Voldemort tossed the morning paper onto the table, feeling vaguely satisfied.
The Ministry was in panic; the media was only helping spread the fear and terror around the masses; forces were slow to action with so many politicians trying to yell on top of each other. In this regard, everything was going to plan. Lucius' trial would most likely end in jail by the end of the summer, but Voldemort had every intention of seizing his property as his base of operations, so that was all well and good. His followers were ammassing, and negotiations with the giants and the werewolves were going well.
On that front, things were moving forward quite well.
On other fronts, however…
Voldemort scowled as his marginally good mood melted away at the thought of the problem sleeping in his bed.
Voldemort had returned later in the night to retrieve Potter's body and conduct a few more tests after he had finished up his research. It was a long shot, but it was better than sitting about and doing nothing. Unfortunately he was unprepared to face his future son, wormed underneath the blankets beside Harry and latched on to his prone form like a petulant barnacle. Saiph had whined and complained at the idea of Voldemort taking Harry away from him— apparently the two had been sharing a bed, how disgustingly affectionate— for the night, but Voldemort insisted he wanted to run more tests. It wasn't untrue, but he also had a secondary motive. Namely, if Harry really did die, he didn't want the child waking up with a dead body next to him. Not that Voldemort was about to let the stupid boy die, even though it would serve him right for his own stupidity.
He didn't need his bed anyway; the Dark Lord had no intention of sleeping that night, not when he had an entire library to search through. He tried all sorts of alchemies and rituals to no avail. The boy didn't so much as twitch. As he had expected, Harry was cold to the touch by morning, and his heartbeat was so slow and so faint Voldemort had to use a sound amplification charm to hear it. Under normal circumstances he would assume the body would be dead by mid-morning, but considering the mysterious events leading to this, he could only guess. Mid-morning still sounded reasonable, but who was to say it might be indefinite? There were spells and potions to put someone in a near-death state indefinitely. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.
The man scowled down into his tea, which had gone cold in the interim of his musings.
He had a hunch that Harry was going through some kind of transformation, but what if he was wrong? And even if he did wake up, would he be the same person? Nothing he researched could explain the Master of Death in full.
Why must Potter always be the bane of his existence? Even since before he was born Potter was already taking up so much of his life. And from what he knew of their future, he would only continue to do so. He wasn't quite sure how he felt being inexplicably and irrevocably tied to someone else, even though he could privately admit some of that was his fault. He thought he'd made his peace with it as well; in reality, it was clear he wasn't going to get over this any time soon.
Potter was more than just the boy in the prophecy; more than just a spouse; more than just the bearer of his children. He was his soul.
How was Voldemort supposed to live with that?
In all fairness, Nagini was his soul as well. But Nagini was a snake, an animal, limited in speech and comprehension, and ability to get herself into trouble. Having a part of his soul in a human was an entirely separate matter. Potter was more precious to him than any other living thing; he would have to be protected at all costs. Regardless of how Voldemort felt about him (although these days he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about him) he was now of infinite value to the Dark Lord.
He couldn't imagine how Harry was going to take this.
Wait, yes he can.
Poorly.
So as it turned out, the war might be going well, but his personal life was a mess. He wasn't even sure when he had even gotten a personal life to begin with. Not too long ago the only thing in his life was the war.
The door to the dining room creaked open, drawing him away from his thoughts.
"'Morning," Saiph croaked out, barely audible in the enormous chamber.
He looked about as bad as Voldemort felt right now; tired and weary and unable to find sleep.
Saiph paused before he pulled out his seat, staring at him with those stupidly green eyes, filled with far too much emotion. "Is he… is he okay?"
"He has not woken." Voldemort replied in answer; clearly it was not the one the boy was hoping for. Still, better to be vague about it; he had a feeling telling the boy the ominous truth of the matter was a poor idea.
Saiph just nodded glumly, dragging his chair out and slumping into it. He made a half-hearted attempt to eat a piece of toast, but barely managed a few bites.
"Eat." Voldemort commanded, waving his hand to levitate a banana and serving of eggs onto his plate. Honestly. How many times was he going to have to remind the boy to eat? Was this a regular occurrence or something? He couldn't imagine how stressful mealtimes must be in the future, if so.
Saiph gave him a baleful glance in response. The boy might look like him, but that expression of mulishness was all Harry. It never ceased to amaze him that this tiny, walking, talking human, with thoughts and dreams and an irritating personality, could actually be created from both of them. Saiph was too perfect. Damn it. It was too early for such maudlin thoughts.
"I'm not hungry." Saiph grumbled, pushing his plate away.
Voldemort did not have the patience for this right now. "You will eat it." He replied, in a tone that brokered no room for argument. "I don't care if you're not hungry. Not eating won't solve anything."
"I can't." Saiph insisted, stubbornly. "I feel sick to my stomach."
Voldemort debated forcing him to do it anyway, before thinking better of it. He really didn't want to risk Saiph vomiting all over his robes.
"Fine." The Dark Lord said crisply. He snapped his fingers for a house elf. "Get him some tea. Lemon and ginger."
The elf disappeared, and within moments a cup and saucer was in front of the boy.
"And you will at least attempt to finish your toast." Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the boy. Saiph opened his mouth to protest, but Voldemort cut him off, "The last thing I need is you fainting and following your idiotic mother into an unidentified illness."
