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Chapter Text

The threshold of these damp and forgotten halls was suffocating for Ronald Bilius Weasley. Ron, as he preferred to be called, was a simple boy, 13 years of age, a second-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and currently in pursuit of saving his little sister Ginny. 

The Chamber of Secrets held naught but a haunting disposition, several leagues beneath the school and presumed to house a dangerous beast such as a basilisk. The heir of Slytherin, the culprit behind these nefarious attacks on students and residents of the castle, held his sister hostage, and so he came down to these decrepit halls despite every bone in his body telling him otherwise. Despite every raging thought in his mind to run and hide. It seemed the Gryffindor in his soul was thriving with every step he took towards the danger. 

Only for it to backfire in his face, just like all the rest of his plans.  

“You first, Mr. Potter,” Gilderoy Lockhart sneered.

The fraud who found himself the Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts class had both Ron and his best friend Harry at a standstill. The two boys stood some distance away in the damp caves as Lockhart aimed Ron’s broken and secondhand wand in his grip. The two second-year students stood petrified as Lockhart seemed to gradually tower over them.

Ron could taste his own fear as his lips trembled. Wrath, fury, and worry collided in a desperate warring storm of his mind as he thought over his situation.

‘Bloody Hell! What do we do!’

Ron’s eyes caught Harry’s as the latter held a feeble grip on his wand, unknowing how to properly duel a fully grown wizard. Silent pleas for something... anything to stop this madness. But nothing and no one was coming. It was just Ron. Ron, Harry, and Lockhart. Alone in this chamber. With his imprisoned sister and a basilisk awaiting their presence. 

Lockhart’s malicious smirk was possibly the last thing Harry could see as his grip firmed up on Ron’s wand. “Say goodbye to your memories.”

‘No! You will not hurt Harry!’

The fear for his friend seemed to fuel the young Gryffindor as Lockhart screamed out his attack.

“Obliviat—argh!”

“No!” Ron roared as he jumped from his spot, tackling the professor and ruining his aim. 

A cacophony of chaotic magic exploded from the broken wand as Ron’s roughhousing shattered the conduit further. The surge of magic left exposed and unbidden had burgeoned violently. Harry’s cries of Ron’s name went unheard as the magic enveloped both Ron and Lockhart in a grimy grasp of raging pale blue sparks. The magic sought out its nearest possible victims, consuming Lockhart first. 

The piercing screech that left Lockhart’s lips as he stumbled in the magic’s embrace was comparable to a dying vulture, a roar of wrath as the wizard swatted away the blind pale blue wisps. The magic was like a ghost, intangible and unable to be touched, as it seemed to shock and whip itself violently against the fraud. Lockhart’s yelling eventually descended to grunts and moans as the magic seemed to grow tired of their elder prisoner.

Ron could almost be glad of this expected turn of events. 

Emphasis on the word almost.   

The lashings of magic carried Ron off his feet. The boy withered and cried as the magic tortured him as well. Gasps like dry hiccups slithered their way out of Ron’s lips, a fierce contrast from the guttural bellows from the young boy. His breathing was the only reprieve between the stinging and burning sensation of being tortured by magic.  

“H— Harry! H— Hurts!”

“Ron!”   

Harry cried out, his own fear solidifying into momentary adrenaline and courage as he raced forward. Unknowing what to do next, fate must have decided for him as the magic sent Harry flying back like a leaf in a storm. Powerless to the raw and horrid sight of the explosive magic as it danced with Ron’s body. A waltz of both magic and pain with Ron’s screams as the hall’s symphony.

Ron had never felt such horrible and cruel pain in his entire life. There were no words for the way his mind simplified under the magical onslaught. 

‘End.’

‘Please end.’

‘Let this be over.’

‘I don’t care if I live or die. Not anymore.’

‘Please.’

‘Anyone.’

‘Please just make it stop.’

Ron could only suffer as the magic clawed away at his person, his soul, and his existence. Almost surging and pooling violently upon the poor boy whose youthful physicality cursed him further. With more of the magic seeping into his blood, seeing as his body and core were much weaker than the likes of Lockhart’s.

Magic danced under Ron’s skin, the backfired memory charm stinging Ron’s crown, face, and neck as it burned its way through the boy’s mind. Two floating bodies, severely ravaged by expressive chaotic magic, ricocheted across the cavern with a deafening crash as the magic presumably imploded in a flare of raging sapphire blue sparks. 

“Ron! No!” Harry wailed out desperately as he got up, weakened from his first blow from the magic. Once he was steady enough, his eyes focused themselves upon his friend as he moved forward.

