Disclaimer: I do not own Harry potter. I wish i did, oh the things i would change. This is the brainchild of one J.K. Rowling, so its hers.. along with the billions she has earned.
The threads of fate. Mystical, legendary, the stories and lore of myth. To those who knew nothing more than mythology, they were just that. To those who knew otherwise, it was so much more. The fates were watching with peaked interest as one of the more fabled threads they commanded was slowly snapping on its own. It was interwoven with a multitude of threads from the same plane of existence. The three sisters; Clotho: Weaver of the threads, Lachesis: the one who measured the threads that determined a mortal's life, and Atropos: the sister responsible for snapping the threads when a mortals time was finally up. One would think this would be a welcome thing, to watch a thread snap on its own, it means less work for Atropos. This, however, was not the case, it was infuriating to say the very least.
As Clotho retrieved her instruments to repair the strand, the other sister watched and it was Atropos that spoke first.
"This is absurd, Lachesis, this is the 4th time in this mortals short life he has almost been claimed. I have a mind to venture to the planes myself and deal with this personally!"
She was livid, no-one had the right to claim her threads. They were hers to snap, hers to deal with. She continued to fume and hissed out a string of expletives as another strand snapped, the thread on its last few strands. She grumbled in slight relief however as her sister Clotho returned, repairing the thread with ease, but also with slight annoyance as well. She turned to her sisters with a small, sad smile.
"My sisters, why... do we not simply cut the thread? Not even into the prime of his life, and he has nearly joined his relations in the Elysian fields. Why do we make ourselves worry of such things?" She sighed as she sat down, watching the thread as it was once again whole. It was Atropos, surprisingly, that spoke up.
"Do not be a fool, sister! You know of his destiny, it is greater than he knows, and it ties him with so many others. To snap his thread is to snap the thread of hundreds, thousands, and then by the idiocy of mortals, millions!" She had started pacing again, huffing and grumbling in Greek as she did so. Lachesis, who until now had been silent, spoke softly as she often did.
"Why do we not simply guide him to victory? He is young, malleable, and we are the sisters of fate... who would deny us anything?" She smiled gently, the more sedate of the sisters, not as hot to temper or bluster. Always thought of as the mother of the three, caring, loving, and most definitely calming. With a slightly interested, and curious expression from Clotho she continued.
"After nearly snapping his own thread, he is in need of rest, as most mortals are. We snapped the threads of the gods themselves, simply visiting a mortal as he sleeps should be nothing." She once again had that small, simple smile on her face. "You weave the strands of life, and through it the vestibules of time itself my sister, what would it be to us but a blink?"
Clotho was now sitting in quiet contemplation, and Atropos was standing in place, her eyes piercing into her soft spoken sister. It was not malice, or anger, but interest, surprise, and affection one would have for ones siblings.
"We have not visited a mortal in some time, dear sister, do you believe it is wise? The last mortal we spoke to went to start his own swath of destruction and pain through the mortal realms." Clotho finally spoke, after what seemed like ages of silence. She was what the mortals called the 'Devils Advocate' of the three.
"He is no ordinary mortal and you know it, sister! Through his years, the pain and misery he has endured, he has yet to darken his thread. It remains pure, it remains wholesome, untainted!" Atropos nearly bellowed, getting a placating gesture from her sister before a gentle voice, yet again, sliced through the tension.
"It is settled then, my sisters, we shall visit him while he rests... and we will tell him of what is to come, what he is to do. The mortal, Harry Potter, will fulfill his destiny as it was written for him." Lachesis nodded and went over to the thread, encircling it in her hand gently and closing her eyes. Her hand was soon covered by her other two sisters, and with a flash of gentle light they were gone from the loom chamber, all threads, all time frozen as they left.