, and the building was only held up through the blessing of magic. Farm animals still lingered about the outside of the place, mingled with old pieces of trash and wellington boots. A crooked sign out in front of the house read in messy, backwards letters: The Burrow. A barn, an overgrown, weedy garden with a pond full of green frog spawn, and a field surrounded by trees was settled out back, littered with gnome holes. The stone outhouse had just recently been converted into a broom shed.

The inside was just as chaotic as the outside. Patchwork quilts thrown over stuffed, ragged red armchairs, dirty dishes cleaning themselves in the sink and old shirts darning themselves back together on the sofa, furniture and belongings - usually secondhand - scattered haphazardly in varying states of disarray. Metal piping was clearly visible along the walls, leading into the basement, where the ghoul who had taken up residence was clanking and moaning. Five young boys, Molly and Arthur's children, stumbled around shouting in the living room - George was trying to ride his toy broomstick around the perimeter of the ceiling, Fred was chasing a shouting Bill about the living room, Percy was trying to scold everyone into being quieter, and Charlie had just brought a frog into the living room and let it loose; it exploded onto the mantel piece and something fell with a crash of breaking glass.

"Charlie! Fred! Bill! George!" Arthur called, strained. A skinny, timid man with a receding hairline and spectacles, he didn't seem to know who to yell at first.

Molly at last swelled up to twice her usual size - formidable in the first place, as she had never been a small woman and she was on her fifth pregnancy - and finally shouted, "EVERYONE BE QUIET OR THERE'S NO DESSERT TONIGHT!"

Silence fell, all five boys turning to look at her uncertainly. Molly lived with these boys twenty-four hours a day; she knew how to handle them. Calming down, she said, "Charlie, pick that up, it was a family heirloom." Her voice was tight and snappish with irritation. Charlie went over sheepishly to pick up the fallen glass.

Molly turned to Pandora anxiously. "You're sure you can handle them?" Pandora was just one woman, unused to the Weasley boys, and pregnant herself. Pandora was smiley, slim, blonde, and cheerful; none of these traits necessarily made a person ill-fit for handling several boys, but Molly distrusted them despite herself. The mischievous twins, Fred and George, were in particular watching Pandora with a canny eye.

"I'll be fine," said Pandora soothingly. "If I can handle my eccentric husband and the clutter inside my own house for years on end, I can handle your sons for one afternoon. Good luck with your medical visit."

Today was the day. The day the Weasleys found out whether they'd have a boy, or a girl. Pandora as their closest neighbor had agreed to watch their sons for the day. It helped that Pandora's family was almost as eccentric and looked down upon as the Weasleys were - Xenophilus Lovegood ran the local unbelievable rag The Quibbler, which, if it did not at least once a year espouse the belief that dead rock star Stubby Boardman wasn't really dead and that the Minister for Magic was a vampire, was not really doing its job properly. Pandora worked for the government's research division, The Department of Mysteries, which put off a lot of people as well - who knew what those people did in there.

But the Lovegoods were good people, as were the Weasleys, so neither party really minded the other.

"Thank you," Molly repeated, somewhat uselessly, and then she and Arthur turned on their heels and Apparated away. She got the usual feeling that she was being sucked down a very narrow tube, and when her feet landed on the ground again she felt a lazy kick.

"I never do trust Apparition when I'm pregnant," said Molly uncomfortably. "It always feels wrong, somehow."

"Never mind that, I'm sure the baby's fine. Come on, we can't be late," said Arthur urgently - they were perpetually late, it seemed - and they stepped through the dark, shabby pub with grimy wallpaper known as The Leaky Cauldron, past the heads of witches and wizards in robes and pointed hats and Victorian era dress, through the haze of smoke, across the sea of chatter, and out into the London streets.

Crowds bustled, cars honked. They made their way with quick footsteps toward St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries; passing Muggles gave their shabby robes odd looks. At last, they arrived outside a condemned redbrick department store called Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

A female dummy stood in the darkened department store window, its fake eyelashes drooping, its slinky dress green nylon. Arthur leaned toward the dummy. "We're here to see Healer Jenkins about our unborn child," he breathed.

The dummy came to life, nodding and beckoning with a finger. None of the passing Muggles seemed to pay any notice as Arthur and Molly stepped up and melted through the glass, passing through a mirage of cold water but finding it only an illusion once they'd stepped out and into the hospital.

