"The two with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach… one child unnamed by blood shall be born to those who have thrice defied him,…the other, though similar in circumstance, the Dark Lord will mark himself, together they will possess power the Dark Lord knows not…to succeed, one must die at the hands of the other."
Song of Serpents - 2nd generation
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
In a dimly lit chamber, stuffy with a thick fog of burning incense, Severus Snape knelt before a madman, his eyes fixed upon the ground. The silence of his surroundings was accented only by an echoing drip of water.
The air, already heavy with stale fear, grew increasingly saturated with the scent of amber.
Severus' eyes watered as he waited. His knees were beginning to ache, but he did not dare shift his weight to relieve the pressure. The pain sharpened his senses, tuning them to the whims of the figure lording over him.
His serpentine voice slithered through the stillness, his tone laced with an ominous otherness. "Severus, what news do you bring?"
"It is Celeste, my Lord," he replied reverently. "She is with child."
"Excellent," the man hissed, a twisted satisfaction evident in his tone.
Despite himself, Snape felt a shiver of apprehension curling up his spine. He kept his head bowed, his voice steady with rehearsed respect. "My Lord, my allegiance is unwavering. My life, my purpose, they belong to you."
"Ah, Severus, such devotion is a rare gem indeed," he remarked, basking in the praise. "But tell us, have you pondered the significance of the forthcoming arrival of your offspring?"
Snape looked up, his dark eyes meeting the Dark Lord's. He swallowed hard, his mind working feverishly to compose a response that would satisfy the query while veiling his burgeoning fear.
"My Lord, I have often contemplated the future of a child. I will raise them with unwavering devotion, nurturing their spirit to become a symbol of your pure future," he replied.
The Dark Lord, entranced by his grandeur, leaned closer, his voice dripping with a warped sense of divine purpose.
"Severus," the Dark Lord intoned with a musical cadence, "We shall mark your offspring with a divine benediction. Their existence will serve as a testament to your unwavering devotion. Born of pure wizarding blood and noble status, they will become a symbol of superior lineage."
Snape felt a chilling wave of reality crash through the barriers of his devout stupor, jolting him into awareness. Though not yet born, his child was already a pawn in a game of madness.
Recognizing the perilous path his thoughts were taking, Severus swiftly occluded his mind, returning to his role as a devout servant—the role written on his flesh.
"My Lord, I shall raise them with unwavering veneration, cultivating their character to embody the principles we hold dear," Snape responded, his voice a careful balance of submission and reverence.
Yet, within the inhospitable terrain of Severus' heart, he felt an improbable seed of rebellion take root, blooming in the dark recesses of his stained soul like a stubborn weed sprouting in barren soil.
This insane being will never touch my child.
Severus severed his defiant thoughts with practiced precision.
Oblivious to his servant's inner turmoil, the Dark Lord leaned back, humming with malignant anticipation, and commanded, "Severus, summon your expectant wife."
Unbidden, a pang of regret cut through Severus; however, without hesitation, he complied and called for his wife's house elf.
There was a small pop as the creature appeared before them. Its large, round eyes flickered with fear as it looked around the room, "Master Snape," it squeaked, "What can Nori do for you?"
"Bring Celeste," Severus instructed, his voice flat.
With a nod, the elf disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only the echo of its departure. As they waited, the room filled with an unnerving silence; the distant water seemed to drip louder with each passing second.
There was another soft pop, and then Celeste stood before them with the house elf holding tightly to her hand. She blinked in surprise at the sudden change of surroundings, her hand instinctively moving to rest protectively over her abdomen, and immediately focused her attention upon the Dark Lord.
"My Lord," Celeste said, her voice filled with gratitude, "you summoned me?"
The Dark Lord reached out to her abdomen, bestowing his promised blessing upon the unborn child. "Go forth, little one, and embrace your intended purpose. May you be the harbinger of magic's return to purity, the beacon that illuminates the path for generations to come."
A subtle vibration strikes the air with an unnerving finality, like thunder without sound.
Severus noticed the tears glistening in Celeste's eyes. Her gratitude for the blessing bestowed upon her unborn child was unmistakable, a testament to her unwavering belief in the Dark Lord's cause.