Ron lay weak and battered; thin rivers of blood started to spill out rapidly from his nose, eyes, ears, and the side of his mouth. His chest heaved desperately for air as Ron blinked away the tears of blood. The softest gasps of air escaped his lips as he fought for every breath. 

“H— Harry…” Ron whimpered out, voice hoarse and tired, as Harry made ready to run but halted at the sudden trembling of the cavern all around them. 

With a mighty growl, the cave began to shake and shiver. Quaking beneath the foundations of the castle, large swathes of rock and debris fell from the cavern’s ceiling. The explosion of both man and magic was too much for the old and decrepit caves to handle. Ron could only whimper out his best friend’s name as he saw his path to potential salvation cut off with a large collapse of rocks. Dust billowed into the air, burning Ron’s airway as he coughed up both dust and blood. The taste of both dirt and rust was bitter in his mouth. His calls were quiet but persistent in their endeavor to assuage his fear of Harry being hurt.

“H—Ha—Harry… Harry”

Silence.

“Harry! Harry, are you...? Are you there?” 

It felt like someone shredded his vocal cords as he struggled to call out for Harry, praying all those above that he'd get a response.

“Ron! Ron I’m here!”

The frantic calls of Harry’s voice were like a cooling balm to the fire that ached across Ron’s body. ‘Harry’s okay. Harry’s safe. He can save Ginny.’

“Ron! Don’t worry! I’m going to move some of these rocks so I can help you!”

‘No! Not me! Don’t help me! Help Ginny! She needs the help! I’ll be fine!’ 

“No!” Ron cried out, a scratchy whine of a scream, as he put most of his remaining strength and energy to use to stop Harry from wasting anymore time. 

“P— Please… Harry, help Ginny! I’ll be fine.”

“Ron! You’re hurt; I have to—“

“No! Pl— Please! Help Ginny!” 

Harry peeked through the small gap left between the boulders and dust that blocked the cavern, his eyes watering as his heart warred with itself. Ron could only toughen the weakest of smiles and the faintest assurance for his closest friend in hopes that he'd listen. 

“G— Go… Go Harry. I’ll wait for you and Ginny. I promise.”

Ron blinked away his own tears weakly as Harry wiped away his, the young boy smothering the sob wanting to come out at the sight of Ron, broken and bleeding.

“I’ll be back, I swear it! Wait for me, Ron!”

The redhead could only nod ever so slightly; the final assurance needed to pressure Harry to move on. Ron would have smiled if he had the strength, but as the sight before him blurred from his salty tears and tiredness lashed itself against his mind and soul, Ron could only close his eyes and enter the realm of dreams.

The blinding light made Ron wince as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. ‘Argh—is the sun in the bloody room with me?’   

The sun was disturbingly bright as it hung in the sky above Ron, shining its light over the familiar terrain. 

‘Home? What am I doing home? Wait, what is wrong here?’

Ron recognized the tors and the rushing avon in sight. He was on the outskirts of his family’s home, the Burrow. Some hike or so away from his humble abode, he was some steps away from the river otter. Hills, trees, and valleys decorated his surroundings, and the calming taste of familiarity sat on his tongue.  

“What… how…” 

He couldn’t make sense of it. ‘What happened? How did he get here? Where’s Ginny? Or Harry? What happened with the chamber?’ 

So many questions left unanswered. So many things to be worried about. It seemed the earth around him empathized with his own growing unease and discontent as nature unveiled itself to him. That sweet and gentle taste of home slowly devolved. A bitter cold slowly invading his soul as he picked apart the terrain around him, realizing that something was most irrevocably wrong here. 

The sun’s kiss was too bright, too blinding, and too pale for it to be as cold as Ron felt. The grass upon the hills was several shades the wrong color, with grey hues painting the grassy sea around him. The trees and shrubs didn’t stand tall and proud, nor healthy or sturdy. Gnarled and wispy oaks with leaves the same color as the grass filled their wiry canopy. And the river, the most obvious and unsettling of the visual intimations, was the river otter herself. Once a pristine and deep blue avon that traversed through the lands of his home, now trudged silently and morosely. The once rich cerulean color he remembered was now an unsettling shade of steel blue. Its waters trickling ever so slowly down their path with such a silence that one could mistaken the waters themselves to be grieving. 

‘How... what... what is happening?’ 

He felt the cold air softly bite against his skin, shivering under the assault. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Ron got up from his place on the ground to explore, the ever-growing curiosity and fear growing within him. 

He felt fine. His body no longer quaked under the throes of excruciating pain. That empty feeling of magical exhaustion was gone, and his pale skin shimmered clean and pristine. Even his clothes were off. Gone were those awkward hems and uncomfortably tight fittings. His Hogwarts uniform was perfect. Tailored, shining with its gold and red accents, comfortable in both coverage and size. So utterly perfect in every way that Ron truly knew now that something was wrong here.

