Chapter 67: Party Popper

Spending Christmas popping around the country wasn't exactly Sans's idea of an ideal holiday plan—which would involve significantly more blankets and sleeping—but it wasn't all that bad. He did enjoy the thrum in his magic when opening and closing shortcuts, and the longer range this needed was like a nice stretch after being shut-in.

Sans hadn't even known he could feel cooped up like that, until his first time out of the Underground. Up on the surface, with no barrier in the way, the distance he could cover just seemed to stretch on and on.

It was kind of strange, having that range all the time.

Anyway, first stop: dropping off the candy-gifts to the Roberts family. Easy enough. After a quick wave goodbye, he just stepped out of the Grimmauld Place entryway—

And his slippered foot landed in snow.

He blinked down at his feet, now covered in powdery white, then over to the cleared path barely a step to his right that led straight to the front door.

So maybe he needed a bit more practice with long-range travel.

The house up ahead was as snowy as the lawn, with a soft layer of white glittering along every surface—from roof to railings. There were even little icicles hanging off the eaves, right alongside strings of lights. The lights weren't lit quite yet, but they likely would be as soon as the sun set.

With the lights and the snow on the roof—even though the house was stone where his was wood, gray where his was brown—the scene reminded him even more closely of his home back in Snowdin.

Sans stepped onto the porch, taking a moment to refocus and double check that he had the candy baggies in easy reach. Well, 'in easy reach' given just a touch of spacial bending: his pockets weren't big enough for all the bags, so he'd had to leave them on a shelf in the Grimmauld kitchen.

Another centering non-breath, and then he rang the bell.

"Just a moment!" came a reply from farther into the house, and about a minute later the door pulled open.

Mrs. Roberts smiled at him; not too surprised to see him, so the note he'd sent went over well enough, and thankfully he didn't pick up any annoyance in her expression. Though as she glanced from illusory white hair to fuzzy pink slippers, there was a hint of—

"My goodness, Sans! You must be freezing!"

Ah, yes: concern.

She stepped aside, waving him in with all the authority of a worried mother. He was led all the way to the kitchen before he could even think to decline the offer. It was like he'd blinked and ended up somewhere else—no shortcut required. Sans stood there for a long moment, and only shook off the stun when Mr. Roberts murmured a distracted 'hello' from the other end of the kitchen table.

Despite the fact that he was wearing a sort of faux-button-up pajama shirt, the man was adjusting the fit of a pale blue bowtie: decorated with tiny whales rather than planets, but still an interesting enough pattern.

"nice bowtie," Sans found himself saying, somewhat randomly, as he tried to regain his metaphorical footing in the interaction. "i've had good luck using those as a basis for trust, you know."

"Have you really?" he asked, finally looking up. Then he seemed to properly process just who their visitor was, and smiled. "Oh, Sans! We were surprised to get your note yesterday, but… Wait, were you outside? Dressed like that?"

He glanced down to his pink slippers, then back up. "yes. yes, i was."

"It's a wonder he's not frozen stiff." Pausing what appeared to be teatime preparations, Mrs. Roberts stepped over to fix the bowtie her husband had left slightly crooked. "It's a cold, wet snow out there."

"anyway, sorry to drop in like this, i—"

"Oh, no, it's no trouble at all," she interjected, already back to the kettle. "You're just in time for tea, in fact! It should warm you right up."

"i'm not actually cold," he said, somewhat defensive. "it's a magic thing, you don't need to worry."

Mr. Roberts sent another assessing glance over his hoodie, and Sans shifted almost anxiously from one slippered foot to the other. "Is it magicked to keep you warm?"

"more like i'm magicked and don't get cold."

The two of them seemed to consider that for a moment, but she still pulled down five teacups. "Well, teatime warms a fellow up in more ways than just temperature. And it's Christmas, after all!" A pause, and she belatedly added, "Happy Christmas, by the way! I'm sure that the boys will be—"

"Sans!?"

"—along shortly." She smiled, shaking her head fondly. "And there you have it."

Sans turned to the doorway, where a pajama'd Miles was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. He raised a hand in a lazy wave. "merry christmas, right?"

Miles didn't wait up to share greetings, miming a very quick 'stay put' sort of gesture before vanishing almost immediately back around the corner. They could hear his footsteps racing away and up some unseen stairs.

