Every morning Aster would wake up before dawn. The dew had just yet set on fresh grass, and the birds had only started their songs moments before. Every night she'd wait until the moon was shining just above London before she would allow herself to surrender to sleep. The street lights would dim, and the chatter would cease. Over and over again, this was the routine. Wake up before dawn, sleep after midnight. Wake up before dawn, sleep after midnight.
It was the only way she could be sure that Io had not left.
The spring days slowly sweltered with heat, and London did nothing to keep the streets comfortable. Altair had managed a small charm over the brownstone if only to shield its roof from the impending summer solstice, but the moment any of them stepped outside, they were reminded that the seasons were changing yet again. Another beat on the drum of time, never slowing, never quickening, always a maddening steadiness.
Io kept to herself most of the time, and so Aster watched her. Morning, noon, and night, she watched her sister if only to be sure she was really there. Io never questioned the odd habit and simply accepted the silent attention.
Most days Aster would be the one to make the coffee. Io would set the table, and Altair would make breakfast though it often went cold. Not that he minded. Cooking everyday was at least a small token of… normalcy.
During the day, Aster would read. She would study every charm she could find - new magic and old. There were charms no wizard had used in centuries due to the effect of time, but regardless, she'd read and she'd practice until her focus would falter. And yet none of this, no distraction or lesson, was enough to keep the fear at bay.
The red notebook was hidden beneath her pillow, and every now and then there would be a new message. It was never long, just a brief note written in pretty script from Hermione.
It's raining here. It's raining here, too.
What's your favorite kind of tea? Jasmine white.
Are you okay?
Aster never knew how to answer that one though Hermione made it a point to ask it every now and then. Instead, she would change the subject.
Have you spoken to Harry? Not since last week.
How is Bill Weasley? He's better now. The potion your uncle brewed is helping ease the symptoms.
But when the time came - and it came often - that Aster had nothing more to say than 'I miss you', she found herself crossing it out before the message could disappear. Those were simply the words of a terrified girl who was afraid to say she doubted herself.
While she knew Io had kept her worries inside, crumpled and torn into shredded pieces of confetti, Aster's festered under her skin. It felt like ants on her neck, a crackling fire beneath her feet. And as each day went on, she found that no matter how persistent the feeling, she could not get used to it.
There was a day marked on the calendar that hung on the wall next to Aster's bed - July 9. On that morning, she and Io would be 17, and the magic trace would vanish. Though Io had never said when she'd leave, Aster knew. It would be that day. Their birthday would not only be a celebration, but it would be the day they all had to say goodbye. She never wished so hard to stay 16 forever.
The most jarring transition was Io's hair. For once, since they were children, Io's hair was longer than Aster's, and no one knew if it was by choice or by avoidance. The longer her hair got, the easier it was for her to hide her face when she was deep in thought. It drove Aster mad, not being able to see Io's expressions, but there was little she could do without cutting the length off herself.
Aster had her books, and so did Altair. He spent many of his days at his desk. The large oak table was littered with glass jars filled with various ingredients. On the days when he'd come back with a new jar and a new ingredient, Aster slowly noticed the books on the shelves would gradually be replaced. He was hard at work, and some mornings, the girls would wake up to an odd odor seeping up to the second floor.
This was the usual routine until one day, Altair called the twins downstairs and presented them with a peculiar potion that could not be found in any of their textbooks.
Inside the cauldron was a swirling silver liquid. It shimmered with small flecks of green, and it smelled vaguely like spearmint.
"Is this what you've been working on?" Io asked.
"Yes," Altair nodded, using a large wooden spoon to place the potion into small cups. "And you're going to drink it. Both of you."
Aster winced. "What does it do?"
Altair sighed. "Io, you've long completed Legilimency. Aster, I don't know if we'll have time to finish your training, but with this, you should be able to hear each other regardless of distance."
"Does it…" Io cleared her throat. "I mean, how do you know it works?"
He shrugged. "This was something your father and I attempted to do long ago. It worked to a point, but sometimes it worked better through dreams."
"Dreams?" Aster looked at him curiously. "You mean like we'd be able to talk to each other while we sleep?"
"Yes, and no." Altair removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's difficult to explain, but you will see in time."