Wherever here was, that is. 

“Hello” 

Ron’s voice echoed against the false hills, carried with the wind as he felt a gentle tug against his heart. He couldn’t explain it, but his voice seemed to trigger a gentle caress against his soul. Pushing him, calling him, and urging him towards the river. And with no other impulses to entertain, Ron moved towards the silent body of water.  

His thoughts stared out into this strange void as the possibilities he divined were endless. ‘Am I dreaming? Am I still in the chamber, and it’s just playing mind tricks on me? What the bloody hell is going on!’ 

Ron inspected the murky waters of the river once he reached its shore. The tingle of magic within him and around him felt like a calming embrace the longer he spent near the silent waters. His reflection was inquisitive and lost as he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “Why am I here?” His voice quivered under the strange familiarity he found himself surrounded by. 

He expected silence. No response was all he thought would come for his curiosity. The river must have heard his query, for it reacted strongly and succinctly. His mirror rippling as the steel blue glimmered a sapphire hue before showing a boy’s reflection back at him. A reflection that wasn’t his own.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t understand it. The boy looking back at him was as opposite from Ron as one could be. 

He was slightly older, maybe the twin’s age. His skin was clear and a shade or two darker than Ron’s own. Ron’s sky blue eyes stared into the gentle salmon-coloured eyes of the reflection. His hair was as bronze as the fertile soil beneath Ron’s feet. Ron could not stop his fascination and curiosity from consuming him as he reached out to touch the surface of the water. As his fingers touched the reflection, the sapphire light of the water erupted, sending the redhead onto his back.

‘Bloody hell… What just happened?’

“Who the hell are you?”

Ron winced at the screeching command that shook him out of his daze. Sitting up on the grassy ground to look up to see the reflection alive and well and staring down at him with an eerie glare, eyes wet and red and hands trembling. The redhead could only shiver in trepidation as he racked his mind for an answer to the stranger’s question as well as the million other questions running through his own head.

Ron was startled awake at the roar of the magical train’s engine, its black cloud billowing away rapidly from its chimney. Still a sight to witness as he sat up in his cot, the sight of the Aegean Sea shined under the glow of the moon outside his window as the early hours of the day approached.

He remained unused to the growing alertness of his body. Ron was already quite the active and observant fellow. And ever since Leyton’s untimely arrival as Ron’s spiritual and cerebral roommate, his body seemed to be adjusting to housing two souls. There were still some things set to happen; at least Leyton believed so, but already, being a light sleeper and having a more mature magical core was annoying to adjust to. Sure, he could potentially do more magic now with his improved core—which only he knew grew because of Leyton’s presence—but without a wand and with his mum, dad, and siblings keeping an eye on him, Ron had no way to entertain the ideas Leyton had put into his head.

It was a never-ending struggle to have to adjust, and having a Leyton constantly whinging and causing havoc in his—no, their—head when given the chance was not helpful.

‘I didn’t know Brits used seasonings; kudos to your mom.’

‘Your dad stinks at wizard’s chess.’

‘What?! We’re not going to do anything! They turned our hair pink!'

‘I’m going to burn these posters the first chance I get Ron. All this orange is making me nauseous!’

Ron was happy to finally wake up one morning without Leyton in their shared consciousness, battering their mind with a tidal wave of aggravation. Just a peaceful, scenic tri—

“Oh, good morning. How are you feeling, Ron?”

Arthur Weasley’s voice was gentle and soft as he entered the boy’s compartment, kneeling down to be at eye level with his youngest son. The snores of his brothers Percy, Fred, and George all ambient sounds to his all-consuming presence of his father.

“Good morning, dad. I’m doing alright. No headaches or eye bleeds, I promise.”

“If you’re sure, then that’s great. If you’re hungry now, your mum might still have leftovers from dinner saved up.”

“No thank you, dad; I’m all good for now.”

Ron wore a faint smile as he watched his dad’s nerves dissipate. Arthur could only smile assuredly as he softly ruffled his son’s hair.

“Alright then, son, try to get some more rest; we’ll be in Athens soon, and you know your mum doesn’t want to miss the first rounds of portkeys.”

Ron nodded in understanding, getting comfortable once more as his father stepped out. He gazed upon the rolling waves as the faintest rays of sun broke through the night’s darkness. Waves of relief pooled in his heart as he mentally patted himself on the back, happy with surviving another interaction with his family while still hiding his current... condition, he’d call it.