That shut the boy up quickly. Except now instead of a look of stubborness there was only sadness. Then there was a look of vague interest. Saiph blinked at him. "... You never call him that."
"Call him what?" Voldemort asked, frowning.
"My mother," Saiph clarified, still looking surprised.
Voldemort was slightly taken aback. "Well it's true, is it not?"
Saiph shrugged, reaching for his cup. "Well, yeah." He agreed, as he took a sip of his tea. "But you always just refer to him as Harry." After a pause; "So do Ceph and Aster, now that I'm thinking about it."
Voldemort had already experienced that for himself in the memories, so he merely nodded along.
"Harry doesn't like it when we call him that," Saiph continued without prompting, matter-of-fact. "But he still doesn't let me just call him Harry, which is super annoying." He digressed, letting out a disgruntled breath.
"Is that so?" Voldemort tilted his head.
Saiph nodded along. "He doesn't really like being referred to as your spouse either. I think it might be because Aster made too many 'waifu' jokes but I think it's more than that too. Oh, and he definitely doesn't like being called your horcrux."
Voldemort had no idea what brought on this chatty mood of his, but it was informative enough that he didn't bother to stop it.
"I can imagine someone like him would not appreciate being considered a 'possession'." Voldemort agreed drily.
Saiph smiled slightly. "Definitely not."
And yet, from the brief glimpse he had of Harry in the future, the boy didn't seem all that upset over whatever role he had in Voldemort's life. Or had that changed? From the age gap between Saiph and his elder siblings, they must have grown up during a period of Harry and Voldemort's relationship that was quite different than the one Saiph had known. But alas, there was no real way to know— well, aside from going through the entire process himself. Voldemort wasn't entirely sure if he even wanted to do it. He could scarcely imagine the ways it would upend his life. If Saiph's brief stint here managed to do it so conclusively, how much worse could four more be? He shuddered at the thought.
A large smack against the window distracted the both of them, startling Saiph into dropping his toast and causing Voldemort to turn around in his chair.
It was a bird, from the look of it. Hard to tell though, since it dropped to the ground a few moments later, leaving behind a crimson red smear on the Malfoy's immaculate window pane.
"What was that?" Saiph asked, worried.
Unsurprisingly he bounded out of his chair to research the matter himself, as heedless of danger as always. Voldemort followed after him quickly, wand raised cautiously as he reached out to tug the boy back by the collar.
He peered out the window to see the sky had gone dark.
The dementors were back in full, and they were not alone. Carrions of all kinds had arrived, dark shadows above circling in slow, ominous rings, blotting out the sun. He looked down at the bushes crowding the walls of the mansion; a black feathered mess lay in a heap of vines. It was difficult to discern from this height, but it appeared to be an unfortunate crow who had mistook the window for open space.
Saiph stared out with big emerald eyes, nose pressed to the glass. Voldemort was decidedly more reserved, but equally as attentive.
He narrowed his eyes at the dark world outside. It was certainly a sight to see.
Prophetic, almost.
He imagined if there was a gate to hell, it would look a lot like this. The watery morning light had disappeared completely, leaving a landscape of ashen, tumbling storm clouds in its wake. Lightning brewed in the heavy atmosphere, dementors swooping between the crackles of electricity in a manner that seemed almost enthusiastic. The well-manicured trees and hedges were filled to the brim with scavenger birds, dark feathers and beady eyes peering about as they roosted impatiently. The temperature, which had been lukewarm but a bit muggy when he had arrived for breakfast earlier, had turned frigid and dry.
If anything, this was just conclusive confirmation for his resurrection theory. They were all waiting for something. For someone.
More than likely, Harry was dying. He wasn't entirely sure what set it off, but he could imagine the boy's recent death may have contributed. From what Voldemort had already learned from Saiph, Harry's transformation had occurred when he reached full magical adulthood. The exact time that happened varied from person to person, and unfortunately Saiph wasn't entirely sure when Harry's had happened in his own timeline. But, considering their similarities to each other, Voldemort wagered it would be near identical to his; seventeen. That was a year from now. Would a year's difference really change things drastically, though? Perhaps in physical growth, but Harry already seemed to possess a mostly— if not entirely— developed magical core, so his magic wouldn't be affected. It should be fine. Although Voldemort couldn't imagine Harry being enthused with the idea of losing an entire year's addition to his height.
He turned to Saiph. "What do you know of Harry's transformation?"
Saiph pulled his nose away from the glass. It was cold enough to mist over with his breath. "When he became the Master of Death?" Saiph blinked, before frowning thoughtfully. "I don't really know much about it." He admitted apologetically, looking ashamed of himself.
Voldemort wasn't entirely surprised. Not for the first time he found himself wishing Saiph was a bit older, or perhaps for one of his older siblings to have accidentally time-traveled instead. Eleven— or twelve, or whatever he was— was an inadequate age to be an accurate source of information. To be sure he was a far better source than Voldemort could have possibly expected; most pre-adolescents were just beginning to flesh out their abstract thinking and higher cognitive abilities, but Saiph already had an impressive level of spatial and abstract reasoning, and appeared to have something of an eidetic memory. But still, eleven was just not old enough to have enough time to gather relevant information. Not to mention it was an age that Voldemort remembered to be particularly vexing when trying to hold mature conversations with adults. They rarely took him seriously, and tended to omit or gloss over things they considered inappropriate for his age.
