Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Light.

That was the first thing that came to my mind when a flash nearly blinded me.

The second thing? “If I find the damn Incubus who left me like this, I’ll turn him into a pair of boots.” I thought, for I felt as if I had been through the meat grinder a few times. My whole body ached and my head was about to explode, plus my memories were a hideous mess. Immediately, I began a breathing exercise, and gradually the pain and confusion eased. As I got my mind in order, I took note of my surroundings.

I was lying on the floor of a seemingly deserted road and the clear, cloudless sky, which was the source of the light that blinded me, shared the endless horizon with the strangely straight, mountainless land. I looked around and saw a whitish yellow arid landscape with tall dry grass, the few trees I could see were gnarled and struggling to survive in the devastated environment and, near the road, there were some thorny bushes accompanied by more withered vegetation. The main thing was that no matter which direction I looked, I couldn’t see any signs of civilization other than the road itself, which also looked abandoned — due to the cracks and missing pieces, leaving obvious holes at the edges.

Then I looked at myself and how I was dressed: my most comfortable ripped jeans, baggy and deep pockets, secured around my waist with a black leather sash; a white, tight-fitting T-shirt decorated with lyrics from some songs and some loose musical notes between the phrases; one of my favourite hoodies, with sleeves cut off at the shoulders like a vest, patches and fits scattered throughout, hood down with drawstring tucked inside the zipper, and huge pockets on both sides; and, on my feet, my best pair of Victorian boots.

My survival instincts kicked in when I realised the vest pockets were full, so I started rummaging through them and my pants pockets. I was relieved to see my street kit complete: a sturdy Swiss Army knife, a pair of small spools of thread and sewing needles, my dagger, a handmade notebook with an HB pencil and an eraser, a small steel bottle with the shadow of a distorted coat of arms, long faded from use, a nail clipper and my coin purse. I was also happy to note that my accessories were intact: my beaten leather bracelets decorated with Celtic patterns, ten steel rings, a choker with the usual pendants, my little plaque engraved with a design of a wolf and a dragon and the word “Protection” at the base, my treble clef and little amethyst heart, and last but not least, my earrings and piercings in my lower lip and left eyebrow.

With the outside checked, I felt safe enough to look inside, in fact, to my last memories. My most recent memory was saying goodbye to my brother; we had a nice family get-together, my great-nephew’s wedding anniversary, and I offered to make dinner for everyone at my house — I lived alone, so it was always nice to have family over from time to time. After everyone left, I remember going to the library and sitting by the window, in the far corner of the door where there was the best lighting in the house for my age-weary eyes. I had my drawing material in hand. I remember wanting to give a painting as a gift to my nephew. I also remember closing my eyes to better visualise the image I wanted to put on paper... and then nothing. Apparently, I died in my sleep. And then I woke up here.

Taking in the details, I noticed that I was young again; my skin, previously covered with light spots and flaccidity, was firm and healthy, and my hair, once thin, grey and lacking in shine, was full, long and lustrous. Going by the accessories I had with me, it was a pretty safe bet to say I must have been in my mid-twenties body. I tried to organise my mind better, and for a few seconds I was surprised at how easily certain memories came back to me, memories I thought I had lost a long time ago. However, I was pleased to note that my mind was sharp and focused, as it should be.

Anyway, I couldn’t just sit still, so I had an amusing memory of certain captains, and I decided to follow their example. “Choose a direction and walk. Now... Which way?”

I took a closer look at both sides of the road and realised that this one looked a lot like the stretch of road I crossed on a trip with my family as a child. And luckily, I noticed a small sign: “km”. The numerical part and the national identification were erased. Strange.

“Bah, whatever. Whichever path I take, I’m going to get somewhere, at some point... so, that way”, and I headed towards the sign I had seen and, as I walked, I let my mind wander: “But... quick question: how the hell did I end up here to begin with? Because of course the “where” will be answered when I arrive... Soon... Wait! Stop… Come again? Why the hell is there a reaper(?) standing in the middle of the road when, of course, my soul has already been taken from the plane of the living?” was what went through my head as I tried to process what I had just seen.

Okay, just to be clear: I can usually get along just by going with the flow of things around me, which is no surprise given that I'm a child of gipsies — rapid adaptation to change is written in my DNA. Also, after having read and imagined everything my mind was able to create from the moment I started playing, (creating and learning from my creations since I was 3 years old), there are very few things that can really surprise me any more.

Or at least that’s what I wanted to believe.

However, what was before me was a being out of some fantasy reality, which I spent much of my adolescence and adult life reading, studying and writing about. My mind went into a moment of overdrive, which forced me to stop for a few moments in order to get my thoughts in order.

I will try to describe what was before me: the most common of Death's avatars, tall, with a long hooded cloak that seemed to dissolve just before it hit the ground, and in one hand — pale yet clearly human —, a beautiful scythe with a blade made of a material so dark it seemed to suck the light around it, the handle made of bone-white wood. Poplar wood, if I'm not mistaken. The most unusual thing, however, was that Ceifeiro was parked in front of what looked like a typical bus stop, one of those with random banners and banners advertising local attractions on a panel at the back of the structure.

My point was: all my life, I have always respected one entity above all others, Death. It wasn’t hard to understand why, as my family had always been involved with magic and “the invisible”, as my grandmother used to say. And having an avatar of Death just a few metres away from me, on a deserted road... The feeling of déjà vu was hitting me hard... I had already understood and accepted the fact that I had ended up in Limbo, despite not knowing or understanding “why I was there” and “how I got there”. However, something told me that my questions would soon be answered.

“Well... whatever happens from here on out... so be it.” It was with that little prayer that I continued walking with careful but determined steps in the same direction, pretending that nothing had happened. I almost walked right past the Reaper, ready to keep his presence in the back of my mind like a statue. Until I heard his voice, loud and clear, as if he were on my side.

“I’ve been watching you for some time, Lyra.” The voice was ethereal and androgynous. “I have a great proposition for you, if you're willing to listen.” I stopped where I was and turned around to get a better look at him.

The Reaper lifted his head and lowered his hood so I could see his face: aristocratic features, high cheekbones, thin lips, fair skin, hair as black as the scythe blade in his hand and gently wavy, framing features as ethereal as the voice I heard. Then, I found myself trapped in the deepest pair of emerald green eyes… green eyes that were extremely familiar and strange at the same time. If, before, the feeling of “déjà-vu” was strong, that moment was as if the pieces of the puzzle I had in my hands were creating meaning and form... However, I still wasn't sure what the meaning of the painting was. that I had in front of me.

“Well, well, look who we have here: the Master of Death himself.” As much as, on the outside, I was exerting all my self-control to appear calm and relaxed, I felt my heart pound in my chest and had to hide my shaking hands as casually as possible in my vest pockets, trying to look nonchalant. However, what he said about a proposal caught my attention. I tilted my head doubtfully but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Suddenly, with dizzying speed, all the references, theories and stories I had in my memory about Harry James Potter (and his variants) taking on the role of Master of Death flooded my mind and organised themselves. As far as I could make out, I had come across one of the many versions of him who embraced existence as ‘MoD’: an immortal, ethereal being that wanders between worlds and dimensions.

Terms like time travel, multiverse, interdimensional travel etc were the ones that definitely popped up on the surface of my thoughts... “OK, I think I might have a pretty good idea of what I’m about to face.” Goosebumps ran through my body as I concluded that even if I hadn’t died and could go back to my previous life, I wouldn’t be the same person.

“Very good… I see your mind is as rushed as usual, if you think you’ve deduced what's about to happen,” he says in a teasing tone.

“Of course, legilimency is a great skill to have on hand at times like this.” I thought sourly, and his amused reply only confirmed my deduction:

“Yes, indeed it is. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?” Finishing speaking, the Reaper gestured behind him with his hand, pointing to the bus stop I’d noticed earlier. More specifically, he pointed toward the board that filled the panel at the back of the bus stop.

The image was strange and familiar at the same time: it portrayed a huge tree surrounded by several other smaller and thinner trees, as if the entire forest was connected, either by the branches concentrated in the canopy as if supporting the top of the forest, or by the roots. that cut through the earth like the veins and sinews of a body. The vibrant colours of the forest were camouflaged by a soft mist that snaked through the trunks, and as much as my mind told me that this was just a normal picture, every second I spent watching it I had the distinct impression that something was going to start to move in the next second. I came to myself when I felt a slender, firm hand holding my arm, and then I realised that, in my trance, while admiring the panel, I had approached the structure and was standing beside the Reaper.

We stared at each other for a few seconds while I cleared the rest of the stupor from my mind. When I was sure I was completely in control of myself, I silently gestured that I was fine, and he then led us to sit on the bench in front of the painting.

We sat side by side, and before I could ask any coherent questions, the Reaper began to explain:

“What just happened, strangely enough, was expected.” He looked over his shoulder at the board with an expression I couldn’t read. “That, my dear, is nothing more than a window into what you know as Yggdrasil, or perhaps by ‘Forest of Lakes’” when he mentioned the Forest, the image changed, depicting exactly what I would have expected to see if found myself in possession of a pair of alchemical rings, one green and one yellow. “You felt its attraction because, like so many others before you, you, my dear Lyra, indulged in the pleasures of living more than a thousand lives before you died.”

I looked at the picture again, more closely this time, and I could notice small details that, in my previous trance, I hadn’t noticed. In fact, the landscape seemed to move with the softness of a breeze that didn’t pass us, and a faint scent of wet earth, decaying leaves, fresh wood and moss, enveloped me. I shook my head to break the spell again and looked back at the entity beside me.

“Which means you are one of many who can safely cross through this window. However, there are few who can reach another reality while also having the ability to adapt enough to live and thrive in it.” The emerald eyes looked at me with unexpected expectation.

“And you’re telling me this because?...” Although I knew, rationally, that in a few hours I would wake up to a new life, my sense of “realism” and survival demanded that I be sure of all the facts before agreeing. with anything.

“Well, as it’s already clear that you will accept my first proposal…” he watched me for a few moments and I just stared back at him, allowing access to my thoughts, waiting to see what he would say. “I believe you are familiar with the history of my world, right?” I silently nod yes, as I wasn’t completely confident that my stance would remain steady for the duration of a sentence. “So, you know that there are some...events that were of great importance to the wizarding world, especially in Great Britain…”

Again, I have an influx of information and memories about all the events that, for so many years, I had branded in my mind. Names, events and all variations, distorted or not, surfaced again in my thoughts, forcing me to take a deep breath and make an effort to get everything in order. I signalled for him to continue his explanation, however it took a while for him to speak again. Sometimes it felt like he was lost in his memories, just like I was. He, however, carried an air of regret that I still couldn’t understand the origin of.

“As you deduced, I want to send you to a version of my original world” I stared at him for a moment to make sure I heard correctly.

“But why offer me something like that?” Not that I wasn’t inclined to accept, though, it’s just not in my nature to accept proposals or requests without really knowing what I’m getting myself into. “Something very wrong must have happened for someone like you to ask someone like me for help.”

“Magic,” the Reaper said simply, and I stared at him poker-faced, unimpressed with the answer.

“Now I understand why this answer is so frustrating.” I thought, with an arched brow, waiting for him to elaborate on the answer.

“You have to understand that, a few centuries after the Great Battle of Hogwarts, in the dimension I came from, Magic was dying. Fewer and fewer wizards were born to magical families and areas with magical potential, such as the Leylines, for example, disappeared or became corrupted to the point where magic got out of control... in the end, I believe Tom was right. The loss of ancient traditions and blessings granted by Mother Magic through the rituals of yore…” He cut off, letting himself be carried away by the memories again. “So much has been lost, and it's all thanks to the botched attempt to integrate Muggle-borns into our community. The entanglement between wizards and muggles was doomed from the start…”

I could easily hear the pain he carried from the weariness in his voice.

“I understand your point, but what I don’t understand is: where do I fit into all of this?” I insisted. I really couldn’t understand, or rather didn’t want to believe what he, it seemed, wanted from me.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” I dared to say that the Reaper... it was hard not to call him Harry... looked at me with some expectation, as if he wanted me to come to the right conclusion on my own... but... there was still information missing...

“What do you want...? That I get there from absolutely nothing and change everything completely from scratch?!” I asked in an incredulous, almost hysterical tone. “Let it be clear that I refuse to take your place!” he said in reflection of the memories I had of his childhood.

“Not necessarily out of nowhere. And I don’t even wish what I experienced on someone else, no... but you can, for example, choose when to enter and I myself would guarantee your success in the beginning. But what I really want is for you to help... as you say... “that bunch of headless cockroaches”... to find a balance between wizards and muggles, or as close to it as possible, since my status as a world hero and scapegoat didn’t allow me to do as much as I'd like” he seemed surprised to watch me. “And I’m sure you, given the opportunity, can do… great harm on behalf of those you love.” I looked at him with an arched brow at such an understatement.

“Okay, let me get this straight: you want me to enter your universe at some point of my choosing and rewrite the history of the wizarding world, to keep the magic from disappearing completely…” In a typical sign of my agitation, I got up and started pacing back and forth in front of the Reaper. Even though decades had passed, I could never get rid of this particular habit, among a few others.

“And, by consequence, prevent the end of the world,” he said casually, interrupting my speech.

“Oh, yeah, and stop with the end of… Wait. WHAT?! What do you mean by the end of the world?” my mind was in overdrive again thinking through all the possibilities of how and why this would happen, as well as what I would have to do to prevent these results from happening.

“When a world is created with latent magic like mine, it becomes dependent on magic to remain stable; if magic ceases to exist, the world implodes and life is unable to sustain itself. It happened a few centuries after my generation” at that moment, I allowed myself to really see his eyes, after all the depth and power, I found a huge emptiness and deep pain... I had to turn my gaze to understand what I had just seen.

“You saw it happen, didn’t you?” My voice was low and my tone sombre.

“Yes, I saw.” his answer was solemn.

OK... I went back to walking in slow, controlled steps, trying to organise what I knew so far: first I die, then I wake up in Limbo. Not long after that, Harry Potter, Master of Death, appears in front of me and tells me that he wants me to enter the dimension he came from, because for some reason, which I can give at least three or four different names, the ancient rituals were no longer part of the wizarding culture and therefore Magic has weakened to the point of even being able to sustain life on earth, and he believes that I, a simple fan and reader, will be able to change things. to the point of not only preventing the apocalypse, but also living and thriving in a reality I’ve only come into contact with through endless hours of reading and speculation.

“Did I forget something?” I asked, pausing to look directly at him, as I was aware of my habit of musing aloud.

“Nope.” I dared to think that answer sounded almost jovial.

“Right” again, I searched my memory for everything I knew of the possibilities of what could be changed and how, or rather, who brought about the worst changes that led to this disastrous end. However… “Say, did the headmaster, when he showed you Tom’s backstory, come to comment on whether Merope Gaunt used Amortentia to have a relationship with Riddle Sr.?”

“Nothing but speculation” I could see his features closing. Was he even trying to understand what I was getting at? Possibly.

“Uhm…” I muttered, not paying much attention to his reactions. I ran the information through my mind a few times and considered the possibilities. The idea that was forming could be considered a “master’s move” by some and complete madness by others, but even so, I really believed that it was worth the risk. “Look, I can’t believe I’m going to say this myself, but I think... Trying to stop Tom, before he even thinks that avoiding death is a good idea, can, and will be, my best bet.”

“And do you know how, or rather when, you expect to arrive to change such a feat?”

“The how, my dear, is for me to decide and for you to find out. When, on the other hand, yes, I have a good idea. But first, a quick question: in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a witch like you… was…” OK, try talking to a being of infinite strength who started out as a wizard? Confusing. Focus! “How exactly do I?...”

“You didn't think you’d go without an active core, did you?” I must admit I breathed a sigh of relief. But he still hadn’t finished talking. “No, you will take the place of a descendant of one of the lost branches of the Gaunt family, a distant cousin, so to speak. Good enough for you?”

“Perfect,” I said with a wide smile that promised chaos and hellish pain for anyone who dared to interfere with my plans. My new life was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Plans.

It was the last word on my mind before waking up alone in a room that, after analysing the sounds coming from downstairs and the view from the window... Yes, I really was in a room in the Leaky Cauldron in London.

A simple room, with wooden walls and few details, a four-poster bed with burgundy curtains, semi-faded bedspreads, and a desk containing a letter next to a light pink beaded purse… “ He must be kidding me! ” I jumped out of bed and picked up the letter to read before taking any other action.

Lyra,

In the bag you will find your original clothes and belongings. Consider the bag as a good luck gift. If you know what I went through, you also know that this bag can hold much more than meets the eye. You may need it.

I took the liberty of making changes to some of your things: Your notebook now has no page limit and only you can open it, your bottle fills much more than just a glass and you have the appropriate money for the time and place at that you find yourself.

Good luck.

HJP

“ Okay, so let’s see... "

For starters, my clothes were totally and completely different: a white shirt with a wide collar and runes embroidered on the hem with white thread, black tight-waist pants held up by a leather belt a few inches wide, with legs so wide that, being made of a kind of satin, they looked like a skirt. And now I can see what looks like an overcoat hanging from a hook behind the door, my only solace is that my boots are the same. “ What can I do? I love the classics! ” Oh yes, and my accessories were still the same. I would have easily passed as an eccentric foreigner, something that fit perfectly with the story I thought of my supposed past.

“ Now about the contents of the bag… ” a small package with my modern clothes, and another package containing the things that were in my pockets, all intact and in the same state as I left them... But, of course, without regard to things like the notebook and my canteen... “ Alright, I won’t complain, enchantments are useful. ” I thought, with mild irritation. What bothered me, more than it should, I admit, was the fact that my belongings had been rummaged through.

“He said that only I can open the notebook... Ouch! My finger! Shit!” I feel a sharp pain in the tip of my index finger and in a reflex I bring it to my mouth, dropping the notebook on the bed, where I was sitting to organise my things, when I noticed a slight glow enveloping the notebook for a few moments. “Of course, the… Hell! It could not be otherwise? Why with blood? Ah... Hell, well, what matters now is... Aaargh! The sealing spell is already bound to me.” And so I continued mumbling for the minutes it took for the wound to close completely.

Well, he also mentioned something about money. I took my coin purse, which was just a handmade fabric bag, very sturdy and flexible, carefully in case I found more surprises like in the notebook. And I didn't come across anything, thank the Gods. I turned the bag over on the bed in front of me and dropped the money onto the sheets. Let's say that at that time I had a small fortune. After spending some time counting, I found it to be approximately 1,000 Galleons. I wanted to believe it was enough to keep me going at least until I got myself a home.

“If I remember correctly, Tom will be born later this year… Until then, I must prepare accordingly. Which reminds me: Plans.”

With notebook and pencil in hand, I started to make a list of what I might need:

• Find the nearest bank (Gringotts, as I'm close to Diagon Alley) and do an inheritance test to make sure the adoption order can't be revoked; while at the bank, open the safes and my accounts (a blood adoption ritual can give me a better guarantee that certain things will be avoided)
• Secure the purchase of the homes where I will spend my time raising and caring for Tom
• Providing and storing supplies and clothing for both of us
• Learn as much as possible about the magical community and traditions that would be lost over time.

“With that in mind, I can now start writing down whatever comes to mind and I know it might affect us… Although… wait a second.” My mind was swarming with scribbles of ideas and pseudo projects that had the potential to take over. much of my already limited time. “Since I’m going to, almost literally, throw away the original story, I don’t necessarily have to worry about holding back!” Yes, I can, and I will plan ahead carefully, but the magical community is about to experience a small but strong earthquake, I was sure of that!

My mind kept wandering between possibilities and events that would be beyond my control, especially when dealing with world-scale facts such as wars, magic and non-magic, as well as the American crisis. However, there were some factors that I would no longer give the slightest importance, because with my attitudes in the coming years, they would no longer be relevant for the future.

“Well, my goal for the next 100 years will be to ensure that Tom is guaranteed complete autonomy, full mental health and that he is well enough to take the Headmaster’s seat at Hogwarts or be elected Minister or some high-ranking post of that sort.” I spoke to myself again with the intention of leaving that goal etched in my memory. “Which reminds me: I need to meet people. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this at all? Arg, whatever! It is already a little late to change your mind.”

I’ll admit that I’ve never been the most social person in the family, far preferring the peace of my library to social events or direct contact with any kind of crowd. However, as I said before, quick adaptation was one of my specialties, and I had a good cause for it, a cause that called for an immediate action and I wouldn’t gain anything by standing in the room longer than necessary.

With a good deal of determination and a goal in mind, I grabbed my new coat, my wallet, and the bag of money, left the bedroom, and headed for the lounge. A hallway and a flight of stairs later, I entered a reasonable, rustic space with a dozen tables surrounded by wooden chairs, the smell of food and drink filling the air. I crossed the room towards the bar and sat on one of the available stools. I looked around again, taking note of the few occupants of the room, a couple of gentlemen in the corner by the fireplace and a few loners at distant tables, none of them particularly noteworthy.

“Oh, you woke up! I was starting to get worried.” a slightly husky male voice caught my attention, snapping me out of my remarks. Across the counter, a man in his 40s, with shaggy grey hair, dark brown eyes, and a relieved expression, looked at me curiously.

“Yeah, actually I’ve been up for a while…” I looked at him confused, “ why the hell would he be worried about me? ” I thought, trying to associate the man with some memory, but without success.

“The young men who brought her here asked me to let her rest.”

“ And I should have guessed he would do something like that. ” I thought with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“It looked like you really needed to rest, anyway.”

“I suppose it sounds weird, but can you tell me when he left me here? And, if possible, can you tell me what day it is and what time it is?”

“Of course, you arrived here last night in the middle of the night and today is February 3, 1926. And if my eyes don’t deceive me it’s somewhere around noon” he said indicating an unusual clock that I hadn’t noticed before, hanging on the wall. furthest from where I was, strategically placed just above the fireplace.

“ Perfect, so if nothing goes wrong, I have less than nine months to get everything in order. I thought with some excitement, my courage to face the outside world renewed.

“Thank you so much, please, I’ll have a plate of whatever you’re serving right now and a bottle of butterbeer.” I asked with a soft smile.

After a pleasant meal paid for and consumed, the kind bar owner showed me the entrance to the alley, opening it for me when he discovered that I was new in town and had “lost” my wand during a storm at sea.

The story I thought to myself and told the bar owner was a very simple one, Lyra Mahegan, an American descent, half-blood, taking advantage of my tanned skin, dark eyes, and wavy black hair, half-blood that I had just discovered I had distant cousins and an ancestral lineage in Great Britain, being alone and having the desire to know more of the family, I took the voyage across the ocean. I travelled by boat and lost my wand in a terrible storm. The “friend” who brought me to the bar was actually a travelling companion who agreed to accompany me. We disembarked the day before. I was exhausted from the trip, so he was kind enough to leave me here.

Nothing absurdly elaborate and as close to the truth as possible, it would be easy to repeat history if or when necessary.

Now, what about Diagon Alley? At first glance, amazing and charming. With buildings that seemed to defy gravity and, when looking inside, larger spaces that should have been physically impossible to exist. All the stores looked relatively newer than when Harry first visited, but still had a classic look that gave the place a special charm. I looked at countless storefronts crammed with the most diverse items and put together a mini mental list of where I should go after completing my business at the bank.

As it was early February, the main street was relatively empty, which suited my plans perfectly well. If my memory serves me correctly, the busy seasons were always late summer and early winter, (beginning of classes and holidays, respectively). I made a brief note to investigate the neighbourhood more closely sometime in the next few months. It doesn’t take long for me to cross the Alley and reach the bank.

Majestically white and imposing, Gringotts was everything they told in the stories and more, the impression of solidity was reinforced by the Doric columns that, despite the odd angles, conveyed the clear message that they were there to stay. The guards at the door, richly armoured and wielding battle axes and spears, watched me with little interest, I bowed slightly in respect and, as soon as I received a few nods in return, I wasted no time in entering.

Marble, gold and gemstones covered the walls, floor and ceiling in a clear display of architectural and metallurgical skill. Ionic columns interspersed between the countless doors, again asserting the abilities of an entire race. Only the most blind and foolish do not recognize the obvious message: “Don’t underestimate us.”

I approached one of the attendants with the utmost calm and certainty that I could put in my steps.

“Greetings. I’m Lyra Mahegan, and I’m here to request an inheritance test and, if possible, open an account.” I was direct, keeping my voice neutral and polite. The goblin who attended me watched me for a few moments, fiddled with something under the bench, and then a second goblin, this one younger and in simpler robes, appeared through a space coming from inside the bank's inner aisles.

“This way, miss.”

I bowed my head in thanks to the first goblin and followed the younger one. I was then led through a series of corridors to a relatively simple but well-appointed office. A table of what looked like mahogany occupied the centre of the room, covered with piles of parchment and thick leather folders. On the walls, swords, daggers and axes once again displayed the excellence of the Goblins’ work as blacksmiths. These, however, had a more personal air that belonged to the occupant of the room.

“How can I help you?” My focus turned to the Goblin sitting regally behind the table. As soon as he allowed me to sit down, I took one of the available chairs in front of him. I had in mind that when dealing with Goblins, agility and respect would be key parts of my behaviour, as none of us had time to waste.

“As you may know, my name is Lyra Mahegan, I have just arrived in London and, before coming here, I discovered that I had connections with one of the noble houses. So I need to take an inheritance test to be sure of which one and to find out if I have any rights to something belonging to that house. Then, with the result in hand, we will proceed with the appropriate attitudes.” During my explanation, the Goblin watched me contemplatively, but did not interrupt me. As soon as I had finished speaking, the Goblin, whom I identified as Krugnot by reading a nameplate on the table, reached for a scroll and an ornate dagger, placing them in front of me.

“Seven drops of blood on the parchment is enough.” I had read several scenes of this kind and knew that by default the dagger was enchanted and I wouldn't have to worry about the wound.

Seven drops of blood and a few minutes later, names, dates, information and safe numbers, as well as the basics of their contents, covered the parchment that stretched at least a few inches longer. I did a quick scan over the names and could see how many dead “relatives” I had, as well as the desired connection to the Gaunt. Nonetheless…

“Any problem?” Krugnot asked as he saw my face darken in doubt about what I was reading.

“Oh!? No, no problem. Just… A good luck gift.” I muttered more to myself than to explain myself to him. What had left me speechless was that, from what it said in the test, I had taken the place of the Gaunts and Potters in the hereditary line of the Most Noble and Oldest House Peverell, through a meeting of the bloodlines of Antioch and Cadmus Peverell. . “Correct me if I’m wrong, but only two families today have any relationship with the Peverells, right?” I asked, being careful not to fuss over my discovery.

“For all we know, the Potters and the Gaunts, yes.” Krugnot replied with some reluctance. The Goblins' loyalty to their clients’ secrets was something remarkable and worthy of respect, only a blind arrogant and hypocritical person would ignore something like that.

I handed him the parchment, suppressing an almost maniacal smile, and continued:

“So tell me, from what I’ve just discovered, I think I have no problem assuming the position of Lady of the House. Correct?” To say that the Goblin in front of me was surprised would be an even greater understatement than hearing Harry call the hell on earth I would inflict on behalf of those under my protection “great harm”. I waited as long as it took Krugnot to compose himself, and with a smile as maniacal as mine, he looked up at me.

“Yes, as soon as Family Magic accepts you as the new matriarch. Which, despite not having happened before, may be a regency until the birth of an heir. Until then you will have access to the safes, houses and investments relevant to the family.” He continued to read the parchment for a few more moments and returned to watching me. “There is another family however of which you are eligible to officially become a Lady.

“Slytherin.” I could then understand what He meant by “making sure of my success personally.” “Perfect. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

What happened in the hour and a half that followed was the most profitable hour and a half of my existence. Turns out Peverell’s accounts have been locked for generations and one of the things the goblins in Gringotts hate most, next to thieves, is stagnant money and abandoned accounts. So coming out of the bank as Lady Lyra Mahegan Peverell-Slytherin was an invaluable gain to my plans.

Another point that I was also able to address was the houses I could use. I had in mind that the damage that the next war would bring to London was one of the greatest threats to the future of British wizards. So, contingency plans were made for that period. Wales and Brazil had two of the best options for raising a child other than the old mansions. However, a few centuries have passed since anyone last inhabited these houses, which meant I would have to extend my stay at the Leaky Cauldron by a few more days, according to Krugnot. And, of course, I can’t forget about the small squad of 10 house elves, which I would have control over as I had become the mistress of one of the oldest and noblest wizarding houses in Britain.

Leaving the bank with another 500 Galleons, I went straight to Ollivander to buy my wand. I walked calmly to the end of the street on the south side of the alley. The store’s entrance was simple, with a stained-glass wooden door and a pair of rounded windows with a wand suspended over a purple cushion on either side, and over the door the iconic plaque stating the date of foundation. Outside, it was possible to see the numerous boxes of wands stacked on the shelves that covered all the interior walls of the shop, as well as a chair, a small round table in a corner by the window and a vase of flowers on the cashier counter.

I entered the store and waited for a few moments by the counter until a young Garrick Ollivander appeared from inside the store hanging from a wheeled ladder. Thin and with dark red hair sticking up around his head, as if he'd been shocked. Sharp silver-grey eyes studied me curiously.

“How can I help you, miss?” His voice was clear, without the harshness that had been present over the years.

“I need a wand, and an acquaintance of mine recommended you.” I was succinct, without giving too much away, I had no idea of the size of Harry's intervention, but I couldn’t risk it. Though I had a feeling Garrick wouldn't say anything to anyone about me.