The Weasley clan were currently on their way to Egypt, a trip Ron was nothing short of ecstatic about. Especially now since his parents were very close to cancelling the trip all because of him. It turns out time passes differently in Ron’s mind and the real world. He had been in a coma for seven bloody weeks. A fact that nearly made Ron cry himself into another—guilt and sorrow filling him at the thought of putting his family, Harry and Hermione, through such a horrid experience, not knowing whether or when he’d wake up.

Though Leyton assured him that everything would be alright, Ron still felt awful for the whole ordeal. And to hear his mum and dad question whether to go on the planned trip at all after dad won the Ministry Jackpot, he made it his mission to get well enough to travel in under a week. That particular plan, though successful with Leyton’s help, was extremely painful. Training himself how to walk again, doing memory tests with the healers and mum, or various magical scans and diagnostics to check his magical core and brain. All of it was exhausting, but worth it.

Ron’s musings were interrupted when his soft reflection in the window transformed into an agitated Leyton, his words a harsh whisper as he questioned Ron.

“Why are we up at nearly six in the morning?”

‘Here we go.’

“Good morning to you too, Letty.”

“Good morning, Ronnie. Now what’s up? Are we there yet?”

Ron’s nose crinkled in annoyance at the nickname. The name sounded wrong and distasteful from the mouth of someone who was not his mother. ‘I guess that’s what I get for calling him that pet name.’

“Almost. Dad said we should be in Athens for a bit to catch one of the first sets of portkeys to Alexandria. Bill should already be there when we arrive.” Ron whispered back, trying to be courteous to his sleeping brothers.

“Well then, we might as well stay up. Any memory dives today?”

Ron shook his head, for once happy to not subject himself to the horrors of the past, present, and future. Leyton was very tight-lipped about certain things, and more importantly, how he knows so much about Ron, his family, and his friends. Ron would sit and just listen to Leyton talk about things he shouldn’t have known and things Ron sometimes felt better off not knowing.

It was all just a confusing mess of emotions and information. Emotions that Ron had to be coached through to manage. Breathing exercises and distractions such as chess and reading were popular choices in taking care of that issue, like when he needed to calm down from crying at the stories from Leyton of Ron’s best friend Harry. The thoughts of him starving and being mentally, verbally, and possibly physically abused were always a horrendous thing. It took Leyton screaming in his head to the point that Ron’s eyes began to bleed again that Ron finally took heed to Leyton’s suggestion to just sit and meditate.

Of course, not all of the new adjustments were negative for the redhead. Ron laughed in delight when Leyton revealed that Harry had helped free a house elf from the Malfoys. The elf, Dobby, became a quick friend thanks to Leyton’s encouragement and had become quite useful. Ron enjoyed the sense of relief he felt when Dobby happily agreed to transport his letters and some treats and foods to Harry and Hermione and theirs in return. It filled Ron’s heart with so much warmth to see just how much his friends missed him through their letters. Both a rushed mess of ink, tear stains, and appreciation. Ron had never felt so lucky to be alive and well.

“Alright then. Just let me know when we reach Athens; I want to see the Acropolis even if it’s from a distance.”

Ron nodded, happy that Leyton was noticeably too tired to be the sarcastic parasite he usually was with Ron. Ron instead simply laid down, enjoying the scene and hoping this trip would be as peaceful and enjoyable as Leyton mentioned once in passing.

Athens was a bustling city of both eerie and astonishing beauty. Muggle Athens, that is. The moment Ron and family left the magical train station en route to the Greek Ministry of Magic, Ron was left astounded at the liveliness of it all. Crowded, loud, awake, and active. The constant sunlight lit the city up in a way that made the city look more alive.

‘London has nothing on this city. Even the buildings look more cool than Old London.’

‘I totally agree.’ Whispered the voice of Leyton in his head, firm and agreeable, as Ron was sure he was enjoying the sights around him through Ron’s eyes.

‘I wonder if magical Greece’s history is similar to magical Britain’s.’

‘I doubt it. Magic in Greece goes as far back as before the Bronze Age, if I’m not mistaken. Andros, Circe, Herpo, and so many other infamous sorcerers find their roots in ancient Greek mythos and history. I’m sure Britain had their own dose of ancient sorcery, but so much of it was destroyed with the arrival of the Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Vikings, and Normans.’

Ron nodded in understanding, another tidbit of wisdom from Leyton that he packed away. He was hard-pressed to admit it, but he did enjoy having an almost encyclopaedia in the form of Leyton.

‘Oh look! The Athens Acropolis! Could you imagine the amount of magic that was once centred there? If most of the legends and myths were true, magical Greece seemed to be quite the hotspot for seers and magical creatures. Well, if the stories of Herpo were to be believed, I guess there was plenty of magical experimentation on animals and hybrids... '

Ron chuckled at the sound of Leyton’s rambling go on and on and on. Sort of like a radio playing in the background, both comforting a bit and easy to step in and out. 