They were in a crowded reception area. There was a secretary at a desk and lots of rows of roughly hewn wooden chairs. Healers in lime green robes decorated with the crossed wand and bone symbol were going down the rows, talking to individual patients, taking notes on clipboards, speaking in cool, soothing voices. Molly watched a nearby man with a furry green claw coming out of the top of his head trying to explain to his Healer what was going on, but he seemed charmed only to be able to speak in Gobbledegook, the native language of goblins.

Arthur walked up to the desk labeled "Enquiries" behind which there were several general health posters labeled with reminders about antidotes and cauldron health along with a moving portrait of famous Healer and Hogwarts Headmistress Dilys Derwent.

The secretary was a scowling, heavily jowled woman with a bun of dark hair who nonetheless directed them to "Floor two, magical bugs. I know pregnancy is not a magical illness," she added with a sigh. "We get that a lot. But pregnancy goes alongside more common illnesses and -"

"We know. We've been here a few times," said Arthur kindly.

"Well then what are you doing standing around here for?" the receptionist barked. "Get to it!"

They moved through the double doors, along a narrow corridor. Moving portraits on the walls of famous Healers shuffled about in the flickering firelight from hundreds of crystal bubbles floating around the ceiling containing candles, the only source of lighting. Healers in lime-green robe uniforms passed down the wood paneled, purple carpeted hallways quietly.

They passed by the Artifact Accidents ward, one room of which contained a moaning woman covered in angry red boils from a cauldron explosion, and climbed the stairs to floor two, past the sectioned off "Dragon Pox" ward and straight through the office door labeled "Llimilynn Jenkins."

They sat down uneasily in chairs to wait, looking over the moving photographs of his family Healer Jenkins had hung on his office walls.

"Who names their son Llimilynn?" Arthur wondered quietly to himself in utter bewilderment. He'd have scolded his sons for voicing the same question, but privately he thought it was a good one. Molly had other things on her mind.

"What if it's another boy?" she whispered at last.

Arthur looked over at her. "I know you've wanted a girl. It's why we keep trying. You've always wanted a girl. But Molly." He grabbed her hand. "If it's not a daughter, we can try again."

"For a seventh time?!" Molly hissed, whispering. Arthur was trying to comfort her, she knew - he comforted her over her desires for a daughter in the same way he comforted her over her self consciousness concerning her weight - but her nerves had been wracked over the coals by now and she had horrible heartburn radiating down to her kneecaps.

"Mollycoddles -"

At last, Healer Jenkins, a thin middle-aged dark-haired man, came in quietly and sat down across from them. Molly and Arthur broke apart, their hands separating once more - they'd made an unknowing reach for each other. "So," he said, "you want a standard check-up, to make sure all is well and to know the sex of the baby?"

"Th-that's right." Molly's voice shook, but she brought up all her courage, nodding. Arthur silently took her hand again.

"Very well." Healer Jenkins knelt down before Molly's swelling pregnant belly. He took out his wand and waved it over her abdomen, and a wide black circle appeared before him, a mirage, with a clear image of the fetus inside.

Molly gasped in delight. "Oh, look, there she is!" Arthur smiled. It never stopped being exciting, no matter how many times it happened. Then Molly bent closer, squinting.

"There are... two of them?"

"Yes. Twins again, it seems, Mrs Weasley," said Healer Jenkins in good-natured amusement.

"Both boys?" she asked dreadingly.

Healer Jenkins looked closer, a little red dot appearing briefly at the end of his wand. The dot flashed green, then blue.

"One of each," he said, sitting back in surprise. "A girl and a boy. Due March the first."

Molly brightened in ecstasy, a great balloon swelling within her. "I'm going to have a daughter," she breathed. Arthur rubbed her hand warmly, happy, but also happier for his wife.

Inside Molly, the forgotten boy kicked again.

They went home to their children that night and found, to their surprise, that all five boys were sound asleep in the living room. "I fed them hot cocoa and biscuits." Pandora smiled secretly. "I hope you don't mind. It was absolute pandemonium for a time and then they all went right to sleep!" she added brightly.

Molly was unable to contain herself. "I'm having a daughter," she said, proudly and secretively, leaning forward.