“You are not from here.” I could tell he was stating, but I still answered.

“No, I definitely came from far away from here.” Whether we were talking about the wizarding world in general or just London was a mystery I believed best left unsolved.

“I believe you owe your friend some thanks, because I was able to receive notice of your arrival.” In fact, a few more offerings were in order to be made to the Master of Death in that year’s Samhain ritual. “So I was able to make and reserve some recently untouched wands… Shall we begin?”

Well, as with all wand-buying scenes out there, it took some time, but I managed to find something that allowed me to make sure my core exists and is more active than ever. English oak wood, dragon heart core, 13” and surprisingly malleable flexibility. The mere touch of the wand in my hand was enough to make me feel like I was receiving the warm embrace of a dear friend I hadn’t seen in years.

With a duelling holster and wand care kit purchased, she leaves the shop excited. I knew that my path in that life was just beginning and that, at that moment, more than ever, my self-taught skills would be needed, as would a new collection of books and every second of the months that followed. I only had until the end of that year to get absolutely everything in order. Soon I would be a mother and my free time would become a luxury I was not guaranteed to have again.

Chapter Text

Speaking of luxury, it’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to spend so much in so little time. After leaving the wand shop, I gave myself the freedom to explore the alley. As a result, I was the proud owner of a small library that could meet my learning needs for the coming year, including some books on what to expect from raising a magical child. A new wardrobe, made by Madam Malkin, which should spare me the need to buy clothes for the near future. Or so I hoped.

After spending some time at the apothecary, I had enough books and materials to start a small potions lab, which I intended to start learning and experimenting with asap. It included ingredient stocks, cauldrons, measuring instruments, and a beautiful set of knives suitable for use — and mentally thanking the gods all the way because, since my early childhood, my grandmother and mother taught me how to handle a kitchen, as a natural witch and as a housewife. And last but not least, a beautiful suitcase, in black leather and platinum details with an inside potions lab, a space suitable for a library of up to 10,000 books and a small loft with a couple of bedrooms, a kitchen, a big bathroom and a cosy living room with internal access to the library and the lab. It’s nothing on the level that I’ve seen Newt Scamander using but it works for me.

Now... for someone who has spent a lifetime with animals around oneself... Being alone for more than a few weeks can be a terrible idea. I looked around searching for the Magical Menagerie, and found it after some turns. The place was even simpler than the Ollivander’s on the outside and even more stuffed inside with boxes, cages and tanks that covered every wall from floor to ceiling. Here, the checkout counter is further from the back wall of the store, since that wall was also covered with cages and tanks.

Once inside I see a young woman in a moss green outfit standing by the counter, who looks like she’s talking to some ferrets. She turned in my direction as I entered the store.

“Welcome! How can I help you?” Her voice is low and soft, I suppose it’s a habit to speak like that so that the animals aren’t disturbed by possible loud sounds. I noticed that all external sounds coming from the movement of the alley stopped as soon as the door closed behind me. I followed suit and kept my voice calm and low.

“See, my family is used to raising animals and since I recently moved here, I’ve been looking for a little one to keep me company.” I explained vaguely. Staying as close to the truth as possible.

“Oh I get it, feel free to look around, if you find anything let me know.” so the  clerk turned her attention to the ferrets.

Well, as I was looking for a familiar, it’s best to look first with magic and then... whatever comes will be welcome.

First, I walked around the store looking at the animals in their cages. I was really surprised at the variety of animal species that mages find controllable. Dogs, cats, frogs, owls and mice are among the most common, now bats, snakes, crows, fire crabs, nifflers and others that I couldn’t identify can at least be called exotic... Well, here I come.

Standing in the middle of the store, I tried to focus on the memory of what it felt like when my wand chose me and how my core reacted. As soon as I found it, I tried to send out a calm, inviting wave with a clear question if anyone would like to come with me. It took a few moments for an answer to come, however, the last thing I expected was to feel not just one, but THREE simultaneous responses.

“That’s what I call a rare sight. It’s been a long time since anyone managed to find familiars like this here, and I’ve never heard of anyone having more than two at a time. Much less three.” The clerk’s voice snaps me out of my shock, I open my eyes to find three beams of light in a mixture of blues and purple leading to three completely different corners of the store. A cage near the counter in the right corner, a perch on the ceiling near the door, and a tank at the bottom left of the shop.

The first, shining in pure rays of sky blue, led to a small puppy. The little one appeared to be of mixed breed because it resembled an Irish Wolfhound, but its muzzle appeared to be thinner and longer and its paws larger than the norm for the breed and its ears were up , listening for sounds, and had pointed tips instead of the usual roundish droopy shape, his curious, innocent eyes, had a unique amber hue, gazed at me happily as if he were eager to meet me. Its fur, much denser than the breed’s usual, was black with white patches around the eyes, on the chest and on the tips of the paws, which further highlighted its air of innocence.

The second, radiating a consistent violet, connected me with a stark white barn owl and it’s magnificent black eyes that assessed me impartially.

And the last connection, in a light but steady indigo, led to a tank with an ebony black boa constrictor with impossibly toxic green eyes that watched me as if they were deciding my threat level.

“Okay, I think I know what’s going on here…” When you are a Wiccan who has a high enough power level to feel comfortable and secure with two power animal triads, at some point in life this can and will become a real fact depending on the animals involved. What I mean is, I’m not surprised at all that on my first attempt to look for familiars in a store with such an extensive range of species, three of mine were waiting for me here: a wolf, an owl and a snake. Despite the surprise I had about the fact that all three appeared at the same place and time. And I swear to all gods old and new that if a dragon, a spider, and a scorpion of some sort enter my life in the next few years, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.

Well, as I made room for anyone who wanted to come...

“Rare, yes, but not unexpected when I think about it.” I commented gently, turning my gaze to each of the animals that responded to my invite.

“So, let’s see what we have here.” The clerk started indicating to each of my soon-to-be familiars. “This owl arrived a few weeks ago and simply refused to go with whoever tried to take it, it’s a female by the way. This little dog is a cross-breed between a shadow wolf and an Irish wolfhound, the only one that came to us, and no one adopted him because of the mix of species. He is almost three months old. And that snake has already bitten and broken more fingers of potential buyers than I cared to count.” I laughed at that last detail. Obviously she wouldn’t go with anyone who wasn’t worthy of her.

“I’ll take all three of them with me. And I will take whatever it takes to take care of everyone.” As soon as the girl was busy collecting the items I ordered, I went to have my first contact with each of my new partners. Starting with the puppy.

I approached the cage he was being keeped cautiously and seeing his tail wagging in excitement, I felt confident enough to let him sniff my hand. The connection was immediate, as soon as he finished memorising my scent, his head fell into my hand that I had already placed inside the cage between the bars, stroking his face a little.

“Bradon, my little protector. I can’t wait to see you running around the backyard of the house, you’ll have plenty of space to run around, lots of animals to find and tons of grass and mud to play with.” I gave him a little pat behind his ear as he licked my wrist. So I got up and went towards the owl, as it was perched on a support attached to the ceiling, just extended my arm and waited for her to land comfortably.

“Artemis, what do you think? The Greek goddess of the moon and hunting.” I waited for her to respond somehow. Her chest puffed out with pride was enough of an answer for me, I laughed a little at her behaviour. “I’m glad you liked it. Can you wait a little longer? I still have a few more things to buy before we leave.” If there were still any doubts about an owl’s level of intelligence now, I have none with the little nod Artemis gave me in response before returning to the perch she was previously on.

“And last but not least…” with even more care than with Bran I approached the snake, from what little I remember of what I studied about snakes, cobras and how to tell them apart I knew that she was a constrictor, a non-venomous snake that kills by warping its strong body around its prey, capable of killing bigger predators, cattle and men alike “Hello. I could sense your curiosity… can you understand me?” I spoke as quietly as possible so as not to attract the clerk’s attention.

*Why wouldn’t I understand you, human? It’s not like you’ll understand me* I was relieved to note that my magic was enough to awaken at least some of the Parseltongue inherent in the Slytherin bloodline.

“You’d be surprised to know I’m no ordinary human” It’s strange to see an expression as human as surprise on a snake’s face, and yet I couldn’t describe what I saw any other way.

*You’re a speaker!? * I answered her with a slight nod, checking on the clerk over my shoulder before speaking a little louder.

“Oh yes, what do you think of Meretseger, the name of an Egyptian serpent goddess? Meret for short.”

*Meret? I like it.*

“Perfect, I’ll finish paying for the things I’m for bringing all of you, and we’ll be ready to go.” I opened the tank’s lead for Meret to climb on me, soon I had one foot and a few pounds of snake wrapped around my body.

Just as promised to my new companions, it didn’t take long to leave the store with a few extra bags, Meret wrapped around my shoulders and torso, Artemis perched inside a pretty silvery cage and little Bran in a carrier box. With a snap of his fingers and a pulse of magic, a little elf, dressed in a partially cleaned pillowcase, appeared in front of me.

“Hi, I’m Lyra, what’s your name?” I asked gently, crouching on the ground to be on the same level as the elf, being careful not to hurt Meret.

“I’m Solsy, ma’am.” the shrill voice indicated it was a female.

“Adorable! Solsy, this is Bran, Artemis and Meretseger, they are my familiars. And please call me Lyra.” I waited for the elf to understand what I meant and added: “The house I plan to stay in will still have to go through some renovations so I’ll be staying at the Pub for a while. Can you find my room without help?”

“Yes, Solsy can do it.” I grinned at her.

“Perfect!” I then handed her the cages and parts of the bags I had with me. “I need you to take this for me to the room I’m staying in.” I showed her the trunk. “This is a suitcase and there’s a house here basically, if it’s not too much work for you, I’d like you to leave my groceries in here but don’t touch anything else. I will organise everything myself when I get back.” So I left the two cages on the floor near the elf and walked away a little without letting Meret go. Even if she isn’t poisonous, I think it’s best to leave her with me for now.

“Alright Solsy, go with Artemis and Bran, for now, take them into the trunk too. Oh and leave their cages open so they can go exploring.”

I just needed to review a few more details and I would be ready to go back to the Pub and extend my stay for as long as necessary for the renovation. Soon, I  would start to prepare to welcome my heir.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed before the upgrades on the house I was going to live in were completed. In the meantime, I took the chance to organise my personal purchases in my trunk as I’d told Solsy I would.

The Loft part of the trunk was not really noticeable at first. An entrance space, a living room with a fireplace, a kitchenette and a dining room shared the first space in an “open concept”. On the far wall was the potions lab with enough space for a sizable stock and a dedicated library. And last but not least, the rooms. Just two at the moment. Simple but presentable rooms with double four-poster beds, dressers and wardrobes. Nothing elaborate but satisfying.

For the little time I spent with my family just exploring the trunk, the Alley and the little I dared around Muggle London without risking getting lost, I could see that nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for what I had lived so far. and that was just the beginning. However, at the end of the two weeks, I was finally able to go to the house I would call home.

So it was just a matter of picking up what little I had left behind in the pub room itself, and calling Solsy to take me home, as my only means of travelling for the next few years would be: elf, fireplace, train and portalkey. Moments after she arrived, I found myself in the middle of one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

I was lucky to have a rare sunny day during late winter so I was able to get a clear view of the surroundings. The entire land around the house was covered in a thick layer of snow leaving an ethereal air in the forest that surrounded us.

The house itself, also covered in snow, looked simple but cosy, with stone exterior walls and a garden perfect for growing flowers and potion ingredients. Inside it was equipped with three bedrooms, my suite on the ground floor and two more upstairs, an open space that brought together dining, living and kitchen rooms - as well as in the trunk - surrounded by cabinets and fully furnished. Right next to the entrance of what would become my room, a door opened onto a library clearly magnified in magic with a beautiful ebony desk and a comfortable set of armchairs, sofas and loveseats around a fireplace, copying the configuration also present in the living room.

Earlier that day, I asked Solsy to bring my partners to see the house and do whatever territory reconnaissance they felt was necessary. So it was a pleasant surprise to note that the elves had already sorted my partners’ things around the house, some perches for Artemis in the living room, the library, and my bedroom where she could stay while she wasn’t hunting or delivering. Strategically placed pillows and rugs for Bran and Meret next to every fireplace in the house.

“Bran?” Just as my voice echoed through the house, the black furball appeared running with the sound of its claws scratching at the floor and announcing its way. “Have you seen the house?” A light bark in response and a wave of confused emotions from which I could recognize excitement, curiosity and extreme happiness “Very good, boy! Now wait for me in the living room, will you?” I watched as he did what I said. I followed easily, noticing Meret coming from the kitchen.

In these two weeks we spent together inside the trunk I took advantage of the time I was offered to begin the delicate process of connecting with the three of them. Extensive meditation sessions were the way I found to make progress in that regard. And since our bonds were still very new, I wanted to conclude my meditation session for the day with the three of them, Bran, Arty, and Meret, nearby, in order to continue what I’ve been doing... But first.

“Solsy.” A slight crack sounded, announcing the elf’s appearance.

“Lady Lyra.”

“Solsy, take the trunk to my room and leave it there. You already know how I prefer to do things.” Before the elf could complain – again for what seemed like a recurring fight between us – I continued with my explanation of what needed to be done, “Solsy, I’ll explain everything, but I don’t want to repeat myself, just leave the suitcase in my room and summon the elves to the living room, will you?” She looked upset but compiled without complaint. Unfortunately, there’s not much I could do about it. I like to keep tabs on where my stuff is, of course, once I’ve sorted my things out, I would allow them to clean up as they were driven to, as long as they put everything back in its proper place.

"Yes ma’am."

Minutes later, a squad of 10 elves was present in front of me in the living room.

“First of all, I want to make it very clear that I came from a family where we didn’t have elves in our service, so I’m used to taking care of myself and my needs. Unlike other witches and wizards, I will take a much more active role in the care of our home. Now please introduce yourself with names and roles in the house.” and just as I asked, the elves introduced themselves.

My little squad consisted of two trios and two duos: a trio, Solsy, Wolkey and Cinny, took care of the general cleaning of the house from dusting the floor to washing the clothes. A couple, Wooky and Salkey, were splitting the kitchen chores taking care of the food in general, when I discovered that we have a vegetable garden, an orchard and a greenhouse in the back of the house in addition to some herds that were religiously kept by the second trio, Sondy, Halry and Larry. The last two, Zinney and Geeky, took turns learning to do a little bit of everything because they were the youngest.

“Perfect, who of you knows how to sew?” Cinny and Geeky responded, taking some Galleons out of my bag and handing them to Cinny, I knelt down to give the instructions, “You two will be in charge of providing fabric, thread, and whatever else is needed to make decent clothes for everyone. Thicker fabrics for those who spend more time outside and something lighter for those who spend more time inside. I don’t want any of you out there in the cold or in rags. Soon I will give you my family crest to embroider on your clothes.”

It was deplorable the way wizards treated elves and I could learn by example how this constant abuse can affect the sanity of these beings. Not to mention that I would never allow my elves to be seen with anything less than the best my not-so-little fortune could provide. What’s more, these little guys’ loyalty can be the key between life and death (almost literally in some cases).

“Yes ma’am.” I was deeply saddened, but pleased to see their astonished faces at the way I was treating them. Great, that means they’ll soon understand that I’m really not like everyone else.

“Who of you knows how to operate a potions lab?” Ironically, or not depending on your point of view, Wooky and Salkey replied, “So you’ll be working directly with me in the kitchen and while I’m experimenting with potions in the lab. Your main task will be to ensure that I leave the lab alive and in one piece, as I don’t know what can happen while I’m trying new recipes, and you’ll notice over time that my sense of organisation isn’t the best, so one of your tasks will be to keep the cupboards and stock in order.” I daresay they looked at me with an amused and wary expression.

“And the rest of you can get on with your normal tasks” I look around for any doubts or confusion, finding none I kept talking “For now you are dismissed Solsy you will stay with me if possible try to be aware of where I leave my things, as I tend to be a bit messy on a daily basis. Then you will help me pack my clothes and books.”

An hour and a half later, my entire wardrobe and library were neat and tidy and just in time for dinner!

Chapter Text

After completing the elves’ division of chores and enjoying the amazing welcome home dinner, it was easy to unpack with Solsy helping me. So, after some time talking to her, I realised that Solsy was able to speak properly. When I asked her about it, trying to get the point across, as she was still wearing what used to be a pillowcase, her response was…interesting, to say the least.

“We elves of House Peverell have been taught to speak, read, and do simple maths for generations. The elder elves teach us that, as servants of House Peverell, we must always behave in an exemplary manner.” She explained it clearly, surprising me with her determination to defend the family she now belonged to.

“Which doesn’t explain why you’re dressed like that.” she looked at me for a few moments and said simply:

“It’s been a while since fabrics were given to elves to make new clothes.” Well, that certainly explains something.

“Well, I hope the money I left in Cinny’s hands is enough to cover these expenses.”

“It will be, mistress”

Later, just before retiring and ending my day, I sat on the rug by the fireplace in my room with my companions around me and the fire burning keeping us warm. Bran, lying on my legs, Meret again slung over my shoulders and Arty perched on my right knee.

I took the moment of peace at the end of the day and started talking to them about my life before I came here, about my potential plans for the next few years and how they would be important to me as companions and friends. When I noticed that everyone around me was relaxed, I started humming the rhythm of a song that came to mind. Lugia’s song is, and always will be, my favourite music for moments like this.

Before long, I entered a meditative state deep enough to access my mind palace.

After taking a look and magically strengthening my mental shields which are made from a vortex of storms and wild winds that contain my current train of thought along with idle thoughts and meaningless memories — which I built this way especially to ward off anyone who would try to read my mind, protecting myself in the process — I find myself on a narrow beach in front of a fifty foot high cliff on a secluded island surrounded by the sea.

The calm but deep sea comes and goes with low waves, stretching over the horizon, the sunset paints the sky and sea in shades of red, orange and purple. Walking close to the stone wall, I soon find a stairway that runs along the left side of the cliff. The steps of the stairs are made of smooth stones with a slightly irregular outline, covered by a layer of lime that makes it difficult to climb if you don’t know where to step.

During the climb, I passed through a large opening in the side of the cliff with a small detour from the main staircase that I could use to access the cave. Within it, my dragon, Fiore, guards my core. On the other side of the cliff, a dark forest extends densely, covered by fog, torn by some trails that lead to clearings with lakes that keep old memories.

At the top of the cliff, a cabin, simple but cosy, with an innocent garden of flowers and aromatic herbs arranged around the door and the way to the stairs. Inside the cabin, lining the wall beside the front door, was a bookcase filled with books and notebooks, my most recent and most important memories. On the wall in front of the door is a fireplace accompanied by a fluffy rug that looks more like a thin mattress and a comfortable armchair, next to the armchair a thin and dry trunk with webs and grooves is present, as if waiting for its legitimate residents.

A pair of huge windows cover the rest of the walls overlooking the forest and sea. I go to the fireplace to light the fire and then, with a new notebook in hand, I sit in the armchair to begin reporting on the day’s highlights. Not long after my triads arrived to keep me company. Bran and Fiore come nestling in front of the fireplace. Soon Arty and my black widow spider, Arachne, are positioned on the trunk, perched on the highest branch and on the webs, respectively. Finally, Meretseger and my scorpion Selkis came to wrap themselves around my shoulders.

Fierce Protectors, Sage Advisors and Guides of the Arts. They are the anchor that keeps my sanity in place.

A little later, after closing the notebook I was writing in, I surrendered to Morpheus’ embrace, not even waking up, when, as I found out later, Solsy had taken me to bed.

After the first few slightly chaotic weeks, it was natural for us to get into a consistent but simple routine of exploring, researching and meditating.

Day by day, my connection with my partners grew stronger through meditation and bonding moments like playing in the snow and running around the house with Bran, talking to Meret and including some of her ideas in my plans, and reading aloud to Arty when she would perch on my shoulder at the end of the day.

Book after book, my knowledge of the world I was “missioned” to protect grew and blossomed into complete theses and potential books, including my repertoire of spells, hexes, incantations, and curses which grew exponentially by the day. I had yet to review the dark side of the For... Er, of Magic, but well, I’m in no hurry to test my sanity with the heavy emotional charge that comes with diving into it and I had a feeling that when I finally delved into it I would need all my self-control to keep that particular storm at bay.

And so the weeks turn into months, then April rushes me to finish my public preparations. My plan was to introduce myself as a researcher of ancient families, introducing myself as Lyra Peverell. I had spoken with Krugnot, Peverell’s Goblin account manager, earlier in the year, and he put me in touch with some of the more prominent active lords, including Lords Potter, Malfoy, Black, and Longbottom.

The next part of the story I was forging for myself and telling them was that I, after discovering my ancestry with an inheritance test after completing my magical training, set out to understand the reason it took so long for magical blood. return to being active in my family. When I discovered that my ancestors had third cousins marrying each other, and sometimes even closer blood relations, I realised I needed to get a closer look at what was going on.

As I recall from before coming here, the family that was most at risk were the Blacks of developing the infamous Black Madness and lack of innate traits as the metamorphmagic — as its existence was proven by Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of one Andromeda Tonks neé Black. Not to mention the Potters and Malfoys’ infertility producing only one or two male heirs per gen, or the Gaunts going extinct in the near future.

However, one of the points I also looked for was to prove that sending squibs to the mundane world was not the answer. Even because I myself was proving my bond with a family considered extinct for a long time. Generations passed before magical blood was born strong enough to sustain active magic. Also, even if a Squib isn’t capable of wielding a wand, they might be Potion Masters, Researchers, or Artisans of some sort.

And speaking of active magic, with my bond with Meret getting stronger and stronger, I was able to further improve my Parseltongue skill, allowing me to speak and practice parsel magic, this happened around June. With that, I convinced myself that I might have more Slytherin blood coursing through my veins than I first thought. A deeper ancestry ritual later, and I was able to actually claim the position of Lady Slytherin.

Add that to my confirmed presence at the Wizengamot’s May session... Well, let’s just say that if I had no interest in politics before, even though I knew how to behave in front of an audience and convince them with words... Now I was taking the House of Lords in the direction it wanted, involving me a lot more than I thought I would be.

During the same session, I could see where many points would lead to failure in the future if they continued as they were. For example, the treatment of magical beings or the neglect of supposed ‘muggle-borns’. At first I reserved myself only to observe and learn, I was a newcomer, after all, the strength and influence of my voice was basically nil in my first session. Not to mention the fact that I was still there only as a mere visitor… No, my time to incite chaos hadn’t arrived yet.

Don’t get me wrong, I was fully aware that my mission was to “save” British wizards from themselves. And I knew full well, as did Harry when he chose to send me here, that the old men who populate the lords’ chamber would not react if I tried a less proactive or aggressive approach. In short: generate controlled chaos to secure their attention on me while I create their true leader under their noses. The leader that I had already located.

That, unfortunately, was the only point in history where I could not intervene in any way until the last possible moment. I knew where Merope Gaunt was hiding and I could confirm that unfortunately little Tom would be born from a relationship tempered by a version of Amortentia, some family recipe perhaps because she used some unknown ingredients. Even though the father, Tom Sr., drank the potion, my son was very likely to be born with some spectrum of sociopathy, to say the least. Even though I prayed and begged Magic that my blood, when offered during the adoption ritual, and the rituals we would do together during his childhood may be enough to prevent at least the worst of symptoms.

Well, if there’s one thing my favourite highly functioning sociopath, the one and only Consultant Detective Sherlock Holmes, has taught me, it’s that there’s a slim chance that Tom can live well even with this little “deformity”. Such a deformity that after observing the Gaunts for a few days I was blaming them more than Merope herself for using the damn potion. It seemed to me that their case was even worse than that of the Blacks. And I would definitely use their example to demonstrate the effects inbreeding has on a bloodline! By the seven depths of hell, the word monster doesn’t even begin to describe Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt.

Now all I have left to do is wait until my baby is with me.

Chapter Text

Amidst all the hustle and bustle that my days had become, one of the few things that really brought me peace was my trips to the Temple of Magic, located at the end of one of the alleys in the Alley. At least once a week I went there to say my prayers to Magic, even participating in one of the lunar rituals that some adepts did on the Full Moon in April. It was on the eve of May, however, that the opportunity I needed to officially join the temple's entourage of priests and priestesses presented itself to me: Beltane had arrived.

With a few days to go before the end of the month, I went on another one of my temple visits. I was enjoying the fact that my appointment that afternoon had been postponed and I would spend the rest of the afternoon meditating in the temple grounds, however, before I could reach the place that I knew was quiet enough for my intentions, a voice called me to attention.

“It is rare to see someone as young and diligent as you in the temple, my dear.” A gentleman, apparently in his fifties, dressed in sober, good quality robes, with grey hair and beard, well-trimmed and sharp black eyes, was approaching me with calm steps.

“Should not.” I responded with disgust at the situation. At a time when there might be movement in the temple, it was bleakly empty. “Magic is our source of life, after all. We should celebrate it whenever possible.” My indignation was clear. For the first time in my existence I was in a place where I could finally practice the rituals that had so attracted me to discover that their practice was on the verge of becoming illegal.

“Bernhard Cleveland. Priest of the Temple.” The wizard introduced himself, snapping me out of my indignant reverie.

“Lyra Mahegan.” No, I wouldn’t offer my titles as a lady without it benefiting me in some way. I was, after all, Lady Slytherin, and I should act like one.

“Nice to meet you, miss. Do you already know the Temple?” His tone was cordial and gentle, which reminded me of old shepherds I spent my life avoiding. While I usually stay away from people like that, this wasn’t a fanatical Christian trying to convert me, but someone who shared similar beliefs to mine trying to attract a devotee.

I then allowed the old man to guide me on a tour of the temple. The temple itself reminded me of a curious mixture of ancient Celtic sacred sites and ancient Greek temples, tall Doric columns rose around a wooded garden, arranged according to the cardinal directions with representations of the elements: an ancient oak tree, representing the earth, at North; a small well-kept lake representing the water to the west; a stove adorned with black iron edges to the south and finally, to the east, the most curious representation of all, a small series of fabrics that danced freely in the light breeze that blew between the columns of the temple.

In a corner to the right is a small cabin — I mean small on the outside — that Mr. Cleveland said it was the temple’s warehouse where they kept materials that could be used in the great Sabbats that were still taking place in the temple. In addition to the central part, on the left side is a beautiful and very well maintained garden with all the herbs, plants and flowers that could be used in countless rituals and ceremonies.

Scattered in small alcoves surrounded by tall bushes, small altars that I could feel were surrounded and charged with old and new magic of different vibrations. When I asked Bernhard about it, he explained that different families followed and worshipped different pantheons and these smaller altars were used for more intimate ceremonies, as the bush circle could be closed off by isolating whoever was inside.

“Our big issue here at the Temple, Miss Mahegan, is that with some of the more recent laws, little by little our rituals are being banned by the ignorant… I fear what could happen in the next few years if this situation extends.” The situation was more precarious than I had feared, as it was affecting the Temple directly.

“Luckily for us, my dear, this is something I intend to remedy.” I left my lady of the house rings on display. His astonished face was enough to make me happy with my trip to the temple that afternoon. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to think about. Have a good time.”

“Milady.” With a slight bow I withdrew from the temple and then called Solsy to take me back home. I had a lot to study. Not to mention my own preparations for the next ritual.

Gradually the year passed and, with each ritual I participated in the temple, the greater was my agony to see something so precious to us be wasted. What should have been times of festivity and celebration of the life that Magic provided us were treated with disregard and distrust. The rituals of olde were replaced by the ball’s season. Mere social events used to promote names and forge contracts. I, of course, because of my position, was invited to every single one of them. Not that I liked it. With each new Ball my anger only increased, even though no one ever noticed anything. Of course they wouldn’t, I had been forged an impeccable mask of polite indifference and graceful coolness that I’d worn with years of mastery, hiding my true ideas and emotions.

Remember when I said that after buying a new wardrobe from Madam Malkin, I shouldn’t worry about buying new clothes? Screw that. After the circuit of 4 summer balls, where only one of them fulfilled the ancient rites with the guests... Well... My plans at court were about to undergo major changes if the turning of the wheel of the year had so little relevance. But what bothered me the most was that I knew that half-bloods and muggle-borns were denied knowledge about the rites and our culture as a whole... Wait a second... Of course it all depends on the Winter Ball at the Potters. Obviously, since there’s no way to have a ball on December 21st and not do the Yule rituals. But I believe that I have a plan that can and will change some things for the better.

But before that, I still have to go through the autumn rituals, and since they’re particularly my favourites, my focus is at its maximum here at home between August and November. These, unlike the spring and summer rites, I preferred to perform at home as they are more home and family oriented.

During one of my explorations at home, I discovered the house’s ritual room, which ironically, or not depending on how you look at it, only accepts family members. That is, a few drops of blood were necessary to enter for the first time and after being accepted by the familiar magic all my rituals were performed there, except of course the rituals dedicated to the Moon, which I did in the Temple with the other priests.

Autumn rituals, also known as harvest festivals, celebrate and give thanks for the harvest of the year, prepare for the harvest of the coming year and for the darkest time of the year: winter. From August to November, we celebrate the end of a cycle and the renewal of a new one.

In August, we celebrate the end of summer by thanking the Gods for all the bounty of the year. In September, we return to our homes and our bonds with our families can be strengthened. I, at that point, already had a very strong bond with my partners. With this celebration, I got to the point where, at the cost of a little magic, I could use your senses as if they were my own. Bran’s audition, for example, was extremely helpful to me as I watched Merope and Tom Sr. In London. May the Gods save me from using your sensitive sense of smell while I was in the capital. I really felt sorry for all the dogs that lived on the mundane side of London. In contrast, Meret’s sense of smell was especially one of my favourites when interviewing the Lords for the last part of my research on inbreeding between and within families.