(It was a relief to see the kid so spry, even after everything.)

"Boys," Mrs. Roberts huffed. Then she turned her attention back to her guest and pulled out a chair at the table. "Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon enough. Feel free to take a seat in the meantime, Sans. Make yourself at home."

"i really shouldn't stay too long," he waffled, still feeling weirdly wrong-footed. "i have to pick some people up for celebrations later this evening."

Technically not until well after night fell, but he didn't want to impose—

Mrs. Roberts was still determinedly preparing him a cup. "Come now, surely you have time for tea?"

"uh…"

"Yeah, Sans, c'mon," chimed a voice from the doorway, teasingly. "I bet Mum'll even let you have loads of biscuits, if you wanted."

"Miles," reproached the boy's mother, though she didn't actually disagree.

Will ducked past his brother and into the kitchen, beelining for a foil-covered plate.

"as tempting as that is, i don't—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Will had turned back around, now dramatically brandishing the plate of cookies. "Ah, but what if I wiggle them at you tantalizingly?"

He shook the plate slightly, and the cookies slid around a little.

Sans blinked at him, looked briefly down to the dish, then back up. A half-step closer and a broad smile brighter, Will just raised his eyebrows encouragingly. And—stars, the kid was too short and too young and too human, but he reminded Sans so much of Papyrus in that moment.

"welp." He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture before taking a cookie. "can't say 'no' to that."

Triumphant, Will set down the plate on the table in easy reach of all the seats.

Miles claimed a cookie for himself, taking the seat directly across from the disguised skeleton. He apparently felt well enough to run about the house—wonderful news—but there was still a tremor in his arms and legs, even when otherwise sitting still.

"I need you to settle something for me."

Sans quirked a brow, curious where he was going with that. "settle something?"

"Basically, on account of the whole magic thing, we're pretty sure you're older than you look," Miles continued, with Will nodding along at his left. "But we just can't agree on how much."

Mrs. Roberts flipped an hourglass, starting the countdown to tea, and turned back into the conversation. "It could be anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five, in my opinion."

"Twenty-seven," offered Mr. Roberts, perhaps just to be a tad contrary.

"So, like, maybe a decade older than he looks?" Taking a bite of his cookie, Miles chewed thoughtfully. "Or two decades?"

"My guess was four thousand n' two, by the way."

"do you mean four thousand and two decades," asked Sans, "or four hundred point two decades?"

After a brief pause, eyes narrowed a bit at the prospect of math, Will replied, "The latter, I think. Though now I'm wondering again…"

"twenty-seven's closer than four thousand, i'll give ya that. mostly." It was stated jokingly, even though he was actually kind of serious. The resets had really muddled things on that front—though definitely not to the thousands, at least. Sans shrugged. "it's really a question for the ages."

Will flopped forward onto the table, hands splayed, and made a muffled noise of annoyance at the vague answer.

"C'mon, just answer the question!"

Both of their parents were regarding him with open expressions—not judging, not even particularly worried, just… genuinely curious. The kids leaned more toward meddlesome, but still.

It struck him then that they didn't really know him very well, with just a few meetings and the still-in-progress attempts to sort out a mailing system that would work for two-way letters. But they wanted to know him better.

And, even though they didn't know much, they still trusted him.

Sans sighed, and decided to try something he'd always found to be very difficult: answer clearly. He always tried to be honest, though he wouldn't hesitate to obscure and understate, but being straightforward?—not so much.

"genuinely though… i'm not sure. it's a trickier question than you might think." He fiddled with the cookie he was still holding, mentally lining up his words to be just enough and not a bit more. "there was some… time magic involved. for a while. made counting hard."

Okay, so it wasn't the most straightforward answer. It was still better than most people would end up getting. And from the look of understanding the two kids shared, it was apparently enough.

Will gasped. "You're a time traveler?"

"well, no, but actually yes."

"Were you stuck in a time loop?" asked Miles, unexpectedly on-the-nose. "Like in that movie you were talking about, Dad, with the guy living the same day over and over."

Mr. Roberts blinked, then cringed slightly. "Hopefully not exactly like that film."

"i dunno what movie you mean," said Sans, "but it was a lot of repetition. for… reasons, i stuck very close to the same stuff, each reset. it blends together."

He left the sentence there, not sure what else he was willing—or even able—to say about the whole thing.