Pandora gasped in delight. "Oh, that's wonderful! I'll have to tell Xeno! I'm having a baby girl as well. Perhaps they'll be friends..."

The two women gazed down at their bellies.

"Perhaps something good will come out of all this nasty war business," Pandora whispered.

The ecstasy of the Weasley couple over having a daughter didn't last very long.

Molly used nap-time three days later to sit at her desk in the Burrow's living room and look over the numbers on their bank account statements from Gringotts. She was trying to figure it out - she always had before. She was trying to figure out how they could work in two extra mouths to feed.

"We'll manage," she'd always said. "We'll manage."

But it had been a bad year - and Molly came to a chilling realization. They might be able to afford one child.

But they could not afford two.

She dreaded telling Arthur, dreaded it like nothing she'd ever told him before. She was distracted all day - fixing lunch in the wrong order, forgetting to do things, letting her children run amok. A baby. They'd have to give up a baby.

After the children had gone to bed, she sat down with Arthur tearfully and she gave him the news. "My son - I'm going to have give up my son -" she sobbed into her handkerchief, rocking back and forth in her seat.

"So you automatically assume it's going to be the boy?" asked Arthur sharply.

Molly looked up. "I'm not giving up my daughter," she said darkly.

"We did all this so you could have a daughter and now I'm going to have to give up one of my sons!" Arthur barked, shooting to his feet.

"Oh, don't you act like this is my fault!" Molly had stood too, never one to back down from a fight.

"Oh, it's because I'm poor, then, is it?" Arthur snapped.

"Arthur, I have always put up with all of your eccentricities, your meager job, your fascination with Muggles -"

"Yes, and do you how many children I wanted?! Two!" Arthur snapped. "I wanted a tiny house in the country, a little government job, and two children!"

Molly's lip trembled - she sat down and started crying again. The anger faded from Arthur's brow; he put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. "Molly, we'll figure it out. We always have before," he said soothingly.

"No. Not this time," said Molly clearly, looking up at last. "With two more newborn children, we won't even have enough money to feed everyone. We won't have enough money for food, Arthur. And if we give up the girl we wanted - the girl I wanted - after all this, then what was the point of any of it?"

"The point -? Molly, we have many wonderful sons," said Arthur, annoyed. "That's the point." They stared at each other for a moment.

At last, Arthur sat down, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face, looking - as he always did - tired. "So what do we do?" he said in an old voice, face in his hand. It was terrible to see him that way. "Adoption?"

"That's what I was thinking," said Molly tentatively, watching her husband, torn. "That we could explore that option, that... angle. Maybe he could go to a good home," she said, watery, and her eyes stung again.

The Potters had the news, in the middle of their son's pregnancy, that they could not have any more children.

"It's a minor magical infection common only in a small number of witches," the Healer had admitted frankly at their cottage. "But it renders the ovaries infertile. Your current child is fine," he said, when they looked alarmed. "He's growing safely inside the uterus. It's the... ovaries that are the problem." He cleared his throat with a sound like chalk snapping, visibly resisting the urge to smooth his thin mustache.

Lily just sat there, hand over her mouth, for a long time. She felt like she'd been physically struck. She was completely floored.

"We have a son," said James soothingly, putting his hand over hers. "A healthy son."

"A marked son," said Lily abruptly. "And no daughter. I wanted a daughter."

James had sat there, silent, for a long time. James Potter had grown up a rich old blueblood wizarding family, and he had grown up comforted by the idea that with his resourceful mind and his riches, he could get his future bride anything she ever wanted. So how to get around this?

It only came to him hours after the Healer had left. "Adoption," he said suddenly, brightening. "We could adopt from another wizarding family. We could settle on a currently unborn child, a sister for Harry."

Lily looked up tentatively. "Do you... do you think it would work?" she asked uncertainly. Lily Potter had always been much more insecure than most people realized.

"Lily, think about it," said James, brightening, warming to the idea. He came forward and took her hands. "Can't you see how ideal we look?"

It was true that in many respects they were lucky. They were fabulously wealthy, as was their potential children's godfather Sirius Black. They were an attractive young couple, Lily slim and pretty and crimson-haired with brilliant green eyes and a talent for Healing and Charmwork, James tall and trim with messy devil-may-care black hair and a talent for sports. They were currently hiding from the war in a tiny little village called Godric's Hollow, in a two-story stone cottage faced with ivy, quaint and peaceful; there was a local Church just down the street, in the village square, and the cottage itself was covered in elegant furniture and soft carpets.