It’s a fact that snakes, of any type, capture pheromones and translate them into feelings their targets might be feeling. So having something like this while talking to the Lords, who are masters at controlling the outward appearance of their mood, is a perfect and necessary tool. Meret laughed at me when I got home complaining that envy was the worst smell I’ve ever tasted after meeting a lady I didn’t even bother to register her name. But aside from this small improvement, for me the highlight of the season was Samhain. Or more commonly known as All Hallows Eve.

As I said, the one entity I have always respected above all others has been and always will be Death. And just like the Moon, my mood has always been affected especially by this season. The last step that should not be avoided. So I’ve never figured out why I end up like this every damn year, but as the day the veil between life and death gets thinner approaches, my sanity slips through my fingers almost completely. And seeing as I’m now living in a world of Magic, things on this front have gotten a little worse... Okay! Much worse, I admit. It’s no wonder that back home in my previous life, some of my closest friends used to joke about most of the time ignoring me for the entire month, when I didn’t voluntarily isolate myself. In October, as usual, my mood was even more shaky than ever. So between getting ready for the ritual at the end of the month and my normal routine, I was driving the elves crazy and all three of my family members laughed at me at least three times a day.

And then came the october 31st. By sunset, I had everything I needed around me in the ritual room. From the food and drinks I would offer to materials for some spells that worked best on Samhain. Of course, I wouldn’t forget my offers to the Master of Death for bringing me here like I said I would. During the ritual, all the magic I felt running free and blessing me and me was just incredible. After all, it’s no wonder that Samhain used to be called by some as the real new year. Just like that, all the pent-up energy, madness and frustrations are gone.

After all was said and done, and I was getting ready for bed, Wolkey came to me with some interesting news.

“Mrs Lyra, there’s a man at the front door asking for you.” I’m not stable enough for this, not yet ... Take a deep breath.

“And this man gave you a name, Wolkey?” I looked tiredly at my little friend, who replied with an excuse to himself.

“No mistress, he just said he’s an old friend.” An old friend…? But... could it be?

“Say, Wolkey, could you see his eyes? Did you notice the colour?” I asked just to be sure.

“Greens, Mistress.” what... But what in the seven depths of Hades was he doing here? Again, I’m not stable enough for this! Control your anger, take a deep breath. As if sensing my distress, Bran came to my side like the calming protector he’d learned to be. At ten months old, Bran grew into a large, strong monster with his 4'5" at all four and nearly 5 feet in length, his fur coat reminiscent of his wolf parent and muscles on either side, amber worried eyes looked at me and asked if he should do something. I looked at him stroking his neck gratefully and returning calm through our bond. A few calming breaths later I turned my attention to the elf waiting patiently for my next decision.

“Very well. Bring him to the library. I’ll meet him there, and please, if Wooky is still awake, ask him to send us some tea. Tell him I need to calm down and he will know what to do.” with his orders, the young elf left the room. About five minutes later, when I took the opportunity to pull a robe over my nightgown and pull my hair into a bun, I was facing the man behind the reaper’s clothes.

Slender, slender body about six feet tall, relaxed by the fireplace, medium black hair with gravity-defying streaks neatly arranged around her head, and deep AK green eyes gazing into the fire. In his hands, the wand of wands was being lazily manipulated in his hands as he was lost in his thoughts. I clear my throat, drawing his attention as I enter the office section of the library, Bran diligently still beside me.

“To what do I owe the honour of visiting on this fine night?” I ask dryly as I sit in my desk chair with Bran sitting to my right, eyes trained on the stranger in the room.

“I got your offers, treacle tart and pumpkin juice. It was really good, actually.” I laughed remembering the endless afternoons I spent trying to learn that recipe with Wooky until I thought it was perfect.

“Wooky will be happy to know that your patience was not lost in vain.” I invited him to sit with me at the table. Soon a tea set with cakes and a generous piece of said pie were placed between us. I took my sweet time to serve both of us manually and internally thank Wooky for being graced with the divine sweet scent of chamomile and jasmine. “No offence, but what are you doing here?” I asked in a soft tone after taking a sip of my tea, then sighing heavily as I felt the effects of the calming draught present in my cup.

“I just came to check on you.” A paranoid mind has outlived the careless ones nine times out of ten, so please don’t judge me for what I said next. I was sure he understood my thoughts since I made sure to look him in the eye.

“Uhm. And I was born yesterday. Please, I realised what you did for me. My partners, me becoming Lady Slytherin, Ollivander knowing about me, the Leaky Cauldron.” I was trying my best not to sound ironic, but I knew I was failing miserably. “Look, I appreciate all the help you've given me. Really... but I can't believe this is just a social call.”

“Moody would be satisfied to hear you now.” His tone was nostalgic.

“Constant vigilance.” We talked together. Our tired laughter eased some of the tension in the air.

“I know.” I waited a little longer to see if he would say something, “But yeah, you’re right. I came here to give you a warning and advice.” I keep my silence, still asking him to continue with my eyes. “If you intend to continue with your latest plan, it would be best if you stayed here. There is one more soul that can be saved if you make the right choices.” My latest plan? Was he talking about...? But that was just a passing thought that still depends on the guest list for the Potters’ ball. But... Wait... One more soul? Who…?

“Misquoting Dumbledore?” We laugh about it. My mood, improving just enough for me to be able to continue the conversation without wanting to rip his head off.

“But seriously, tell me what you’ve been up to?” and with his genuine interest, I recalled all that loneliness I saw in his eyes when we met in Limbo.

“Well…” I then told him about my first ten months in this life, the rush between temple trips, interviews with the lords in Gringotts, my indignation at the actual state of ritual legislation, and finally my theses that will support my arguments in court. I welcomed your ideas and suggestions, jotting down a few to consider with a clearer mind later.

Later the next day, after I woke up, I couldn’t believe we spent most of the night talking. About everything and nothing. Some of my plans have been refined, while others have been scrapped completely. Well, it looks like the house at St Catarina in Brazil would need to be just a summer vacation getaway for the war to come. Not that I had much of a problem with that, I was loving my home in Wales.

And just like that, there were only two more months of waiting to go by before my baby and heir were safely in my arms. And I knew exactly how I would approach Merope when the time was right.

Chapter Text

After my autumn insanity wore off, time seemed to fly by, with days blending into a blur I could barely keep up, and before I knew it the world was, again covered in the snow-white blanket announcing the arrival of winter and with him is my future heir.

It was in the first week of November that I realised that December was a few weeks away and I still didn’t have anything ready for Tom’s arrival at the new year. I had to speed up everything as fast as possible and that required reinforcements.

I gathered my family and elves in the room, as was usual when something big was about to happen that would influence everyone, and I started to explain what was going to happen.

“Is everyone here? Great, I won’t have to repeat myself.” I took a few moments to gather my thoughts and began explaining, “Well, as you know, I’ve been studying as much as I can in the last few months, mostly books on child care and newborn care. And I did all this because I'm waiting for my son to be born.” I spoke like that because, even though I had to go through adoption, I already considered Tom my son. But in the end, it took all my self-control not to laugh at the ten doubtful faces staring at my very unpregnant belly.

“Mistress…” I held up a hand asking for patience and silence before they questioned something I was about to answer.

“You may be aware of the family that unfortunately inherited a third of Peverell’s legacy, the Gaunts.” I watched the ten pairs of eyes waiting for recognition of the weak link the Gaunts still had with their ancestors. “Marvolo Gaunt and his two sons, Morfin and Merope Gaunt. After generations of inbreeding, it’s amazing that Marvolo was able to father two children... Anyway, the point is that Merope Gaunt fell in love with a non-magical man. And to make matters worse, she’s spent the last few months feeding this man a version of Amortentia which, after reproducing the recipe I saw Merope make, I realised is a strong potion that leaves the drinker more than just in love with the one who made it.” The elves quickly understood what I meant and their expressions of indignant anger warmed me because they already recognized their new “young master” and the risks his mother was exposing him to.

“Lady, please say that you will adopt the young master the olde way.” Salkey asked with pleading eyes.

“Don’t worry, Salkey, I’ve already made sure to get everything in order with the Goblins, and once my son is safe in my arms, I’ll do the adoption ritual taking that woman’s place as his mother.” I felt a touch of pride as I saw the faces of relief before me. “Anyway, we have to get everything ready by the end of next month.” The squadron’s reaction to those words was automatic, I dare say it was instinctive. Everyone paid extra attention to my words, as they would be their orders for the near future.

“As always, from the outside in, because orders are simpler, but care is the same. Sondy, Halry and Larrey, you should be aware that we may require changes to your baby’s diet, from formula milk to first solid foods every few months. I’m saying this now because I know myself and I can forget something when the need arises, so I’m going to need your attention on these details.” I waited for the trio I spoke with to leave the usual nod, acknowledging his orders. They were by far the elves I had the least contact with on a daily basis, but our bond was no weaker than the rest. Except for my excursions to the orchard, the stables, or the greenhouses, or when I wanted to take care of things myself, this trio was the most independent of the squad.

“Yes mistress.”

“Moving on. Wooky and Salkey, your chores aren’t going to change basically, but when the time comes, you’re going to help keep a fresh supply of food for the baby and you’re going to have to pay attention to whether I’m eating as usual, as my only free time will be while he’s sleeping, and between what I’m doing and taking care of the little one, I won’t have much space to worry about the kitchen or the lab. Wooky, you will be in charge of keeping our stock of potions and a constant supply of my medicinal teas, I am sure my consumption will increase considerably in the coming weeks.”

“Yes mistress.” Wooky’s unimpressed look as he answered me didn’t escape me. I knew I would still have problems with him for years to come. But for now, I made a point of not reacting.

“Solsy, Cinny and Wolkey, you especially will help me more than ever. As I said, between my studies and research, baby care, interviews and rituals, there will be times when you will need to take care of the little one in my absence, but I intend to make these moments minimal because, as with the house, I believe that the child care belongs to the parents and as much as I end up being a single mother at first, I will be responsible for my child”. If I had any doubts that my choice was the right one or not, with the admiring looks of the elves upon hearing my words, from that moment on, none remained.

“Finally, Zinney and Geeky, you two will have an even more important task: decorating. You will help me decorate the room that will be the baby’s room in the future and buy everything we will need, as well as helping me make sure the house is completely baby proof.” 

With another chorus of “Yes mistress.” We started working on our chores, I dug up the books with the spells to put the house in order using enough magic to make everything permanent until it was no longer needed. This being just the beginning.

And so the next few weeks were a mixture of stains from a few days I passed out from exhaustion, from the overuse of permanent magic, and the intense rush to get everything ready. That’s how I found out, the hard way, that permanent spells use a lot more magic than temporary spells. Which earned me some reprimands from Wookey about the risks of depleting my magical reserves and the trouble he’d have to make replacement potions for me.

So, while I allowed myself to recover, I took advantage of the beginning of winter to order furniture and layette for little Tom’s room, as well as a small selection of clothes and toys suitable for newborns. I knew that we wouldn’t need many clothes for the first few months and that he would lose them very quickly as he grew up, as I refused to expose him to more magic than necessary.

I came up with the idea of making sure Tom always had his wardrobe impeccable, but not spoiling him to the point where he didn’t recognize the value of things. And what would no longer serve him would be donated to the orphanage he would live in if it weren’t for my presence here. It would teach him about compassion and empathy.

With the publication of my research and the investments I made with Krugnot on my first trip to the bank, it didn't take long for me to have a steady enough income to even need to fiddle with the money in the safe and how self-sufficient the house is in terms of food, my only expenses were stocking ingredients for potions that still needed ingredients we didn’t produce, which was minimal.

By mid-December, the house was ready, and we were all buzzing with anxiety. If before my visits to Merope's London hideout were weekly, now they were daily, so I saw when she made the “mistake” to stop giving Riddle the potion. I saw him coming out of the hole Merope was calling home with an angry expression on his face.

With morbid curiosity I let Merope have her meltdown over the failed plan, and chose to follow the man who, until then, had been the reason for all this confusion. With a brief order to Solsy, my faithful squire, to keep an eye on Merope’s location in case she decided to leave her hiding place and hit the streets. I followed Thomas Riddle to King’s Cross and from there to Little Hangleton.

As soon as we got on the train, he opted to stay in an open car, so I was able to sit a few seats away and started watching him. At first I saw where little Tom got his beauty. Tom Riddle was classically handsome, fair-skinned, with the aristocratic, angular face characteristic of old families, and dark brown hair and eyes; his athletic build completed his look of a typical English heir. As messed up as he was, thanks to what he’d just been through, his beauty was undeniable.

He certainly looked worried about what happened today. But then again, I can’t blame him: he was drugged for months to wake up to an eight-month pregnant woman saying that the child she was carrying was his. If that doesn’t qualify rape, I don’t know what does. At some point during the trip, I must have slipped into an almost meditative state of thought with my face still turned to Tom, because when I realised he was standing by the bench in front of me talking to me.

“Madame, you’ve been watching me for a while, can I help you with something?” His voice in a baritone tone that, to be honest with myself, made me shudder and internally thank me for choosing to go out in my coat and gloves.

“Forgive me sir, I was looking out of the train. I must have been distracted. Do you want to sit down?” I said pointing to the seat in front of me.

“Tom Riddle.” He said as he sat up and held out his hand to me.

“Lyra Mahegan. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Riddle.” I said accepting his hand, and he surprised me by taking my hand to his lips and kissing it lightly.

“Please call me Tom, Miss Mahegan.” As much as I want to deny it with all my might, if that’s the charm my son will have when he grows up, I feel sorry for whoever gets his attention. Riddle was making me blush!

“Then call me Lyra.” I replied, trying to regain some composure, which doesn’t seem to have gone unnoticed, judging by Tom's smug face. “So, Tom, I noticed you seemed upset at the beginning of the trip. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Once, talking to one of the court ladies during one of the balls I was invited to, Lady Prewitt, as I recall, reminded me of something I used to unconsciously do whenever I “fished up” for information. She commented that my interest and empathy felt authentic, which often makes the person I’m talking to feel safe to speak freely without waiting for judgement on my part. Of course, I already knew that, but it was nice to know that with my core active, my aura and magic allow me to have a much stronger effect. It’s not a veela charm, but it’s almost as effective, and it serves my purposes.

“You’ll think I’m crazy... I’m starting to doubt my own sanity.” Tom said in a disgusted tone, snapping me out of my memories.

“We’ll never know my opinion if I don’t know what you have to say, right?” I put my best expression of dreamy curiosity on my face and... Bingo! A heavy sigh plus defeated shoulders equals a low guard. Aha! Never fails! I struggle to suppress the satisfied smile that threatens to spread across my face. Instead, I softened my expression to one of compassion.

Without him realising it, we spent the entire time of the trip talking about what he went through, or rather, what he remembers going through in the last few months at Merope’s hands. Thanks to the potion she was giving him, memories of her were blurred, he said, “as if she was trying to remember a dream or a nightmare.” Which, in a way, is understandable, considering the monstrosity that degenerate made him drink.

During our conversation I let my magic get to him with the intention of doing a scan. He was looking for traces of the potion in his system that could bring some sequel. However… I was a little surprised when I got the spell's answer. Well, at least your body is completely free of the potion’s effects. I thought with some resignation. If our paths crossed again in the future, I would try to find out more. For now I will keep my silence.

When we least expected it, we arrived at the train station, and at this point in the conversation he was quite comfortable with me. And then, a doubt popped into my mind, and as we were talking about the baby, I took the opportunity to ask.

“Tom, tell me, what are you going to do with the child? Because despite what… that woman put you through, the child is still an innocent being in this story, and whether you like it or not, you are the father of that child.” And so it seems I got to the point that made him so upset.

“I don’t know, Lyra. If the child is born bearing any resemblance to that witch...”

“I understand, Tom.” I stopped to look around and realised it was getting dark, and if I was going to maintain my innocent, single-girl pose, I had to find a way to get him out of sight as quickly as possible. “My Goddess! Look at the sky. Time really flies when company is pleasant.” I spoke with a bit of charm and a slightly seductive look, returning his last flirtation from earlier on the train. We spent the trip playing a subliminal game of seduction that, by the gods, had me racking my brains over ways to return certain things he said to me without being rude.

“Can I accompany you somewhere? These streets are dangerous for a lady to walk alone at night.” Oh, an invitation to extend our meeting? Let’s see how far Mr. Riddle’s audacity will go.

“It would be very kind of you, I intend to take a room in an inn and leave for Newcastle in the morning. Do you know a place to recommend me?” And then Tom Riddle escorted me to the local inn, not leaving my side until I paid for my overnight stay in one of the rooms.

“Would it be too much to ask of me to invite a lady to dinner? As a thank you for listening to me during the trip?” his voice in a curious mixture of hope and seduction.

“Oh, Tom. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re asking me out.” I replied, keeping my voice neutral and feigning some shyness.

“And what would your response be if that was the case?” My self-control was starting to slip through my fingers. I raised an eyebrow, studying the face of the man in front of me. As it was becoming instinctive for me since I started interviewing the Lords, with a little magic I summoned Meret’s senses to the surface, partially covering mine, and in mere seconds I could feel Tom’s arousal. By the Goddess, can’t I get through reality without having someone disturbed fall in love with me? Bah! Whatever !

“I’ll be honest Tom, the trip made me hungry.”

“So come on, I know a place.” With that, he led me to a small restaurant where we chatted some more, this time talking about more banal topics to try to lighten the mood that was left after the travel talk.

Our seduction duel only heated up, at the appropriate pace for the time, him touching my hands and throwing me little phrases that, for a more inattentive person, would go unnoticed, but, for me, who already dealt with snakes and lions dressed in silks and fine cuts, I was used to the nuances of a conversation with wordplay and subliminal meanings. I’m really amazed, and not pleasantly so, to think that Tom inherited all this and yet was driven by the fear of death... What a waste.

At the end of the night, Tom walked me back to the inn, and we said goodbye at the door.

“Again, thanks for listening to me, Lyra. It was a very pleasant afternoon. I didn’t even realise I needed to vent.”

“It was a pleasure, and I hope you recover soon.” He surprised me again by lifting my hand to his lips and leaving a polite goodbye kiss. On an impulse I didn’t expect, coming from a life spent in the 21st century, I approached him and, before he could register what I was doing, I placed a light kiss on the corner of his lips, then ran inside the inn.

Through the bedroom window I had a perfect view of the street, and I could see Tom still standing in front of the inn with the hand where I had kissed him. And since my self-control decided to take a vacation until further notice, I put a monitoring spell on him, so I would know if he got close. Maybe a second chance encounter could happen? Little did I know how much I had tempted Fate that night.

In the morning, I summoned Solsy to drive me home after leaving tracks to cover up my lie about Newcastle. And even with the weird looks Meret and Arty were giving me, I spent the whole day with a silly grin plastered on my face.

Not long after that unexpected but rather pleasant day, Merope went into labour and I was right beside her when she arrived at Wool Orphanage. And so, after hours of screaming, blood, and agony, Tom Marvolo Riddle was born at exactly midnight of the new year. And while I nursed my heir, Merope Gaunt took her last breath, dead, at midnight on January 1, 1927.

On her lips, her son’s name.

In my mind's eye, the name of my heir danced restlessly: Conri Eltan Mahegan, heir to houses Peverell and Slytherin.

Chapter Text

Twilight. 

I opened my eyes and saw a dark blue sky, fringed with a thin layer of clouds that were tinged with the orange-red hue of the sunset. A scene I had seen several times at dusk in my city — a bright but cold sunset just after a long rainy afternoon. For some reason, this canvas made me feel nostalgic. Have you ever heard the expression longing for a time I didn’t live? Yeah… I could spend hours and hours just contemplating the sky and watching the stars come up while the sunlight disappeared on the horizon. But it’s not like I have time for that.

I sat up, and only then did I realise I wasn’t in bed. Of course… How could I? The ceiling of my room in that apartment downtown was grey, monotonous… Very different from the painting I saw before my eyes. It made no sense to think that I had climbed out of my bed onto the terrace — this would be the most bizarre case of sleepwalking ever recorded by medicine! — and even if such a thing were possible, I would not have such a clean view in a city as large and polluted as my state capital. Inconveniences of modern life, whatever… That must be why I get so nostalgic at times like this.

Now where am I? I stood up, and noticed the muddy street where I was lying. Immediately, I noticed that my clothes were damp. Damn it! Now my sinusitis kills me for good. I shook off the dust and mud as best I could, and then I realised that the weirdness didn’t just stop with sleeping in bed and waking up in the mud… My body. He was kind of… different. Too young, to be exact. No bulging belly that comes with age and sedentary lifestyle, no blemishes on the skin on the arms caused by allergies, no joint pain and cracks! cracks! with jerky movements… Yeah, somehow I was back in my twenties — not that it was a big deal, to be honest. My skin was dark (medium mulatto) and my hair was spiky, always cropped close to my head. I’ve always been skinny beyond measure, the muscles in my arms and legs never developed properly — I was sedentary, but I used to say it was my mother’s fault, who didn’t let me go out much — and my features were absolutely ordinary. An ordinary guy, so to speak. But it’s much better to be an ordinary young man than an ordinary old man, don’t you agree? Too bad this was just a dream, and I would wake up soon.

Yes… Obviously I haven’t looked young again, I mean… They still haven’t invented the rejuvenation pills I read about in that manga — what was its title? And even if they did, there wouldn’t be one crazy, pretty scientist who came to me to offer to bring me back to my late teens. I wouldn’t go back to school, I wouldn’t meet any geeky or bully girls — the kind that don’t take the shit home but, deep down, are as cute as a teddy bear, you know? — and neither would I miraculously become the god of high school. None of that… Delores, my housekeeper, would soon call over the intercom, I would wake up all crooked in my hard bed specially designed for old people with a comma in place of a column, and I would go back to my absolutely monotonous life as an average writer with a niche audience. Does this sound depressing? Sorry… It’s just that sometimes we feel like letting off steam, you know? At least laugh at your own misfortune. It is obvious that this was not the life I wanted for myself.

But enough regrets. This way it will look like I’m just a grumpy old man. Yes, sometimes I am, but most of the time, I’m even a little playful, you’ll see. So… Since I’m here for a new subconscious adventure, why not explore this place a bit? Who knows if that doesn’t result in an idea for a new book? I haven’t posted anything in a while. My fans must already be starting to miss me.

I looked around. Tall, dark walls surrounded me on either side of the street, and it stretched back and forth as far as I could see, with no sign of a fork or a living soul. Behind the walls, it was possible to see roofs of houses and treetops of all kinds. What would be on the other side? I approached the wall on my right, but found it was too high to jump over. What a pity… But wait! If this is a lucid dream, then I can freely control the physics of this place, right? So… Let’s fly! To infinity and beyond!

I jumped, almost reached the top of the wall and… I fell. Smooth. Light it like a stone. Oops… I jumped again, harder, climbed higher, and… I fell again. What the hell! I know I’m one of those writers who try to put realism into everything, even the most pointless fantasies, but… This is a fucking dream! No idle critic is going to piss me off with “he smoked bad weed”. So, subconscious, see if you can collaborate, ok? I took a deep breath, crouched a little to get a bigger boost, jumped with all my might, and… Hell!

OK, OK… I already know I won’t be able to see what’s on the other side of that wall. From what I know of dream theory, this must be some compartment of my mind I’m not ready to access. Well, I’m seventy-six years old now, with serious skin and bone problems and a sinus infection that, when it hits me, makes me look like Puss in Boots from Shrek — by the way, I had a pretty bad fit when I went to sleep. So if I’m not ready to access that now, I’m pretty sure I never will be. Patience… I think it’s useless trying to jump across the street, so… I just have to keep going. In the direction of the sunset.

I walked for what felt like hours, the scenery around me never changing from the ominous monotony of walls and silent roofs, until I finally found a side street narrower and just as muddy as the main street, if you can call it that. Looking at it, all I saw was the same picture, so I moved on. If nothing else happens, I’ll just keep going. This road has to end somewhere. I mean… Every road leads somewhere, as a very smart cat once said to Alice. Okay, I admit it, I don’t remember the cat’s name, but give me a break, I saw the movie when I was a kid!

So I kept walking towards the never-fading sun, passing through streets and streets without anything changing, until, finally, at what seemed to me the thousandth crossroads, I saw a carriage moving slowly in the distance, drawn by a couple of horses. Its style was very familiar to me — a common vehicle in early 20th-century England — though I had never seen one in real life, except in movies and newspaper clippings. She continued at its majestic pace, apparently not led by anyone, until it disappeared behind a wall — probably swerving into a street parallel to the one I was on.

No, that wasn’t something I could pass up… I ran towards it, careful not to get lost in the distance and end up taking a wrong turn. In the end, after counting at least five parallel streets before reaching the one I thought was the correct one, I turned left... In front of me, only the same dark walls and roofs, the same muddy floor and the same sunset that never reached the The end. Disappointment… That was the word. Maybe I chose the wrong street? No, that’s not the case… The dream world doesn’t follow the same logic as the real world. If I were to find the carriage, it would be there, waiting for me. Maybe I should have thought of that before I ran so far. After all, as much as none of this was real, I still felt tired. Too tired…

With that, despite the frustration, I moved on. A new road, which would lead to a new place. I think… But it didn’t take long for me to realise that, despite the similarities, this place wasn’t the same. Little by little, the walls were getting smaller and more vivid, the styles and colours of the roofs were changing, and the trees themselves looked different — more vivid, some covered with flowers. This made me more excited, and so, forgetting all fatigue, I ran. Maybe I would finally find out what was at the end of that road, and who knows what new questions and answers that would bring?

This time I was not disappointed. The street soon opened into an immense square, full of gardens, lakes, fountains, lanes and benches, all in the same early 20th century English style… Why England? Well, I don’t even know. But of all the scenarios, it’s the one that brings me the greatest sense of nostalgia. Should be. It has to be that. Anyway, I have to admit, of all the lucid dreams I’ve ever had — and not a few! — this is the most peculiar. And it becomes even more interesting because I didn’t wake up after satisfying my excitement — which must mean there’s more, much more, awaiting me beyond this plaza.

I didn’t have to go far to see the carriage, parked beside a huge, leafy tree in what appeared to be the centre of the square. The horse was missing, probably loose after completing the trip. I walked up to it, taking in the details and the colours, so vivid and lifelike that it was as if I had actually seen a carriage like that in the real world… Amazing how our minds work, isn’t it? Even the texture, smooth to the touch due to the varnish, was so real… It was like hearing an animal snort, and I turned to look at the horse that drove the vehicle there. Then…

His body was slender and skeletal; instead of hair, there was a thick, black, gnarled leather. The jaws curved into a kind of beak, and what looked like the ears were actually two short, pointed horns. The eyes glowed pearly white, both vivid and pale. But what surprised me the most were the long wings that hung from its back, now folded around its body. Dude… What kind of creature out of nightmares would that be? For some reason, the feeling of nostalgia became stronger. Yes, I had seen that monster before. But where? I can’t remember…

The animal stared at me from a neutral distance, almost as if it was aware of me and studying me, and then a second joined it. I felt scared… Nightmares start like this. If I had to wake up, if Delores had to arrive, let it be now… But she didn’t, and I didn’t wake up. The animals continued to stare at me, and suddenly, as if satisfied with the examination, they turned and walked away — their tails were long and as skeletal as the rest of their bodies — disappearing behind the tree. I took a deep breath, half relieved, half disappointed… Yes, despite everything, I hoped something would happen. As long as it didn’t include being eaten alive by Horses of Satan.

So, after recovering from the tension, I decided it was time to examine the tree. I approached it, being careful to stay hidden by the trunk, in case the two monsters were still around. It wasn’t just big… Its torso was so wide it would take at least a dozen men like me to circle it completely, its roots so high I could climb up and sit on them and my feet wouldn’t touch the ground, and her branches, I now saw, stretched the entire length of the square, intertwining with the tops of other trees and running beyond, over trees and gardens as far as the eye could see. How magnificent! I had never seen a tree like that. Not even in movies or fantasy tales. Without a doubt, a beautiful sight to describe.

I climbed unceremoniously to the nearest root, and then noticed a lower branch, from which hung a fat, strange fruit. From a distance, by the shape and size, I would say it was a pear. But the colour... or rather, the colours... With each step I took towards it, it took on a different tone, sometimes purple, sometimes red, sometimes blue, sometimes green... Sometimes a mixture of all these colours, sometimes something completely different, something I had never seen or imagined. How bizarre! Moved by curiosity, I walked quickly over to it, and reached out my hand to take it. That’s when a voice, apparently coming from beyond, caught my attention:

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I stopped just short of touching the fruit, and quickly turned around, where I assumed the voice was coming from. The strange figure was looking straight at me, standing beside the carriage. Tall, thin, pale, his entire body covered in a long, hooded black cloak, his right hand holding what appeared to be a scythe with a blade so dark I couldn’t make out the details and... No, wait... A pale creature, in a black hoodie, holding a scythe… This reminds me of the comics I used to read as a child, in which “Dona Morte and Penadinho” got up to their pranks… Oh, damn it! Who am I trying to fool? Of course Death came to pay me a night visit. Me, an old man of seventy-six? Who went to sleep exhausted, almost out of breath because of sinusitis? It’s not funny!

“I honestly find it funny the fact that you compare me to them... as much as they don’t have a sense of humour at all.”