Severus, casting aside his doubts, bowed before the Dark Lord, his voice a murmur. "As you command, my Lord. Through my son, your divine will shall be carried out."
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
One must first delve into the profound subject of pain to embark upon the study of Astral Twins. The formation of their extraordinary bond relies upon a convergence of shared suffering. True Astral Twins are compelled by fate to draw their first breath at precisely the same instant of the same day. This peculiar temporal alignment weaves their souls into an intricate dance of intertwined destinies.
However, birth alignment alone does not suffice to forge their enduring bond. Instead, the crucible of shared sorrow, endured at the precipice of their existence, forges their bond with an imperishable strength. The experience of loss encountered at the moment of their entry into the world serves as the catalyst for their intertwined fates. The searing touch of agony that imprints upon their earliest consciousness becomes the bedrock of their extraordinary union.
As we delve deeper into this celestial conundrum, it becomes clear that these Astral Twins, in theory, would be privy to a unique spectrum of talents, the nuances of which remain uncertain.
Within the celestial tapestry…
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
Severus threw the book aside with force. Celestial tapestry indeed,he thought.
Outside the confines of his shabby study, the world was blanketed by the beautiful quilt of a snowy winter's night. Snow was the only medium able to bestow beauty upon Cokeworth. He could hear the faint tinkling of distant bells, a blistering reminder that there was happiness beyond his gloomy abode. Outside these walls, loved ones were celebrating the Yule season.
But here, flickers of candlelight from a lone Yule log dancing upon the dirty window pains, its warmth unable to permeate the grit of neglect, was the only indication of Christmas Eve.
Severus found himself staring at the book he had carelessly tossed aside. Its contents, reflecting Celeste's taste in literature, stirred in him nothing more than exacting disdain.
Like the book, their union was deplorably out of sync with his preferences. A calculated move enforced by the Dark Lord, it was a strategic alliance, an oppressive bond of duty and obligation that offered no solace or companionship.
The Dark Lord's mandate, a call for his Death Eaters to marry and procreate, echoed incessantly in his mind. An edict aimed at birthing a new generation destined to reshape the wizarding world.
Severus sighed with exhaustion as he leaned back in a worn-out armchair and closed his eyes. The burden of now serving not just one but two masters - both madmen - was placing a strain on his sanity. Celeste's suspicions, burgeoning along with her growing belly, only added to his troubles.
When Severus had initially approached Dumbledore with his desperate need to save Lily, he did not foresee that he was trading in one zealot for another. While the Dark Lord was convinced his status as a parselmouth secured his divinity, Dumbledore's self-righteous piety was seemingly undeserved.
Severus could not halt his thoughts as they inevitably strayed towards Lily, her location a mystery to him. He hoped fervently that she and her family were safely hidden away from the lurking shadows of dark forces. Unbidden, the tangled threads of a memory emerged to plague him; its edges darkened with regret and anguish.
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
In the cold depths beneath Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord summoned his devoted Death Eaters. His eyes gleamed with triumph as he prowled like a spectral predator, his cloak billowing around him like mist.
"The serpents have bestowed upon us a vision," he began, his voice a chilling whisper that echoed like death's hymn to the devoted ears of his followers.
"The prophecy foretells two children with the potential to derail our righteous path. This, we cannot allow."
His words resonated with chilling clarity in the deadly silence of the Malfoy catacombs.
"Through divine meditation, we have deciphered the lineages named in the prophecy. We must eradicate them both. The sacrifice of their magical blood is a trifling cost for our assured supremacy," he finished with resolute finality.
Silence…
Severus felt a wave of dread wash over him. Killing children? He had committed himself to this madman while still a child himself. But now…he had a child on the way. What kind of a man would father one child only to murder others?
Correctly interpreting their silence for hesitation, the Dark Lord's eyes flashed with icy determination as he commanded, "You will obey us."
He continued, "The Potters and the Longbottoms. We shall snuff out their line."
Icy dread surged within Severus. His heart constricted at the mention of the Potters, his thoughts spiraling uncontrollably to one name - Lily.
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
His brooding was punctuated by the jarring chorus of cries from behind the closed door. Under the midwife's watchful gaze, Celeste was in the throes of labor. Her screams of pain brutally drug him back to his harsh reality.