Detecting the heavy turn the conversation had taken, Miles quickly stuffed the rest of his cookie in his mouth and stood up. "Thanks for the answer… even if it does raise more questions—" He shook his head and turned toward the living room with purpose. "But now it's gift time!"

"But what about— Oh, and he's already gone." Shaking her head, Mrs. Roberts set about pouring everyone a steaming cup. "Well then. I suppose we can just give you your present over tea, Sans."

"you… got me a gift?"

"Uh, we don't actually know all that much about what you like," said Will, sounding somewhat nervous, "but we still wanted to get you something. Sorry if it's pants."

"…wouldn't you know if it was pants?" asked Sans, puzzled.

"It's just a saying," explained Mr. Roberts, as it seemed his boys didn't catch their guest's confusion. "From your accent, I take it you're American?

"some people would say that, yes."

"I suppose they don't use that phrase over the pond then." He took a sip of his tea, paused to give his compliments to the brewer, then refocused. "Calling something 'pants' is just a way of saying it's disappointing. They're worried you won't like it."

Miles was back from the decorated tree, wrapped gift in hand. He retook his seat, set the present on the table, and pushed it across with a little shove.

Sans intercepted before it knocked into a teacup or fell off the edge—it was rectangular, thin but broad, so he was guessing it was some kind of book. "and i have presents for you all, too."

He had already half-reached for his pockets—to set up the usual deflection, pretending to pull something out of his coat rather than through a shortcut—before realizing he didn't have to bother. Even if they'd been better versed with the conventional magics of this world, there was no need to pretend like that with this family. So, grinning, he went with the more direct option.

With a snap of his fingers, four gift bags fell out of thin air.

"Gracious!"

"Wicked!" Smile bright and wonder in his eyes, Will waved his hand through the empty space from which his baggie had fallen.

Miles eagerly snapped up his own gift, excited. But even so, he insisted: "You go first, Sans!"

"you'd let me? even if i…" he paused, "open it… very…" his fingers moved to the tape in an exaggeratedly unhurried motion, "…slowly…"

"Oh, just get on with it!"

Leaning back out of range of a playful swipe, Sans obligingly picked up the pace. He tore back the wrapping paper to reveal that it was, as he'd guessed, a hard-cover book. It was a little worn around the edges, probably bought second-hand, but the title still stood out in clear silver lettering: "The Funny Bone".

It was a joke book.

Sans flipped the cover open, grinning as he skimmed through the sets of one-off wordplay and convoluted long-form setups to a single pun. There were even some knock-knock jokes mixed in.

Toriel would have loved those.

Stars, that thought hit out of nowhere—inevitable, in hindsight, but unexpected.

And it was only the first of many, of course.

Because Papyrus would've had a lot to say about the gift, everything from compliments on how appropriate it was and admiring the cartoonish bone on the cover all the way to bemoaning the unavoidable influx of puns the book would no-doubt bring on. As if his brother didn't also enjoy clever word-based japes.

"well," Sans said, after turning a few more pages and regaining the voice he'd lost. "this is… you couldn't have found a better fit, honestly. and here i was, thinking my gift was pretty sweet."

"So… you like it?" asked Will, up on his knees in his chair to better watch the action.

"it's perfect." Sans smiled—not his default grin, but a genuine smile. He put the book down and set his cookie on top. "now it's your turn, right?"

"We should all open them at the same time," said Miles, and it was hard to tell if it was tremors or sheer excitement that had his hands shaking so much.

His mother chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile. "At a count of three, perhaps?"

"One!" the father started.

"Two!"

"Three!" yelled Will, and there was a flurry of laughs and paper-noises as the four opened their bags of candy.

"there's probably a joke here about laughter being the best medicine and a spoonful of sugar, but i dunno where," Sans quipped, as they got a look at what was in the baggies. "hey, maybe the book'll have some tips."

"Candy, of course. That explains the quip," said Mrs. Roberts with an amused sigh. "And quite the assortment, it would seem!"

Mr. Roberts clapped his hands. "'Pretty sweet', indeed!"

"some of the candy comes courtesy of pat, by the way," said Sans, somewhat warningly. "he's a bit of a prankster, so they have a variety of effects."

Will, who was already chewing on a piece, froze in place. The magically iridescent wrapper in his hand changed colors to bubblegum pink, and a moment later the boy's hair followed suit.