The creature pulled back its hood, exposing its face. Green eyes, long, gently wavy hair, slender face… Pleasant, I must admit. For those who have always seen, in the movies and in the books, the representations of death as a skeleton or a fleshless corpse, it wasn’t so bad. Well, there was also a time, on a TV series, that death presented itself as a woman to fill your eyes… Well, in that case, the figure in front of me is even disappointing. If this is all still a dream, or if Death came to get me while I’m sleeping (not that I believe such a thing is possible, I mean, in my religion nothing is ever said about it), well it could appear in a form that please me.

“I can see that you’re going to give me more trouble than the other one…” the creature ran its free hand over its face, which suddenly became a familiar figure.

Where did I even know him from? I frowned, trying to remember. But I didn’t have to think too hard: Daniel Radcliffe, in the prime of his youth, when he was still playing his immortal role of... That’s when I noticed the scar that glowed yellow and red on the thing’s forehead, and then several flashes of random scenes flashed through my mind, narrating remarkable excerpts from what was once one of my favourite books, while I still dreamed of being a writer...

“Harry Potter…” I muttered. Then I remembered the names of the animals pulling the carriage: “Thestrals…” and that’s when, without warning, the tree’s roots began to shake, and I fell on my butt. “Oh, come on!” I screamed. “Now the tree has become the Whomping Willow, by any chance?”

He, as he couldn’t help himself, began to laugh. I noticed that he tried to hide the smile with his hands, but it would be impossible for someone who has spent his life watching the world around him not to notice the gesture. When I was younger, situations like this bothered me, but now, after everything I’ve seen and experienced, I confess that I wanted to laugh along... Well, the situation itself was comical, not to mention bizarre. I looked again at… Harry… and noticed his features return to their previous appearance, which hardly resembled the actor in the movies. Except maybe the eyes. These were still as green as a gemstone.

Harry walked over to one of the benches, and said:

“When you stop admiring the treetops, follow me, we have a lot to talk about,” and he sat down, always looking my way.

I looked at the tree one last time. It looked as peaceful and harmless as it had the moment I arrived in the square. The fruit that attracted me was still there. But Harry told me not to touch it. I got curious. What would happen if I touched it? If I ate it?

“If you want to risk being trapped in this dimension like an immortal fool, go for it! It is against your belief that you are going, not mine.”

I turned to him, who was still sitting and staring at me. Well, it's no surprise that he read my thoughts, after all, that was perfectly possible in books. Although… I was looking at the tree. What happened to eye contact? I’m starting to suspect all of this.

“What is this place?” I asked, approaching him.

“I’ve heard it being called Limbo, others call it Purgatory, others ‘World between worlds’... Different names for the same place” He made a wide gesture with his free hand, encompassing the place as a whole. “And I don’t even need eye contact when you just scream your thoughts like you’re using a megaphone.”

Limbo. Purgatory. Some of the names for the place where disembodied souls were sent to await the final judgement, according to some traditions of mine and other religions. World between worlds was new. But none of that changed the conclusion I came to after that answer.

“I died.” It wasn’t a question. I sighed, resigned.

“Yes, you died. And if it’s any consolation, your… maid… called the fire department before it became impossible to get close because of the smell.”

Well, at least she’ll miss me, I thought, keeping my expression neutral so I wouldn’t look too bitter. I suddenly realised that the figure in front of me can read minds. And that mine, he says, is loud enough that eye contact isn’t even necessary. In other words, no privacy. I’m a bitter old man and I’ll have to live with it. I mean… Oh, fuck it! I died. Who cares what I was or wasn’t?

“I suppose you’re here to tell me what’s going to happen to me, no?” I sat down beside him. I won’t deny that I was a little afraid of the answer. But at the same time, what did I have to lose? Running away from it would do no good. Better to hear what he had to say right away and move on.

“No, not really. I came here to… make you an offer. Now, whether you accept it or not is up to you.”

“An offer?” I repeated. Well, selling my soul to the devil was definitely the last thing I needed. I looked at the tree once more. I was reminded of the biblical description of the Garden of Eden, and I suddenly realised that the tree before my eyes was exactly as I imagined the Tree of Life, which stood in the centre of the garden. It was then, with an overwhelming sense of peace, that I realised that the figure beside me wasn’t exactly a demon. But neither was God. And not an angel. It was something new. Different. Something… real.

Although I have spent my entire life following the precepts of Christianity, I have always kept an open mind to other possibilities, to the fact that the God I believed in might not exist, or be just another representation of something greater and impossible to understand for a mortal and limited mind. I was also always afraid of being wrong and having to pay the price for it. But deep down, I know He would understand. He always understands. Be that as it may, now, before my eyes, I had confirmation for my beliefs.

“So…” I took a deep breath. “Tell me, what do you want?” I didn’t even worry about what I would get. I was already dead. And my life hadn’t been something I’d been proud of, let alone missed. What came was profit.

“I think it’s safe to say that you know my story, right?”

I nodded in confirmation. One of the saddest stories I’ve ever read, if you have the sensitivity to see between the lines. If it weren’t for the script, I’d venture to say that Harry would have an old age as full of regrets as mine.” That’s when Harry’s face darkened. Ah… It’s going to be hard to get used to this mind-reading thing… But it’s his problem, not mine!

“You don’t have to be old to have regrets like mine. Just live long enough,” he was silent for a while. “Anyway, there is a possibility that I could send you to a version of my original world, that way, you would be able to change the story, preventing some of the numerous… inconsistencies in the ‘script’ you mentioned.”

“Send to a version of your original world…” Those words were dancing around in my head for a while. Well, it’s not like I’ve never read stories with similar concepts. Someone died in the real world, somehow reincarnated in a fantasy world, and, knowing the story from top to bottom, changed everything to suit their own convenience. I wrote one of these myself — one of the biggest hits of my career, so to speak. And with that, I make it clear that I always dreamed of this possibility, of going to live another life in another world, being happy in some epic adventure, surrounded by friends and important people... And then, the figures of Sirius, Lupin, Fred, George, Cedric and Snape himself (perhaps the saddest of them) danced in my thoughts, and the weight of responsibility for what Harry was proposing to me fell on my shoulders… Yes, it would be an adventure, but at the same time, I would have several lives in my hands.

“I don’t even know what to say… I mean, yes… I do… I accept, but… Why me?”

“Because you, my dear, have exactly the kind of active, logical mind that a certain someone I know needs to ensure that the wizarding world as we know it doesn’t disappear entirely.”

I thought a little.

“What do you mean disappear? As I recall, you won… Voldemort died, and all was well. Well, at least that’s how the book I read ended up,” I looked at Harry. I suddenly thought of little Albus Severus and that Cursed Child (not that I’d finished reading that, to be honest). “What, exactly, happened after the book ended?”

Then he explained to me in detail about how magic has declined over the centuries due to the high level of incest, about how the loss of ancient traditions has contributed to magic getting out of control, about how life cannot sustain itself without magic in a essentially magical world, about how Tom was right… Wait, what’s that?!

“That guy was an equal or worse genocider than Hitler, and I suppose Hitler existed in your world too, so you know what I’m talking about. How the hell could he be right?”

“Before he became a genocider, Tom Marvolo Riddle was a genius, prodigy and a visionary. And that’s the one I’m referring to. He was right to say that restricting our traditions in the name of Muggle-borns would bring about our eventual undoing. Which, in fact, caused it. If you only knew the real importance and reason why the wizarding community could never convert to your religion, you would understand what I mean.”

“It’s not like I didn’t know it, I mean… My religion has always condemned witchcraft… But that doesn’t matter now… OK, let me get this straight: after the book ended, magic and the world started to slowly die. Muggle integration caused wizards to forget their culture, or rather, Muggle culture absorbed that of wizards, ancient rituals were forgotten and the deterioration of magic was accelerated… Okay, so… I should… Help the muggles in wizarding society without the wizarding culture disappearing, is that it?”, I can’t deny that this conclusion baffled me, I mean… He was literally asking me to change the world! And save it in the process. Me, who could barely pilot the stove in my kitchen and save a fried egg…

“Yes, basically. I already have someone there who will take care of the Ministry of Magic. But knowing that person as well as I do, things are in serious danger of spiralling out of control before they make a good decision. And I honestly fear for the soul that gets in their way. You must help them to keep the Muggle-borns under control.”

“Right…” now that he confirmed it, I took a deep breath to calm myself down. He wouldn’t choose me for the job if he didn’t believe I was capable of it, would he? However, I noticed that he mentioned something like “I already have someone there” and a number of implications about that. Who would that person be? And another thing… “But I don’t see how a student could do what you’re asking, at least not for a long time. And who is this person you mentioned and where are they?”

“You really didn’t think I’d send you to my timeline, did you?” honestly, I thought so, but apparently that’s not the case. “No, my dear Edgar. You will take the place of the one everyone knows to be the father of the worst Dark Lord the wizarding world has ever seen,” he said and smiled. It must be because my eyes widened to a level that, I daresay, would have popped out of their sockets if I were still alive.

Father of the worst Dark Lord the world has ever seen. I don't need to be a genius to understand what he meant. And much less why he chose me. I mean, the real reason. But if he didn't notice, I was never a father. There is a difference between liking children, having a soft spot for them, and caring for one. Even more one who, according to the books, was born to be the worst psychopath the world has ever seen, I mean, born bad. Maybe it's better to warn him about it soon.

“You know, Harry, I kind of understand…”

That’s when my eyelids got heavy, and I couldn’t resist the drowsiness that followed. I fell asleep. If this was all a long, bizarre dream, I honestly wanted and didn't want to wake up from it. It was the moment of truth.

Chapter Text

I could hardly believe that, after a long year of preparing, my heir was finally in my arms. His delicate features, pale skin and calm angelic features in his sleep made me believe that, at that moment, I was the luckiest and happiest woman in the universe. But even the most beautiful dream must end, and soon reality came to pull me back.

That same night, I took advantage of the help that the nuns who ran the orphanage were giving me with the little one to arrange the Muggle adoption papers. Complementing the story he had been weaving over the year, I said that Merope was a distant cousin and that my cousins — her father and brother —, had died earlier that year. Which technically wasn’t a lie, as they were both arrested shortly before my arrival, Marvolo would die in Azkaban and Morfin would die as soon as he got out of there in a few years. Tragic. In fact, as I had inherited the family fortune, I could raise the little one without any problems.

Suffice it to say that, upon learning of the tragedy, the nuns agreed to make the adoption easier (the fact that I used a little bit of pure magic in my voice to make sure they cooperate had absolutely nothing to do with it, I swear) and since the whole thing took most of the night, as soon as the first dawn of the new year arrived, I took my son to Gringotts to take care of the magical adoption.

A few minutes before leaving the orphanage, however, something told me to leave some means of contact with the nuns in case of any eventuality — aka, in case Riddle had a crisis of conscience after our conversation and decided to look for his son. So I left them a copy of the adoption terms, with a note containing my address and name — all covered with a little compulsion attached to the Riddle name.

Then I called Solsy to escort me to the bank. Sweet creature that she is, she remembered to bring the boy’s blanket that was complete with the family crest and his new name. Almost making me cry.

“The young master is beautiful, Mistress.” The elf said with an irreverence that I hadn't expected, but that still cheered me up, as I was sure my son would be accepted by everyone.

“Yes, he is. Well, as I promised you, we still need to get it right. So let’s go?” I held out my hand to her as with Conri in my arms the safest way to travel was through the elves.

Arriving at the Bank, I quickly requested an urgent meeting with Krugnot, being received by said goblin less than five minutes later.

“Miss Mahegan, I see that your other plans have finally brought in the profit you were hoping for. I believe that congratulations are in order.” Despite the analogy, I smiled discreetly, taking the chair offered to me.

“Yes, my months investment has finally earned me my little treasure.” I stated while admiring the pale and delicate face of the little one in my arms.

“How can I help you, miss?” I turned my gaze to the goblin, remembering the reason for my visit.

“I want… No, I need to ensure that my heir cannot be taken from me, and I also want any and all ties he has with his soon-to-be ex-mother to be severed. Long story short,” with a small nod, Solsy placed a piece of parchment on the table in front of Krugnot, “I need to perform this ritual and submit all the paperwork that we both know will appear at the ministry.” giving him a determined look, I waited for his response.

My account manager's fierce smile, which after months of working together I could finally call familiar, was enough to reassure me. The adoption ritual began soon after, but in the safest way possible.

A few hours, a few potions, drops of blood, and meaningful chants later, with the ritual done and the papers in order, I was finally able to get my little Conri home.

Waiting for us, the squad surprised me with the most touching welcome home surprise I could ever wish for. They decorated the house with green sparkles that fell from the ceiling like snow disappearing just above our heads. In the living room, a rocking chair took pride of place by the fireplace with a basket beside it for Conri to take his naps. If I was on the verge of tears before, upon seeing that, I couldn’t hold back the tears of happiness, letting them flow freely down my face as I struggled to maintain my composure.

“Oh, I don’t even know what to say… Thank you. Just thank you.”

“No need to thank us, Mistress.” Solsy said, leading me to my new chair. “After you explained to us that the young master would not come by conventional means. We wanted to make sure you didn't have too much to worry about,” she gave Wooky a sideways glance before finishing, “especially after your blackouts that we all know could be avoided.” This brought a shy laugh through my tears.

And then, after making sure Conri was safe and sound in her crib, I took a well-deserved nap after staying up the night before.

I don’t know if I should be surprised by this or not, but after the first troubled nights, we all fell back into a makeshift routine that again had me confusing the days of the first month. And just like every single mother who has ventured to raise her children alone, all of my days have been devoted to my son in one way or another, even when it wasn’t really planned that way.

It was at some point during the first few weeks that I was in the library trying to make progress on some of my many research, while Conri was sleeping an exhausted sleep — the little one was going through what I suspected was a bout of colic caused by the formula I was giving him. — that I found one of the potions books for new parents and decided to see if it had anything interesting that I might have overlooked for one reason or another. In the end, I happened to find something, which, if done correctly, could solve many of our problems.

Sometime later, Wooky found me in the potions lab, deep in notes and ingredients. In front of me was a boiling cauldron with a half-made potion.

“Dare I ask, what has you so distracted that you don’t even realise it’s past little master’s mealtime?”

In my defence, I winced at the poisonous tone the elf used. “For the same reason you’re scolding me. Your meals.” I replied while trying not to spoil my biggest chance to connect even more with my son so far, and with that, definitively end the storm that was keeping everyone in the house awake at night.

“Care to elaborate, Mistress?” Wooky asked, leaning closer, probably trying to figure out what I was doing just by the ingredients scattered on the counter.

“Here, read this and tell me what you think,” I said, handing him the book where I found the recipe, as I took another ingredient to add, at that moment, to the blood-red potion, turning it a deep purple, so I paused before letting it boil over medium heat and untouched for five minutes straight — five minutes that I took the opportunity to address my most efficient assistant in the exact art of potion brewing. “So what do you think?” I asked him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I think you forgot our agreement of no experimenting things on yourself without help!” The exasperated tone that enveloped Wooky’s voice made me shudder again. “But, yes, I can understand your reasoning.” After taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned to look me in the eye and said, “Mistress, you know how risky it is to experiment on yourself…” Oh no my friend, you won’t make me feel guilty about this. Not this time.

“Look Wooky, I know the risks, but... I had to at least try.” All because I discovered a potion that, according to the book, was able to make me produce milk, so I could breastfeed Conri instead of giving him the damn formula that seemed to be more work than it was worth based on the cramps Conri was having on a regular basis “I can’t let my son cry restlessly while I watch without being able to do absolutely nothing!” By the end of my sentence I was almost screaming, which seemed to be enough to make the elf rethink what he was about to say.

“Okay, I get your point, Mistress. But now the young master is crying because he misses his mother and there is little that you need to do here until the potion is ready.” The elf came to me and started pulling me out of the laboratory. “Now you will go upstairs, shower and be with your son.” So, with an amused smile on my face and a “thank you” over my shoulder, I did just that.

After a long shower to get the potion smoke off my skin, I was finally able to go after my distressed son. I found him in his crib with an even more distressed Geeky next to him.

“Hey my little monster…” I said with a soft tone, taking him in my arms. Soon his crying was reduced to whimpers, so I got a look at him. “What’s the matter, little one?”

“Thank the Goddess you came, Mistress, I’ve been trying to get him to sleep for a while, but he’s not calm enough for it.” Geeky, visibly calmer, told me as he fixed the crib.

“It’s okay now, Geeky. Go get some rest, I got him now.” I told the young elf as I gently rocked Conri. Soon I was lulling him to sleep humming my favourite lullaby: Lugia’s song. He didn’t last long after the first thirty seconds or so before he fell asleep, but just in case I kept him in my arms. Slowly so as not to disturb the little one, I walked over to my rocking chair in the living room and sat down to wait for Wooky to finish the potion.

Not long after that, Meret approached, climbing onto the back of the chair.

* I could have sworn I wouldn’t see you today, or even this week, actually. * I watched as she perched on my shoulders.

* And I didn’t mean to come back anytime soon either, but I heard the furball mumbling about you disappear while the hachtling was crying. * It looked like everyone had decided to gang up on me for “disappearing” for just a few hours. I would love to know what it would be like when I needed to be away from Wizengamot sessions for hours . I thought bitterly, only to push the thought away. It wouldn’t be fair of me to think like that when everyone was doing their best to help me.

* Good to know I have your support Meretseger. * Which didn’t stop me from needling my familiar for her impertinence. After a while of speaking Parsel, I found that, with a little practice, irony and sarcasm can be even more venomous than in English.

*You’re welcome * Meret hissed in my ear. * So, are you going to tell me where you’ve been to leave the hachtling in such agony? *

* If you really want to know, you nosy snake, I’ve discovered a potion that will allow me to breastfeed Conri. * I told her while trying not to move too much so as not to disturb the sleeping prince in my arms.

* Oh, great. That way, you won’t have to give him that horrible thing that made him cry every night. *

* Fortunately no, I won’t. * I breathed a sigh of relief that she was right. We could finally have calmer nights.

Not long after we’d fallen into comfortable silence, Wooky left the lab, and just in time, as Conri was starting to stir, waking up from her nap hungry again.

“Is it ready?” I asked anxiously looking around for a flask or something and finding a glass with, ironically, a milky white liquid inside.

“Yes mistress. Just please, for our peace of mind, call me the next time you decide to do something like this again.” He asked before handing the glass to me.

“Easier said than done and you know it.” I snapped before drinking, a horrible taste of spoiled milk burning my throat just like the book said it should. “Arg! At least I just need to drink this once.”

If I remember correctly the potion would emulate the hormones needed to quickly start milk production and as soon as Conri started eating less milk and more solid food the effects of the potion would also start to wear off and I wouldn’t have to worry about the constant production of milk, just as it would have been if I had given birth to him.

“How long to…” Just as I was going to ask about the time for the potion to work, I felt my breasts suddenly get heavier and my shirt getting tighter in that area. “Uh never mind. It’s instantaneous.”

Carefully I opened my shirt and after making sure I was producing milk I offered my nipple to Conri to suck. The hungry little monster that he was, it didn’t take much encouragement for him to start sucking vigorously. Which reminded me of an important detail my mother had told me about when I was a baby.

“Oh, good to know that of all the things for you to inherit from me, it had to be my hunger and my bite. And now that I know I’m going to need it, Wooky, make sure I keep my stash of healing and healing ointments in the bathroom cabinet. In fact, I’ll declare a miracle if this hungry little monster doesn’t bite my nipple off.” And now I understand what my mom was talking about when she complained about how much I hurt her growing up.

“Yes mistress.” Wooky’s amused tone stoked something fierce in my mind.

“Ha. Ha. Keep laughing at my suffering, you sadistic elf. I hope you don’t mind when I inform Cinny about this. And before you hide from your wife, remember to put a monitoring spell on the lab door. Only then can we avoid another episode like today.”

And with a hasty “Yes, Mistress”, the helpless elf disappeared from the room.

* Sweet, sweet revenge. * I said moving on to Parseltongue * I’ll bet you a month’s worth of fresh mice that he won’t show up in the kitchen until morning and won’t stay long. * I told my constrictor as she cackled into my shoulders.

* I say he doesn’t show up before dinner tomorrow. And if you win I will accompany you to the next two ministry meetings .*

* I see we’re betting big. Very well. Agreed .* I said taking the tip of her tail in a kind of handshake.

I know what you might be thinking, but I have to get my own fun out of somewhere, so I made it a habit to bet with Meret about little things in the house, like how long Bran would be completely clean after a bath or about the elves. Like, for example, siccing an angry Cinny at Wooky and seeing for how long he would disappear, until she was calm enough that his attempts to escape a beating weren’t a complete waste of time.

And, with this small success, our lives were certainly calmer and, finally, Conri was able to sleep peacefully, without waking up in pain. So even with the restless nights, dirty diapers, and constant pain from feeding him, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Life was good. Until it wasn’t anymore.

Chapter Text

I think by now you must be used to my accounts of those dark days of mine. Well, let's just say that in the weeks following that blessed potion, we finally got some rest after the nightmare that damn formula caused.

After that, the next day of note was my birthday, which I spent with Conri and my family. My team went out of their way to prepare every meal that day, something I would fondly remember for many years to come.

In the morning, after Conri’s first meal, my breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs with toast, cheese, ham, and a bottle of fresh apple juice, brought in bed for me by the elves. After that, I ran a little around the house with Bran and went through our periodic fight for the rank of Alpha. Well, remember that Bran is half wolf, which means that every now and then he tests my skill as the Alpha of our little pack. It helped me keep in shape, so I never complained.

At lunchtime, Salkey prepared some of the dishes I used to eat with my parents, like my mother's beef stew and the raisin rice my father loved for Christmas dinner. And after that, I spent quality time with Arty in the library studying and researching ancient rituals that might be useful or simply not harmful to teach a child, for when Conri was old enough to do so.

At teatime, I gave Conri my full attention. My fennel and jasmine tea, along with an amazing lemon tart, added a sweet touch to the time I spent with my little prince. Between laughter, playing with glowing magic and a relaxing nap, my hungry monster showed me exactly why he was considered by many to be the most powerful Dark Lord Britain had in centuries. With just over a month, he managed to change the colour of a ball of light that I used to play with him. Even if he tried, he couldn't measure the pride and happiness I felt at that moment.

So, just before dinner, I sat in front of the fire to relax a little while I waited for the food. I looked around to see my family safe and sound around me. Conri was fast asleep in her crib beside me, Bran lying in front of my feet by the fire, and Arty perched in her favourite spot on the back of my chair, just behind my right shoulder. Shortly after we were all settled, Meret made her presence felt, curling up in Conri's crib.

* Back so soon? How was the hunt? * I asked her as she inspected our puppy to see if anything was wrong. Finding nothing, she came to lie on my shoulders, then I took it upon myself to put a warming spell on her.

* Same as always. * She replied absently. Turning her head towards the kitchen, she tasted the air and asked, * Is there a reason for such commotion in the squad? *

*Y es, you snakes don’t celebrate hatching day, do you? * After she gave me a negative nod, I continued explaining * Today is my birthday, and in case you hadn’t noticed, yesterday we completed one year living here. So it’s only natural that the elves are a little more agitated than usual. * I laughed at her sceptical look, * They wanted to celebrate and thank me, I think. *

And then it occurred to me that, yes, it had been a year since Harry had brought me here. Much had already been done, but there was much more to be done. And then I look at the baby sleeping peacefully beside me and remember why he was doing all this. I must admit that I always tried to understand Tom's reasons, his goals. Why he did what he did, what he did to himself to achieve his goals.

As a mother, I was beginning to understand how important it was to ensure that the world my son lived in was the best I could give him. Not just him, but all the children who would grow up there as well.

I was so lost in thought that Meret had to smack my forehead with her tail so I could tell Solsy was calling me.

“Sorry my dear, I got distracted. What’s it?"

“Thank you, Meret. Mistress, that friend of yours is at the front door.” She said with some trepidation in her voice. Why?

“Well, is dinner ready?” I asked as I stood up, placing Meret on the floor next to Conri’s crib and heading to the front door to greet my ‘guest’.

“Yes Mistress.”

“Very well, let’s see what the illustrious Master of Death wants with me.” She said getting up and going to the door to see what Harry wanted this time.

“I must say, Lyra, there are better ways to bring Fate’s attention to you... Oh, and happy birthday.” He said as he handed me a box in green wrapping paper and a silver ribbon. OK, of all the things and greetings Harry could give me, this wasn’t among what I expected him to say. Absently, I opened the box, finding a more delicate version of the Slytherin pendant with space for a couple of small pictures. I gave a small smile about the implications of the gift.

“Thank you, Harry.” He said with a little bow about the necklace. “Want to come in? Dinner is about to be served and I would definitely like a drink while you explain what you meant about Fate.” I invited, as I backed away so he could enter. “Salkey, put one more plate on the table, we have a guest.” I spoke aloud, leading Harry into the living room.

As soon as I got to the living room, Conri started to stir, waking up from his nap, probably as hungry as ever, so I didn't do much ceremony before lifting him in my lap.

“Hello my Prince. There’s someone here I want you to meet.” I told him as I picked him up from the crib, then turned to face the millennial being in the room. “Harry, this is my heir, Conri Eltan Mahegan, Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Peverell and Slytherin.” I said, pride filling my chest and voice. Harry carefully came to our side and gently caressed my son’s head. His green eyes, full of wonder and hope, were fixed on the baby in my arms.

“I’m glad you reached him in time. He deserves the chance to have a happy childhood. May your soul grow whole and healthy this time. May Fate be kind to your path and ease your tribulations, little Conri. May Time be fair, and your life full of love and wisdom. And when your time finally comes, may you accept death without fear or regret. So mote it be.” Magic weighed heavily in the air as Harry gave Conri his blessing.

“So mote it be.” After the magic settled around us, Salkey appeared at my side.

“Mistress, dinner is served.”

“Thanks Salkey, we’ll be there in a minute.” I turned to my guest with an amused look in my eyes. “Did you hear the elf, shall we?”

“After you.” I could see his eyes and despite the agitation still present from the earlier comment, he seemed lighter after seeing the difference I had already made to the little one.

We ate in comfortable silence, listening only to the sounds of silverware hitting plates. Low groans of appreciation for the food filled the room, and a soft melody played in the air allowing my son to be at peace while I ate. Salkey, being the angel that she is, came up with the brilliant idea to serve my plate in a way that I could eat with just a spoon, as I was busy holding Conri with my other hand.

After our dishes were cleared, we went back to the living room, Harry sat on the couch and I sat in my rocking chair. Just like when he first met Harry, Bran positioned himself between me and the “stranger” as my beta and protector. I think my mood during our meeting on Samhain didn’t do Harry any good in terms of my partners’ trust. This time, not only Bran, but Arty and Meret were also attentive to our guest's every move.

“Calm down, all of you. He’s a friend of mine. Without him I wouldn’t even be here to begin with.” I tried to tell them, but no one paid any attention to me. I sent out a wave of calming energy in hopes of reassuring them, which partially worked. I paid more attention to their positions and then understood the problem: it wasn’t me they were protecting… “Well, there’s not much else I can do.” I admitted with an apologetic look. “Now… you said something about Fate…”

The change in his posture was immediate.

“Remember when you followed Riddle to Little Hangleton and spent the entire trip talking to him?” His voice was stern and his eyes unreadable.

“Yes, I remember that. And?” I asked him as I placed Conri in the crib and covered him with a sound-muffling spell so he wouldn’t be disturbed if our… argument… escalated into a screaming fight.

“So what, because of your ‘morbid curiosity’ he is now in love with you. You know as well as I do the risks your escapade with that man can bring you. For all you know, he might be a worse monster than Tobias Snape! Not to mention your luck with men.” His answer took me by surprise. Not that I didn’t already know that Tom was attracted to me. What surprised me was that he used my past against me. I definitely didn’t need him to remind me of my own ghosts.

“OK. First of all, I know about my bad choices in men, I have a damn graveyard on my mind for that very reason. Second, his attraction to me is nothing new, his hormones were pouring out in waves that night. And third... If, and I mean a huge IF, it happens that I end up in a relationship with him or any other man and Tom still dares to lift a finger against me or anyone in this house, especially my son, I swear on my soul that he will not leave this house intact.” By the end of my rant, not only was I close to growling, but Bran was in an attack position, Meret had wrapped protectively around Conri’s crib, and Arty had her wings half spread, ready to pounce. The only problem was that their target was Harry.

Slowly, I took a deep breath to calm myself, repositioned my mental shields, and applied a calming wave to all my companions. Very slowly, the three of them relaxed and returned to their positions around me. However, the tension in the air was palpable.

“And as you can very well see, he won’t just face me, every being in this house knows how to fight. I was so fucking careful about it that I taught them myself.” We spent some time in silence, waiting for the remaining tension to dissipate.

“Well, since you seem to have this problem under control, I’ll take my leave. But before that, a warning: let it be clear that you tempted Fate that night. And as someone who has lived under their direct influence… I just wish you had more time before that damn bitch gets in your way.” He sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders, looking extremely tired.

“I know, Harry. And really, I appreciate your concern. But again, as you can see, we are a pack and we protect each other.” I told him in a placating tone and a small but proud smile on my lips. “And thank you for being here tonight and for your warning.” The smile he gave me in return didn’t reach his eyes.

Days after my birthday, I was still thinking about what Harry had said about Fate getting in my way, and after replaying all our conversations, I remembered about that “other soul” I was supposed to save while I was here.