Time gnawed at his sanity as Severus sat alone, ensnared in his solitary vigil; the flickering flames in the hearth danced, creating shadows that stretched across the cold stone walls. The slow dimming of the flames chronicled the passing hours. The screams from the other side of the door escalated in frequency and intensity until, at last, they gave way to silence as if the world had suddenly run out of sound.
…
..
.
The piercing cry of a newborn echoed off the cold stone walls and, with it, a curious burst of energy that seemed to fill him with warmth like the promise of spring. Holding a swaddled bundle in her arms, the midwife emerged with a grave expression. As she approached, Severus instinctively accepted the fragile life she offered him.
"You have a son," she announced softly.
Severus felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility wash over him, laced with an emotion he could not quite identify.
"And the mother?" he asked, his voice echoing his detached demeanor.
"I'm afraid I could not save them both; I had to choose," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Unanticipated guilt seized Severus, not from his grief for Celeste but rather from the striking absence of it. He found himself unable to mourn what had been forced upon him.
His gaze fell once more on the fragile life in his arms.
"Theodore," he whispered, his voice carrying an undertone of solemnity and tenderness, reverberating within the confines of the room like a sacred oath to this new life, a life through tragedy, now solely in his care.
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
While elsewhere, the quaint village of Godric's Hollow lay hushed on a serene Christmas Eve; the night seemed to whisper enchantments into the frost-kissed air with a quiet promise of joy echoing through the peaceful houses. Despite the cold, its residents were warm, anticipating the holiday season.
In the heart of this picture-perfect scene, the Potter home was abuzz with festive cheer. James Potter, his heart brimming with the infectious joy of the holidays, couldn't help but marvel at the magic surrounding them. Even isolation couldn't dampen his spirits during the Yule season. He busied himself by meticulously placing ornaments on the Yule tree; each was an heirloom of memory.
The scent of pine mingled with the crackling fire in the hearth, enveloping the room in a comforting embrace. James glanced over at Lily, her presence bringing a warmth that surpassed the flickering flames—resting in a plush armchair with a radiant smile illuminating the space: her swollen belly, a testament to the new life growing within. James's heart felt like it might burst with joy.
Their toddler, with messy hair and eyes filled with wonder, sat on Lily's lap, his tiny hands reaching for the Christmas cookie she held. The soft glow of the tree lights danced in his curious green eyes, mirroring James's excitement deep within. The season's simple joys resonated in every corner of their secluded home.
"Sirius could have at least tried to be on time," James playfully grumbled, stepping back to admire his handiwork on the tree. The twinkling lights reflected in his glasses, enhancing his boyish charm.
Like a melody filling the room, Lily's laughter danced harmoniously with the crackling fire. "He's probably charming some poor shopkeeper into gift-wrapping a mountain of last-minute presents to spoil our son."
James shook his head, his eyes misting with brotherly affection. "That does sound like him."
Harry, momentarily distracted from his cookie, clapped his hands in excitement. "Pafoo, gif!" he exclaimed, his vocabulary already including the family's affectionate nickname for Sirius.
With a fond smile, Lily ran a hand through their son's unruly hair. "Yes, darling. Uncle Padfoot will bring you a gift," she reassured him, her heart swelling with maternal affections.
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
The door to their sanctuary shattered inward, erupting in a torrent of splinters.
In its wake stood the chilling figure of Voldemort, his ruby eyes as cold as death, his thin lips twisted into a cruel smirk, a physical nightmare defiling the remnants of their once warm home.
"Lily," James cried out, his voice sharp with dread, "it's him; take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!"
Lily's pulse hammered against her temples as she clung to Harry. She launched herself up the stairs to the nursery, every step punctuated by the horrifying sounds of dueling from below. With a heavy heart, she slammed the nursery door behind her, hoping against hope that James could hold his own against the deranged wizard.
Crossing the room, she placed Harry in his crib, the soft touch of his skin beneath her fingers grounding her as she whispered, "Mummy loves you."
Drawing her wand, she traced a line from her heart to Harry's. As she did, a faint ethereal mist emerged from her chest, weaving itself into the spell, connecting them in a bond more profound than any mere incantation. Her voice, trembling yet resolute, broke the stifling silence as she chanted, "Abdito Harry James Potter, Invisum Vinculum, Excludo Tom Marvolo Riddle." The last syllable dropped like an anchor, and an iridescent cloak of light enveloped Harry, hiding him from sight.