"I see that," Mrs. Roberts remarked, almost laughing again. She'd also found the included note and was reading through the list.

"What about this one?" Miles held up one of the plain-paper candies.

"ah, that's one of mine actually."

"Yours?"

"made 'em myself." A stray round candy rolled across the table, and Sans flicked it back toward the younger brother. "contrary to most sweets, it's actually good for your health. good for the SOUL, really."

Will, who had been going a bit cross-eyed trying to watch his bangs change color, blinked and refocused. "Wait… Is it, like, a healing item?"

"it could be considered that, yeah."

With a glance from the candy to the candy-maker, Miles remarked, "I thought you weren't good with healing stuff."

"i'm really not." Sans shrugged. "but using a knife for surgery and using one for cooking are two very different things."

"If it can heal stuff, is it only things like cuts and bruises?" asked Will, partitioning out all the Monster Candy from the rest of them. "Or, well… could it help Miles?"

The brother in question twitched, accidentally dropping the sweet from his shaky grip. "Do you reckon it could?"

"cuts and bruises, yeah." He didn't have a definite answer for the further option, even though he had plenty of theories based on what he knew of the treat and what needed to be treated. "i think it will, but there's only one way to find out."

Miles picked up the candy again, took a deep breath, then popped it into his mouth. There was short, wavering sound—strummed magic running head to toe and back again—and then he was still.

Still.

The boy stared at his hands for a long moment, eyes wide.

"Oh, my goodness," Mrs. Roberts breathed, the list she'd been looking over completely forgotten. She stepped around the table to her son and took his hands in her own. "Oh my goodness."

"it should help with any… bad dreams, too. maybe." The theory was sound, at least, though untested. "candy can't fix everything, unfortunately, but—"

"Sans," Mr. Roberts had stood as well, but it was just so that he could push the whole tray of cookies across the table. "Take another biscuit. Or two. Or twenty." He smiled. "There is, quite literally, no greater gift you could have given us."

"i just—"

"Thank you." That was Miles: his voice was quieter than it had been, but his smile was no less bright. "Thank you—so, so much."

So, yes… Sans ended up staying for tea—which was delicious.

And he ended up staying longer, after, cajoled into chatting about wizard school and magic in general and advising about the various prank candies. The parents refrained from trying any of the shenanigan-sweets, though Mr. Roberts seemed sorely tempted. It was nice.

Fun.

Relaxing.

(Even as he missed his own family—the similarities ached.)

As it got later and later, Sans shifted some of his focus to his next destination: Hogwarts castle, Dumbledore's office. Listening through a shortcut—with a bit of magical attention, too—he waited for an opportunity to pop in and drop off the letter. The busy room had quite a lot to keep track of, but the pseudo-sentient paintings were a particular focus. An actual witness would not be ideal, after all.

And, sure, perhaps he could technically just drop the letter through all by itself. That was the backup plan, and normally he would have just defaulted to it. But given the opportunity…

Well, he could admit to a certain degree of curiosity about the office for the headmaster of a magical school housed inside a castle.

The enchantment on the final portrait fell quiet just as the sun was setting. After waiting a minute or so longer, just to be safe, he decided the coast was as clear as it was going to get.

"it was good to see you all again," he said, standing up. Palms flat over his new book on the table, he pushed it down through a shortcut for safe keeping. "but i really should get goin'."

"It is getting rather late, isn't it," Mrs. Roberts agreed, glancing out the window to the darkening sky.

"Aw, seriously?"

They all filed back to the front of the house, saying goodbyes and farewells, before opening the door to a chilly twilight. The sunset colors reflected off the snow, but the glittering gold was already dimming back into silver white.

Sans noticed that the decorative lights on the roof had turned on at some point.

"So, how are you getting back?" asked Miles, looking around the front of the house. It was rapidly getting dark, but it was still bright enough for him to point out the disturbed snow where Sans had misjudged his arrival. "Did you land there? Flew in on a broom or something?"

"no brooms," Sans said, firmly. His experience during the flying class had certainly cemented his distaste for that mode of transport.

Will stepped onto the porch with them. "Flying carpet?"

"nope, nothing so fancy." But then, seeing both boys' disappointed expressions, he had to clarify: "i mean, i'm no good at flying a broom. and a flying carpet is probably really expensive, especially since i know a good shortcut."