By the time Ron and his family entered the magical quarter of Athens, nicknamed the Agora, Ron nearly froze as he gawked in wonder. Growing up as a wizard, he had been surrounded by magic all of his life, and yet, Ron was always amazed at the sheer amalgamation of magic and their wonders when on full display.

Ron was quick to agree to Leyton’s assumption that maybe magical Greece were more tolerant of non-human beings, seeing as dozens of humanoid beings stalked through the streets alongside the witches and wizards of Greece. A minotaur hammered away in a smithy; a band of satyrs could be seen through the windows of a winery, performing songs and laughing happily. Percy pointed out the difference between the typical vampires and the native Greek empousai, who strutted around with their mismatched legs of bronze and goat. Charlie regaled tales of historical Greek dragons to Ginny while his mum and dad bought gifts to give Bill and his coworkers for allowing them all to visit. He even saw the twins get slapped upside their heads by their mum for eyeing a pretty dryad with gleaming silver petals interlocked within her mossy hair of vines.

“Have you two no manners?! I ought to…”

Ron and Leyton both giggled at Molly Weasley’s rambling as she chastised the twins for their wandering eyes. Ron caught the eyes of the dryad as she was busy blushing and hiding her face. Bowing to the dryad in apology for his brothers, the dryad gave an appreciative smile in return before walking off.

Other magical oddities, such as the architecture, were something Leyton droned on and on about. Ron couldn’t lie; he had to agree with Leyton; it was marvellous how almost all of the buildings within the Agora had been built in the old classical Greek fashion. Tall marble colonnades and braziers of Greek fire were beautifully abundant, along with all the majestic trees, fountains, and folks.

‘Hey Leyton…’ Ron called out internally.

The teen was quick to focus his full attention on the redhead.

‘What’s up?’

‘Do you know if Greece is the birthplace of magic?’

Leyton’s humming was almost silent as he pondered Ron’s question.

‘I don’t know if magic itself originated here per se, but I’m pretty sure modern magic has plenty of roots in ancient Greek traditions and history.‘

Ron nodded at Leyton’s voice in his head. His curiosity settled for now as he had a small epiphany.

‘Egypt should be older than Greece by a long time, right? Maybe that’s were magic began. Imagine the crazy things we’ll get to see, Leyton! You think their magic is different from ours?’

The mental image of Leyton nodding along to his words was quick as Leyton explained.

‘I would be surprised if there is anyone who still speaks in the Egyptian ancient tongue or even Coptic for their spells... Oh! I wonder if there will be any treasures there; I can’t wait.’

Ron felt himself grow more excited with each word from his talking tumor. His own elation burst at the seams as he himself pondered what they might find in Egypt. He was going to see Bill after almost a year; he had his entire family and a new friend on this adventure, and he couldn’t be more happy. He held onto hope that this wonder would last.

Chapter Text

Egypt was an alluring and haunting country. The burning seas of sand merged radiantly against the oases of the Nile. Ron was utterly astounded at how antiquated everything in magical Egypt was. 

Whereas magical Athens looked like a piece of history brought to life in the modern day, magical Thebes made Ron feel like he had time travelled to ancient Thebes all those millennia ago. The limestone buildings, flax gardens, clay pottery, granite columns, golden temples, and lively bazaars spread out amongst the lush green fields of papyrus and palms had left Ron in a state of wonder. It worked wonders on how Leyton’s attention to detail was rubbing off on the redhead, for Ron couldn’t help but lose himself at every new sight. Especially now with the Weasley family touring the Valley of Kings.

Ron figured he’d be like the rest of his family, itching away at their jellabiya, complaining about the heat and melting under the glare of the Egyptian sun. However, through Leyton’s own personal preference—or, in his family’s belief, sheer luck—Ron was as comfortable and climate-adjusted as one could be. 

"Mum, please, one cooling chart wouldn’t kill anyone.” Whined one of the twins, their whinging more prominent than usual as the family trudged behind Bill, who was leading them on their tour through the magical quarter of the valley. 

A hidden ravine, with hundreds of nooks and crannies—sealed away by magic and made into the primary station for the Gringotts expedition to Egypt—the magical quarter of the royal valley was alive with tourists and workers from across the wizarding world. Witches, wizards, and goblins milled about their day, working and funnelling through a piece of history. It was utterly fantastic.

"Sorry, Freddie, but you know the rules; most charms and spells are strictly forbidden when out in the open parts of the ravine, including temperature-changing charms.” Bill’s apology was said with a smile, causing the twins to pout, Ginny and their father as well.