Lily felt a hollow pang as if a part of her had been severed, lost to the magic she wielded. She barely had time to register the success of her spell when the nursery door splintered apart. Voldemort sauntered in, savoring every moment of his perceived victory.
A smug sneer spread across his ghastly face. "Give us the child, and you can go free," he proposed with feigned civility.
"No," she whispered back, unable to choke out more.
Voldemort slowly stalked towards Lily as he extended his arm and stroked her cheek with a skeletal finger. "We will find him regardless, girl."
"No," she repeated, louder this time.
Lily watched with wide eyes as he raised his wand with lethal intent. Taking a deep breath as if inhaling the strength she needed, Lily met his gaze. "Kill me," she declared, her voice unwavering, "and he'll be hidden from you forever."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, a glint of recognition – and perhaps even begrudging respect – evident. "Ah, few still dare tread that path, girl."
Suddenly a sharp, unexpected pain blindsided Lily. This wasn't the gradual, intensifying ache of regular labor; it was sudden and overwhelming. A spasm, fierce and relentless, gripped her abdomen, and the edges of her vision darkened as the intensity of the agony spread like wildfire through her. The sensation of water pooling around her feet brought a surreal awareness to the situation. But also the intense smell of iron. Blood…
The room, which moments ago had been stifled by tension, now resonated with Lily's desperate cries. Each scream, each whimper, was a reflection of the terrifying vulnerability she felt, made even more poignant under Voldemort's unyielding gaze. His eyes, devoid of warmth or understanding, watched her with morbid curiosity.
As the hours dragged on, the room resounded with her screams, each a morbid note in the symphony of her agony. Her body writhed in a crescendo of pain as her strength wavered. Finally, with a guttural cry, she gave one last push and felt blessed relief as the last of the baby slid out of her.
Her relief was short-lived as instead of the expected cries of a newborn, all that followed the birth was silence. A cold dread began to creep into Lily's heart. With the last of her strength, she lifted herself, her worst fears confirmed.
The newborn girl's skin was a pale contrast to the bloody aftermath on the floor, her slight form eerily still and silent. Lily's mind screamed in protest, refusing to accept what lay before her.
A heart-wrenching "no" escaped her lips. Her voice was hoarse and broken. A mother's last lament that hung in the silence as she collapsed and drifted off.
With Lily's passing, the magical concealment melted away, revealing Harry's shocked, teary-eyed form in the crib. His tiny fingers reached out, grasping at the air as if trying to pull his mother back—his cherubic face crinkled in distress, a soft whimper escaping his lips.
Voldemort, at first disgusted by Harry's palpable grief, quickly regained his composure. Harry whimpered in fear as the stranger advanced, instinctively shying away from his sinister gaze.
Voldemort lifted his wand, but right as he roared, "AVADA KEDAVRA," there was a whisper of a gasp—the slightest intake of breath and then a wail.
With her first cry of life, the tiny form released an explosion of magic, plunging the room into a temporary void of light and sound. The energy absorbed Voldemort's evil green spell as it kissed Harry's forehead.
In the aftermath, the Dark Lord was nowhere to be found, eradicated without a trace. All that remained were two wailing children, one bloody and helpless on the floor and the other alone in his crib, with a cut on his forehead.
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
Sirius Black defied the biting frigid night on his flying motorcycle, a formidable beast of steel and fire. His captivation with these Muggle contrivances had been a thorn in his mother's side, yet her disapproval only fueled his resolve.
This mechanical titan, a prize from Mary MacDonald's brother, had taken a year of clandestine tinkering to gain flight. Though it was mostly reserved for Order missions now, he relished the rare opportunities to take it for a joy ride.
Unlike James, who found tranquility in the grip of a broomstick, Sirius' sanctuary was among the clouds. The wind's bracing caress on his face and the intoxicating freedom of soaring above offered a fleeting reprieve from the haunting echoes of his tumultuous past. The sky beckoned him to his motorcycle's saddle whenever his scars threatened to consume him.