"A shortcut?"

"the shortest," he agreed.

"…Wait, is this like last time?" Miles had apparently figured it out. "Where you vanish before—"

Sans just grinned and took one step off the porch with a jaunty wave. Of course, he didn't land on the next step down. He heard a few exclamations of amusement—capped by the father's loud startled laugh—before the out-of-place space was cut off.

It was a very eclectic office, which suited what he knew of the old headmaster—any office for a wizard happy to unironically wear caricature mage robes simply had to be chock full of random magical stuff. Which naturally included quite a few enchanted portraits, presumably of past headmasters. His efforts scouting ahead had paid off, and all were either sleeping or their frames were empty at the moment.

And, obviously, the current headmaster was not present.

But, apparently, that didn't mean the office was empty.

One step in and a shocked squawk from the other side of the office immediately caught his attention. Sans turned to the startled-awake eyes of a red-plumed bird whose feathers were puffed up—red and gold quite literally ruffled in surprise. There was a soft click-click as his long beak opened and shut, gaping at the unexpected visitor.

"hello there," Sans greeted, masking his own surprise with a grin. While he'd noticed the magical hot-spot in that corner of the office, he hadn't actually registered that the feathered lump was a living creature. Armed with that new knowledge and the feeling of toasty magic, he guessed: "you're a phoenix, right?"

The bird tilted his head again, with another beak-click and a low whistle in both confirmation and question. Although Sans wasn't as fluent at bird as he was in dog or even frog, there actually tended to be a lot of overlap for magical creatures. He could manage.

"i'm just here to drop off a letter," he replied, holding it out for the magical bird to investigate.

The phoenix peered at it for a long moment, considering, before gesturing toward the desk with his beak—that seemed to be permission to proceed. Moving along his perch, one clawed foot after another, the bird peered curiously at him as he dropped the envelope on a section that wasn't covered by papers or trinkets. Front and center, so that it couldn't be overlooked.

A melodic trill, and when he turned back around he found that the bird had quietly moved from his perch to get quite a bit closer—beak down and head up, less than a foot away, looking right at him eye to disguised-eye-socket.

That is a big bird.

"uh…" Sans shifted back half a step. "ever heard of personal space?"

The bird fluffed up his feathers, head quirked to the side now.

"yeah, point, i'm invading private property or whatever. you knew what i meant." He waved that off. "anyway, do you happen to have a name?"

That prompted another musical whistle, undertones and overtones of magic that seemed to reach right into the SOUL with a feather-light soothing touch. A lovely name, if not one he could properly emulate.

"got one i have a chance at saying without months of practice?"

The phoenix quite distinctly rolled its eyes, then looked back toward its perch. A small nameplate he hadn't noticed before spelled out "Fawkes" in clear lettering.

"fawkes, then. nice name." He stuck out a hand, more out of habit than any expectation that the bird would return a handshake. "i'm sans. sans the… uh, perfectly normal student."

Taken aback, Fawkes blinked at him. Just once. Then, pointedly, the bird looked between him and the otherwise unremarkable patch of rug on which he had appeared. It was such a deadpan stare that Sans couldn't help but laugh.

"yeah, you're right, that was kinda suspicious." Present circumstances certainly made his usual cover completely flimsy. "well, just between you and me, i'm actually here undercover."

That got an inquisitive head-tilt.

Sans leaned back against the arm of the plush desk chair, taking a moment to consider what he would (or could) share. "due to… complicated reasons, to put it mildly, an associate of mine learned that there's a pretty big chance ol' voldie will try to use the tournament to come back to life."

Fawkes reared back, feathers puffed up, blatantly appalled by the possibility.

"i know, right?" He shrugged, at a commiserative loss. "why can't the antagonists ever have the good sense to stay dead?"

After taking a moment to tuck his wings back, preening disgruntlement back into order, the phoenix whistled the obvious follow-up question.

"how the tournament is involved? honestly, unsure."

A snort—or as close to a snort as a beaked creature could manage.

"so what if a little doggie told me instead of a little birdie, it's still true," said Sans, smiling. He gestured vaguely to a gilded so-called 'casket' sitting just to the right of the desk, recognizing it as the box that held the Goblet of Fire. "the tournament's definitely part of the scheme. why else would a fourth name have been picked?"