And they would have a son this potential girl's age.

"We would be putting her in terrible danger," Lily whispered, somber. "I've said it before. Our son is marked. That's why we're in hiding."

James sobered for a moment. "... We can't let that bastard stop us from living our lives," he said at last. He meant Lord Voldemort. "You know how stuck he is on Pureblood policies, anyway. Our son is a Halfblood; he won't go for us. And even if he does, our friends would never betray us." James's tone was dismissive. "Do you want to do this or not?"

He looked her in the eye over the top of his glasses, hazel eyes piercing.

"... Yes," Lily whispered. "Let's try it."

So they began looking for children. They were trying to take in a currently unborn baby girl, someone who would be Harry's age - they hoped to heroically rescue some wizarding girl from horrible circumstances.

The first file they ever seriously considered, however, was the Weasleys'.

"Nobody else is going to take them seriously," said James intently. "But I say - fuck all the rest of them. There's nothing wrong with being interested in Muggles, and the Weasleys always seemed like good people. And they're an ancient wizarding family - not a problem for the Potters."

"They're probably giving the child up for money reasons, which I can sympathize with," Lily admitted. "My Muggle family grew up poor as well. And everything you just said is true. But -"

"But what?"

"They're having twins," said Lily softly. "And they're not giving up the daughter. They're giving up the son."

James stared down at the fine print, purposefully stuffed way down at the bottom, torn for a moment. "Well... maybe we can get them to reconsider," he said. "They're ideal otherwise. There's no harm in asking, right?"

The adoption agent sat down with the Weasleys in their kitchen a few days later.

"The Potter family wishes to take your child -" she began somberly, a brunette woman in very square-shouldered official brown robes.

Arthur let out a deep breath and Molly let out a squeal of triumph. The stigma against their family was deep, and it was the first offer they'd gotten. "That's perfect!" said Molly. "They're good people, a brilliant family -!"

"There is just one caveat."

"Anything!"

The adoption agent winced. "They don't want your son," she said. "They want your daughter."

The Weasleys paused. Anger slowly took over Molly's face. "Well they can't have her!" she said hotly. "Ginny is not up for debate! I'm offering my son; isn't that enough?!"

"They don't want your son. They want a girl," the agent admitted. "Potential parents can be picky like that. And let's just put it this way - the Potters have enough money to be very picky."

The Weasleys were overwhelmed by the enormity of this statement for a moment. They had a single bank account and currently it had a tiny pile of silver Sickles inside it. Molly could practically picture the vault in her mind.

"The children's godfather would be quite wealthy as well - Sirius Black, a fighter for the Order of the Phoenix," the agent continued, horribly clinically in Molly's opinion. "So this couple holds a lot of weight and power - and they are going to give birth to a son who would be your daughter's age. Frankly, it's a brilliant match," she said matter of factly.

Molly opened her mouth to shout; Arthur held up a hand to hold her back. "What are our options?" he asked intently.

"No other offers currently on the table," the agent said simply. They stared at her for a moment - and realized that really was what it amounted to.

Arthur sat back against the weight of it all. "... Molly, we have to consider this," he said at last, quietly.

"... No," said Molly. "No. Not after all this. I'm not giving up my daughter!" She grew angry again. "Absolutely not!" She stormed out of the room, slamming the kitchen door behind her.

Her sons stared at her, uncomprehending but round-eyed with worry, as she heaved herself into an armchair. "Mummy, what's wrong?" said Bill in a tiny voice, the eldest and the only one brave enough to speak, while a tearful and clingy Percy wrapped his arms around Molly's leg.

"Everything is fine!" Molly barked, though it was obvious this was a lie. "Nothing is wrong!"

She looked out the window, and tried to stop thinking about what obviously wasn't an option for her children.

She was unsuccessful.

The Weasleys were silent on the matter for so long that the Potters began looking for other options, afraid they'd missed their slot.

Then, unexpectedly, the reply came back.

"They'll take you up on your offer," said the Potters' agent; he looked almost as surprised as they were. "On March first, the day of her birth, you get their female twin - full name Ginevra Potter, but they're calling her Ginny."

"Oh, I think I like Ginevra better," said Lily warmly. "What a beautiful name."