Aloft, he was unshackled. Not the estranged son of the Black family, not a negligent older brother, not a survivor bearing the untreated scars of abuse. He was simply Sirius, free to chart his path and make his own mistakes. Amid the clouds and stars, he was merely another creature, reveling in the boundless embrace of the open sky. His past, present, and all their burdens could do naught but watch from below as he savored his moment of solace.
He could cast off the yoke of trauma and expectation in the sky's boundless expanse. He felt genuinely alive and free above the world that dealt him such harsh hands.
A sidecar brimmed with carefully chosen gifts for his godson Harry and the soon-to-arrive newborn. The prospect of spending time with Harry sparked joy within Sirius. With their unadulterated love and pure innocence, children were a soothing balm for his melancholy.
Being a godfather was Sirius' anchor. The Potters were his chosen family, and he would move mountains to ensure their safety. The Fidelius Charm had forced distance between them, limiting their meetings. Nevertheless, he planned to spend a few days with them for Christmas.
However, with Peter in hiding, their reunion would be one Marauder short. Or two, his mind corrected with a sting of regret, remembering Remus' long-ago departure from their merry band.
As Sirius descended, the muffled drone of his engine shattered the night below, its eerie echo reverberating from nowhere.
Sirius materialized from above, winking into existence as he landed.
Paralyzed with shock, he remained on his bike, his eyes drinking in the horrifying spectacle of the Potters' decimated home.
A child's anguished cry shattered his trance, his body lurching forward, his prized motorcycle abandoned with a resonating crash.
He bolted through the wreckage of the entrance, his boots crunching on shards and rubble. A horrific sight halted him: James Potter, his closest friend, and honorary brother, now a lifeless figure sprawled at the base of the stairs—a silent, stark testimony to a valiant but futile defense.
"No," Sirius' choked, his denial a raw wound in the quiet.
Harry's wails pierced through his stunned shock, along with a faint, unplaceable sound. His pulse pounding in his ears, Sirius sprinted up the stairs. With each step, his grief multiplied, expanding into an overwhelming weight that pressed upon his chest, stealing the air from his lungs.
The nursery was a war zone, with warmth and love replaced with chaos and destruction. Amid the havoc, Lily's lifeless body was a horrifying spectacle, her form awash in a gruesome red. Between her legs lay a newborn with signs of a recent birth.
Tears blurred his vision, each droplet a mirror to his heartache. Sirius swaddled the infant with trembling hands in a charred Gryffindor blanket he salvaged absentmindedly from the debris.
He hesitated, glancing at the newborn, her tiny face streaked with the aftermath of her birth. Thoughts of a cleaning spell crossed his mind, but he recoiled at the idea of casting magic on such fragile new life.
A fleeting vision of a vulnerable, newly-hatched bird crossed his mind. "Falcon," he whispered to the infant, "I'm Uncle Sirius, little one."
Harry's soft cry of 'Pafoo' shattered the haunting stillness.
Cradling the newborn gently in one arm, Sirius paused to collect himself before nearing the crib. In the muted light, the wet trails of tears glistened on Harry's plump cheeks, his eyes mirroring a depth of confusion and sorrow far too mature for his tender age. Noticing a fresh cut on Harry's forehead, he quickly cast a gentle healing charm, leaving behind a distinct lightning bolt scar.
Harry's tiny hand reached out to him. Hurriedly, Sirius scooped him up, holding him close. Fighting back his own tears, he whispered words of comfort to the toddler, gently shushing him, "Shh, it's okay, baby. I've got you." Harry's tiny fingers clung to Sirius' jacket.
As Sirius moved to leave the devastated nursery, they passed by Lily's lifeless form. Harry whimpered, "Mummy."
Sirius pulled Harry closer, kissing his forehead. "She's gone, little one," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.
He carefully descended the stairs. They came upon James' body. Harry's heartrending baby voice filled the air, his small hand reaching out as he called, "Dada." Tears blurred Sirius' vision, yet he whispered through his sobs, comforting the child. "I know, baby, I know."
Clasping the children to him, every step away from the house felt like leaving a piece of his heart behind. He tossed the gifts from his motorcycle's sidecar. He gently loaded the children into it while vowing, "I will take care of you now."