That night I saw concern in his eyes... Let’s see. Tom is a Muggle, as far as I know, as much as something told me there was something different about him. And our beloved society is made up of a bunch of blind hypocrites who refuse to adapt and evolve. At the next Wizen meeting, they would have no idea what hit them. And since I won the last bet on Wooky, Meret will see it first hand. And then Harry talked about risks. Yeah, as a high lady in my position, I shouldn’t get involved with a muggle. But I also happen to be what they call a half-blood... But… What if? I allowed a predatory smile to spread across my face at the idea that formed in my mind.

Well, that’s what I call a plan... But for that to happen a certain someone needs to take my bait.

Chapter Text

I woke up. I looked up at a grey ceiling, lit by the dim morning light, and brought both hands to my temple to gather my thoughts. I always do this when I wake up from a night with long, bizarre dreams; it is a kind of ritual to remember all the details of the dream. This way, I have already been awarded several books. And the latter would be particularly interesting.

The bizarre thing about this whole story is that I usually had to force myself to organise the memories as soon as I woke up, and it took a few hours before I had the complete picture formed in my mind. But this time, all the scenes and lines were clear, and I could start the day by deciding how best to use them in my next work.

“Then let’s do this while I have breakfast…” I said, sitting up in bed.

Only then did I look around and realise that this wasn’t exactly… my room. So… It wasn’t the simple, functional furniture I’d chosen for the final chapter of my life, so to speak, consisting of a bed, a nightstand, a built-in wall wardrobe with a full-length mirror on the door, and a desk where I left my work computer and other everyday things, all white and made with recycled wood. No… The furniture in front of me was quite different: there was a chest of drawers in front of the bed, above which was an oval mirror with a rich gold frame; to my right, a huge wardrobe took up the entire wall, I mean, half of the furniture looked like a closed wardrobe, because the other half was a bookcase crammed with books; between the bed and the furniture, a desk full of papers, an ink pen, an inkwell and an oil lamp. All in an old style, I believe Victorian, and made of dark, well-preserved hardwood.

“Wow…” I muttered, still not believing it.

Turning to the left, I saw what must have been a huge window, now shaded, a few steps away. I walked there, opened it and… In addition to being bathed in the morning light, which comes through the stained glass windows of the door of what was, in fact, a balcony, I noticed the stunning landscape full of hills and fields and woods, in addition to the blackened roofs of the city.

“It wasn’t a dream after all…” I finally accepted the facts.

That’s when a torrent of memories that weren’t mine took over my mind, bringing flashes of a lifetime that I, or rather, the original owner of that body, had lived. I confess that I almost fell back when the confluence of memories came, and that it took me a while to organise everything and form a cohesive picture, but in the end, after several hours lying in bed with both hands on my head, I had a good idea. the size of the trouble I had gotten myself into. Yes… Then, I was Tom Riddle. An only child and heir to one of the oldest and richest families in England at the beginning of the 20th century. Father of the worst and most powerful dark wizard the world would ever see. And with an impossible mission on my hands: save him from that fate. How would I do that? I had no idea.

First, let’s go to the desk and place the pieces on the board. I mean, actually, I’m going to write down my possibilities. I’m the type to plan everything, and my plans come out better when I write. That said, what do we have? I, or rather Tom, was engaged to Cecilia Horton, the only child and heiress of one of the most influential families of the British House of Lords, with whom he had been in love for as long as he could remember, and who had now seen his amorous dreams melt away on account of him from the callous intervention of a certain dark witch… Could I even call Merope Gaunt that? Well… From what little I can remember from the books, she wasn’t exceptionally gifted with magic, so… no. Anyway, thanks to her actions and the rumours they caused, the engagement was off and I, or rather Tom, hadn’t seen Cecilia in almost a year. Tragic, no doubt… But it’s not my problem. As I recall from the books, he never married. I think I’ll respect that, after all, I’ll soon have to assume custody of a child.

And about that, well…

“Why the hell didn’t you let me wake up with her?!” I yelled at the empty room.

So think with me. Harry threw me into this reality in the body of Scaly’s father, I mean, Voldemort. That must mean he would like me to raise the boy, right? If that’s the case, why not let me wake up next to Merope Gaunt, the instant Tom awoke from the effects of the love potion? Unlike Tom, I wouldn’t leave a pregnant woman behind, and I believe that with the resources of the Riddle family — even if Thomas, the father, would never approve of this relationship — I might even be able to fix her death. She would probably be a better mother than her father was to her as a guardian, I mean, there was no way she could be worse than that, unless she was trying hard. That said, with Mom and Dad around, maybe little Tom wouldn’t turn into the psychopath who would wreck the lives of so many in the future. Maybe… The truth is, one can’t know.

In any case, now that Tom had abandoned her and she was probably already dead (thanks to one Harry, I’ll write it down here so we can have a serious talk about it when we meet again), I’d have to resort to plan B. What would it be? Well, it’s early January. If I remember correctly, Voldemort was born at the turn of the year. This means that the boy has only a few days old, and is “abandoned” in a London orphanage. All I have to do is hire someone to look up the names and addresses of all the institutions of this type that exist in the capital, and then visit them one by one until I find a child born under these conditions: the son of an indigent girl who gave birth at the turn of the year and died a few hours later. There shouldn’t be many, don't you agree? Knowing that she’s named the boy after Tom Riddle’s first and last name, will it be easy to prove that I’m the child’s father, and really? I doubt any orphanage housekeeper would reject handing a newborn over to a millionaire willing to adopt him, after all, the alternative would be one more mouth to feed.

Well, theory ready, now… practice. Well, looking back at Tom’s memories… It’s not like he’s on good terms with his parents, not after months of being missing, endless rumours among the less-than-discreet residents of Little Hangleton, and a major broken engagement. That means any access I might have had to the family’s coffers has been taken away until further notice, so there’s no way I can hire someone for this investigation, at least not for the next few days. Then there’s the trip to London itself. Although I knew I was less than a day’s journey away if I took the train, it was also highly unlikely that I would be allowed to set foot off the property for a long time. No… Tom was still recovering from a serious and mysterious illness, for which he had been undergoing treatment for months abroad, and could not leave the house or receive visitors. Yes, that was what Tom’s parents had come up with to save their reputation. It worked? No. But it’s like they say: repeat a lie a thousand times and it becomes the truth. Soon the citizens of Little Hangleton would get tired of the gossip about Tom’s life, and then the story planted by the Riddles would spread and become the absolute truth about the events of that last year.

That said… The first step in looking for little Tom would be to regain the respect and trust of old Tom’s parents (speaking “my parents” is weird, hey, I can still remember my real parents very well). And the only way to do that is to present myself as a perfect English lord in the prime of his twenty-five years and fulfil my responsibilities to the letter — which were not few, since Tom was practically taking over the family business when Merope did. kidnapped. In that sense, let's see what the mirror says.

Tall, well-defined body, brown hair and eyes, thin and good-looking face. “Not bad”, I thought. If I had looked like this in my previous life, who knows if I wouldn’t have been more successful with women? Well, it’s no use thinking about it now, not least because I’ll have my chance after dealing with little Tom, I think. Now I need to wash up (there was a basin and a pitcher full of water on a nightstand by the bed), put on a jacket and go to the dining room, after all, I’m hungry. So where? Oh yes! The wardrobe.

I don’t think I need to elaborate on what happened next, after all, it was just the tedious routine of a typical English lord, even if this particular lord wasn’t exactly of this world. Ah, having access to all of Tom’s memories, his culture and upbringing, helped a lot, so my adjustment was quick and trauma-free. So the days went by quickly, and after three weeks I, who had already regained some of the trust that Tom's parents had placed in him, and travelled on the pretext of checking on some family business in the capital, found myself in front of the Wool Orphanage, where, unless I was very much mistaken, Voldemort had been left shortly after birth.

“What a dreary place…” I muttered as I passed through the entrance gate. In fact, it was not a place where a child was supposed to grow up.

I took a few deep breaths and mentally reviewed the script I had prepared for the last few weeks for this occasion. So, without further ado, I reached out and slammed the knocker three times.

“Well, how can I help you, sir?” The woman who attended to me wore a sober black cassock that covered her from head to toe, as well as a greasy apron. I vaguely remembered a scene from the movies where a lady in a dress was tending to a young Albus Dumbledore. Interesting… A small difference between the story I read and saw in theatres and the reality of this world.

“I’m Riddle” I took off my hat and bowed, a greeting typical of that time. “I am here looking for information about the birth of a child at the end of last year.”

“One moment please.” she slammed the door in my face.

I bit my lip… Did I make a mistake? A short time later, however, a second, slightly older nun opened the door.

“Mr Riddle?” I nodded, indicating that it was me she should deal with. “The child you are looking for has already been adopted.” My eyes widened in surprise. “The Lady who adopted him gave us this address. Here.” and she handed me a piece of paper, on which I read a Welsh address. Then she slammed the door again, giving me no time to ask questions.

Ah, but obviously I wouldn’t let things end like this, would I? I mean… How could those two know which, exactly, was the child I was looking for? And another: Voldemort was not adopted. There was definitely something wrong there. At the very least, they had me confused with someone else, although more likely they were just trying to get rid of me. Maybe I should give more details about my last name. It ALWAYS helps.

I hit the knocker again. One. Two. 3 times. Anything. It was as if that dark, ghostly building were empty. But how could it be? As I knocked on the door with more and more force and impatience, people on the street began to look at me suspiciously. Hell! Getting that kind of attention is all I wouldn’t want right now, especially since the Riddle name still hasn’t fully recovered in my hometown. No… Another gossip about the crazed drunk who tried to break into an orphanage wouldn’t do Tom’s reputation any good… No… I need to regain my composure and behave like the lord I’m not, but now I need to be.

I walked as quickly as possible without seeming rushed, if you know what I mean. I walked to a nearby park, and then looked more closely at the piece of paper the nun had passed me. On it, in addition to the address, was also written:

Tom Marvolo Riddle, adopted January 1, 1927 by Lyra Mahegan Peverell-Slytherin.

The surname Riddle explained how they identified me, and the name Marvolo confirmed the note’s authenticity, after all, there would be no way two Muggle women would know that name. However, none of that caught my attention. What really got me was the Peverell-Slytherin surname of the supposed lady who adopted the child. Now, there before me were the names of two of the most important wizarding families in the entire saga. The problem is that both were already extinct when the book began. And there was definitely no Lyra… Mahegan… to inherit them, let alone adopt Voldemort. Another difference, and this one makes a 180º turn in my future plans. Why do I get the feeling that green-eyed zombie have something to do with this?

Chapter Text

A few months after my birthday, I was still thinking about what Harry had said about Tom and how he could be a risk to my plans for the wizarding world. But on second thought, I like to believe I have that part of my plans under control. After all, it wasn’t for nothing that I left my little trap set at the orphanage.

Anyway, between remembering what Harry said to me on my birthday and my plans for the wizarding world, I kept revisiting the memories of my old relationships, as Harry did me the favour of reminding me of its existence. Something that hasn’t happened in the last year, not even once. The Graveyard. As I told Harry, this graveyard is where I keep all my memories of my previous relationships, from start to finish. And I remember every moment of each of them.

But I think what kept me coming back there was the fact that a guy, just out of a sick relationship, doused in an abominable potion that denied his will, was attracted to me simply because I paid attention to him in a moment of weakness. I was trying to understand what exactly I did to cause this.

Does Aphrodite hate me so much that only broken guys are capable of falling in love with me?

“MISTRESS!” Solsy’s scream finally snapped me out of my reverie. I blinked a few times to refocus on my little helper.

“Sorry Solsy, I let my mind wander… What do you need?” The little elf looked agitated and worried.

“Mistress, there’s a man at the front door. He says his name is Riddle. He’s looking for the lady, he called you by your title. He asked for Lady Peverell-Slytherin”

“My title?! But how the hell…?” I remember signing the note I left with the nuns at the orphanage with my full name, but he had no way of knowing the importance of names, much less that they made me a Lady. Even having to face a storm of thoughts and possibilities in my mind, I set myself in motion.

With a strong surge of Magic, I summoned all my familiars to me as I walked steadily from the library to the foyer. In the meantime, I could breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Conri was sleeping safely in the room with Zinney close by, monitoring him.

Upon reaching the hall, I could see the same face I had met on the train. Same face and same posture. His eyes, however, didn’t have the same calm. And when he saw me, the expected glow of recognition wasn’t there.

“I am the lady of this house. How can I help you?” My stance was firm as I addressed him and soon I felt Bran approach me from behind my skirt, positioning himself beside me. I placed a hand on his neck, hoping his presence would keep me calm. Without taking my eyes off the man in front of me, I could see the moment he noticed Bran's arrival, the slight opening of his eyes and his throat moving under his clothes as he swallowed hard.

“I’m Riddle. Tom Riddle.” He introduced himself with a polite bow. His posture didn’t have the same charisma as before, which made me even more alert. “You may not remember me, but we met a few months ago on a train from London, Miss Marregan.” I narrow my eyes in his direction and promptly ignore the mispronouncing of my name. Mahegan was definitely not a common name in England. But still… It was the name I used for him when we first met, and he had no trouble pronouncing it that day.

“I met a Tom Riddle once. But you are not him. Identify yourself.” I spoke through my teeth. My suspicion and tension were making Bran agitated, to the point where he bared his teeth in a silent snarl. I caressed him calmly, also trying to regain my calm, without letting my agitation show for the unknown in front of me. The men frowned for a few seconds, but quickly recovered.

“Pardon? I’m Tom Riddle.” He seriously reaffirmed. Yes, on the outside you may even be, but on the inside...

I let my wand slide from the holster into my hand, keeping my arm close to my body and my wand at the ready, taking advantage of the folds in my skirt to hide my hand. While I had already mastered some basic household spells to make them wandless, my repertoire of offensive wandless spells was still not as perfect as I would have liked.

“I will ask just one more time, answer me or I will be forced to make you leave my property: who are you and what do you want with me?”

“As I said, miss, I’m Tom Riddle. About what I came to do, a few months ago I was at the Wool Orphanage in London looking for a child born on the night of December 31, 1926. That child is named Tom Marvolo Riddle and, as you can deduce, he is my son. If possible, I would like not to repeat the circumstances that caused me to separate from him and my wife, but when I was at the orphanage I received this note with his name and address.” he held out a piece of paper towards me. “Just let you know I’m here for the boy, Lady Marregan.” His answer came out sped up as if he, too, was getting impatient. I took a deep breath before answering him. I took the note from his hand and, seeing that it was the same note I had left as a trap, I immediately burned the paper.

“First: my name is Lyra Mahegan. Second…” I took another deep breath before taking my next step. It was a long shot after all. “Does the name Harry Potter mean anything to you?” His eyes widened for a few seconds, then closed. Taking a deep breath, his posture underwent a 180° change, his shoulders relaxed and it was as if he finally presented himself as he really was.

“I knew it…” he muttered, and I believe that if it hadn’t been for my connection to Bran, I would hardly have been able to understand what he said. Then he looked up and said, “So it was you he was talking about that day?” I narrowed my eyes in his direction. The “he” in his sentence made it clear enough to me that I wasn’t the only traveller the Master of Death brought to this dimension.

“So you know him.” I opened the door and gave him space, allowing him to enter. “Come in. Follow me and don’t touch anything. Unless, of course, you want to end up dead.” I led him down the short path through the hall to the living room. I indicated for him to sit on the sofa next to the fireplace and with his back to one of the living room windows. I sat in my rocking chair, Bran settling between us at my feet, Arty perching over my shoulder, as she preferred, and Meret curling around me. When, at last, we were all comfortable, I watched him for a few moments.

Physically, the body belonged to Tom. His posture, however, was nothing like the English heir I knew. He was basically slouched on the couch, his spine hunched over as if that position was usual for him. The closed countenance, analytical and impassive eyes observed me as if he was trying to understand me just by looking.

“So? Will you tell me your name?” I asked again, now calmer.

“Edgar. I think the last name is not important. And…” he looks at me and my partners for a moment and comments, “Apparently you are already quite familiar with the magic of this place.” I could hear the bitterness in his voice. I had to hold back the smile that threatened to form on my lips. What the hell did you set this guy up for, Harry? Why Tom?

“Well, Edgar, I’ve had plenty of time to adjust.” I simply spoke.

“And I’ve been here less than six months in the body of a Muggle. Honestly, that doesn’t make any sense. When Harry spoke to me, he told me many things about the end of magic and the death of this world and asked me to help him. Then he puts me in a muggle body. How does he expect me to be useful like this?” I let him vent a little. I still wasn’t sure if he understood the extent of the problem we’re facing in the wizarding world...

“But it wasn’t just any Muggle, was it?” If I was right about what I felt that afternoon on the train, I could safely say that Tom Riddle was far from a normal Muggle. A squib, at the very least. Something else… maybe… But I’d keep my deductions to myself for now. Let’s see what this… Greek’s Gift hopes to achieve. “Harry sent you here for a reason. Which of course wasn’t the same as mine… Now the question is: what reason?”

“He put me in the body of Voldemort’s father, or, as I like to call him: Scaly.” Hearing his answer, I had to completely close my mental barriers to contain the growl that almost rumbled in my chest. The last thing I need right now is to incite a mass reaction. “I think Harry wants me to raise the boy and stop him from turning into that. What about you? What is your role?”

I take a few deep breaths, silently, and snap my fingers in a mute order for a set of tea to be served. Mine, of course, contains an extra dose of calming potion, which assured my composure to continue the conversation.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Edgar?” I offer it with what little courtesy I have left, directing a cup through the air in his direction. I take a long sip of mine and answer his question. “My role here is to keep the wizarding world from burning itself into ashes.”

“Sounds like a big deal…” he says in a reflective tone.

“I have never turned my back on a good challenge. I’m not about to start now.” he studies me silently for a few seconds before answering.

“Good luck.” I reply with a nod. “Now, as I said earlier: I’m taking the boy with me, so you’re free to… Save the world.” I stared at him for a few moments and, with my mind and mood properly neutralised by the potion, I replied:

“Only over my dead body.” I spoke with finality. “Do you have any idea how far I’ve come to get here? No. Not only did I adopt the boy through Muggle means, I also adopted him through a blood ritual.” By this point, his smug attitude was definitely testing all my limits. “Any inheritance test can prove it. I may not have brought him into the world, but he’s as much my son as he is Tom’s.” Zinney then appeared with a thud with the little one’s crib floating behind him. Conri shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. A quick glance at the clock above the mantel and I understand it's time to feed him. Quickly, Meret releases me from her embrace and I lift myself up just enough to lift him out of the crib and position him comfortably on my lap. Soon I begin to move the chair gently to rock him. “Calm down my little one… Mom is here.”

As I open my coat to give the little one access to my breasts, I hear a heavy sigh coming from across the room.

“You got attached to the boy…” I hide my shock when I hear Edgar’s voice. I had made the mistake of forgetting his presence in the room.

“Of course I got attached. He is my son. My little king. Conri.” This time, I allowed a soft smile to spread across my lips. My tender gaze fell on the one I had been preparing to receive for months, and for whom I would gladly give my life to ensure he had a happy and healthy future.

“No he is not. Neither yours nor mine. He is the son of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle, both of whom are dead, and if nothing is done about it he will become a monster capable of killing you and me too.” Again, my expression tightens upon hearing the way he refers to the baby in my arms. “Now think for a moment. He put me in the body of this child’s father and gave you magic and influence over the wizarding world, if the names Peverell and Slytherin mean anything. To me, it seems more than clear who should take care of the boy and who should do something about the death of magic. I know you’re trying hard and I respect that, but… We have to be reasonable here. Or we’re not going to get anywhere.” I allowed him to speak, even though inside I was about to jump into his throat. And when he finally fell silent, I presented my arguments:

“I see you don’t know what I mean by blood ritual… Biologically speaking, it’s my DNA in this baby’s body now, not Merope’s. And that, above anything else, guarantees the certainty that my son will never become that deformed being. When Harry found me in Limbo, I asked to be placed in a position that would make it easy for me to become the little one’s mother. Yes, I am making very good use of my position as head of Houses Peverell and Slytherin. Houses that, in case you’ve forgotten, this boy is heir. And it won’t be a mere stranger who’ll take him away from me. Whether his father or not. Besides, his birth records have already been made. Tom Marvolo Riddle does not exist.” By then I was struggling to hold back the growl that was threatening to get out while I spoke.

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe it’s better for him to grow up away from it all?” Just every day since my arrival, I thought grimly, remembering the endless hours I’d spent pondering the best course of action after Conri was born.

“It was precisely by growing up away from the world he had a full right to be part of that he became what he became.” Again I had to suppress the growls in my voice, this time so as not to disturb the little one.

“No, it was the absence of a family and then the influence of the Slytherin house. It was from the Slytherins that he learned and took on those ideas. You can give him a family, but what are you going to do when he goes to school?” This guy is testing my patience!

“First, don’t put my house in this story!” If it weren’t for my son in my arms and the presence of my family around me, I would already have my hands around his neck!

“Your house? You weren’t even of this world, Lyra!”

“Yes. My house. Call it childish if you will, but as a fan of this universe, I have embraced this reality with open arms.” I take a deep breath to regain my calm and reach into my pockets for the potion bottle I have with me for moments like this. I down the bottle in a small gulp and as soon as I feel the effects of the potion, I speak again: “The Slytherins had nothing to do with the ideals that Tom developed. Not to mention he only became that monster after he was affected by that damn compulsion!” As soon as I felt Conri was done, I swung him over my shoulder to burp him, and as soon as I heard his soft sound, I put him back in his crib and, with a sharp look at Zinney, motioned for him to take the little one away and back to my room. Looking at Meret, I hissed, *Follow them and don’t leave their side until I come to you.*

“How interesting to hear you speak Parseltongue. This reminds me of something: The founder of Slytherin house, who you swear had nothing to do with it, left a chamber where a basilisk lives ready to kill and devour the school’s students. What was the point, really? Ah, that’s right: exterminating the non-pure-blooded. Purge muggle-borns from school. How innocent, the Slytherins! And it just so happens that Conri, as you call him, has, or will have, the intelligence to discover the history of the chamber and the ability to open it. That’s even though he has a normal and happy childhood. A student has died, or will die, when that time comes. I think you know that, don’t you? So… Are you sure you want him to set foot in Hogwarts? I think it's a bad idea! Understand, Lyra: he cannot be trained in magic!” With every sentence that came out of his mouth, I could feel the iron grip I was trying to maintain over my magic slipping to the point where I couldn't contain myself any longer.

“Enough!” I screamed, my magic whipping the air stirred by my anger. “You’ve gone too far! You come here. He claims he wants to take my son away from me and he openly attacks my family! I read the same story as you, but I seem to know this universe much better than you do! I know about the GUARDIAN, which Salazar left behind. Yes, it was in my plans to go there in person to see how he is. Yes, I know what’s in the damn library, and so you know I have plans for that damn book too, and if you think I’m going to allow that knowledge to fall into innocent hands, you’re wrong. Conri has a magical core with so mich potential that it will be a danger to him and anyone around him if he doesn’t have someone by his side to guide him. And that someone, in this reality, is me. Then you will have to step over me and everyone else in this house to get to him.” Bran’s rumbling growl and Arthemis’s enraged scream only reinforced my point.

“I’ve already seen that we’re not going to get anywhere. You’re out of your mind, Lyra. Whatever… Take care of the boy. We have eleven years for you to change your mind, and another five to prepare us before Voldemort starts leaving a trail of bodies in case you’re wrong. The only thing that worries me is that Tom, in this case, me, will be one of the first. But there is still time…” He was silent for some time, reflecting. Right then I couldn’t care less about what would become of him from now on. “Now, I ask myself: if I can’t take care of this child, what did I come here for? Surely Harry didn't bring me here to wait for death sixteen years from now.”

“Your purpose here, Edgar, is between you and Harry. Now, I ask you to leave. Since, as you said yourself, we’re not going to get anywhere.” The entrance door opens with a thud. It didn’t take long for him to get out and the door slammed behind him again. When I was sure he had left the boundaries of the lands… I dropped my body onto my armchair and the full weight of that debate fell on me. An uncontrollable wave of crying writhed in my throat, and for the first time in decades, I cried. All the stress and anger that guy had put me through the last few minutes took its toll on me.

I knew that much of what he had said made sense. However, I didn’t want to, couldn’t believe that all my efforts would be in vain.

As far as I was concerned, Conri would never become the monster Edgar feared.

Chapter Text

For the first time in decades, I felt something I thought I got rid of during early adulthood: depression.

After Edgar’s visit, I delved further into research and refined my steps, for the near future and the long run, until I found them flawless... only to go back days or maybe hours later and completely rework them all. Again. So my days were spent between allowing myself time with my family, which was the only thing that could bring me some peace these past few weeks, and obsessing over my plans.

Gradually, I could see the worried looks that my squad was giving me. The dark circles under my eyes just weren’t worse because I had allowed myself a few nights under the dreamless sleep potion, which I took turns with concentrated calming teas, with the intention of getting enough sleep so that my body had the rest it needed to keep functioning properly. As much as I knew that it was just a temporary measure. Soon, all that stress would take its toll. And I could feel it.

It was midsummer when things finally started to go more naturally. I was satisfied with the order of action I had taken for the next few months: Hogwarts.

Edgar’s entire speech left me with the impression that I was in fact neglecting the school, so to prove him and myself wrong, I would do what I told him: I would personally take the heir mantle of one of the founders, and if all went according to plan, restoring the serpent house’s reputation would be easier than purging the bigots from the faculty… A small shock in my arm made me look up from the notes in front of me. Harry, with his casual human appearance, was glaring at me impatiently.

“Do you have any idea how long I’m trying to get your attention?” I dropped my head into my hands, finally realising the migraine that had lodged behind my eyes.

“Possibly long enough to kill me multiple times if that was your intention.” So I let the glamour I’d been maintaining for the last few days, to hide the physical consequences of my behaviour, fade away, showing all the damage that conversation had done to me. “Oh, and thanks for your little gift …” My voice, acid and deadly as basilisk venom, was hoarse with disuse. Harry rubbed his forehead, in what I assume is an old habit, and sat down across from me.

“What am I going to do with you…?” Harry gave a heavy sigh as he looked at me. I remained silent, but with obvious doubt in my eyes. “Stubborn! Both of you” I remained silent, my lips thin and brow furrowed in an expression of disgust at being compared to that being. “Come on now! Don’t give that face! If you had only listened to what he had to say…”

“Listened..? Do you have any idea what that... That... arrogant, stupid thing said to me? He came here claiming he would take my son away from me, attacked me in every possible way and basically rubbed in my face the fact that he knows what Conri is at risk of becoming!” By then I was already in tears. All the pent-up anger and frustration of the last few weeks crashing down on me in one fell swoop. Reflexively, Harry rounded my desk and wrapped his arms around me, his body was cold, like Meret’s. However, at that moment, any human contact was welcome.

“We both know that is no longer the case. The little one is fine. You managed to avoid the worst.” His voice was reassuring, and his words were almost enough to take away the fears I still felt.

“What if it wasn’t enough? Harry, what if all my efforts weren’t enough? What if some other child ends up falling into the old man’s traps of grandeur? And if…”

“Lyra! Thinking about it won’t get you anywhere!” His scream snapped me out of the spiral I was about to fall into.

“Why Tom?” I asked, finally voicing the question I had been trying to unravel the answer on my own. He took some time before answering me.

“If I didn’t put someone in his place… I feared for what he might do to you and the child. Mostly to you. My hope was that Edgar could help you with the little one, and who knows, help you build the necessary bridge between the wizarding world and the Muggle world.” I felt his arms tighten around me. “Forgive me little one… If I only knew how he would react…” I gave his chest a light punch.

“Hey! You just said it yourself not to think about the ‘what ifs’.” from the position I was in I could feel the vibrations of his laughter.

“Yes, I did.” We stayed in that position for a while. I was so emotionally exhausted that I didn’t give a damn if I was looking like a helpless little girl right now. “Here is my plan: I’ll talk to Edgar…” I was going to start to protest but he soon shut me up. “No! Don’t say anything, listen to me first.” I gave him a petulant look and my arms crossed over my chest, which he returned with a fond look. “I will talk to Edgar, properly explain to him my intentions with him here, clear up the misconceptions he assumed when speaking with you, and arrange for you to meet again. There’s a park near his office. I will leave a note with you indicating the date and time after I speak with him.”

I turned away considering my options. As far as I could gather, yes, Harry did have good intentions in bringing Edgar here. And if that was indeed necessary, it would be me who would ultimately kill Tom Riddle, not Conri, and the consequences of that would be catastrophic for our plans, after all I couldn’t go to Azkaban being accused of murder with a child under my care. Having Edgar around would be a necessary evil. I sighed heavily and looked back at the one I was slowly beginning to see as a friend and adviser.

“Alright, I agree to try to talk to him again, but on one condition: Conri stays with me! Never mind the fact that it wasn’t me who Tom got pregnant. I am raising him. Even if I hadn’t adopted him using the old rituals I won’t give up my son."

“I know. I will tell him that.” And with that Harry left the same way he arrived: without me even realising it.

Chapter Text

Crazy. That’s the best possible definition for Lyra Mahegan. All her plans and logic relied on the fact that she had modified the boy’s body, and on the belief that this would be enough to prevent him from becoming Voldemort. What’s the problem with that? Lyra, like me, was not an expert in magic. Who’s to say she knew what she was doing? And another: sociopathy, a condition which the boy was certainly born with, does not depend on magic to exist. Not to mention other aspects of psychoanalytic theory that she insists on ignoring, such as the fact that our personalities are shaped by the environment in which we live. Oh no… Even if little Tom had a happy childhood, there was no way to keep him away from Slytherin’s prejudices and ideals of supremacy… Not even urging him to choose another house was an option, after all… “Don’t put my house in this story.” Ha! Her house… Lyra has spent too much time living with a wand and house elves… She’s already lost herself to the character; thinks she is helping, but will only create the monster Voldemort by other means.