“Your brother is right, Fred; we’re just going to need to bear with it for a bit. But remember what Bill said earlier—it'll be much cooler once we’re in the caves or near the market section.”

His mum’s attempt to placate half of the family went stale rather quickly, as even she winced as the clouds parted in the sky, allowing the sun’s glare to bathe the land completely.

Ron tried his best to tune out his family’s chatter as Leyton admired the pillars, colonnades, and mausoleums. He initially couldn’t find the fascination with such mundane things, but Leyton’s morsels of information only served to intrigue him as time went on.

“And these hieroglyphs here are meant to describe fractions of a person's soul. Interpreters aren’t entirely sure of the direct translations, but the hieroglyphics on this needle are assumed to talk about a person’s sheut.” Bill monologued as he presented a large, weather-beaten obelisk to the family.

“A person’s shit?” 

A quick smack to Charlie’s head from their mum had the bundle of redheads giggling, excluding mum who was busy chastising Charlie, Percy, who rolled his eyes, and unknowingly, Ron as well, who simply stared at the grooves and carvings of the obelisk.

‘Sheut is a person’s shadow. Quite a dangerous bit of soul magic if I remember correctly.’ Leyton thought primly as he joined Ron in just observing the stone structure before them. The brunette’s silvery words tickled Ron’s curiosity.

‘What would a person’s shadow have to do with a person’s soul? Aren’t those two separate things?’

The feeling of Leyton shaking his head left Ron, once more, intrigued.

‘It's meant to be symbolic, I believe. Mind you most of my knowledge of the matter came from an old children’s book trilogy filled with bits and pieces of a potential Egyptian magic system, Ron.’

‘I don’t mind. What kind of symbol is a shadow supposed to be?’ Ron asked mentally, eager to know more.

‘In a tale known as the Kane Chronicles, the sheut is explained as being the “mark” one leaves on the world. Having no shadow means you have no effect on the world, and if you have no real impact on the world or at least upon those around you, are you really worth existing in this world or the next? The answer to that would be no.’

Ron remained stationary, utterly flummoxed at the concept. His eyes traced over the stone carvings—a divine art etched upon fragments of the earth, possibly lost to time.

‘Are there any other parts of the soul like the sheut?’ Ron queried as images of Leyton’s memories flashed rapidly through his mind—of a brother and sister, hosts for ancient immortals, birds with heads flying within clouds of magical smoke into different planes of existence. It was over so swiftly that Ron almost thought he was simply imagining it. But the thought was quickly struck down by Leyton’s information flood.

‘There’s the ib, ba, ka, ren, and sheut. Your heart, your personality, your life force—or in this case, it might just be your magical core—your secret name, and finally, your shadow. Each playing a vital part in the maintenance of your soul, in both the living world and the afterlife.’

The redhead hummed in awe, the Egyptian perception of the soul becoming a new wonder he could only dream of exploring.

‘That sounds bloody complicated but pretty fascinating.’

Leyton hummed his agreement. 

‘It is. I think the ren is the most intere—”

“Ron, are you alright?”

Ron was jostled out of his thoughts by the firm grasp of his parents and soon the overwhelming presence of his siblings. Panic danced across the eyes of his mum and dad as his dad’s arms cradled Ron’s shoulders and his mum had her hands on his cheeks, inspecting his eyes for probably the eighth time this week—it was only Tuesday.

“We tried calling you, but you were so lost in thought, Ron.”

“Are you okay, Ronnie?”

“Charlie said your eyes were twitching, Ron? Are you alright?”

“Are you having a headache, son?”

“You’ve been having them a lot lately, dear; do we need to take you back to the hospital?”

“Could you not hear us earlier? We had already left the needle almost five minutes ago before Bill noticed you standing as still as a statue over here.”

“Are your eyes hurting again?”

"Ron, what’s wrong?”

The interrogation from his parents and eldest siblings was deft, concise, and overwhelming. Overwhelming enough to have the youngest Weasley son breathing heavy in a slight sea of growing panic.

“I—I—I—“ Ron stuttered, only triggering a new flood of worry amongst his family. He began to sweat from the suffocating encirclement, only furthering his panic as he struggled to formulate a plan to mollify his family.

‘Calm down. Take a deep breath, Ron. You passing out is only going to freak your family out even more.’

Ron tried to roar out his annoyance at Leyton, but it came out like a strangled weep. ‘I’m trying!’

‘Try harder. Take a deep breath for me, Ron.’