"Anything you can remember is fine." He said, with a gentle empathy he would have never expected of himself.
The boy looked surprised with his candor, but it seemed to work, as he hesitantly opened up some. "Well, it happened a really long time ago. Which is why Harry looks so young— I think he stopped aging whenever it happened, and these days he gets mistaken for Ceph's little brother!" Saiph confessed with a laugh. "We tried to celebrate it as his 'death day' like the ghosts do but Harry said he didn't want any additional celebrations. Apparently it was a really big deal when it happened, but I'm not really sure why."
"A 'big deal' in what way?" Voldemort clarified.
"In a time consuming way, I guess." Saiph scratched his nose, thinking deeply. "And he had to meet a lot of people, and go to a lot of places. I mean, he still does that, but not like that. Other people made a big deal of it, really. Apparently it's been a long time since there's been a Master of Death."
"A long time indeed." Voldemort agreed, frowning.
And each and every time, it was not a coincidental happening. The Master of Death, The Grand Vizier, The Sorcerer Supreme… these were all titles for a role that no one on this earth seemed entirely certain of. Obviously it was a position of great importance, great power, and great influence, but how it would fit into Earth's society— and other world's societies, if Saiph was to be believed— remained a question unanswered. And considering the current Master of Death was even less informed than he was, he doubted Harry had any idea what he was supposed to be doing.
In this, at least, it was not entirely the insensible boy's fault. Recovering any information on the Master of Death was spotty and unreliable at best. However, the appearance of one always seemed to tie to some great event or another, as if the universe itself had birthed in mortal shell, a cognitive entity that could bend its great energy at will. It was the most reliable theory Voldemort had currently, and it grew more and more likely the more Voldemort heard.
To have a sentient form indefinitely would be infeasible, but periodically taking on the form of life would make more sense. A mere mortal creature, no matter its fortifications, would never be able to house or control such vast energies for an infinite amount of time. And even if it was possible, the assimilation of such an anomaly into the complex social constructs and general physiology of lifeforms would prove timely and difficult.
Still though, his current internal musings did nothing to answer the current questions; why was it happening now, and what did it mean if it was?
Surely something so impressive couldn't be triggered by an event that, while significant, was probably a regularity in Harry's life. Apparently the boy thought he had died many times in his life and had simply never realized. (Which most likely meant that Voldemort had actually killed him, more than once. It was a thought he didn't know how to feel about.) If that was the case, then a tumble down the side of the mansion wasn't likely to cause this. Or perhaps, it had less to do with event itself and more to do with the timing? Maybe this recent death was just close enough to Harry's magical maturity to trigger this response.
"If my theory is correct, Harry is most likely undergoing that transformation now." Voldemort announced, turning away from the window.
And he was almost entirely certain his hypothesis was indeed correct. The only matter left without true answer was the boy's actual awakening. Did something have to happen in order for it to occur? And if so, what was it?
He doubted he'd find the answer anywhere, but in the meantime now would be a perfect opportunity to prepare for the eventuality.
The dark lord stared out into the chaos outside, finding himself seized with a foreign, feverish hunger.
His crimson gaze burned alight with a desire he'd never felt before.
This sort of power was unimaginable. It was one thing to accept that in theory, and entirely another to watch the sky convulse upon itself in person. It felt as if he was in the eye of the storm, some impossibly powerful natural phenomenon brewing all around him, some apocalyptic influence waiting to splinter apart. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to control this level of power. A magic that defies both life and death; something older than the universe itself.
He pulled himself out of his musings with an irritated tug. Coveting a power he would never have was a pointless endeavor, no matter how alluring it was.
At any rate, he had a feeling a display of such astronomical proportions would have far-reaching consequences; the entirety of England could probably see this storm, if not most of Europe. He didn't know how far it reached— possibly the entire world? Either way it was life-changing, and he had to prepare for all the countless ramifications.
He turned away from the window, intent on locking himself in his study to give the matter his full attention.
"Father?" Saiph called, before he could get very far. "What does that mean?"
He paused. "I am unsure." As much as it pained him to admit it aloud. "However, if this is truly the case, I have matters to prepare for."
Saiph blinked at him. "...Okay?"
He waved a dismissive hand. "I will be in the study. Do not bother me unless it's important."
Saiph watched his abrupt exit with confliction. In the end he let the man go without fanfare, sighing deeply when the door shut behind him. He slumped against the windowsill, turning slightly to peek out into the gardens below. Between the bright sparkles of colorful peonies, dark splotches had come to roost. Crows.
The boy swallowed anxiously at the sight of them. They weren't an uncommon sight in the future; they, and all creatures of the dead, tended to flock to Harry wherever he went. The steeples of his father's tower were always lined with the dark blots of carrion birds waiting for their master to come home. He could tell when Harry was actually there by the amount, and whether they were simply roosting or flying about. He'd always felt comforted by their presence, by mere association to Harry they always calmed him. He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing them now.
He rested his forehead against the cool glass, letting out a deep sigh. He closed his eyes. "Please be okay, Harry."