What about me? If Harry’s plan was for me to raise and watch over the boy to keep him out of the way while Lyra fixed the wizarding world, that plan was already in shambles the moment this madwoman set foot in this world. That said… What should I do? I have no idea. But I know I can’t just sit around in Little Hangleton waiting for Voldemort to walk through the front door and turn me into a tough, lifeless piece of meat with his Avada Kedavra . No… Before that day comes (and I have sixteen years to prepare) I want and will be far away from Little Hangleton. From England. From Europe.

In the days that followed, I took care of the matters I used as a pretext for going to Wales: the purchase of some properties to expand the Riddle family’s business. With Tom’s memories, plus the knowledge I have about where the financial market will get in the coming years, it was not difficult to come up with an action plan to minimise the effects of the Great Depression of 1929. Not only to expand, but also to diversify the business. from the Riddles, who until then were essentially rural, for commerce and industry, seemed to me the best way. This should ensure that our finances are not irrevocably affected when the time comes. And my passport to safety when little Tom, by then Voldemort, came back for me.

It was mid-August 1927, about three months after my disastrous meeting with Lyra, that I took full rein in the Riddles. This fact was symbolised by the full transfer of the administration of the business to an office in London, as well as my permanent residence in the city. According to the original plan, I, or rather Tom, was to be married to Cecilia Horton, in a union that would be beneficial to both families. It explains: although the Riddles were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in early 20th century England, they had no political influence; The Hortons, on the other hand, had great influence from the London Supreme Court and direct links to the royal family, however, their business was currently limited to the acquisition and resale of shares on the London and New York stock exchanges, which made them , roughly ten times less wealthy than the Riddles. Now, the union of wealth and political power tends to guarantee the stability necessary for both families to remain at the top of London society for several generations… Or that’s how the patriarchs thought at that time. Be that as it may, Merope’s meddling and the rumours that followed cast ashes over the intentions of Thomas Riddle and Edward Horton, leading them to go their separate ways even though the children had been sincerely in love for as long as they could remember. Again, this is sad… But again, it's not my problem. Now, when can I leave England?

That night, I was sitting at my desk in my office, poring over a stack of important papers about acquiring a factory conglomerate. That’s when I heard an ethereal voice, whispered as if the interlocutor was close to my ear, but the truth is that he was on the other side of the room.

“I can hear the gears in your head turning from miles away,” said Harry with a laugh.

“I almost forgot about you,” was my reply. I looked up from the pile of papers and waited. I know he didn't come by chance.

“And you did your best to keep me from forgetting you.” Harry’s features suddenly closed. “Do you have any idea what state you left Lyra in?”

“And should I care?” I replied. “She kicked me out of the house without hearing anything I said or what I had to say. I think she has everything under control, or at least she thinks she does.”

“How did you say? ‘Let’s be reasonable…’ You said you would take the child away from her.” he ran a hand over his face and sighed wearily. “She was infertile... While she saw her brother having kids and a family, she stayed behind and you weren’t even tactful enough to approach her about the boy.”

I don’t know what Harry hopes to accomplish by telling me about the family circumstances of Lyra’s previous life. But I know that none of that changes my point.

“First, you threw me into this wasp nest without explaining what I was dealing with; if you wanted me to be gentle with the girl, you could have warned me in advance. Second, the fact that she was childless in her previous life does not justify being irresponsible in this one; well, neither did I, nor did I even get married, and I’m not considering getting married and having kids right now just to make up for it! And another: of all the children she could adopt…”, I sighed wearily. “Why then Tom? Tell me, Harry, does she really know what she’s doing?"

“As for the lack of explanation, yes it was my fault and for that I apologise, and answering your question: yes, she knows very well what she is doing. I took responsibility for her position myself. It wasn’t she who asked to be mistress of the houses, and yet, instead of basking in the power the name brought her, she went ahead with the plans as she’d first thought. You call her irresponsible, but you have no idea of the effort she is making to take care of her son, the business of the three families and still deal with the den of snakes and lions that populate the wizards’ court. Let it be said. Many would have succumbed long before.”

I have no arguments to argue who would bear the burden or not, after all, in the world I came from, and in the life I led, magic only existed in books. This, however, brings me to the next point:

“The question, Harry, is whether the plans she’s made will work or not. Unless she came from a magical world, which I doubt, she’s as expert in magic as I am. Not to mention that she’s counting on the bet that it was the magical influence of amortentia that left the boy with sociopathy. This is too risky. I believe the best thing to do is let the boy grow up away from magic. Anything is better than risking giving Voldemort the weapons he needs.”

“Her plans are already working. And yes, you both came from the same world, but she, unlike you, grew up surrounded by a kind of magic that people with the same beliefs as you, in your previous life, would condemn without a second thought. She studied it, she felt it, she lived with it.” Harry takes a deep breath. “And she is fully aware of the boy’s sociopathy. Lyra has been preparing to raise him since she set foot here. What she did, not even I could have thought of doing better.”

Then it dawned on me that Harry came here to defend her, and nothing I said would change his mind. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my previous life, it’s that when the variables are too wide, it’s better to wait and see. The Harry before me is a transcendent being capable of travelling between worlds, so if things get out of hand, he will surely know what to do. Or at least that’s what I want to believe...

“If you say so…” I reply with another sigh. “Now, I have another question: if Lyra is going to raise the boy as if he were her son, what is my role here? I don’t think it’s multiplying the Riddle fortunes, but that’s all I’ve done so far.”

“I brought you here to avoid an irreparable disaster.” Again Harry’s expression darkens. This time with an anger that hadn’t been there before.

“A disaster besides the collapse of magic in this world?” was the only thing I could think of. I wish he was more direct with his words.

“If Tom had been left to his own devices when Lyra approached him about the boy, in the vain hope of giving the boy a complete family, in order to avoid a possible attempt on his life, why if the boy grew up with both parents there would no conflict of interest over family names, Tom would take advantage of the situation in the worst possible way. I couldn’t let my priestess expose herself like that. I brought you here to be a father to the boy and the help Lyra will need from amongst the Muggles.”

At that moment, I looked at Tom’s memories. He was not what you might call a responsible man, for he always neglected his obligations to ride across the fields with Cecilia (which certainly facilitated Merope’s meddling), but at the same time he carried with him the same vices and ambitions as the English aristocracy. That said, it’s not hard to imagine that, upon taking control of the Riddles’ business, he would use whatever power was available to him to become richer and more influential. Now, imagine if that power came from a magical creature, and still accompanied by a mountain of galleons buried underground in London? Yes, I can understand Harry’s concern, and perhaps that validates my point: Lyra doesn’t fully understand the consequences of her actions. Now…

“Did you see that happen?” I asked with furrowed brows.

“Yes, I saw. The night they first met, I saw the ramifications that meeting would bring her. But as much as I argued, she was sure she could handle the consequences.”

“She sure is a hardhead…” I commented to myself.

“What she…” Harry looked at me in disbelief. “The pot calling kettle black.” Harry said with a raised eyebrow as if daring me to disagree. “As I said: what she had no idea was Tom’s nature. Tom Riddle could easily ruin months, maybe even years, of work she had to put the wizarding court in order.”

“Or maybe forever, because Voldemort would be with her…” I agreed. Wow… A Muggle-influenced Voldemort becoming richer and more powerful. I shivered just thinking about the consequences of that.

“Come on! By Merlin, mate! Can you please let the spectre I fought die!? I myself have had glimpses of this boy’s future. Even if she didn’t take the steps she’s about to take, she’s already managed to avoid the worst. What turned Tom Marvolo Riddle into what you call Scaly was the fact that he broke his own soul. And besides, that Tom grew up with the shadow of the cloak of death upon him. Understand, I’m not defending him. But in time I understood the similarities and differences between him and me.”

“As I recall, he created the first horcrux by killing a version of the body I am now occupying.”

“You’re missing one. The one you insisted on reminding Lyra. Myrtle Elizabeth Warren. You may remember it as ‘Moaning Myrtle.’” Harry squinted. “Or are you going to tell me that you’ve forgotten the accusations you made?”

I sighed. Of course, I haven't forgotten what I said to Lyra, but he’s wrong to call it an accusation. It was just an explanation of a fact: if Tom becomes Voldemort and opens the chamber, the girl will die.

“I didn’t think this girl’s death had anything to do with horcruxes,” I admitted.

“She was the first.” Harry says darkly. “Which brings me to what I actually came here to do.” Harry stares at me determined. “Now, knowing everything I’ve told you, are you or are you not going to try to talk to Lyra again? This time with more caution preferably.”

I took a deep breath before answering. In fact, I also wiped the sweat off my forehead with the handkerchief I carry in my jacket pocket. In fact, I also looked at the ceiling… Damn it! This guy asks really tough questions!

“And will she see me?”

“You’ll have a chance to meet her in a few days at the park near here. I already warned her about it.” Harry takes a deep breath. “The only condition she asked for was that you don’t talk about taking the boy away from her again.” Harry dropped into a defeated posture. “That woman is… like a force of nature. And to see her in the state I found her…”

Well, to be quite frank, it’s not like I really want to bring the boy with me. Think with me: I was never a father; if the boy were, in fact, a sociopath, I would not be able to help him, because psychoanalysis is still developing in this world, and little or nothing is known about this condition; and what would I do when his magic started to explode from the child’s body because it was too powerful for him? Yes, I'll admit: a lot of things could go wrong if little Tom came with me. However… I’m using his father's body as skin. And anything is better than letting him become an expert in magic, if he is going to become Voldemort. Even become obscure. Judge me for it! Now, this “force of nature” talk sounded far too forced.

“Tell me… What do you mean by ‘seeing her in the state I found her’?”

“One thing I must make clear about Lyra is that few things, if not almost anything, can shake her. She can be as determined and stubborn as you are when she sets her mind to something. And believe me when I say. The end of the world I witnessed would seem harmless next to the — as she puts it —, hell on earth she is capable of wreaking on behalf of the ones she loves. It actually surprises me that she didn’t kill you when you proposed to take Conri out of her care.” Harry’s face distorts in disgust. “The thing is, I found her at the bottom of a spiral that could put an end to most of her time here… she was in tears…” Harry shook his head. “And from what I understand, the cause of that was the meeting between you.”

I closed my eyes and sighed loudly. That must be why that person told me I”m not good with women, way back in my late teens. A fact about me, and you can call me sexist or whatever: I don’t like to see a woman crying. Especially if the cause was something I said.

“OK…”, I replied. “I will apologise to her. But…” I looked him straight in the eye. “If she points her wand or whatever it is at me, I’m not responsible for the consequences.”

“She will know how to behave.” Harry was trying to suppress a satisfied smile. “My mission here is accomplished. Any other questions?”

“How many days until I find her, exactly? And what time should I go? Should I bring flowers or something?”

“She’ll meet you in two weeks’ time, shortly after lunch. I recommend that you bring a piece of meat. No chance of her leaving the house without the Dog.”

With that, he disappeared into thin air, almost as if he had never been there. After a few moments of silence, I looked at the pile of papers in front of me, and I suddenly felt twenty-five years old again, and laziness took over every pore in my body. Oh, whatever! I can continue working tomorrow. Now, I need to rest… And prepare for the ordeal that will be dealing with that crazy woman again, in two weeks’ time, in Battersea Park.

Chapter Text

August.

Eight months have passed since my little one was born. And even knowing this consciously, it was difficult to understand and absorb everything that happened in the meantime. Especially considering the whirlwind my mind has become during more than half of that period.

In February, in addition to fulfilling my duties as a priestess at the beginning of the month, I received word from Harry about the possible consequences of my involvement with Tom Riddle. So far, so good. I might as well protect myself with contingency plans, what I definitely didn’t expect is that just over three months later, a complete stranger knocking on my door claiming to be the Tom Riddle I knew who would take my son away from me. And what’s worse, he even had the courage to attack my family openly, basically calling me irresponsible and reckless and, without knowing even half of what I went through for months, he states with all the letters that Conri is not my son. Quite frankly. Not surprisingly, in the months that followed I was less than sane.

Of course, I cannot say, however, that everything was a complete disaster. Over the summer, several of my plans went magnificently. Among them I already had secured a post as a priestess of the Temple. My life of study and my Year of Dedication finally paid off, and if nothing went wrong, at the next Beltane ritual I would be invited to join the official rooster. Over the last rituals I’ve been coordinating the actual priestess and priests during some rituals and with it I earned their respect. Even if the present High Priestess, a pureblood lady, the wife of the current Lord Malfoy, was somewhat against my presence there, all the others had started to rely on me. I was well aware of her opinions about me, and I was also aware of the reasons she hadn’t gone against me publicly yet, so overall we stayed out of eachothers way. Which meant almost nothing to me, in the end, I would make the Temple of Magic bloom once more.

Speaking of lords, I was finally making the advances I felt were necessary in the ministry. During the interval between Harry’s last visit and my meeting with Edgar, I finally collected my prize from the bet I had made with Meret on Wooky and took her to the opening session of the court season that year. My research was almost complete and I could finally start to intervene directly with proposals for reforms, new laws and, depending on the level of work I had with the old conservatives and ignorants of the court, I could finally expand my practices in the temple, with rituals once marginalised and many others who would disappear because they were wrongly considered dark rituals.

In the end, one fact was linked to the other. I depended on the ministry to advance within the Temple, and I depended on advances in the Temple for my voice to have relevance at court. In short: Soon things would take a definite turn and I would have a storm on my hands. Now it remains to be seen if I would be one of those affected by it or if I would be the cause of the storm itself.

Anyway, with the beginning of autumn knocking on my door again, I started to feel the changes in the energy of the environment, the attenuation of the temperature and the change in the winds. Then, around the second week of August, a note appeared on my desk:

Meet him at Battersea Park, two days from now at noon.

Do not be late.

HJP 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry James! Or I will make the impossible myself and hunt you down!” I spoke into nothingness and I could have sworn I heard his dry laugh ringing in my ears. Well then, let’s see how far the master’s plan would work.

Two days later, just before the autumnal equinox, an afternoon pleasant enough to take Conri with me... Yes, even though I was taking him to a meeting with the one who threatened to take him from me, after all these months. I couldn’t stay away from the little one for long. The few hours I spent at the Ministry or the Temple were torture on their own. Let alone an entire afternoon, for if our first meeting was any indication, our conversation would be long. So with the elves’ help, I soon had a decent lunch basket, a bag of essentials for Conri, and, of course, enough food to keep Bran distracted for as long as we were there. Never would my faithful guardian let me go out alone with our cub.

Once there, I picked a nice patch of grass under a large tree that gave us enough shade to spend some time outside, I sat there, and spent some time watching Bran exploring the area around us. A small smile blossomed on my face seeing him so happy and active, running like this. Sometimes I had to force myself to remind myself that Bran, despite his absurd size, was just a cub under two years old, and by then he knew every stone and tree in our lands. Then, some time later, Bran stopped running and came to lie beside me on the blanket I had spread out on the grass.

“Are you tired yet, Bran?” I asked him good-naturedly. He responded with a grunt and a wave of disappointment at not finding anything else in the park. “Now what did you expect? Here it is not like our home.” In fact, the park was quite simple and wide, with few trees and a few benches scattered along marked trails. Bran then started teasing me, asking me to play with him like we did at home. Shaking my head, I explained:

“I can’t at the moment. I warned you there wouldn’t be much to do here.” to which he responded with a rumbling growl deep in his throat. It was a growl of defiance. I immediately responded by imposing my magic overwhelmingly on him and with a cold tone and icy gaze I growled back, “I won’t repeat myself. I already said no. We will have time to fight at home where the cub is safe.” He had gotten the message because he soon gave in, relaxing his posture and lying where he was. sulky It didn’t take long for me to hear his apologetic whimpers, and after a while longer in silence, as I settled into the roots of the tree I’d chosen to sit under, I looked back at him, this time with a neutral gaze.

“Alright, you’re forgiven. For a while. But this will be your only warning, do something like that again and you will regret even thinking about disobeying me. We may be out in the open now and I may be unable to give you the fight and beating you deserve for your attitude, but we’ll be back home later and then you’ll get the punishment you deserve.” My voice, harsh and firm, made him lie down showing me his belly. Maximum submission for a dog, or even a wolf. After a little more time, I gave him a gentle pat on his stomach and a light squeeze on his neck, assuring him that everything was fine. “Now go, you troublemaker, come back immediately if you hear my whistle.” With a quick grunt he was running quickly towards some bushes and trees not far from where I was.

As I’ve said before, Bran is a half-wolf, and as such I was constantly fighting him, whether it was for the rank of Alpha, or because he misbehaved in some way, or even for the pleasure of fighting and exercising. So scenes like that were pretty common for us.

A few minutes after Bran walked away, I felt Edgar approaching thanks to the locating spell I still hadn’t lifted. Luckily, I had the idea of feeding Conri before I left the house, so he’d spend the afternoon sleeping in the little basket I’d arranged for him next to me.

After a while, heavy footsteps could be heard coming towards me, and then:

“Lyra!” Edgar called with false excitement clear in his voice. I saw that he was carrying an arrangement of flowers and a thick bundle in his arms. “What a coincidence!” 

With the biggest poker face I could emulate, I replied:

“Coincidence? Uhm. It’s not as if we weren’t told to come here by a certain green-eyed being.” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Could you at least pretend we’re not being manipulated?” he sighed, almost letting go of what he was carrying.

“And give him the taste that his plans are working? Nah!” I spoke in a tone as dry as a desert. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw him laugh at what I said. Good to know that my acid sarcasm still works to break tense moods. Edgar’s eyes then fell on the little one beside me.

“I see you brought the boy… How is he?”

I turned my gaze to my son for a few moments, taking the opportunity to snuggle him under the blanket while he slept. “Much better now. He is already sleeping for more consecutive hours during the night. Which is a blessing in itself.” I turn toward the man beside me and study him for a moment.

“I see…” he seemed to consider what to say, or how to react. At that moment then I realised that he must be feeling as uncomfortable as I am for being in that situation. “Well…” he started, then stopped and took a deep breath. “First, I’d like to apologise for my attitude the other day… I was a little stressed about having to travel so far, and on top of that to rescue a boy who… Well, you know. I would never have guessed you were so determined to take care of him. I was taken aback by it all.”

“Yeah… I wasn’t exactly a model hostess either. But please understand. You arrived using my titles and claiming to be someone that, as much as your body’s identity, you are not. Not to mention that with the little one sleeping in the next room, I have to be extremely careful who I allow into my house.” I took a deep breath to control the emotions that the memories of that afternoon brought up and added: “But that doesn’t justify my hostility, and for that I apologise…”

“It’s alright…” he spoke quickly, his attention turned once more to Conri. “Actually, it never crossed my mind that he could be adopted, and when I saw the names on the note… I thought, ‘What does it mean? What has changed?’. At the time, I suspected that our green-eyed zombie might have something to do with it, but in the end, I forgot. Then, as it was the first time we spoke, I didn’t know how to treat you. I thought it best to call you by the most important names, I mean, the ones I think are most important.”

“Yes, indeed they are the most…relevant names in the wizarding community. But all those who know who I am have no idea where I live. A security measure that I thought was necessary. So when you came asking to talk to me like that… That actually raised all the ‘red flags’ in my mind. See my reaction to seeing you and not recognizing the man I met on the train.” Noticing that he was still standing, I indicated the space beside me on the blanket. “Come, sit down. My neck will hurt if I keep looking at you like this!” I moved to reach the lunch basket Salkey had prepared and pulled out a couple of bottles of juice, holding one out towards him. “Juice?”

“Yes, thank you”, I waited for him to settle down, dropping the flowers and the package beside him, and I held out a bottle of juice to him, which he gladly accepted. I took care to hold the bottle so that our hands did not run the risk of touching. “So Lyra, tell me… What are your plans to save the wizarding world from the apocalypse Harry described to us?”

I took a sip of my juice before answering him: “In general terms, what I have done so far is researching the effects of incest on the oldest lineages, trying to restore the customs and rituals that renew magic as a whole through of the London Temple and Laws at Court. I have projects to take in children before they enter Hogwarts and teach them, especially half-bloods and ‘muggle-borns’, about the courtly customs that children from old families have access to from the cradle. Not to mention all the reforms I’ve been making to the laws as a whole.” I paused briefly for another sip and put my thoughts in order. “Yes, I must thank you for pointing out my faults regarding Hogwarts… I will be honest to say that I, for a while, had forgotten about the risks that exist in that castle. But if all goes well in the next few weeks, once the school year starts, I’ll go there personally to take care of the variables you pointed out to me that day.”

“I see…”, he replied shortly, then continued with another question: “And how do you intend to deal with incest in wizarding families? By the way… Besides the obvious, what are the problems with these marriages?”

“Rediscovering lineages thought to be extinct.” I stated and watched him for a few moments. Seeing that he would not interrupt me, I continued: “Squibs, which are almost always the most common results of this type of union, for the most part, for centuries, were erroneously sent to the Muggle world and, as the blood was purified by intermarriage, Squibs and Muggles magic has flourished again in what they call ‘muggle-borns’, who are nothing more than heirs to old families through Squibs. Now. My existence here was only possible thanks to a marriage like this. My blood relationship to the Gaunts was through a secondary branch that was taken to America and my… grandmother was a Gaunt Squib. Taken for dead, but never disinherited.”

His gaze strays for a moment and, for the second time that afternoon, I see him biting his lip as he thinks. I give him the time he needs to digest what I've just explained. Soon he continues his interrogation with another question:

“And have you ever thought of a way to identify the children of these lost bloodlines, I mean, other than waiting for the magic to manifest during childhood?”

“The only way I can find out about something like that is through the Hogwarts register book, which, if you remember, has marked vacancies since the birth of children. Hagrid states this to Harry. And, as heir to one of the founders, I can try to get access to this book so that I can monitor the children until the appropriate time to start classes in the preschool I intend to open comes. Once these children are in my care, I will be able to make inheritance checks similar to what I did myself with the help of the Goblins. As for those already residing at Hogwarts, I will make the test mandatory and optional for alumni and adults.” With a heavy sigh, I add, “That’s the plan.”

He continues his internal analysis and, oddly enough, I see the corner of his lips twitching… into a face of disgust? I raised an eyebrow again but didn't say anything about it. It didn't take long to be bombarded with one of his toughest questions yet:

“Do you have plans to overturn the secrecy statute?”

Hearing his question, my face darkened into a grim expression. “The secrecy statute exists as a form of security so that situations like the inquisitions do not happen again, and as much as I recognize the existence of versions of this universe where a revelation of the existence of magic was possible, I honestly don’t see how something like a peaceful coexistence could work here. I don’t have to go very far. The consequences of Grindelwald’s actions are still a risk to us and this has brought a huge range of international problems. And to make matters worse, that fanatic is still using the name Peverell in the worst possible way…” I took a deep breath to keep from revolting at the thought of that bastard fanatic cretin. “Anyway, as long as this variable is out and about I can’t do much. After all, he’s right on one point: a Protego is only able to stop energy, magic. Not a lead bullet.” I returned my eyes to my hands in my lap. That was still a work in progress. I didn’t have a plan ready to settle the war between wizards and muggles. My only certainty in this was that I had to save the Peverell name from utter ruin.

“So we continue with the secrecy…”, He spoke more to himself than to me.

“For now, at least, yes… There will come a time when complete secrecy will simply be impractical for the sheer lack of space. I know that. But by then I hope I have made enough changes so that the wizarding community is better prepared to integrate into Muggle society without attracting attention and still maintaining the necessary traditions within their homes to renew and maintain stable magic.” He responds with a slight nod. Seeing that he would not ask any more questions pertinent to my plans, I decided to voice the question that had been bothering me since our last meeting: “Now, tell me: what, by the gods, did you had in mind when you arrived at my house announcing that would you take the little one?”

As soon as I finished my question, I saw his lips part in a wry smile and, in response, again, I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“When Harry found me and announced that I would come to this world, I confess I imagined it would be in his time, I mean…”

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t contain my laughter as I noticed the stark difference between our original plans. I covered my mouth with one hand to stifle my laughter.

“...What’s the fun?” His expression closes and I have to restrain myself from falling into an even stronger fit of laughter.

“Forgive me… it’s just that, when I met Harry in Limbo, I absolutely refused to live in his time, which is why I’m here and not at Hogwarts. I can do much more as an adult than as a mere student. The fun is in the ironic difference in our intentions and where that has taken us.” I explained trying to convey sincerity in the apology.

“Right…” he said with a sigh. “That’s exactly what I asked him: how could a student stop the apocalypse? Then he told me that I would be the boy’s father”, again his eyes turned to Conri, this time I followed his gaze, not forgetting to pay attention to what he was saying. “And threw me here without explaining anything else. Do you understand now why I felt it was necessary to take him with me?”

“Harry said something about not explaining much to you… But my question really is, would you know how to take care of him?” It’s not like I had any intention of relinquishing custody of Conri, but I did want to understand the logic behind his reasoning, and maternal instincts aside, it’s not like I’m going to let a possible ignorant babysit a child.

“I have no idea…” he admitted. “The only thing I thought when I woke up in Tom’s body was, if I don’t have magic and no access to wizards, at least I can keep the most troublesome of them out of the way of those who have those powers. And that’s what I tried to do. Now, if you want to know what I would do when he started using magic, the answer is, again: I have no idea. I was going to wait and see what would happen. At best, he would lead a normal life, perhaps as an illusionist, psychic, or something. And at worst, wizards would have to deal with a powerful but untrained wizard. That was my bet.”

I took a deep breath and, with the scenes in mind of the little one’s magic demonstrations, less than a year old, I said in a soft tone: “I’m sorry to say… But the little one is already showing signs of magic. At eight months, he is already able to, by himself, change the colour of a luminous ball that I usually use to play with him and stimulate his cognitive reactions.” I let the pride I felt at that moment show in my voice. I turn my gaze to the little one beside me. I took him out of the basket because soon he would wake up again to eat.

“Surprisingly developed powers for their age.” he stated absently.

“Edgar, I need you to understand that I don’t care that I didn’t beared this boy. He is my son, in every way that matters. What you saw that day, in my house when I nursed him in front of you, was the result of a potion that would end weeks of pain and exhausted sleep. I tried every formula recipe I found in books and they all left him in pain! I had to do something!” I admit that I let the desperation I felt at the time show in my voice, but it was hard to control myself when I remember the hours I spent trying to relieve the little one's colic, only for him to cry himself to sleep.

I risked a glance in Edgar’s direction, only to find him biting his lip again, which at this point surprises me that they aren’t actually hurt as often as he does it. But his crestfallen posture is somehow familiar to me. Maybe because I found myself in that same posture more often than I allowed myself to admit. We stayed in that new silence for some time. It seemed that all our disagreements had already been cleared up in one way or another, until he came to me with another question:

“So… Since I’m here: is there any way I can help you? Lately, all I’ve been doing is multiplying the Riddles’ fortunes, and honestly, they’re not worth what the cat buries! They simply are not worth the work!”

I couldn't help but laugh at the comparison he made. But on second thought… “Maybe… there’s a way…” I looked at him, studying him for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “Since I came here, as you have done with the Riddles, I have been managing the Peverell and Slytherin business as well as gaining relevance to the Mahegan name with the help of the Goblins. Do you think it would be possible to establish a joint-stock company between one of my names and the businesses you control?”

“Absolutely!” For the first time in all of our conversation, I noticed real excitement in his voice. “Considering that the world economy is going to collapse in two years, and that I intended to stay rich for…” Again I saw him break off, with a sign I was beginning to associate with his moments of reflection, he bit his lip. to continue next: “Having other options in the future, I am expanding the Riddle business into every branch you can imagine. I may not even be an expert in business, but I believe that between land, industry, commerce, sports, in short, something will survive the depression! And if that includes doing business with a wizarding family.” And then I had a brief glimpse of a real smile coming from him… and from all his expressions up until that moment, the one from afar made me see that, even though they were different people, he could be as charming as Tom was… that's clear when he's not being a complete asshole. “So I’m all ears.”

I give him the typical predatory smile I usually reserve for my business afternoons with Krugnott. “Perfect. I’ll put you in touch with my account manager, who knows he might not help you too and as a proof of… goodwill… I’ll pay for the consultancy when necessary, after all when it comes to goblins, especially Gringotts’, there’s nothing that doesn’t come with a price. But I think we can benefit from this partnership. Especially if, by doing so, you get a seat in the Supreme Court.”

“I see... And what do you expect me to do when I’m in the Supreme Court?”

“If all goes well and our partnership really pays off for both sides, I want to prove to the old wayward people I have to deal with once every two months or so that peaceful coexistence is possible, and with you in cut, we could facilitate the bridge between wizards and muggles when it comes time to find the heir children.”

“I see…” Again he answers simply, this time looking around. “Lyra, I think it’s time for us to say goodbye… It won’t do the boy any good to be out in the open much longer, and I still have some Riddle business to attend to."