Fawkes had to concede that point.

"besides," he continued, "we do know the most important bit: why he'd be able to come back at all."

Just-settled feathers fluffed right back up again, though this time with less botheration and more keen interest. He chirped a prompting note.

"horcruxes. and yes, there's multiple."

The puffed feathers were once again distinctly disgusted. But he also caught an almost unsurprised flavor to the gesture, and a bird-quick glance to one of the cabinets.

Curious, he reached out his more magical senses to check over things. Books, magical doodads and whatsits, other assorted thingamabobs—there was nothing out of place or too-far unusual for the office of the headmaster at a wizard school.

Except…

His sense brushed up against a weirdly empty-feeling space, a dead object, a thankfully hollowed-out wrong-that-had-been. Something in there was just a shell of darkness, and it was stained.

It was like the locket, after the horcrux within had been destroyed.

Well, kinda—same situation, sloppier execution. The SOUL shard that had been in there was definitely squashed, no doubt about that, but it hadn't been cleaned up very thoroughly. Both metaphorically and metaphysically, it was still stinking up the place.

Yuck.

Sans wandered in that general direction, heading to a closed cabinet tucked deeper into the office. "hey, for no particular reason," he said, pausing to look back toward the phoenix, "do you happen to know about any, say, busted up mysterious rectangle with frankly rancid vibes that ol' dumbles might keep in there?"

Fawkes trilled an unhappy affirmative.

"it's a… did you say 'book' or 'diary'?" The bird chirruped and Sans raised a brow. "a diary, then. huh—gotta say, from what i've heard of the guy, voldy really did not strike me as a journaling type."

And that earned a distinctly avian chuckle.

He reached for the cabinet latch, then glanced back. "uh, do you mind if i go ahead and take a peek?"

The bird drew one wing forward in an almost-shrug, a very human-looking gesture that Sans rightly took as permission to snoop. He swung the wooden cabinet silently open, and thankfully no previously-unnoticed alarm-charms were triggered. And those that he had noticed, he'd already brushed with a touch of still-blue magic to temporarily silence.

(As far as he could tell, anyway. Sans figured he'd have to be fast regardless, just in case.)

It only took a quick glance to spot what he was looking for: a dark notebook that looked to have been stabbed clear through, front to back, by some sharp thing as big around as his femur. The torn pages were stained black, though it was hard to say if that was corruption from the horcrux itself or residue from whatever had skewered it.

So at least this one had already been taken care of.

The SOUL shard was long-since destroyed—plainly evident by the torn-up hole—but it had left quite the impression. An almost-slime coating spread across the indent of conspicuous absence, large enough for him to confidently say the horcrux had been half of a full whole.

No wonder it had left behind so much magical… carrion.

Sans shivered, unsettled by that mental image, and with a twist of red and blue he formed a purple wash to clear away the lingering corruption.

"well, alright then." He turned the book over in his hands one more time before returning it to the shelf and closing the cabinet once more. He released his blue magic grip on the various immaterial tripwires. "guess that's two down, and however many more to go. i should make a list."

His attention was rather stumblingly refocused when the phoenix swooped to land on his narrow shoulder. Fawkes plonked his golden beak right down over his illusionary hair with a bone-on-beak clack. Sans couldn't see the bird's expression from the present angle, but the following distinctly curious clack-clacks against his skull was a sure sign of puzzlement.

"yeah, i have a hard head," he shrugged. "didja need my attention on something?"

Feathers in his peripherals gestured, so he'd likely hit the nail on the head. With a trill, Fawkes turned (and, as his head was still firmly planted on Sans's, turned him as well) toward the door.

"ah. perhaps my stealth was not up to par." Sans peeked through a shortcut, quickly spotting the headmaster coming up toward the gargoyle statue guarding his office. "i suppose that's my cue to leave."

The phoenix whistled again, disappointed.

"hey, maybe we'll have more time later. when i'm not in the middle of breaking and entering." A glance around the room found everything just as he'd found it—with the addition of one envelope—so he amended, "not that i broke anything, but… you know what i mean."

There was a slight rumble from beyond the office, as what felt like a magical escalator hummed to life. The bird glanced that way, then nodded—still reluctant to say goodbye to his interesting guest but willing to settle for the implied deal.

Fawkes flew back to his normal perch, making Sans stumble a bit on take-off. The phoenix sang an apology back—and a thank you.