/
It had only been a handful of days since Harry was reported missing, but for Ginny it felt like years. It haunted her every waking hour. Sure, her family was equally as worried as she was, but they didn't understand. They didn't know what it was like to face that man. If he could even be called a man. Harry was the only one who understood what she had went through, what it was like to stare into those cold red eyes and realize you were trapped in the jaws of a predator, a mere step away from death.
It hurt, knowing there was nothing she could do but sit here and wait, and pray that Harry was just lost, out with a friend, somehow, impossibly okay and unhurt. She didn't want to fear the worst, but after the events of this year it was all too easy to assume. Harry had been captured by Voldemort. The Order hadn't done enough to protect him. Ginny was a realist more than anything; she hadn't been prone to flights of fancy or wishful daydreams since she was a child.
It hadn't happened overnight, but after all these years of knowing her older brother's best friend, she'd come to realize all those daydreams and flights of fancy were sort of silly. Harry wasn't going to be her Prince Charming. Harry barely knew what he was doing most of the time, stumbling through hardships with nothing but determination and bravery. Harry wasn't actually the kind of person she wanted as a boyfriend at all, really. But he was exactly what she wanted in a friend, which didn't make this situation any easier.
The house was getting stifling.
Her mother refused to take anything but an optimistic opinion on the whole matter, and ignored anything they said that might infer otherwise. Ron was getting extremely annoyed by it, and his anger only grew tenfold as their father remained tight-lipped on the happenings at the Order, denying them any information on their missing friend— if there was any information at all. It was the lack of knowing that was really frustrating him, she knew. The rest of her brothers had escaped the house, leaving only her to weather the storm of her parents and brother. Ginny was surprisingly tolerant, and patient, for a Weasley and a Gryffindor, but even she could only take so much.
Finally by noon Ginny couldn't stand it any longer. She told her mother she was going to de-gnome the garden. Voluntarily. It spoke volumes that her mother was too distracted to be incredulous, just nodding along without looking up from her knitting.
The garden was hot in the midday sun, and it only took a few seconds in the heat for Ginny to decide there was no way she was actually going to go after any gnomes in this heat. Anyway, it was no fun when there was no one to play gnome-ball with, so the gnomes got to enjoy the garden for yet another day.
She gave it up as a lost cause, deciding she may as well walk out to her father's workshop out back, figuring she could swipe whatever dirty dishes he had lying about. Maybe she might even spend a bit looking over his muggle contraptions, if the weather wasn't against her; anything to stay out of the house for a little bit longer.
It was just as she was rounding a fence with vines that she heard the voices.
She couldn't make out what they were saying, but as she peeked through the vines she could see there were two of them. Two figures out in the wild grass, too far to recognize, although they looked to be her age. They were dressed like they were her age.
But what were they doing here? She couldn't tell whether they were within the wards or just outside of them, but either way it was odd. Were they Order members? She didn't recognize them, but she wouldn't delude herself into thinking spying on a couple Order meetings would give her an accurate picture as to who was in it. Her mother would have probably yanked her by the collar and told her to keep quiet, and her better judgement was saying the same, but the Gryffindor in her had no such self-preservation to speak of and her curiosity got the better of her.
Ginny stepped out from behind the fence, walking towards them.
Upon further inspection they appeared to be a little older than her— closer to Fred and George, or maybe more like Percy, but not nearly as old as Bill— and wearing trendy clothes. They were also both extremely good looking. It was enough to make her nervous.
"Um— hello. Are you lost?" She asked in greeting.
The boy shot her a winsome smile. Oh, Merlin. There was good looking, and then there was exceptionally handsome. It was something about the windswept, tousled dark hair, or maybe the quirky smile and dimples, or the bright soul-searching eyes, or the defined shape of his jaw—
Ginny cut herself off before she could get too distracted by it.
"Sort of, yeah. We were wondering if Harry Potter was here?"
This immediately put her on edge. She reared back slightly, a deep frown marring her features.
"We're friends of his," the girl cut in hastily, "and we lost contact with him, kind of out of the blue, so we were wondering if he was here."
Ginny eyed them both warily, wishing she'd brought her wand.
"Who are you two?"
"I'm Ceph, and this is Aster." The boy introduced.
Ginny's eyes only narrowed further. "I've never heard of either of you." And considering she went to school with Harry, she was fairly sure she knew the entirety of his social group.
The two glance at each other briefly.
"We're— uh, we're penpals with him. We're from America, you see, so we don't see him very often, and only in summer." Aster explained sheepishly. "We're um— what do you guys call it? Muggles? Muggleborns? Yeah. Muggleborns. Anyway we go to school in New York."
At this, the scowl on her features melted away slowly as she digested this. She looked them up and down. They were certainly dressed like muggles— very fashionable, too. They were probably like Hermione then, going to a magical school but still living in the muggle world. And she felt a little silly realizing that she hadn't noticed the accent until now. They were definitely American. Probably not Death Eaters, then.
"We read the news." The blonde girl added, adopting a worried expression. "It sounded really scary. Harry said not to worry about him— but what are we supposed to think when he stops writing us out of the blue? We called his Aunt and Uncle and they said he hasn't been home in weeks, and he talks about you guys a lot, so we thought we'd have better luck finding him here."