I looked at the sky only to realise that yes, it was already getting dark. “By the Goddess! Yes you are right.” I take a whistle out of my pocket and blow on it for a few seconds. Soon I see the black figure emerging from among the trees. Bran stops at the edge of the blanket and instantly takes a defensive stance as he recognizes Edgar, growling deeply at him. “Enough!” I made my presence known by placing myself between Edgar and Bran. “He is not a threat and you will treat him as such! Put yourself in your place or I will make my promise true!” Feeling my icy gaze on him, Bran flinched, whimpering slightly. Turning to Edgar, I said quickly: “We’d better say goodbye here. Expect a letter from me soon. Artemis, my owl, will know how to find him. She likes pieces of meat and fresh water.” I said with a wink in his direction. With some difficulty because I was still holding Conri in my arms, I tried to get up.

I didn’t have to wait long before Edgar had the good sense to get up too and reach out to help me up. This time, unlike earlier, I accepted the help without questioning or thinking too much about it. And of course my boot had to get tangled up in the blanket, basically causing me to fall into his arms so I wouldn’t end up with the baby on the floor.

Impossible not to be redder than a ripe tomato when I felt his arms around me, it was not for nothing that I followed Tom that night and, by the way, after finally having a decent conversation with him, Edgar didn’t seem to be so bad… Now that! What the heck? Honestly! I didn’t spend a lifetime in semi-voluntary celibacy for my body to betray me at a time like this! As fast as I could, I steadied myself and with a nimble flourish of my hand scooped the blanket back into the picnic basket and glared at the piece of cloth as if it had deeply offended me.

“This one is for you.” I was honestly stunned by the arrangement he held out to me, a lavish bouquet of white roses with a single red rose in the centre. With a brief manoeuvre I held Conri with just one arm and accepted the arrangement, “And this one was for the dog” He held out the package I saw in his hands when he arrived. “First class meat. Courtesy of me and Harry.” And of course Harry would have had his finger on it.

“Thanks… Can you put it in the basket for me?” As soon as he got up again, I put the arrangement on top of everything and with a snap of my fingers, Solsy was on my side. “See you later Edgar.” I said with a brief bow, and, looking steadily at my familiar, I called out, “Bran!” As soon as I was sure everything was close enough I gave the elf a sign and in the next second we were in front of the fireplace at home.

Chapter Text

“See you later, Edgar.” she said with a brief bow. “Bran!” Then she called the dog, only to disappear afterwards.

After seeing her disappear in that click, I looked around. Yes, because there were other people in that park. Few, it’s true, but they were still people. People Lyra seemed to have ignored as she made her little magical display. Fortunately, in the twilight, none of them noticed the young woman’s disappearance, but I’d bet every pound I’ve earned for the Riddles over the past year that she didn’t take it into account.

“Very well… She’ll be a handful.” Was my conclusion about it.

As I made my way back to the office where I worked, a few blocks away, I reflected on our conversation. First, I must admit that, as impetuous and reckless as she seemed at first, the girl had a solid plan. I confess that I looked for holes in her logic, but I found absolutely nothing to lean on. Now I understand why Harry trusts her absolutely. And I assume my only job here is, in fact, to keep the girl from losing everything because she feels too confident.

“She’ll be a handful…” I muttered again, remembering the last act in the park.

Of course, not everything was thorns. I was also able to observe how loving and devoted mother Lyra can be, even if she is raising a child who, if things get out of hand, will kill her without an ounce of remorse.

“Hatching the serpent’s egg…” I thought. And that’s when I remembered that, the first time we saw each other, Lyra made a point of showing off a boa constrictor at least three times her size. “Perhaps she herself is a snake”, I concluded.

In any case, it’s obvious that watching the girl speak so fondly of her child made me think of things in my previous life that I’d like to forget, such as dying single and childless. I remember that one of the conditions for choosing a partner at that time was that she wanted to be a mother and showed dedication. It did not happen. Now, looking at it that way, I feel bad for missing the chance to marry Cecilia in this lifetime. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to correct the biggest regret of my life.

Anyway… Back to business! Disregarding how long I haven’t dealt with a young lady like Lyra, and also that I have no idea how old she was when she died in our world (but I suppose she was a little older than the attitude shows, given the way Harry referred to her in our last conversation), it’s a fact that, before giving advice, I need to earn her trust. As our first meeting was a declaration of war and the second a peace negotiation (which was only possible thanks to the intervention of the green-eyed zombie), now we were even and we would have to gradually get closer - and, by the way, It was with this in mind that I offered to help her.

With that, to sum up, I should now establish relations between the Riddles’ business and hers, and take advantage of the wealth that would come with it, and the status that would come with wealth, to rise to positions in the House of Lords and thus facilitate the her plans to train muggle-born children as soon as possible. All very beautiful in theory, now, in practice… First: Thomas, Tom’s father, already had a seat in the House of Lords, as did any Lord with his level of wealth in England at the beginning of the 20th century. Turns out that meant nothing! It’s one thing for you to have a chair there and occupy it, quite another to have your demands heard by the other occupants of the house — that’s why old Thomas wanted to marry his son to the Horton girl. Second, the names Mahegan, Peverell, and Slytherin were completely unknown to London lords — at least on the Muggle side. So no matter how much money we made, my position in the House of Lords wouldn’t change a thing.

That said, if I didn’t want to dedicate my new life to building a place in the sun in that den of rats and cockroaches, I’d have to find a shortcut that would lift the Riddle name into the political stratosphere as quickly as possible. The question is… How? Well, I didn’t have to think long to answer — an answer I already knew.

Cecília Horton… From what I knew of her family, both from Tom’s memories and from the investigation I did in the days that followed, most of their dividends went to paying debts to creditors all over the country (debts that were accumulated due to the extravagance of the current Lord), and what was left was spent maintaining the appearance of prosperity for London’s high society, without which it would have been impossible to maintain the family’s influence at court. Translation: the Hortons were bankrupt, and their situation wasn’t hopeless only because a month’s income paid for the previous month’s expenses — but, of course, there was absolutely nothing left. Therefore, very soon little Cecília would be sold to save her irresponsible father’s finances. Well, to be honest, she had already been sold once, but the first buyer had proved just as irresponsible as Edward… at least until I took his place.

Now, on second thought, if I did everything right, I could either help Lyra and save young Cecília from a cruel fate and, as a bonus, perhaps, correct the biggest regret of my previous life. Now… How to get Edward Horton to look kindly on Tom Riddle again? Money wouldn’t be enough, after all, there was no shortage of rich suitors for the girl in London. Oh, if only there was an easy way to erase the “Merope effect”…

Of course, Cecília was not the only girl of “marriageable age” who came from an influential political family, but none of the other young women had a father as desperate for money as hers, so formalising a commitment of this level could take months — and I didnt have that much time at my disposal. Just then, about the second week after my meeting with Lyra, a letter arrived in my office — carried in the talons of a barn owl!

“Couldn’t she be more indiscreet?”, I commented. “You know,” I walked up to the owl and spoke directly to her, “there’s a mail system in London. Tell your mistress to use it next time, will you? It attracts less attention…”

The owl hooted loudly and flapped its wings in my direction, even without moving. I hope that means a “yes”. In any case, I quickly took the envelope in my hands and opened it. Inside were two handwritten letters, one from Lyra, of course, and the other bearing the seal of Gringotts. I poured the owl some water (“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you, so I don’t have meat with me”) and then, sitting at the table, I started with Lyra’s letter. She started with pleasantries, asking questions about how I was doing and what I’d been up to in the last few weeks; then she talked about a conversation with her account manager, a sprite named Krugnot, who was willing to guide me through the business for a price — which Lyra would pay, of course. Finally, she tried to justify the use of the owl as a lame excuse like “I didn’t know your correct address” (“Frankly!”) and ended by warning that I wouldn’t get rid of said owl until I wrote a reply (“Of course…”).

After holding back my many wry smiles (“I hope the owl can talk and tell all my reactions to her, let’s see if she learns and gets over herself that way”), I removed the seal from the second letter, which I hoped was more objective, since it was from a… business sprite. I was not disappointed:

Mr. Edgar,
My client contacted me this week with the intention of formalising a consulting agreement regarding the business you have been doing in recent months.
We at the Goblin Nation, as much as we have a greater focus on the wizarding family business, still follow non-magical advances in favour of clients like Lady Peverell-Slytherin, who ventures into investments outside their protective barriers. So I expect a return from you, with copies of your account books and a list of your latest investments. We will discuss more details after that.
I hope that we keep in touch, that our business is productive, and that you pay us a visit in person soon.
Krugnot Account Manager.

“Very well”, I thought, already preparing the fountain pen to write the answer. To Krugnot, I formally introduced myself, accepted the offer, and summarised my recent investments, explaining the purpose of each. In the end, I added that the account book would be delivered via Lyra in a few weeks, as, in addition to providing the copy, I would need time to transport it — of course I wouldn’t send it in the clutches of an owl. Then, for Lyra, I answered each of the questions and mentioned that I would send the book. Two pages for Krugnot, ten lines for Lyra… Perfectly balanced!

After folding up the letters and handing them to the owl with instructions on the recipients (before letting her go, though, I fed her a little snack I had with me at the office), I went back to the table and saw the envelope from Lyra’s letters above it. I was about to crumple it up to throw it away when I noticed that it still wasn’t empty. Honestly, what was still inside was the last thing I would have imagined: a picture of a child on his back, playing with a little ball that appeared to float in midair (and probably did) while (I was amazed!) it changed colour… The child, laughing, stretched out his arms trying to catch the ball and, with each movement, a new tone of grey took over the object, which continued to float out of his reach. Oh, damn… I couldn’t help but smile…

On the back of the photo, it had written:

Conri, playing with the little ball of light, as I mentioned in the park. I thought you’d like to see him.

I looked at the photo again. Seeing that innocent and happy child playing in such a pure way made me forget for a moment the weight that she, without knowing it, already carried on her. However, like a storm cloud that appears on the horizon, my smile soon disappeared in the face of the enormity of these facts, and my face darkened in a cold mask (a mask that only hid the feeling of emptiness and regret that I carried at that moment).

“What the fuck turned you into that?” I thought.

So I walked over to the owl once more, pulled out the letter meant for Lyra, and added the following postscript:

It wasn’t until I read your letter and wrote your reply that I saw the boy’s picture. Glad to hear he’s growing up happy and healthy. I hope you continue to be a good mother to him. And… For God’s sake! Tell me he’s not the one making the ball float and change colour, okay? This is just amazing!

With that, I returned the letter to the owl. She left a short time later.

Chapter Text

I think it’s safe to assume that no matter the circumstances of my encounters with Edgar, they would always give me even more work to do and leave my mind in a semi-permanent state of turmoil and unrest. A few days passed before I finally found the time to contact Krugnot in order to hire some sort of “consultancy” for Edgar as I had promised.

Just as I had predicted, my account manager agreed to help my, as he referred to it, “new investment”. He would do the necessary analysis of the Riddles' ledgers, for a price, of course. And of course it would be nobody’s business but us that a few paltry hundred Galleons would go from my personal vault into his. Anyway, just before the turn of the month I had a letter in reply to Edgar. Along with the letter, an ultimate peace offering: a picture of Conri playing with the little glowing ball I’d mentioned in the park. After all, whether he wanted to or not, Conri was still the child of the body he was inhabiting, so it was only fair to allow him some contact with the little one.

In the meantime, I put one of my first plans into practice: pre-Hogwarts. I made and sent a small invitation to all the ladies who made it a point to introduce themselves to me during last year’s ball season, for an afternoon tea in the gardens of one of the Slytherin family mansions — a mansion that would later be renovated and transformed into a preschool. That was a risky move, but if all went well, I would have at least eighty percent of the wives of Lords demanding that their husbands listen to me when I presented the proposal at the next council session. My timing needed to be perfect.

A few days later, piled up on my desk, were the answers to all the letters I’d sent. That was just the beginning.

As much as I told Edgar that I would visit Hogwarts in time for the start of classes, September ― as it couldn’t be different with the arrival of autumn — marked the beginning of chaos in my days. After the first meeting, many more followed, until everyone was happy with my proposal. Of course, if it weren’t for the support of Lycoris Black, Ginevra Prewitt, and Lady Beatrice Potter, I wouldn’t have been able to achieve even half of the progress I’ve made. They, like me, knew the need to teach possible heirs our customs, not only social, but also religious. So, towards the end of September, I had in my hands the booklet of Britain’s newest educational institute for magical children.

Emerald Meadows Elementary School. A preparatory school for children aged 3 to 10, which aims to teach the basics of the magical world and culture. My plan was mainly to offer the little ones a safe and healthy environment where they could discover their magic. Perhaps, if all went well, the school would also be a bridge between a Muggle-born child and a family long considered lost. And who knows, if everything went according to plan, I could prevent cases like what my little one almost became from happening again.

The big challenge then would be to get the approval of the Lords in time for the start of classes for the next school year. At this point, the help of the ladies that I spent the last month enchanting with my proposals and ideas for the school would be fundamental. After all, what husband wouldn’t insist on granting his wife a request for help for such a noble cause as the education of young minds? Even more so when such help could potentially improve the public image of said husband and his family in the eyes of the masses. I cannot forget, of course, the day I had to take my little heir with me to one of my meetings when some young mothers also took their children. I promptly pointed out the fact that when the school opened, my little one would be first on the list of students.

Suffice it to say that, after that day, there hasn’t been a heart that hasn’t been moved by the tale of the young heir who nearly got lost in the Muggle world in a mere orphanage due to the troubles caused by his birth mother, my dear late cousin. I can’t measure the effort it took to weave this story and tell it in a way that everyone understood the risks of incest in wizarding families and the consequences of that for our future. Something I am also unable to measure was my delight in opening the paper one morning in early October and reading a front-page story about the massive amount of marriage contracts being reworked by mothers concerned about the consanguinity of their potential sons-in-law and daughters-in-law with their children. A movement which, I must admit, I was surprised to find had been spearheaded by none other than Lady Black.

Anyway, I had proof that all my efforts (all the work I’ve had since waking up in the Leaky Cauldron almost two years ago) have not been in vain. And of course if anyone asked if I had no qualms about the story I was changing, my answer would be: of course not. From the start, I’ve been willing to discard the original story, so if that means I ruin some people’s plans, saving the fates of so many others in the process, then that’s exactly what I would do.

Just as I had predicted on my first day here, all that social dancing, manipulations and events were draining me… as the month progressed I felt it all take its toll in the form of mental, physical and sometimes magical exhaustion, especially after of spending the day connected to one or more of my familiars' senses during the endless public appearances that just got longer and longer. And on top of that, the weight of the season made it even harder to keep my sanity intact.

As much as I was working tirelessly to get everything up and running in a timely manner, I still managed to find some time for my family. My meditations with my partners and the little moments with Conri were still my only source of peace. And with that, I made a discovery that would be very useful for me in the coming months: after almost two years of bonding, I was already able to access some flashes of my familiars’ memories. What wasn't my fascination in exploring the grounds around the house from three different points of view? However, nothing beats the opportunity to witness Arty visiting Edgar's office.

After that first letter I exchanged with Edgar, I have to admit that it was with some sadistic pleasure that I saw his indignant reactions to my first note in my loyal owl’s memories. It was funny to see him misinterpret Arty’s indignation when he quoted Muggle mail. Can you believe him?! As if humans could do a better job than an owl! Of course, I made a point of sending any other letters through my faithful partner. However, I still offered Solsy’s services to transport the necessary paperwork between him and Krugnot so that everything could be kept confidential.

About our letters, at first I kept most of them in a mild, almost friendly tone, just as I promised Harry I would. However, as this exchange progressed, I began to use them as a form of vent, where I would share with Edgar not only my progress with preschool, but also little details from my past that I missed, and then soon he also started sharing some of his past with me: an old writer, without a family, with simple tastes and an even simpler routine. In addition, we discovered some tastes that we had in common, and others that were so completely opposite that I had nothing left to do but laugh at the thought of his indignation at seeing my responses.

Until, in one of his letters, in response to a question I had asked him about his plans, he came to me with a request that was, to say the least, unusual: the purchase of the bills and foreclosure of the debts of a London family that, according to him, if the plan worked, would make him relevant enough to help me in the London House of Lords. In response to this, I sent two letters, one to the bank to authorise the purchase of such bills and the other to Edgar confirming that I had secured my part in his plan and asking for details the next time we met in person.

Thus, October passed. And of course, it was at the height of autumn that another big change happened, a part of my plans finally paid off. However, the price I paid for this achievement was seeing my sanity slip through my fingers. And that triggered what I later dubbed the “27’s Clusterfuck”.

Chapter Text

While the London Temple of Magic was basically a conglomeration of small altars and nooks for old families to pay their respects to Mother Magic in their own way, as well as their families’ patron gods, the Temple itself followed the ancient druidic structures of the Celts, dating back to a time before Merlin and England itself. So it was mid-to-late October that a simple letter changed most of my plans.

On that day, as it had been the year before, I was focusing on the items that should be ready by the end of the month: my offerings and non-perishables that I would use during the ritual itself. As usual, I would perform it at home, with my family. It was late afternoon and I was in the back garden of the house, weaving a rope for the ritual as I watched Conri playing with Geeky on the grass. I motioned for Solsy to photograph them — I had plans to send a copy of the photo to Edgar — when I saw an eagle owl swooping down toward us. Acting on reflex as I recognized the owl in question, I conjured a perch for her beside me.

“Hello, Zephyrus,” I greeted her amiably, as I watched Solsy disappear into the kitchen for water and a treat for the bird. That owl belonged to none other than the current High Priestess of the Temple, Lady Eleanora Malfoy: “Let’s see what brings you here,” I said, lifting myself up and putting my project aside. In Zephyrus’ grip, wrapped around a ribbon, was a letter.

Miss Lyra Mahegan-Peverell-Slytherin.

You are invited to attend the Temple of Magic for our next Samhain ritual.

Bring only yourself and your ceremonial attire.

Blessed be.

Eleanora Malfoy, High Priestess of the Temple of Magic.

“Come now, a formal summons? But I made sure to let them know that I would do this ritual at home.” I said to no one in particular, my brow furrowed as I thought of valid reasons for that.

I was well aware that it was no secret who, exactly, I served. My offerings to Lord Thanatos and Lady Nyx were renewed every full moon. I knew, too, of the nickname that ran among the temple columns about me: Priestess of Death. So why would Mrs Malfoy invite me on this date, knowing my connections? Even more considering our… Relationship, for lack of a better term.

Mrs. Malfoy and I never really got along. This was a fact that even the most obtuse of temple visitors could perceive. Of course, for everyone’s well-being during the rituals, which I attended assiduously, we knew how to behave and even tolerate each other’s presence. However, on the one occasion we were alone, Eleanora spared no effort to demonstrate how much my presence there displeased her, even more so after I revealed the truth about my connection to Houses Peverell and Slytherin to the other acolytes who maintained the Temple. This was, to say the least, strange to think when considering that one of the Lords who most supported me in the campaigns for the renewal of the laws regarding ancient rituals was Lord Malfoy himself.

And now she comes to me with such an invitation, just at the time when my link to the plane of the dead becomes even more evident… Well, suffice it to say, it’s no wonder that cunning and wit are common traits in the Slytherin Family. If there was anything to go wrong, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to go unprepared. So, quickly drafting an answer for Eleanora, I began my preparations. Among them, locating my reptilian familiar.

While reviewing everything I had and what was missing, with a little concentration, I searched for the bond I shared with Meret and, with a little magic, asked her to come back earlier from her hunt. At other times, in another life, I would count on spirits of a serpent and a scorpion to guide me on the path of the arts, but in this life, as Lyra Mahegan, I had only Meret to count on, and something told me that her presence would be necessary.

It was only a few days before the ritual when Meret finally appeared.

* Dare I ask where the hell have you been? It’s been days since I called you. * I asked the boa as it climbed the chair where I was. I was in the living room finishing one of the items I would use for a spell during the ritual: a hand-woven rope.

* I was hunting and you interrupted me. The question is: Why? *

* I need you to accompany me to the Temple, * I let my frustration at not having been able to unravel the mystery of the summons alone show through my voice and through our bond. I must admit that, with everything that had happened that year, I was apprehensive about what the reason for summoning me might be. * They want me to go there at the autumnal equinox. * Meret shot me a look of doubt and concern that certainly mirrored mine. * I know as much as you do. I’ve already made it clear at the temple my preference for doing the harvest rituals at home. *

* All right. I’ll go with you. * No matter what they say about snakes and serpents and the like. Feeling Meret’s coils tighten around me brought an immeasurable wave of relief in that moment.

* Thank you very much, sweetheart. * I replied, stroking the scales on her head.

So, all I could do then was wait.

The days that followed were an odd mix of anxiety, tension, anticipation, and calm. A strange calm, the kind that precedes a strong storm, had settled in my house. Since the arrival of Ms. Malfoy’s summons, I was unable to fall asleep without at least a few drops of Dreamless Sleep in my night tea. Solsy, Wooky, and the others watched me more closely than before, as if they were waiting for some kind of tragedy to happen. And yet, Lord Time does not stop, nor do they wait for anyone. It was dawn on the 31st, a rare cloudless morning for that time of year in Wales.

By then I had everything ready. From the materials I spent the month preparing to the offerings that would be consumed, everything was perfectly flawless. As I knew the ritual at the temple would take me all day, I had my altar ready from the day before: every candle, instrument, plate, drink, and adornment meticulously placed in its proper place. On an impulse that I just let flow, I knelt before the altar and prayed, almost desperately:

“ Oh, Goddess, wise one. Cover me with your mantle, enlighten me with your wisdom and cunning, protect me and mine. I pray that whatever happens today, it will be with Your blessing. Let no evil befall my family or my house. Blessed be. So mote it be. ”

When I finally stood up, I felt a warm touch caressing my face, an inexplicable feeling of warmth and relief filled my chest, and unlike those last few weeks, I finally felt ready to face whatever Eleanora had planned for me. It was with my head held high that I said goodbye to Conri and welcomed Meretseger onto my shoulders. In a matter of seconds we were in the temple’s entrance hall. And what was my relief to be greeted by a friendly face.

“Lady Mahegan. What a pleasant surprise to welcome you today.” The old priest, whom I already considered a good friend and valuable ally in the temple, welcomed me with open arms.

“Blessed be, Cleveland.” I replied formally, having Meret around me, I limited myself to holding him by the wrists.

“Blessed be, Milady. What brings you here? I didn’t expect to see you before the next full moon.” That statement only confirmed all my suspicions. With a micro nod and an exchange of glances, I motioned for Meret to get off my shoulders and position herself. So she did, disappearing into the shadows of the temple.

“Now my friend, our High Priestess has formally summoned me for today’s ritual. Didn’t you know?” All the while I kept eye contact with Cleveland, at the same time trying to catch any signs of acting on his part and making my opinion of the whole thing clear. His surprised face was both alarming and a relief to me.

“Well, but…” Cleveland started to say only to break off and stare at me in greater alarm. “Don’t you think…”

“ I think absolutely nothing, my dear. But it won’t be me that Eleanora will answer if that’s the case.” I gave him a meaningful look.

“Of course,” he replied solemnly. “So shall we go? The others are finishing preparations in the cabin.” Bernhard held out his arm to guide me.

“We shall.” I replied with a mischievous smile on my lips.

And as Bern and I walked and talked in low tones, I told him how these last few days had been, with the tension Eleanora’s summons had caused. He, in turn, informed me who was responsible for what in the preparations for the ritual that was to take place in a few hours, and with each name and task he informed me my features darkened more and more. What on earth does Malfoy think she’s doing? With everything Cleveland related to me on the way to the cabin, it was no surprise to find the place in complete chaos.

One thing I noticed with the rituals I took part in that year is that each acolyte, devotee, priest and priestess had a specialty of what to do in the temple, so as I approached all of them, I took note of their strengths and weaknesses, and whenever possible, direct them to where they would be most efficient. I knew this job was supposed to be the High Priestess’s job, but Cleveland had explained to me, too, that Eleanora had been in the job for decades, and in recent years she’d been distancing herself further and further from the preparations as she trained two other young ladies so that one of them would be ready to assume her position in a few months. I myself never had direct contact with the young ladies and didn’t even know who they were, but in countless moments I saw them in Eleanora’s shadow. Having said that, and realising that if some changes were not made, we would never be taken seriously, I gradually guided the others so that each one felt part of the rituals, welcomed by magic, as I believe it is the right thing to do.

So as soon as we opened the cabin’s doors and I was met with a vision out of some kind of nightmare, it was clear what I would have to do in that case. It wasn’t the first time that something like that, of tasks being exchanged and as a result everyone ended up lost, happened. The first time this happened, I remember how some of the older acolytes were reticent with my intervention, but it was not for nothing that I spent a lifetime dedicating myself to the studies of the Arts, as I referred to my practices in the previous life. So after that first ritual that I took care of was a success, despite the mishaps, even the most hesitant to my presence there, began to listen to what I had to say.

So the only warning Cleveland had of what I was going to do next was a mere flourish of my hand, indicating my powerful sonorus , whereupon he was quick enough to protect himself. And then:

“WHAT IN HADES’ NAME DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” An almost sepulchral silence echoed in the cabin for a few moments until a huge wave of “Milady” and “Lady Mahegan” followed by a crowd of desperate acolytes nearly drowned me. As quickly as I could, considering the time of year and how unstable my magic had been during the month, I wrapped myself with a shield that would keep them from getting any closer, that was a technique I'd been developing in my spare time: keeping the shield close to my skin, like an armour, which would ensure that no outside magic could touch me. Dispersing the sound spell, I continued: “Answering your questions: Yes, I came to participate in the ritual. No, that was not foreseen. And finally someone please update me on what has already been done. It’s past noon and I don’t see a single candle on the altar!”

When I fell silent, a young priestess, red-haired, freckled-skinned and round-faced, approached with an air of relief.

“Blessed be, Milady.” Her bell voice put a smile on my face like only she was capable of doing on days like this. Young Anya Montgomery. A half-blood like myself, she came from an ancient lineage of Irish priestesses and witches of formidable elemental power, her father was a muggle Bulgarian hotshot who fell under the priestess’s spell. I had met her mother and sisters during the school’s founding meetings, each more adorable than the other. “Glad you could join us.”

“Blessed be, Anya.” I only had time to answer it so that the redhead started to speak freely at a rapid pace, responding to my request. In short, the situation was worse than I feared. Whoever had relayed the orders got to the wrong people, and just as Bern had told me, they were all lost because of it. So, just like the other times I’ve encountered this level of chaos, I’ve taken the lead with the preparations: “Very well. First: This is a ritual like any other! Do not forget your tasks within the walls of this temple. Today is a very important day for us. It is a time of renewal and gratitude, we must act as such. Now time is short. Let’s hurry, go to your own station and without further delay!” Turning to Anya and Bern, with a determined smile on my face, I declared, “Let’s go! We have work to do.”

And so we did. The three of us would take care of preparing the central altar so that the teams I had previously assembled could arrive with their respective elements and easily find where everything should go. Just before sunset the altar was ready, so it would just be a matter of the acolytes themselves, myself included, getting ready for the main act of the night: The Rite of Samhain.

It didn’t take long for everyone to be ready and heading back to the central altar. And of course, by then, Eleanora and her ladies were already waiting for us at the altar. I approached with the others, already positioning ourselves within the area of the circle that should be drawn, and, with a slight bow, I greeted the authority present:

“Blessed be, my Lady.” I was careful to keep my expressions as neutral as possible as I addressed her. Her response was just a brief nod. I didn’t notice any other possible expression on her face due to the dimness that covered the altar area, since we were about to start.

“Blessed be all. Another year has passed and here we gather to thank for the lessons learned, for the achievements, for the fruits harvested.” As much as we didn’t get along — over a matter as silly as my “impure blood” — I had to admit that I could understand why Eleanora Malfoy had held the post of High Priestess for so long. “We must remember those who have left. Preparing for the coming winter. Turn our attention to what really matters.” And then, with a gesture, one of her ladies goes to the altar to begin the ritual.

Overall, the ritual ran smoothly, as it should. As the circle was drawn, I joined my magic with others to strengthen the barriers that were supposed to contain the energy generated during the ritual itself. Up to this point, we have only enjoyed the blessings of the elements as they have been invited to join us. However, at some point, while they were burning the bunch of herbs that were supposed to purify the place to evoke ancestral spirits, something started to go wrong. The magic, till then pure and refreshing, began to feel heavy and oppressive. A foul, black mist began to rise from the earth, materialising into a grotesque humanoid form.

Little by little, fear began to spread among the acolytes. A crescendo of whispers spread like wildfire through dry grass, a disjointed mix of the voices of the acolytes, wondering what was going on, and what seemed to be the ethereal conglomeration of voices the thing seemed to emit: voices dry, deep, and husky. As the seconds passed, the smoke that emerged from the ground solidified, taking on an increasingly concrete form. In the half-light from the candles and fire south of the altar, it was basically impossible to visually identify which herbs had been used, but from the smell that wafted around us, those weren't the herbs we’d sorted.

I was still trying to figure out what in Hades was going on when the first scream tore through the night. One of the younger priestesses was about to run.

“Do not move! That’s what it wants! We cannot break the Circle!” Then, an enormous pressure fell on my mind, like a direct attack from dozens of simultaneous legilimens on my mental shields. I had attracted the thing’s attention.

“Smart little girl… ” the thing sneered, sneering. “ Why, looks like the reaper has a new favourite.” Then I realised: whatever that demon was, it was trying to weaken us — I could feel its relentless attacks on the walls of the circle. I looked around, catching the glances of a few of the older acolytes, each of whom had realised the same thing, and nodding in acknowledgment. Finally, I looked at Eleanora, then at the brazier on the altar and back again. She had also understood my plan. Now it was time to buy time.