"Uncle, I don't want you to think I'd ever doubt you, but what if it doesn't work?" Io spoke slowly as not to sound too hesitant.
"Trust me on this," he chuckled. "The worst that could happen is that you'll be tasting spearmint for the next few days."
The twins observed the liquid as its shimmer twisted and turned inside the glass. After a small nod, they sipped. Truly, it tasted like candy which is more than they could ask for.
Neither of them felt the effects of the potion, but Altair didn't seem bothered by it. It was enough that there was hardly any effect at all. And so the month went on.
Wake up before dawn, sleep after midnight.
Wake up before dawn, sleep after midnight.
And again - awake, asleep, awake, asleep.
On the first week of July, Aster had a sudden bout of nostalgia. Back in America, there would have been celebration and fireworks right now, but London simply went on - still, crowded, and hazy with the summer fog. During the days long before their time at Hogwarts, Io and Aster would slip away to see the muggles celebrate. They would take the train from Mount Greylock to Albany, and run in between the crowd. Aster could still remember the smell of sulfur in the air, and it was always mixed with the taunting aroma of fresh sweets and cakes. That might have been the only thing she missed about Ilvermorny.
It was around this time that Aster finally started to notice a change in her sister. Io no longer looked like a stoic, wide-eyed girl. She was now a woman with narrowed eyes, always in deep thought, and no sound would be enough to pull her out of the dark world she now resided in. There was a hollowness, not only in her cheeks, but in the way she spoke. She sounded colder now. Aster knew that deep down below, the youth of her twin had been hidden away, locked inside a cage until the time was right.
The Visages sat at their dinner table sharing a small cake. It was a vanilla cake with black icing. There were two candles, one for Aster and one for Io. They blew out the flames with eyes shut tight, quietly asking for a wish they could only hope would come true.
Aster had two, though she'd never tell anyone that she broke the unspoken rule of birthday wishes. The first was simple, a wish for a peaceful night of rest, and the second was for her sister's safety. She considered, only for a moment, wishing for a third, but she resisted. If she had the time, she might have wished to see Hermione again. Kiss her once more. Not like it would be at the wedding in a month, but alone, just as they were that night at the Three Broomsticks. They would share another butterbeer, or two, and tell each other the secrets they held most dear. Aster would have asked about Hermione's parents. Or maybe she'd ask about her fears.
On the night of their 17th birthday, Aster crawled into Io's bed.
Just as she did when they were children, Io held her close, stroking her hair softly. Sometimes, Io would hum some tune that Aster later recognized was that of the Merpeople. It was the haunting song they sang at Dumbledore's funeral, and just like that day at the Black Lake, it soothed the nerves with the kind of beauty one could only find in sad, melancholic poetry.
Often, one of them, or both, would dream of the train to Hogwarts and the pleasantness of the Scottish countryside. There was no green here in London, no happy memories though Uncle Altair tried his hardest to make new ones. The walls of this house had not yet become home, and while neither of them could admit it, they longed to be within the castle walls. There, they dreamed freely. It was there that they found their true selves. It was behind those doors that everything seemed to fall into place.
Aster fell asleep first that night, wrapped in Io's embrace.
At the height of deep sleep, she had a new dream. She was alone in the forest. The trees were tall, high above her head with a grand canopy breaking the sunlight. At the center of the clearing, there was a small white orb.
No, it wasn't an orb. It was an egg.
From inside the silken case, it wobbled and pulsed. When she reached for it, the membrane tore, and the nose of a green pit viper appeared. It was small, delicate, and curious. It reached for her fingers, and she allowed it to coil around her hand. Before she could bring it close, it slipped away, falling to the forest floor. It looked back at Aster with full eyes, like black glass marbles, then slipped beneath the dead leaves that surrounded her.
As soon as the viper disappeared, she awoke. Io was still asleep beside her, and the moon was still shining bright. Aster pulled the blanket over the two of them, holding her twin close, so close she could feel Io's heartbeat. It was slow and steady.
When sleep reclaimed her, there was no more forest, no more infant green viper. Everything was dark, and Aster's mind, for once, stayed still, allowing her to fall into the deepest sleep without a quake or tremble.
And in the morning, Io was gone.