It was enough to curb most of her skepticism, although she still felt a healthy dose of caution as she surveyed both of them. It's not that their story didn't make sense… maybe it just made too much sense?
Ginny deflated. Either way it didn't matter; she didn't have the information they were looking for. "I'm sorry," she replied. "He hasn't been here either."
The two shared another look.
Ginny couldn't help but notice how similar they looked, then. The boy was much taller, and the girl was closer to Ginny's height, but there was something about their expressions that seemed to match. They both had very striking ice blue eyes, pale and shining in the sun, and similar facial structures. Although upon further inspection, she thought the boy sort of… looked like Harry, somehow.
"Are you two siblings?" She ended up asking, curiosity getting the better of her.
The blonde grinned at her. "Twins."
"Twins," Ginny repeated, blinking. That would make sense then. "I hope you two aren't as much trouble as my older brothers Fred and George— menaces to society, those two."
Aster laughed. "Oh the infamous Fred and George, huh? Harry talks about them— said something about opening up a joke shop?"
Ginny nodded. "Yeah, just recently. It's in Diagon Alley."
"We should stop by," Ceph suggested to his sister. "I'm beat anyway— and we should probably get a hotel."
"Yeah I could use a nap too, good plan." Aster groused in agreement.
Ginny looked between the two of them. "Did you two… just get here? From America?" She balked. That was so far!
"Yeah, we got here at like what, four in the morning?" Aster mused. "We went to Harry's Aunt and Uncle's house first, since I didn't trust them to be telling the truth about his disappearance. They were pissed as hell at the wake up call, but fuck them anyway, total dickwads."
Ceph huffed, rolling his eyes. "Do you have to call them that?"
"Well it's true, isn't it?" Aster retorted, affronted.
Ginny found herself somewhat charmed. She'd never met Americans before. Were they all this shameless and friendly?
Not to mention— this was basically the first conversation Ginny had had in person with someone her age since the summer started. After the Ministry fiasco she and Ron were more or less on lockdown, not that any of Ginny's friends would be allowed out of their houses for long either, given the situation of things. She had been confined and cooped up with her family who grew progressively more agitated the longer Harry was missing, and she was in serious need of good company.
But still, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust them. They were friendly enough, and they didn't seem like they were lying, but…
"How long have you guys known Harry?" She asked, suspiciously.
The girl tilted her head in thought. "A really long time," she decided, tapping her chin. "Man, I don't know. Eleven, at least."
Ginny weighed them up warily. "Does he tell you a lot about school?"
Aster smiled disarmingly. "Sure. You mean like, his little snake adventure with you in a septic system? He told us all about that. Second year, right? I'm assuming your Ginny, anyway. He said you're the only girl out of all the Weasley's, and you have red hair, so I'm assuming you're a Weasley."
She reared back in shock, stunned. That wasn't the sort of thing people knew about; especially her involvement in it. Or the fact it was a basilisk, or that it was in a 'septic system' or rather, the massive pipes beneath Hogwarts. Her chest tightened at the reminder of that event— and the person behind it all. But she refused to think on it now.
"...Yes I'm a Weasley… And, I was in First year," she found herself correcting, breathlessly. "But yes, Harry was in second year."
The girl just shook her head with a lamenting sigh. "Harry gets himself into some business or other every year, doesn't he? All that mess with his godfather, and then that business of being entered into a deadly tournament involuntarily, and of course what happened this year at the Ministry…" She shrugged. "Honestly I'm not entirely surprised he's found himself in yet another mess. Even if the school year hasn't even started."
Ginny just stared at her with wide eyes. Most of that was not public knowledge. Certainly not the matter of meeting Sirius in his third year, nor the fact he was entered involuntarily into the Triwizard Tournament. That was the sort of thing Harry would have to tell her personally.
The blonde gave the boy another measured look, prompting him into speaking; "Right, yeah. It's not so strange to hear Harry's been up to some death defying stuff, but this time it's just a bit… more worrying than usual, I guess. You know, what with you-know-who being back and all."
Ginny nodded silently, growing pale at the mention of the dark lord. She looked away, hoping to mask her expression. Fortunately, she didn't catch the boy's expression, as he tried very hard not to laugh as he said the name aloud.
At any rate, that conversation had assured most of her suspicions, but brought forth many new ones. Namely, who were these people? They clearly knew Harry very well, but Harry had never spoke of having any penpals… or maybe he had just never spoke of them to Ginny. She doubted Ron would remember a fact like that, but maybe Hermione was well aware of them. It was surprising, to say the least, meeting people Harry considered friends that she had never met before.
"Did you two… want to come inside?" She asked then, hesitantly. "I don't know much about the current situation, unfortunately— but maybe my father does. He, uh, has some connections. Maybe if you two ask him, he'll actually open up some."
The two traded looks again, unsure.
"He's a big fan of muggles." She added. "So if you don't mind him picking your brains…"
They were quiet for another moment, and Ginny had to wonder if twin telepathy was real. Finally, Aster grinned at her.
"Fan of muggles?" She repeated, roguishly. "That's new."
"He's a bit… eccentric." Ginny agreed with a nod.