"yeah, happy to help," replied Sans, a bit rushed. "can't imagine having that dead diary stinking up your room was very fun. but i gotta fly now."

Sans flexed his magic and stepped out of the office, the invisible seam in reality closing behind him just as the door handle turned.

And, once again, his slippered feet landed in snow.

Not that there were any non-snowy alternatives this time. No good ones, anyway; the closest clear area was along the narrow lip of the windowsill, which didn't make nearly as good of a lounging spot compared to the peaked roof over the window itself.

Technically, he could have just returned to Grimmauld; even if he would've had to return to the castle later, teleportation makes efficient routing basically unnecessary. But watching the stars from the roof of the Astronomy Tower was honestly too good to pass up.

But first—

Sans opened a shortcut to his candy stash and grabbed five baggies. These were then dropped back through another shortcut, one at a time, with a flicker to reconnect to a different common room as needed: that took care of Neville, Fred and George, Luna, and Laura. The remaining gifts would be in-person affairs. Mainly because he knew he would see them all soon enough, but specifically because he didn't know any drop-off spots for Viktor and Fleur.

He dusted off his hands—and a section of the roof—before taking a seat. Now it's just a matter of waiting.

Far below, in the overly-decorated Great Hall, the ball was in full swing. That much was obvious just from the sound of loud music through a quick observation shortcut. Given that he couldn't just whisk Harry and Hermione away in the middle of the event—this whole shebang was centered on the tournament, after all, and the former was one of the four champions—the party would just have to run its course for a while.

The mid-air peep-hole gave him a pretty good overview of the Yule Ball. Sans was surprised to spot Cassius and Fleur on the outskirts of the dance floor, actually moving along to the upbeat music rather than just participating at a minimum. It even looked like Cass had let go of some of his perpetual tension.

Keyword being 'some', of course, but it was still progress.

Given that the Slytherin wouldn't be joining them at Grimmauld—a subject of some debate, but ultimately up to Sirius—it was good to see that he seemed to be having an alright time down there.

Sans let the opening fall shut, cutting off the song mid-bar, and relaxed into the snowy silence. He would just check in again in an hour or so. Once other people started to leave on their own, they'd probably be in the clear to make an exit.

So.

Waiting.

At least it was good clear weather, he mused, leaning back against the snowy roof shingles as he watched the stars twinkle overhead. The last-quarter moon had set hours ago—back just before noon, if he was remembering the phases correctly—which left the sky nicely dark and perfect for stargazing.

And napping, too. He imagined he'd do a bit of both before it'd be time to head out.

Which did prove to be the case, as Sans eventually nodded off after he'd finished tracing out all the once-unfamiliar constellations he could spot.

It was some time later that he was pulled from his half-doze by the sound of a bell striking in the Clock Tower. It rang quite a few times, though he hadn't been keeping count from when it started. Regardless, it had been a while since he'd last checked in on the ball.

Magic connected the two spaces, and—

Well, the music is still going strong.

He repositioned the exit point to be farther from the loud musicians, then glanced over the activity. There were still a good number of people dancing, but noticeably less than there had been earlier.

Which meant Harry and Hermione could probably leave whenever they were ready.

Sans watched the celebration through the shortcut for a little bit, regretting not setting up a specific pick-up time and wondering how to best get the kids' attention. It was too noisy to simply speak through the shortcut without having to almost-yell, which anyone close enough might overhear, and he wasn't sure they would notice if he dropped a note through. Plus, one of their dates might spot it first. And a hand sticking out of thin air to pass it directly, as effective as that would be, would raise many unwanted questions if someone else noticed.

So, yes, a set pick-up time would have been nice.

But then again, if they had a set pick-up time, it would have meant arbitrarily cutting off the kids' fun at the party. Which would have been a shame, apparently; despite their initial misgivings—Harry especially—they're actually enjoying themselves.

The four had claimed a table on one of the quieter edges—still too loud, in his opinion, but they only needed to raise their voices a little to be able to chat. Hermione and Viktor seemed to be discussing properties of common enchantments while Harry and his unexpected Hufflepuff partner were happily talking Quidditch.

Sans didn't want to eavesdrop too closely, but plainly they all got along. As such, just letting them know that he was around so that they could chose when to leave was an unplanned but nonetheless fortuitous setup.