“If you know who I am, you also know who I serve.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “If I were you, I would leave as soon as possible.” Gradually he could feel the magical pressure building, a mutual effort to keep the demon contained.

“I don’t fear them... They and I were born in the same space between dimensions where you met the reaper. ” I had to restrain myself from even sketching a reaction when I heard the comment about the space between dimensions. “ My powers, like theirs, are far beyond anyone’s imagination in this temple. Call them if you want, it won’t change a thing. ” I looked at the others, hoping for some sign that they were ready. Not yet. “ Your attempts to stop me are in vain. Soon they will succumb to fear. But, ” he took a step toward me, turning his back on the others, “ if you're as smart as you think you are, little girl, maybe you know how or are willing to pay the price for this foolishness,” in that moment, the barriers weakened alarmingly. I cast quick glances and could see that some of the younger ones had collapsed and lost consciousness. The circle just hadn’t broken because the others were holding them back.

In a quick reflex, in an attempt to gain even a few more seconds for the others, I used my own reserves to make up for the lack of magic from those who had fainted. However, my attitude came at a price: I felt increasingly weak, but I knew I couldn’t give in. I had a feeling we wouldn’t see the sunrise if the demon wasn’t stopped and sent back to the hole it came from.

“Since you know so much about me, you also know that this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like you.” For one last time, I look at the priests around the circle… “NOW!” With my shout, everyone jumped into action. All acolytes who were conscious sent out waves of raw magic to strengthen the barriers.

“Begone, abominable creature!” Eleanora and a few priestesses who were closest to the flames paid the blood price the demon would need to go. The blood and offerings were all thrown into the fire.

The demon remained impassive the entire time, but the moment the priestesses made the blood sacrifice, he turned to the fire and smiled. Although…

“Perfect… But still not enough.”

“The price will be paid.” I stated, ripping open my palm and allowing my blood to seep into the dirt. Realising what I meant, one by one, the acolytes present followed my example, while we still struggled to keep the circle intact. Time seemed to drag on — seconds turned into minutes — and with each drop of blood lost, my agony increased, my energy drained, and I wondered how much it would take to satisfy the demon. Until…

“The price has been paid. ” He backed into the centre of the circle. “ Remember me, little girl, ” and, raising his voice to a baritone, “ and don’t do this foolishness ever again.” So he vanished in the same smoke from which he came.

It didn’t take long for the reality of what had just occurred to sink in. It was clear that the loss of blood and the high level of magic used that night had affected everyone, but our work wasn’t done. I locked eyes with Eleanora once more, and it didn’t take much for her to understand what must be done next.

“Don’t leave your positions yet. We are still in an open circle.” Unlike when we started, however, she herself was in charge of breaking the circle, thanking and saying goodbye to the elements that helped us that night. When, finally, the ritual was truly over, I and all the others who were still conscious gave in to the weight of our bodies, falling to our knees on the floor.

* Lyra! * Meret’s desperate hiss was the last thing I heard before I finally gave in to the exhaustion the night had caused.

Chapter Text

Lyra is an extremely stubborn — and nervous — creature. But of course you already knew that.

After we exchanged our first letters, I can say that we never stopped. Once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, I received the barn owl at my window and received a letter that contained something from her daily life, some questions about my tastes or my previous life, and also, a photo of the boy. I answered (almost) everything she asked and of course asked my own questions. So far, so good… The problem was the damn owl! I lost count of how many times I asked her to use the damn mail, but no, the stubborn child insisted on sending the owl, insisted on saying it was safe, insisted on using magic when we could just live without it... Seriously, give a new toy to a child, and they won’t put it down until they get sick of it. Only Lyra, it seems, will never get sick of it. And let me do whatever I have to to put out the fires!

What fires? Get this: a week or so after our first exchange of letters, the copy of my account book was ready. I told her I would send it to her by post so she could give it to the pi... the goblin... as I didn’t know the address (and I doubt the London post office would have access to it anyway). Oh, for what?! The next day, lo and behold, Solsy, the house-elf, appears before me, materialising out of nowhere in my office. A charming, adorable little creature just like her, but… I had company. A wealthy merchant from Liverpool, with whom I traded for a shipment of imported goods. It might be the end of the day, but it was still business hours, so… Why?! The crack of sudden air displacement around the unlit fireplace caught not only my attention, but also that of my guest, who for some reason could not take his eyes off the fireplace after that, and at last burst out asking questions that led me to suspect the legality of his products, but that’s another story. Fortunately, he didn’t see or hear anything else, and he agreed to leave with the promise of a future response to our negotiation. Anyway, I had to get down on my knees in front of the little elf — partly because I was afraid she’d start banging her head against the wall — and beg her not to do that anymore. I think she understood. Let’s see if Lyra understands.

Once the account book was taken and safely delivered, I began to correspond with Krugnot, which was really interesting, I say... If I dismiss the scolding I got the very next day — and yes, I got another owl. I think I will have to accept this new reality, unfortunately. And get a bird entrance that doesn’t open onto one of London’s main thoroughfares.

Returning to the consultancy Krugnot was giving me, he said: Squandering your family's money is very different from investing it, Mr. Edgar. And let's just say that after that day, my business took a one hundred and eighty degree. And that money, almost magically, began to come in three times greater amounts.

Moreover, the days went by in the slow and peaceful rhythm of the routine of an English lord from the beginning of the 20th century (I say this because I come from the 21st century, so I am used to a much more chaotic routine). I was still thinking about ways to reconnect with the Horton family, but I confess that I underestimated the effect that the rumours about Tom’s marriage to Merope had on that relationship. Not even Cecilia herself, whom I had the opportunity to meet at a social event, wanted to see me — she turned away or walked away when I approached. Maybe she was hurt, and I couldn’t blame her, after all, if it were the other way around, I would feel the same way. Only there wasn’t time to restore this relationship in the right way, so to speak. I had to resort to drastic measures.

It was the first week of October that I had this inspiration, and I admit that after thinking it over and analysing it, I slapped my forehead wondering why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Now, if Edward Horton was desperate for money because of debts, all I had to do was take control of those debts and execute them, making him even more desperate, and then, finally, bailing him out financially. Simple and easy, like they do in the movies. I can still remember Thomas Riddle’s look of approval and pride when I explained the plan and objectives, as well as his part of the plan, accompanied by the words “At last you are thinking and acting like a Riddle, my son.” Yeah, right... How saintly and treacherous the Riddles are, I thought, remembering Voldemort.

When Thomas asked how we could take control of the debt without arousing suspicion, I informed him that one of our new business partners, who did not frequent London’s high social circles, would do the favour. I didn’t elaborate, but of course I was talking about Lyra. The next day, enjoying yet another exchange of innocent letters about our lives, I explained the plan and what her part would be. Lyra didn’t ask questions and she didn’t let me down. And once news of the Hortons’ imminent bankruptcy became public, Thomas took care of his part. As a result, at the end of that same month, Cecilia and I were engaged again, with the wedding planned for the end of December. Well, the girl still didn’t want to see me even painted gold, but until then I’d get around to it. I think…

Yes, everything is going according to plan, however… Where I come from, there is a saying: the poor’s happiness is short-lived. Oh, I can even inhabit the body of a rich man, but that doesn’t make me feel like one. Anyway… It was a cold night, and I was warming myself by the fireplace in my room while reading one of the several novels I had acquired that year in London. As I read a particularly interesting passage describing a mediaeval cavalry battle, I heard the typical crackle of Disapparation in space directly ahead of me. Looking up, I saw a breathless, teary-eyed Solsy .

“Sir… it’s Mistress! Come quick!"

I got up quickly and looked at the elf. From her condition, it looked like something very urgent was going on, and I don’t think Lyra would have sent her to me at this hour if it wasn’t, but the elf seemed unable to continue. I mentally replayed her words. That’s when I realised that Lyra wasn’t asking for my help... She needed it. It would make no sense to interrogate Solsy, so I just reached out to her and asked:

“Take me to her.”

The elf took my hand, and, in a snap, I was in the same living room I had visited so many months before. If I remember correctly the descriptions of Apparition in the books, I think the experience should have been a little more... Remarkable. Well, maybe elven magic really is different, as Hermione said, much to Voldemort’s sadness and despair, but the truth is, now was not the time to think about such philosophical things. For before me was the scene of the most perfect chaos: the elves were running up and down the room, apparently at random, and considering that they weren’t going anywhere, maybe they were; the snake was curled up in a corner of the room, its tail swinging vigorously in the air, almost as if there were a rattlesnake rattle there, its head turned towards me, and its tongue constantly sniffing the air; the owl, perched on a cupboard with its wings spread and its feathers ruffled in such a way that it resembled a hedgehog, its eyes roaming the room as if looking for prey; the dog paced up and down a hallway entrance, whining slightly, head and tail down, swaying gently as he walked; finally, the loud cry of a child, which echoed off the walls as if announcing the end of the world.

“She’s in the bedroom,” Solsy said. And then, without further explanation or questions, she led me to Lyra.

The girl, unconscious, was lying on the bed. She wore the clothes of a priestess, and her dishevelled hair escaped from a particularly complex braid for a layman like myself. What caught my attention the most, however, was not the unkempt state she was in, but the sallow skin and the hands positioned on her stomach, the way deceased people are prepared in burial chambers.

“Heavens, what am I thinking?” I pushed the thought away. So even though I'm not a doctor, let's be practical. “Do any of you elves know anything about medicine?” I asked Solsy. Before she could answer, an elf I didn’t recognize materialised before my eyes.

“I have basic training, sir.”

“Okay,” I replied. I went to Lyra quickly and touched her forehead. Unsurprisingly, she had a fever, despite the sweaty appearance of her skin. However, now that I looked closer, I noticed that her clothes were soaked, which was definitely not a good sign. I looked at the elves who were watching me intently and said, “Solsy, I need you to bring some iced water and clean clothes. You will help me clean her up and also change her clothes. Now you…”, I pointed to the other elf, “please bring some medicine… I mean, potion, that helps lower her temperature, preferably something with a quick effect. We need to make sure she doesn’t have seizures.”

The elves, thankfully, didn’t question my words, and disappeared as soon as the orders were given. Solsy was the first to return, carrying a ceramic basin with cold water and some towels. Then, carefully, I began to undress Lyra while the elf ran a damp towel over her body. That’s when I noticed the huge cut and bloodstain on her left hand.

“What the hell did you do?” I muttered. However, with no time for clarification, I continued cleaning, but before that, I turned to Solsy and said, “What was the name of the elf that was here earlier?"

“Wooky, sir.”

“Wooky,” I called.

“You can speak, he will hear wherever he is.”

“Wooky, in addition to the fever potion, bring a blood replacement potion. We need her to drink both as soon as possible.”

There was no response, of course, but I trusted the elf’s efficiency as there was nothing else I could do for the time being. Wooky returned a couple minutes later, bringing with him three vials, the first narrow, small and bluish, the second spherical and reddish, almost brown, and the third, the smallest of them, clear, as if there were pure water inside it. In the meantime that the elf was gone, Lyra’s family entered the room one by one, and positioned themselves protectively around the bed. Solsy and I were finishing dressing her in a white robe when Wooky arrived.

“Here is what you asked for, Sir. This one is for the fever and this one is for replenishing the blood.” he said, handing me the blue and red vials. “But she will have to take this one before the others.” he continued, indicating the last vial, still in his hands. “It’s to replenish the magic she’s expended all day.” explained. “Today was the autumn solstice.”

If I said I understood what that meant, I would be lying. However, since that little one’s knowledge of the mysteries of this world is certainly much greater than mine and, who knows, Lyra’s own, I did what he said without question. It wasn’t difficult to get her to take the potions, and I soon noticed the rapid change in her skin tone, from sepulchral grey to pale pink. No doubt that meant the potions were taking effect. Now all we could do was wait. I thanked Wooky and, turning to Solsy, said:

“Please prepare a light broth. Something she likes. She will need to eat when she wakes up.” the elf nodded and quickly disappeared. Moments later, the sound of pans being handled began to echo through the halls.

Nevertheless, I still couldn’t relax. That’s because, not far away, judging by the loudness of the sound, little Conri was still crying. I didn’t have to ask someone to take me to his room; I just went straight through the door next to the bed, and soon discovered that this door connected Lyra’s room with the nursery.

“Very well…”, I smiled.

Inside, the following picture: an elf even smaller than the others rocking the cradle, desperate and clumsy, in a vain attempt to calm the little one. The boy, for his part, kicked with arms and legs in the air, roaring furiously at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed, tears running down his face, lightly wetting the pillow under his head.

Well… As you well know, I was never a father. I have no idea how to calm a child who was probably starving. But the elf seemed a lot less knowledgeable than I was, and I’ve always had a soft heart for kids. Soon… I hurried over to the crib and unceremoniously picked up the boy, lifting him by the armpits so that his face was level with mine. Surprisingly, he stopped crying.

“Oh, you don’t look so scary now,” I said, looking at the reflection of my face in the baby’s impossibly black eyes. Then, without warning, I frowned. “Who’s scary now, huh?”

In movies, on occasions like this, there are two possibilities. In the first, the child bursts out laughing in delight, and a cute father-son scene unfolds. In the second, the child is startled and starts crying, and then, out of nowhere, a pissed-off mother appears to take the child in her arms and put the idiot father in his place. Neither one nor the other happened, of course. When I made a face, the baby just stared back at me, as if analysing it, and then, believe it or not, yawned and fell asleep. That simple.

“I didn’t expect this…”, I murmured, now cradling the boy in my arms to make him more comfortable. Maybe I should have put him back in his crib and let him sleep, but in that instant, something inside me urged me to keep holding him, rocking him, almost as if he were, in fact, mine. It was a strange feeling, I can’t explain it. But I know the hours passed like minutes and I didn’t realise it until the day outside started to lighten. Has Lyra already woken up? I couldn’t say.

“I think I’m a good babysitter,” I murmured, thinking of Lyra, and also of the little one in my arms.

Chapter Text

One of the worst parts of losing consciousness from dangerously low magic levels and extreme blood loss is that once you wake up again, your own body will take revenge on you in the form of the most awful migraines and body aches possible. Which just isn’t worse than the damn lack of memory that makes you question things like: “where am I” or “how did I end up here”. Gradually I got the answer to the “where” : I was in my room, at home, as I could see from the smells that surrounded me and the feeling of the sheets and mattresses around me, which I had become accustomed to for the last almost two years.

As had become customary, before even opening my eyes, I got busy organising my mind and, with that, analysing the events of the previous day, however, unlike the other times — when I just needed to organise some loose ends — I was faced with the most complete and horrendous chaos: the storm walls surrounding my mind had converged and become one general storm; the sea that surrounded my little island was rough, the waves covered the beach completely and lashed the walls of the cliff where Fiore’s cave was located; in the distance, I could hear trees falling due to the force of the winds that howled in agony; lightning, lightning and thunder rumbled in the sky, and I’m sure that, if it weren’t for the torrential rain, I would have a huge fire on my hands.

I positioned myself at the top of the cliff and, like a conductor leading an orchestra in one of the most complex songs of his career, I began to reorder the conflicting elements that warred within me. Gradually, the storm subsided, returning to the walls of everyday thoughts that protected my mind. With the end of the rains and the easing of the winds, which had returned to the usual state of gentle breezes, the sea waves calmed down, revealing the beach soaked and marked by the advancing waves. Then I felt my magic pulsing in me, restoring the fallen trees and, along with them, the memories kept inside. So, finally, I headed to the hut, where I could connect with my family members, and finally try to understand what the hell had happened during that ritual. However, even after what seemed like hours, I couldn’t come to any concrete conclusions other than: someone tampered with the bunch of herbs we were supposed to use.

Well, by then I was fully aware that I wouldn’t be able to come up with any answers without going back to the temple, which, given my state at the end of last night, wouldn’t happen again before the moon ritual in a few days.

So I opened my eyes, and if I’m honest with myself, I should have expected a scene like the one that had settled around me: Bran and Meret curled protectively around me, Arty nestled beside my head between the pillows. and Solsy asleep at my feet.

*Don’t ever do that again.* Inevitably, Meret hissed under his breath so as not to wake the others. *The little ones didn’t know what to do, the hatchling wouldn’t stop crying… We felt like you were…* I had to restrain myself from crying with the pain I felt coming from my snake.

*Forgive me, dear.* I replied, trying to soothe her as best I could. *I knew the risks of going, but what matters is that I’m here now. We’re fine.* I allowed myself to lay my head back on the pillow for a few seconds, listening to the sounds echoing around the house, and soon I missed one specific sound: Conri’s crying .

On reflex, I almost jumped out of bed, regretting it bitterly afterwards, as it only made my headache worse — I realised, then, that Wooky must have administered a blood-replenishing potion last night, however, one of the downsides of this potion is that no matter how much blood has been replaced, the lost liquid must be ingested naturally. Hence the headache. It didn’t take long for Solsy to wake up and appear in front of me with a glass of cool water, which I quickly, but carefully so as not to overload my body, tried to drink.

“Ma’am, you shouldn’t be up. The Lady needs to rest.” The elf scolded me, trying to push me back onto the bed. As soon as I finished drinking the water, I said:

“I need to see my son. I’ll sit in the nursery chair, don’t worry.” So, even staggering, I crossed the short distance between my bed and the adjacent door that divided the rooms and, finding it ajar, cautiously approached. I almost couldn’t believe what I saw: Edgar on his feet, gently cradling a sleeping Conri in his arms.

“I did not know what to do.” I heard Solsy murmur next to me. “We were all afraid of what might happen to you mistress…” Her voice trembling and tiny was enough to renew the tightness in my chest that didn’t seem to go away.

“It’s okay, honey. You did well." I calmed the elf again. From what I could make out, she turned to the only human she knew how to locate. So, as silently as possible, I entered the room just in time to hear a sentence muttered under Ed’s breath:

“I think I’m a good babysitter.” I didn’t have the strength to stop the smile that spread across my face.

“Careful, I might end up hiring you…” In response, I received a tired look. Did he actually stay up all night with Conri in his arms?

“Glad you woke up.” He moved to put the little one back in the crib, however, I really wanted to spend time with my little one, so I went to the chair beside the crib, as I had promised Solsy I would, and gestured for him to approach.

“Please give him here. It’s time to feed him.” He questioned me with a look, to which I responded with a brief nod, extending my arms to receive the little one.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Despite his usual neutral tone, it was easy to deduce that my family weren’t the only ones concerned about the state I returned from the Temple last night .

“Woke up and came straight over here, just had a glass of water…” He lets out a heavy sigh and then turns back to Solsy, who was still watching us from the doorway.

“Solsy, please bring a plate of the broth I asked you to prepare last night, will you?” And then he stares at me with an impassive expression on his face and his arms crossed. I let out a sigh, relaxing my shoulders as much as possible given my position.

"Thanks. And I’m sorry about… Well, about yesterday…” I myself wasn’t sure what Edgar had found when he arrived, but if Meret and Solsy’s reactions were any indication, it wasn’t a very good picture.

“Very well…” he started to speak, but stopped himself and then continued: “I’ll wait while you eat and take care of the boy in your living room. We need to talk.” And then he left the room, silently, through the hall exit.

As soon as I found myself alone with Conri, I laid my head back against the back of the chair and, looking up at the ceiling, tried to understand my reactions towards Edgar, and especially his towards me… But Conri still needed me, like he proved himself as he shifted restlessly in my arms.

“Now calm down my love. Mommy is here.” positioning him more comfortably in my arms, something that has been increasingly difficult in recent months due to his growth, I began to sing softly.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

just take my hand

hold it tight

I held his hand between my fingers, and he gripped it tightly in reflex.

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

As if he could understand me, and recognizing the energy in which I was gently enveloping him, Conri slowly relaxed and returned to the peaceful sleep he had been in when I entered.

For one so small

You seem so strong

My arms will hold you

keep you safe and warm

This bond between us

Can't be broken

I will be here

Don't you cry

At this point, he had already returned to the dream world. Still, I continued singing and weaving a powerful shield around him.

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart

No matter what they say

You'll be here

in my heart

Always

“Always, my prince.” I whispered to him, a soft smile gracing my lips. Soon Solsy appeared with the broth Edgar had asked her to bring.

“Here, ma’am.” The elf then took the little one from my arms and handed me what I recognized as a vegetable broth that Salkey had already made for me once, light but nutritious and extremely tasty. “We were all worried, Mistress.” That my situation last night was critical, I had already understood, but I still had to understand how much.

“What happened yesterday, Solsy ?” I finally asked. I needed some answers before I faced Edgar.

The short story I got in response to my question clarified some of the many “how” and “whys” I had in mind. Suffice it to say that neither Solsy nor Meret reacted for nothing. By the time Solsy finished explaining exactly what had happened after I’d passed out in the temple — and that I’d finished eating — I felt ready to see what Edgar had in store for me.

Once I was sure Conri was sleeping comfortably and surrounded by peaceful dreams, I headed to the living room, where Edgar said he would wait for me. And what was my surprise when I found him sitting, half asleep in my armchair by the fireplace? Taking advantage of the unique opportunity, I took a few moments to observe him... His tired face of someone who has spent a few sleepless nights, with soft dark bags under his eyes, his posture relaxed, but with a line of tension that I believed was impossible to soften, it reminded me of Tom before Edgar showed up on my doorstep. No matter how many times I took moments like this to observe him, I would never have answers to the questions I constantly asked myself about him. At least not in this life.

Soon a slight twinge of dizziness brought me back to the present, forcing me to cross the room to the couch closest to the chair, waking Edgar in the process. Whereupon he straightened, the slight look of concern back on his features and posture, and asked me:

“Are you feeling better yet?” I finally sat down, and once the room stopped spinning in strange directions, I responded in as neutral a voice as I could muster.

“Yes… As much as possible. Again, thanks for yesterday. Solsy told me what happened while she was unconscious.” I gestured for him to sit back down. Edgar nodded calmly, then began:

“I believe you owe me an explanation as to why I was pulled out of my house in the middle of the night to find you pale as a corpse and with a cut the size of a switchblade across your palm.”

His comment about my hand reminded me of the disaster that almost happened last night. I looked down at my bandaged hand and, making a note to apply some Dittany afterwards, with a long sigh, summarised as best I could what had happened over the past month and a bit of my personal history so that he had some context. Miraculously, he didn’t interrupt me even once, but when I turned my gaze to him, Edgar had his face buried in his hands, and because of that, I almost didn’t hear his muffled whisper.

“That’s why I said not to mess with magic we don’t understand…” and out loud: “You’re sure this thing went back to the limbo it came from, aren’t you?” For a few seconds I took offence at his disbelief. Until I remembered that, yes, Edgar had already been sceptical and, despite accepting the changes that occurred around him well, he seemed to be someone very pragmatic. So, swallowing my pride with bitterness, I defended myself:

“First: I just coordinated a ritual that I spent my entire life doing, year after year.” I made a point of ignoring his bored look, I didn’t have the strength or inclination to start a fight. “Second, I wasn’t the one who messed with the ritual herbs. That shouldn’t happen. Someone altered what we did.” And it was this line of reasoning that stuck in my mind. The golden question was “Who?”.

“You didn’t answer my question…”, he insisted, looking worried.

“Yes. Whatever it was came back and the portal opened with the circle was properly closed. The price has been paid.” I said, indicating my bandaged hand. I almost blurted out one: We’re not amateurs as you seem to think . But I knew that with him it would be useless to argue along these lines.

“I hope you’re right…”, he sighed thoughtfully. “And do you have any idea who might have altered the ritual?”

“Not yet. But I intend to find out.” I replied, staring into the fireplace for a few seconds and thinking about the possibilities of what could have happened last night. I felt his gaze on me for a few moments before he broke the silence again.

“And Harry?”

“What about him?” I looked at Edgar with an arched eyebrow. “He hasn’t shown up since… ‘The Cupid Trap’ in August. He was supposed to pay me a visit yesterday, but as you can see, there is no sign of his shadow.” Ed frowned at the ‘The Cupid Trap’ but didn’t say anything.

“That’s right… Where is our… ‘master’… when we need him?” Hearing and feeling the bittersweet of his sarcasm made me smile almost madly with my gaze still glazed towards the fire.

“Since when does the ‘Dungeon Master’ help his charges in times of real need?” I make my own tone acid by the clear sarcasm in my voice when making the reference.

“I’ll introduce him to the ‘Avenger’ when I see him again,” replied Ed, half dreamy, half menacing. I couldn’t help the loose, light laugh that escaped my lips. I risked a glance at Ed, just in time to see an amused smile on his lips. After a few moments, time it took me to control my laughter, Edgar stood up, ending the moment that had formed there.

“Well, I’m exhausted… I’m going home. I was supposed to meet my bride this afternoon, so… I need to get some sleep.” I remembered that he had been called late at night and had been watching over Conri’s sleep all night. A brief glance out the window confirmed that, yes, despite the dead of autumn upon us, it was early morning.

“Of course” I said, rising, “Solsy, take Edgar back home, will you?” I asked my faithful elf. “Thank you, again… For everything.” I extended my hand towards him.

“You’re welcome,” Ed squeezed my hand in response. “But please… Promise me you won’t do something like that again, will you?” I give a bland smile.

“It’s not like it was my fault exactly, but I promise to take better care of myself.” the ‘next time’ is implied in the sentence, to which I let out a mischievous smile.

“I’m too old for this…”, Ed muttered, sighing. And then, out loud. “You promised, huh?” and then he took the elf’s little hand. “See you soon,” he said at last.

“See you later, Edgar.”

Chapter Text

Hey there, guys,

Firstly, I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your Kudos. Every time I see a Kudo notification in my mailbox, I can't help but smile and think that, even with all this time away, you still find and enjoy my work. So, thank you.

Okay, so onto the reason for this note. As you may remember, last time I talked about my future as a writer, I babbled about my partner's and my original project... well, since that is still a work in progress with constant changes, I don't have much news on that front. On the other hand, I might have something in store for our beloved travelers, Lyra and Edgar.

I'll be honest with you and share a little about my plans for those two: my initial idea was that they would cross worlds, one after the other, acquiring knowledge and new skills that would pass from one life to the next. I even have a trail planned for at least five more lives after this first one:

Here's a list you can skip if you don't want spoilers.

• After leaving the Wixen Great Britan, they were going to meddle with the life of a certain Spook and teach the old man how to treat a witch with respect. (The Wardstone Chronicles)
• From the county straight to the seas, travelers would follow a certain rubber man across the great blue and beyond. (One Piece)
• From adventures and piracy, they would spend a brief vacation with little monsters where the main objective would be to reach the top and avoid yet another calamity. (Pokémon Gen 7 Ultra Moon Trail)
• After the rest, back into the arena, this time with living armor and an entire pantheon to turn upside down. (Saint Seiya)
• Finally, after refining their battle skills, they would have one last journey across a far, faraway galaxy, and deal with forces beyond anything they had ever imagined. Their mission? To bring balance to the galaxy by training a new order. (Star Wars)

So, as you can see, they would have countless adventures and misadventures throughout their lives... But my partner and I are mere mortals, and we have priorities. Unfortunately, this mega plan dropped to the bottom of the list.

However, even though we have prioritized other projects, Lyra and Edgar are still our youngest and hold a special place in our hearts and minds. That said, my partner recently gifted us with a game I've long been interested in playing: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. (As I write this note, I have over 37 hours of playtime.) And I imagine that some, if not all of you, have already guessed where I'm going with this: Lyra is interested in experiencing life as a Dovahkiin. Can you believe that?

Well, this is where you all come in. I know many of you only leave Kudos at the end of the fic, and I am forever grateful to everyone. But now, more than ever, I need your opinion: Would you like to see Lyra & Co. as citizens in Skyrim, this time in their true forms? Should I make her come back from the same point, only with the memories of the life before, or does she follow after the wixen life as it would be in the initial plan?

Your opinion matters greatly to me, and I would be honored if you could share your thoughts. Your feedback will help me make a decision that resonates with both you and the essence of Lyra's character.

Once again, thank you for being a part of this incredible journey. Your support has been a ray of inspiration, and I'm excited to hear your thoughts as I contemplate this new path.

I'll be awaiting your comments.

Kisus! ;3

Ly.

Chapter Text

After many discussions and reflections, my husband and I came to the conclusion that Edgar’s presence in the story was doing more harm than good — not only to Lyra and her family but also to us as writers. The dynamic between him and Lyra became emotionally and narratively draining, and instead of enriching the story, it ended up limiting its true potential.

Because of this, we have decided to remove Edgar from the story entirely. In his place, we are introducing a character who not only has a much more natural and deeper connection with Lyra, both emotionally and physically, but who can also offer her the support she always deserved—something Edgar, by his very nature, was never capable of providing. This change is not just about adjusting the narrative, but about doing justice to Lyra’s journey and the story we truly want to tell.

That being said, Raising Darkness and Chaos is undergoing a complete rewrite, covering everything that took place after Edgar’s introduction. To ensure this new version has the quality and consistency we want, it will take some more time before we start posting again. Our goal is to build up a solid backlog of chapters before resuming updates, allowing for a more stable release schedule. Hopefully, this will finally allow me to fulfil long-standing promises — to finish this fic and move forward with its sequels in the next worlds.

Lastly, I’d love to hear from you! Since we already have a planned sequence of worlds—including Supernatural, Skyrim, Star Wars, Avatar (James Cameron’s universe), and more—what other settings would you like to see Lyra and her companions explore? Feel free to leave your suggestions in the comments!

I truly appreciate your patience and support. I hope you’ll continue this journey with me.

See you all soon!

Kisus! ;3

Ly.