"Well, if it's alright with your family, a break would be nice." Ceph smiled at her in appreciation. It made her heart stutter a little bit, in a way it hadn't done since the first time she had met Harry. "I have a feeling getting a hotel will be a hassle in and of itself."
"Great!" Ginny said, surprised to find she really meant it. Some company would be great right now, and they definitely weren't Death Eaters. The girl was wearing a flouncy white sleeveless summer dress, and the boy had on a t-shirt. Both their forearms were bare.
Anyway, any friend of Harry's should be a friend of hers. And if the boy just happened to be really good looking, well, her mother couldn't really blame her, could she?
/
"By Merlin, this is fascinating!" Arthur Weasley leaned over the table with a look of pure enthrallment. "How does it do that? They are so clear! And they move! Is it truly not magic?"
Aster looked at a loss, lowering her phone with a nervous smile. "Uh, well…" She looked to him, as she always did when something required a technical explanation.
Cepheus figured she had the right of it though, so he elaborated; "It takes multiple photos in quick succession and strings them together. That's why it loops, and doesn't continue on forever, see? Unlike magical photos, which move about as if they had personalities of their own and continued forever."
Aster's phone turned out to be an ingenious way to entertain the entire family, not to mention an excellent and endless source of conversation that only required minimal lying. Sure, it wouldn't be invented for a decade or two, but the Weasley's didn't know enough about midgardian technology to know that. He paused. Muggle technology. The split of worlds hadn't occurred yet, so the muggle world had yet to assume the title of Midgar.
At any rate, talking about the phone was a much better alternative than talking about any of the other possible subjects that could be brought up; quidditch (which both Aster and Ceph couldn't care less about), the current state of affairs with you-know-who (that seemed too volatile a subject to voluntarily weather through), the whereabouts of Harry (too raw), or the British Wizarding World in general (that they didn't know enough about). Not that Cepheus was particularly good at holding conversations anyway. Well, it wasn't as if he couldn't be charming when he wanted to be, rather, he rarely wanted to expend the effort to do so. It was easy enough to let his more than qualified sister handle it all.
And his twin had proven to be exceptional at it, given the odd circumstances. She idly talked about fashion trends with Aunt Ginny and Grandma Molly for a bit, before switching the conversation to questions on Hogwarts since it was clear Uncle Ron found the topic as riveting as drying paint. And afterwards when Grandpa Arthur arrived at home, she quickly switched gears to midgardian technology— muggle technology— with an emphasis on photography. Aster loved taking photos, mainly of herself, so it was a conversation she had no trouble holding with genuine enthusiasm.
Ceph withheld a sigh, looking down at his tepid half-cup of tea, dark and murky in the late afternoon sunshine. Had it been long enough to broach the subject of Harry? But if so, how would he do it? Aster was still prattling on about video technology; it would seem too abrupt to change the subject now.
Still, despite the familiarity of it all he didn't actually want to sit here for very much longer.
The Burrow had always inspired a sense of family and comfort in him, namely because for every holiday, event, or even just a random weekend, the entire extended family could be found somewhere in the vast house or surrounding lands; playing quidditch, gnome-ball, or just sitting around the kitchen table. His cousins had always been more like siblings, especially since they had been born close enough in age and spent the majority of their childhoods together. It was so strange to sit here without any of them around. The full brood tended to have the house bursting at the seams, all the aunts and uncles and cousins crowded together. Without even the original Weasley siblings in the house, it felt positively cavernous. He didn't like it. It made him distinctly uncomfortable. The idea of none of them existing was a little too terrifying to contemplate.
And even though he understood intellectually that the reason none of them existed right now was merely a matter of time, he still felt as if he'd stepped into a warped alternate dimension where everything was wrong. Well, that wasn't entirely an untrue assessment. It was definitely an alternate dimension, but he didn't know quite yet if it was really 'wrong'.
Either way he didn't want Sai here longer than he needed to be, and with Harry who knows where currently, the task fell on him. And his sister, of course, who got roped into everything he did willingly or not.
Aster had finally switched the topic to music, and he decided now was as good a time as any. They really had started the day exceptionally (and unintentionally) early, and he was starting to fall asleep.
"Aster, it's getting late," he made a show of checking his watch and re-emphasizing his American accent. "We should probably get going before we can't find a room at the Cauldron."
"Huh? Oh! You're right. I was hoping not to stay in Muggle London, and you know how those rooms fill up." She turned a disarming smile towards Grandma Molly as she grabbed their cups and walked them to the sink.
Molly jumped up immediately, rushing over. "Oh darling, you don't have to do that," she insisted, gently taking the cups and saucers out of Aster's hands.
"It's no trouble," Aster assured, although she let their grandmother take them without fanfare. "Really, you guys have been so kind. Thank you so much for chatting with us."
Even if they hadn't actually gotten an relevant information out of them. At the very least, they could be certain the Weasley's had no idea where Harry was, and no inkling of their little brother's existence.
His brother's travelling and Harry's disappearance were concerning, to say the least. And two separate problems that Cepheus couldn't see a clear solution for. It was rare that he couldn't at least set a decisive path to solving a problem; as it stood, he would have to try a variety of solutions and hope one led in the right direction. But either way, Harry's disappearance— while worrying— was not actually his problem. They were here to find Sai, and that was it. Whatever madness may or may not befall this particular dimension was no business of his.