James smiled in triumph. "We'll take her!" he said, and grabbed Lily's hand. "See?" he said warmly, beaming. "Everything worked out for the best. Oi!" He leaned down to Lily's belly level. "D'you hear that, Harry?! You're going to have a sister!"

Lily began laughing.

Pandora Lovegood lay dying in her bedroom at Lovegood House, just miles away from The Burrow.

Lovegood House was a black cylindrical castle high atop a hill, surrounded by a stream. Pandora had picked the house specifically for her daughter. "I want Luna to grow up in her own castle," Pandora had said fantastically, waving her hands across the great expanse of the property. "And look! It looks just like a massive chess piece!" She'd smiled whimsically, always having a fascination with the fantastic even by a witch's standards.

A broken down gate led up a steep path lined with all variety of strange and fantastical magical plants, all stopping at a thick black metal door studded with iron nails. Go inside, and the walls were painted bright colors with birds and plants; a spiraling wrought iron staircase led to the second floor; a labyrinth of books, papers, statues, and models covered every surface. Some of the models moved and flew about, which did not help the dizzying aura of Lovegood House at all. It was filled with the soft whisper of various sheets of parchment, even when no one inhabited it.

It was eccentric. But Pandora and Xenophilus had always been happy there.

Xenophilus stood outside their bedroom door now on the night of February the thirteenth, whispering with the Healer.

"She's sick from the birth, and the Healing for this particular complication has to be done from the inside," said the Healer sympathetically, a curly-haired young woman.

"Well - well she can do that, she's a witch!" exclaimed Xenophilus, a slightly cross-eyed man with long tangled strings of pale hair who everyone said had married way out of his league.

The Healer shook her head sadly. "Your wife won't Heal herself," she said. "She won't say why."

Xenophilus entered the room in a numb kind of shock. Pandora had lit up his dank, parchment and ink laden world, had become the center of his universe. And now she was pale and prone lying in her bed.

"... It has something to do with a side effect of your current job, doesn't it?" he asked at last. Xenophilus Lovegood may have been eccentric, but he wasn't stupid.

Pandora managed a smile. "We should have waited another year," she croaked. "I could have healed myself then."

"The experiment would have been over," Xenophilus realized. An unfamiliar feeling built and built inside him, and only when he whirled around and shot sparks from the end of his wand across the room did he realize that feeling was anger. "Damnit!"

"Promise me... you'll look after Luna..."

Xenophilus whirled around to find his wife gone, her eyes staring blank and glassy up at the ceiling, blonde hair damp around her.

In another room, a baby girl wailed.

The Potters - Lily herself still pregnant - were ecstatic when they first held the baby girl in their arms. It was the evening of March the first; Ginevra had just been born a few hours ago.

"Hello, little Ginevra," Lily cooed in delight, taking the bundle of blankets and bouncing it gently. "What a beautiful name you have."

"Ginevra Potter," said Sirius, a handsome dark-haired young man with liquid black eyes. He was leaning against the wall casually, his arms crossed. "That's what the birth certificate says. It fits."

"How does it feel being the father and the godfather of a baby girl?" Lily asked them teasingly, smiling, her green eyes glinting.

"I'm totally unprepared," James and Sirius said, deadpan, as one, and everyone in the room laughed.

Several hundred miles away, Arthur was cradling a crying Molly in his arms in their home. They were hunched over their sixth and final child - their son Ron.

Gone or not, their daughter would never stop being "Ginny" to them.

Molly had gone to visit Xenophilus frequently after the death of his wife - it distracted her from her enormous loss - and that was how she knew something was wrong.

She walked into the house one afternoon to find it in worse disarray than usual.

"Xeno!" she called, looking around at the papers and books scattered everywhere, as if some great force had smashed into them. She could hear baby Luna wailing away in another part of the house.

She wandered up the spiraling staircase, looking for Luna - Xeno - anyone, in the vast, dark and empty silence. It was very dark. No lights on anywhere.

She entered Xeno's office and he suddenly came upon her, seizing her by the shoulders. Xeno was thinner than he had been, his eyes wide and bloodshot, dark-rimmed with lack of sleep.

"Pandora!" he spat. "She spoke to me! I have to - I have to displace everything in the house! She can't come back until then!"