With his eyes closed and ears muffling the growing clangour of his family’s worry, he attempted to follow the instructions given. Fresh air forcibly filled his throat despite his lungs attempts to restrict and contract.

‘Just say it’s the heat. That’ll give your parents an easy target to blame.’

‘Are you sure that’ll work?’ 

Ron internally sighed as he watched Leyton’s unsure face flash through his mind. The brunette waving his hand in a so-so manner, not one bit banishing the essence of doubt that lingered in Ron.

“Ron! Ronald! Arthur, I think we need—"

“I’m okay, mum.”

His words were succinct and tempered as he rubbed his eyes open, facing the startled looks of his family. Both his mum and dad were prepared to erupt in distress, but Ron was quick to redirect their worries.

“It was just... too hot. I think I’m getting dizzy or probably just thirsty.”

‘Do you think that worked, Leyton?’ He asked. The pair watched as the atmosphere around them evolved from one of panic to one of firm determination. Ron could almost feel comfortable with the smugness that laced Leyton’s response.

‘Hell yeah. Look at them, not a tear or wail in sight. We’re going to be fine.’   

Ron was in fact not fine.

At least that was Ron’s deducement of his current situation. His mum and dad enacted “Ron Watch” once again. Of course nobody called it that, but Leyton pegged the term after they both realised that every half-hour, a different family member was glued to his hip. They had done it back on the train ride from France to Romania, and now, because of his little moment at the obelisk, Ron had to endure the hovering of his family piecemeal.

Bill and Charlie weren't so bad. Granted, Leyton had conflicting feelings about Ron’s two eldest brothers that only made Ron’s stomach curdle when he was near them. Pretending to be alright when all he wanted to do was either throw up or bash his head against the closest pavement because of the filth his talking tumour exacted wasn’t an easy task.

‘I wanna pull his hair.’

‘He’s like a ginger-wolverine.’

‘His lips look chapped; maybe he needs something to moisturise them.’

‘I wanna push him off a cliff.’

‘Oh no, Optimus Bill is staring at us again.’

‘I want to be a curse for your brother to break.’

‘I can’t believe my mind. The boy is di-vi—“

‘SHUT UP YOU NASTY, SLIMY, GIT BEFORE I FLING US FROM THE CLIFFSIDE!’ Roared the redhead as the torturous tirade of Leyton’s pining and disdain for his elder brothers filled Ron with nothing but vitriolic rage.

‘What? I was just sing—‘

‘Shut up!’

‘I was just singin—‘

‘SHUT THE F—‘

‘ALRIGHT! You’re no fun, Ronnie.’

It didn’t take long for Leyton to shout in pain as Ron viciously pinched himself in the arm, the Weasley boy laughing wildly in his head as Leyton screamed out his apologies.

Thankfully for Ron, his two eldest brothers seemed to be the only family members Leyton had outwardly admired, or worse, fancied. In return, however, in Leyton’s words, he had “beef” with everyone else. “Beef” that seemed to hold a strong level of personalised resentment per person in his family. Ron had repeatedly battered Leyton’s defences to catch just a glimpse of what exactly his reasons were for disliking his family so much, but Leyton was quick to usually give vague and superficial reasonings on this particular matter.

The twins were Leyton’s most common victims. Ron’s arguments with Leyton over the matter of the twins were quite possibly their most common debacle, with Leyton making snide remarks every time the twins breathed wrong. He would of course defend his brothers, and the bickering would begin. It seemed in both Ron’s physical world and his mental one, the twins were his greatest headache.

“Hey Ronnie, you figure we give Percy,“ Fred began.

“A new girlfriend for him to devote all his energy to.” George finished.

Ron sighed in exasperation, ignoring their musings of mummy girlfriends, not at all amused at the idea of another prank towards Percy. Leyton had agreed wholeheartedly as the brunette chastised the two. Their sing-song voices clashed horribly with Leyton’s bladed words. Whereas the twins’ voices were syrupy and inviting, when coloured with wrath, their tongue stung like a whip. Meanwhile, Leyton’s voice was just naturally soft, firm, and sometimes unnecessarily condescending.

‘They’re going to chase him away. Can’t they just prank each other?’

Ron pouted at that idea; his answer was not really one he enjoyed.

‘I’m pretty sure they do. I guess they’re just looking for a second opinion of sorts.’

Leyton huffed out, annoyed at the thought and choosing silence for the rest of their time with the twins.

Being with Ginny was like being with a raincloud. As the youngest and the only girl, she was used to the attention and the constant hovering over her by the rest of the family. It was no surprise to Ron that she could easily handle their family’s bombardment of questions and demands for her time, effort, and energy. However, the events of their current summer holiday as well as the past school year left his only sister a shadow of her former self—forced to rebuild herself piece by piece. It left Ron reeling just how much of an effect his coma had on his family when Ginny tried talking to him about it. And like a rain cloud, Ron missed the sun’s kiss that was hidden away by the stormy clouds and the repeated assault of rain.