It was as he was deliberating this that the problem sort of solved itself.
"By Merlin, what is going on?"
The whole kitchen turned to look at Grandpa Arthur, who was squinting outside the open window, covering his eyes with a hand. The wind was strong enough to pull at his hair and the leaves of the plants on the windowsill, nearly tipping both the plant pots and their grandfather right out the window.
Molly gasped. "Ginny, Ron, shut the windows, hurry!"
The two scattered to do as they were told, closing up the windows and locking them, just as a gust of wind strong enough to make the house groan wheezed passed the Burrow. The sky had grown dark, rolling clouds spreading across the horizon.
"Was there a storm on the weather forecast today?" Molly questioned worriedly, watching the clouds gather with pursed lips.
"I didn't hear anything." Ginny replied with a shrug.
Cepheus stared out the window, the glass shaking slightly with the force of the wind. A flock of birds swooped overhead; crows. They appeared to be heading into the darkest part of the clouds.
He shared a worried look with his twin.
"We better get going, Aster." He spoke aloud, keeping his suspicions to himself.
"Yes, yes, right you are. Goodness, if it gets any worse…" Molly bustled them both towards the living room, towards the fireplace. "Best not to try to apparate in this weather— why don't you two use our floo?"
"That would be very helpful, thank you." Cepheus replied, gratefully.
Molly waved him off. "Of course. And please don't hesitate to visit. And if you hear anything about Harry…"
It was the first time her cheery demeanor seemed to slip, revealing a look of fear and concern beneath.
Cepheus nodded. "We'll tell you straight away if we hear anything from him."
Molly just pursed her lips, nodding along as she pushed them towards the floo.
He felt a little bad lying to his grandmother like this, but if he was being honest, it certainly wasn't the first time he— or any of his cousins and siblings— had tried to get out of her wrath. And it wasn't actually his grandmother, he had to remember. For all he knew, he might not even ever be born in this dimension.
He swallowed thickly, tossing his floo powder into the fire with more strength than necessary.
That was not a good thought to think about right now, so he pushed it aside. "The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley!" He called, and as he disappeared he could hear his sister doing the same.
/
Aster sighed loudly as she collapsed back onto her bed, blinking at the ceiling.
Spending the afternoon with the Weasley's had been interesting, to say the least. Ceph was lucky she was such a damn good liar, otherwise he would have been floundering around like a fish out of water the whole afternoon long. Cepheus had always been more interested in facts and explanations though, and never had much interest in what he considered the tedious sport of lying and manipulation. Why lie when you could simply tell the truth, which was probably more powerful and cutting than a lie anyway? That was usually when Aster pointed out that lying often times lead to the same conclusion in a more timely manner. Depending on the situation.
Now was definitely one of those situations.
Sure, telling their family they were the time-traveling children of Harry Potter would probably have worked in getting them to cough up information eventually, not that they even had any, but it would also be far more trouble than it's worth. At least Ceph could see the value in that, and even though Ginny had interrupted them in the middle of their story collaborating, they managed to pull it off thanks to her inherent talents.
She'd pat herself on the back if she wasn't too tired to even lift up her arm.
It hadn't exactly been informative, but they'd at least gleaned some useful information. Their family didn't know where Harry was, and had no idea about Saiph being here. Which meant Harry hadn't been in contact with any of his friends since he disappeared.
And whatever was happening to Harry— well, she was fairly sure she knew what it was. Even now the gloom outside had everyone running for shelter, regardless of the lack of rain. The winds and brewing thunder were enough to have anyone with good sense hiding indoors. And if that wasn't telling enough, they'd heard something about the dementors going out of control when they'd arrived at the Cauldron.
Aster rubbed at her eyes. What a mess. She knew it wasn't their mess to clean up, but all the same it felt so strange to just… not do anything about it.
"Who knew time traveling took so much out of you?" She yawned, tilting her head to see what her twin was up to.
Unsurprisingly Cepheus was on the bed next to her, one leg propped on the bedspread as he hunched over a book.
"Ceph?" She called. "What are you doing?"
"How many times do I have to tell you we traveled through dimensions, technically, not time?" He drawled without looking up, flipping a page in his book. "And I'm looking up scrying runes we could use to locate Sai. Assuming he's not hidden beneath layers of powerful wards… in which case, I would have to use star alignments or ingredients of some kind to augment the search… but then that just leads to the question of which one—
It wasn't that Aster couldn't follow him, but rather, she didn't want to. "Oh, enough with that already." She flapped a hand in his general direction. "It's late. I'm hungry. We're both tired don't even front. Why don't we just get some food and call it a night, start over tomorrow?"
"You're always hungry." He retorted, rolling his eyes as he snapped his book shut. "And postponing the problem won't make it any easier to solve."
"I thoroughly disagree." She sniffed, sitting upright. "I'm far more productive when I'm not hungry. Or tired. Or physically exhausted from extensive time travel—
"Dimensional travel—
"So why don't we at least just go downstairs and get some food?" She spoke over him, giving him a deeply unimpressed look.
Cepheus stared at her, aggrieved. "And what about Harry?"
"That's not going to be solved soon either." She pointed out, shrugging. "If he really is going through his transformation, there's no telling where he is, exactly. At the very least we know he's safe. From death, anyway. And I thought you said he wasn't our problem?"