Which still left the matter of how.

Sneaking in more directly was looking to be the best option, annoyingly: most risk for being caught, technically, but least potential fallout as well. He'd just be a first-year who wasn't supposed to be allowed in and nothing more.

Might as well get right to it then.

After scoping out options for a bit longer, he noticed a comparatively out-of-the-way table nearly taller than he was—designed for people to stand around rather than sit, he assumed. It had a suitably long table cloth and nobody in the immediate area, so it'd be a decent entry point.

Sans stood up and stretched, dusted off the snow, then stepped through yet another shortcut.

It was a lot louder in person than it had been through his little viewing window.

Grimacing, he ducked out from under the table and tried to orient himself in the busy decoration-encrusted hall. If he recalled correctly, their table should be over—

"You're not meant to be here."

Sans stopped short, then turned slowly. For the second time in as many minutes, he'd completely overlooked an entire living being.

Yeesh. He was really out of practice.

The professor wasn't actually one he recognized, save by description—with her multicolored shawls, frizzy hair, and large round glasses, Professor Trelawney was plenty distinctive. But apparently so was he, as she identified him easily enough.

"Mr. Skelton, yes? A first year?" She squinted down at him though her thick lenses, hands holding a small glass of champagne.

Oh yeah. Completely busted.

"that's me," he said, backing away. "i'm just passing through, didn't mean to brush into anyone. i'll just, uh, get out of your hair now."

She shook her head, decorative scarves and bangles bouncing, and reached out. "Now wait just one minute, young man—"

Her hand closed on his shoulder—

And several things happened at once.

Her sentence was cut off by… something suddenly swirling into her lens-large eyes. It wasn't on any visible spectrum—magic or mundane—but the edge of the blue magic filling out his disguise shivered. He recognized the feel of it. Bare instants of instability, like light glimmering off the surface of a disturbed pool, distorted just so by ripples in…

Time.

This had something to do with time? What—

Sounds started to go a bit strange, the music distanced and muted by an encompassing weight. From the confused glances he noticed, it wasn't just a localized effect. Her grip on his shoulder only grew stronger, even as her other hand went slack and dropped her champagne glass.

It shattered, almost unnaturally loud.

Her eyes had gone unfocused, distant, and she obviously wasn't seeing things on the same plane as everyone else for the moment.

And then she started to speak.

"The immovable shall be moved by one and six, by seven and one… barriers turn at the seams… unity will bring us to the secret's final end… as a judge shall weight the scale, all finally freed from under the veil… moved by one and six… by seven… and one…"

As she spoke, echoing, there was a weight to her words that simply hadn't been there before—a certainty and a clarity that cut through straight to the SOUL.

A promise.

Sans grimaced, very much aware that he'd suddenly and very uncomfortably become the center of attention—the music had long since petered out. "cool, sure, don't know why you're doing this now, of all times—"

"Seek the Veil," she said, her voice still too loud and too harsh. Too much not-her-own.

"what?"

"Seek the Veil," she repeated, and she kept repeating those three words until her voice finally drifted off into hoarse silence. At last too exhausted to continue, Trelawney folded to her knees. Her tight grip on his shoulder was the only thing keeping her off the floor, and, when it finally loosened, he had to act fast to keep her from faceplanting.

Sans blinked down at her, then at the far-too-many party-goers who had witnessed whatever odd temporally-induced breakdown that had been.

"so, uh…" he cleared his non-existent throat, "anyone know what to take away from that?"

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

Happy holidays, everyone, and best wishes for the coming New Year!
I am both annoyed with myself for taking so long and very amused by the fact that the Christmas chapter ended up coming out on Christmas Eve. At least it's fitting!

I have been sitting on that prophecy for literal years now. Hopefully you are as enthused to see it happen as I am/was to finally write it!

Unfortunately, I cannot say when the next chapter will be out—either for Under the Veil or The Undesired Second Chance. I do know the next steps for UtV, with bits of the next chapter plotted out, but my brain is telling me that my original overall plan for TU2ndC needs to be tweaked.
Energy and life willing, it won't be quite as long for the next chapter as it was for this one!

As always, thanks for all of the favorites, follows, and reviews! I really appreciate all the support!

Join the Discord if you're interested! Invite code: m3CFXnC

Stay safe, and see ya on the flipside, everyone!