"Xeno - Xeno, where is she?" said Molly, still holding her basket of goods, fearful but attempting to hold onto a still tone of voice.

"There! Don't you see her?" Xeno pointed. Molly looked - searching for a ghost, spirit, apparition, anything.

She saw no one there.

"Yes, Xeno, I see," said Molly calmly. "Why don't I take Luna out for a while as you go finish up?"

She pried herself from Xeno's grasp, and he went back to muttering to himself, throwing books and papers all over the floor.

Molly found Luna wailing away, very sick, in a several-days-old diaper. She looked even tinier than she had the last time Molly had seen her. Had Xeno been able to look after the girl at all?

Perhaps not. Perhaps Luna reminded him too much... of the loss of Pandora.

Molly took up Luna and resolved to call child protective services. She took Luna away from Lovegood House and never looked back.

The Potters got a surprise letter from the adoptive family - the Weasleys.

Dear Mr and Mrs Potter,

We realize we promised not to have any contact, but we are desperate for help. You must listen to us. Our friend, Xenophilus Lovegood, has recently been declared unfit to care for his child after the death in childbirth of his wife Pandora. He has gone, at least temporarily, insane.

Baby Luna - can she go with you? We don't know what will happen to her otherwise. She has nowhere else to go. She's a wonderful little girl.

Please consider the possibility of adopting her as well.

Sincerely,

Molly and Arthur Weasley

Lily could imagine how painful this must have been, could picture the couple hunched over a desk, arguing on what to write.

"Xeno - doesn't he run that rag The Quibbler?" said James skeptically. "And - adopting a second daughter? That would bring us to three children."

"But we have the money for that," said Lily suddenly, turning around. "This little girl needs our help. That's why the Weasleys contacted us. We're good people, we're wealthy, and we already have Ginevra.

"Doesn't baby Luna at least deserve a look?"

Baby Luna was set on the cottage living room floor beside the heavily pregnant Lily, next to the swaddled Ginevra. Luna was one month older, but Ginevra had already been with the Potters longer.

Lily cooed over the children, offering them toys, and as James had predicted, she quickly fell in love.

"Yes, this would be excellent!" she said enthusiastically, her previous qualms forgotten.

James sighed, bending over baby Luna, looking down into her face - baby Luna, so tiny and pale, offered a sweet, gummy smile and grabbed his finger. A slow smile grew over James's face.

"Ah, what the hell," he said warmly, knowing he was a sucker. "I always liked the idea of having a houseful of kids anyway."

The Potters looked up at the adoption agent and nodded firmly, smiling. "We'll take her."

Luna and Ginevra lay sprawled as infants on the runic circle inside the cottage.

"A vial from each parent, for each daughter," said the Wiccan priest in symboled blue robes evenly - he was a very old, frail looking man, but he did his job well. A vial of Lily's blood and a vial of James's blood was injected into each girl's arm, and they started wailing away.

The priest waved his wand and the circle glowed gold. In a warm rush of magic, Luna and Ginevra were true Potters at last.

"I now pronounce you Luna Potter and Ginevra Potter," said the priest in a small, shaky voice, "child of James and Lily. Godchild of Sirius Black."

And so on the day Harry Potter was born, two baby girls were already there to meet him.

"Harry," said a breathless Lily, smiling, showing Harry the twin cradles from above, he tucked away safely in her arms, "meet your sisters. This is Luna and Ginevra."

Luna, Ginevra, and Harry Potter all locked eyes for the first time.

Peter Pettigrew crouched, timid, at the feet of Lord Voldemort in the darkened room.

"Th - the Potters' son has been born," he murmured in a fearful, trembling voice. "Sirius made his godfather. But... but the Potters have also adopted two infant girls. Their son Harry's age. Ginevra and Luna. They were made Potters in a blood ritual. Sirius... Sirius has been named their godfather as well."

Lord Voldemort had paused in something like momentary surprise.

"It matters not," he said at last, dismissively, in his unnaturally high, eerie, hissing voice. It issued out from underneath the hood of his black cloak. Peter Pettigrew shuddered and Lord Voldemort noticed, though with a cruel smile, he said nothing. "I will kill the boy's parents. Then the boy. Then his sisters.

"All the Potters have done is doom two infant girls. Quite tragic, really," he said thoughtfully, amused.

But not even he had any idea what was coming.