"If Saiph is with him, he is." He reminded her, although he knew it was a bit beside the point.
She had a good point and he knew it. At present, there was nothing they could do. Running themselves into exhausting like this would only be a hindrance in the long run; even he could see this, despite his intense desire to dive into some rituals right now.
"Fine," he sighed, throwing the book on the bedside table. "Just let me change out of this."
She could probably go for a change of clothes as well. The thought prompted her to wish for a shower right then, before she dismissed it in favor of her stomach. Cepheus shucked off his shirt, rummaging through their magically-expanded backpack for a spare set of clothes. He was halfway into the thing before he unearthed his usual fanfare of joggers and a fly knit shirt. She almost rolled her eyes, but refrained. They endlessly argued the merits of athleisure as an actual fashion style, to no avail. Aster still thought it was only appropriate as a statement, while Ceph considered it a lifestyle. Starting up the debate now would require more energy than she had. She also thought about yelling at him to go change in the bathroom like a reasonable person, but again, was too tired to bother. They had lived together their entire lives, even before they were born; the sentiment seemed like too much effort right now.
He turned to her, shirtless. "I think there's food downstairs, unless you wanted to venture out in this weather. I don't know what'll actually be open, but I guess we could try London proper—
He cut himself off as his sister stared at him with wide eyes.
He looked down at himself, worried he'd somehow accidentally portaled half of himself off into a separate dimension or something. It wouldn't be the craziest thing he'd ever done to himself in the name of science.
"What?" He seemed normal enough.
"I hate to berate my own intelligence, but I've never felt this stupid." His sister lamented, before pointing to his chest.
"What?" He still didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
"Your portkey necklace!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "Of course! What would be the very first thing Sai would do if he found himself here? We guessed he'd either try to find Harry or father—
"And we decided Harry would be the easiest, so he was most likely with him." Cepheus finished, nodding along. "So?"
"So— he was not the easiest." She took out her own necklace— which she had somehow managed to actually get off her person, despite it being spelled onto them by their father— from her jewelry box. "We have no idea where Harry is, but even if he was still with his Aunt and Uncle he wouldn't have been the easiest choice."
"But how is father any better? Who knows where he's holed up right—
Cepheus cut himself off, eyes widening. He looked down at the portkey necklace in a new light.
Aster smirked. "Exactly. If it works in our dimension, I see no reason why it wouldn't do exactly what it's made to do in this dimension, too. He made them himself, after all. And he's the same person."
Ceph nodded, before scowling. "How the hell did you get it off you?" Even he hadn't managed to figure it out— not that he'd expended much effort to do so. They were pretty useful, honestly.
Aster rolled her eyes. "It's like you've never seen me circumvent the old man before." She complained. "I broke the enchantment, obviously. I mean, come on, does he really expect me to wear this all the time? What if it doesn't go with my outfit?" She whined, dead serious.
He didn't even bother to respond to that. "Alright, pack everything up. I guess now's as good a time as any to use it."
His sister nodded readily, waving a hand to collect all their scattered belongings from the room. Her scattered belongings. How the hell did she manage to get so much crap spread out so quickly? It looked like she brought her entire hair care arsenal, from the amount of bottles floating out of the bathroom.
"What if we interrupt him in the middle of something important?" She asked worriedly, as she leaned down to grab the now fully re-packed bag.
"We can ask for forgiveness later." Ceph wasn't too worried over it. "If Saiph is already there, I can't imagine how we could make the situation that much worse."
Turns out, they could.
/
The portkey spat them out in a darkened study, the gloom from the expanse of windows so overpowering it was difficult to see for a moment. It was a handsome room, mulberry wood shelves rising to the ceiling with books filled in every row, old leather chairs with burnished nickel, grand oak furniture. A long table against the wall housed all sorts of crystal decanters full of expensive scotch. Even the air somehow smelled like the Malfoy's.
The Dark Lord was seated behind a desk, looking at first surprised, and then furious at the interruption.
In front of him, still on one knee was what she assumed to be Lucius Malfoy— judging by the much younger blonde by the back wall, who looked like a youthful version of Draco. The woman next to him, staring at them both with wide, frightful eyes, must be his mother, then. In fact, they were all staring at them.
"Oh, sorry, you appear to be in the middle of something." She laughed nervously, tugging her twin by the arm. "We'll just, uh, wait outside."
Since I mentioned the extended family in this chapter, I figured I should explain the dates. And since there was no war, Fred didn't die, so he's got kids of his own(Maisie:2003, William:2009) and Fred II is named Alfie instead. Idk I tried as hard as I could to get the dates as accurate as possible, but its AU. So yeah.
DECEMBER 14, 2020 (current date)
Teddy: 21 (1999)
Cepheus and Asterope: 20 (born May 22, 2000) Victorie: 20 (born May 02, 2000)
Alfie: 17 (2003) Domonique: 17 (2003) Maisie: 17 (2003)
Molly: 14 (2006) Rose:14 (2006) Louis: (2006)
Saiph: 11 (born November 7, 2009) Hugo: 11 (2009) William: 11 (2009)
Cassi: 7 (born March 15, 2013) Lucy: 7 (2013) Roxanne: 7 (2013)