“You almost died, Ron.” She whispered glumly as the two sat in their booth at the inn at the ravine. 

Their meal of fish, flatbread, and figs left unfinished as the two sat alone. The rest of their family were off exploring the adjacent bazaar as the two sat in the comfortable and cool shade.

“So did you, Ginny.” Ron returned softly, their shared melancholy at the horrid events of the chamber and the weeks after it. 

“You shouldn’t have come after me.” 

Ron gaped at how resolute her voice was, his anger slowly spilling to the surface as he internalised her words. Words he felt were severely idiotic.

“And let you die?! Are you mad?! I would have gone down there even if you were just some random student! I’d never not do something to help you if you were in need, Ginn—“

 It seemed his words had lit her fuse, for she nearly erupted from where she sat in front of him. She was aware enough to keep her voice to a whispered scream, but just enraged enough to have her finger waving in front of Ron’s face as she exploded.

“You nearly died, Ron! Seven weeks! Seven damned weeks you were out! I could barely live with myself when I woke up, realising that I had done all those horrible things! Sending that monster after people I knew, people who were my friends.”

Tears spilt from her cheeks as her hands gripped the table, eyes submerged and pain ridden as Ginny recounted her truth. 

“Imagine my surprise when all of that horror would mean nothing compared to the sight of you! You Ron! ON. YOUR. DEATHBED! There was nothing but blood, Ron! All over you! When me and Harry got to you, you wouldn’t wake up; not even Fawkes’ tears could wake you! You promised Harry you would wait for us, and you didn’t! You almost died, and it was all m—m—my f—“ 

Ginny threw herself back down upon her seat, head going down as she hid her sobs from the world. Her supposed culpability strangled her soul. Ron could only sink into his seat, trying and failing to stop his own tears from falling in tandem with every anguished sob that Ginny struggled to smother. He felt like he was lost beneath a raincloud, and the rain wouldn’t stop falling. 

Ginny’s continued weeping left Ron speechless as guilt and anger flooded his system, only to be halted by the silvery words of Leyton.

‘Don’t get mad. Not at yourself and not at her either.’

‘How could she ever wish that?! Like I would even dare to leave her to die! It was my fault for not stopping Lockhart in time! I’m the bloody fool for all this! How can she blame herself? Is she stupid?! She’s being hammy!’ Ron exclaimed, his mind racing for reasons to justify his growing loss of patience.

‘She’s being a sister. And you’re just being a brother. Now calm down.’

Ron nearly recoiled at the harsh retort from Leyton before the brunette continued.

‘She’s hurting. We were out for seven weeks, Ron. That’s forty-nine days on whether or not her thirteen-year-old brother is gonna live and wake or wither and die. She was scared, Ron.’

‘Ginny… scared?’

It was a concept that made Ron’s nerves chill at the thought. His earlier bouts of ignominy about his long slumber at St. Mungo’s creeping into him. Ron had to smother the embers of shame that filled him as he decided to listen instead of acting rashly like he typically would.

‘What do I do then, Leyton? How am I supposed to help her with something like this?’

‘Apologise.’

‘W—What?’

‘You don’t really have anything to apologise for, but it might ease some of the tension in her. It might seem little to you, but it could mean the world to her, knowing that you might be sorry for any of the stress you might have caused her.’

‘Of course I’m sorry! I—I just wanted to save her.’

‘Then tell her that. Just say sorry.’

“I’m sorry”

His sister’s sorrow halted at the quiet words that left Ron’s lips. She remained frozen as one of Ron’s hands gently stretched across the table to rest upon her wrists.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean for... all of it to backfire or to... fall into that coma. I never wanted to scare you, Ginny. I just wanted to help you.“

Ron suddenly felt arms around him, Ginny’s tears spilling quietly as she embraced him from across the table. Ginny’s embrace was suffocating, but in a good way. It made Ron feel safe and secure—untouchable even. He’d be hard-pressed to admit he liked it, but maybe just this once he could indulge it; lanky arms moved to wrap around the shoulders of his only younger sibling as the two settled into a comfortable silence. Her embrace was cool like a gentle drizzle from a rain cloud, and Ron couldn’t be more glad.

Ron couldn’t stop the warmth he felt at Leyton softening up on his sister. Of all of his siblings, he’d tolerate nothing negative to come Ginny’s way, not even Leyton’s garrulous nature. It may have been a small win, but a win nonetheless.

When her shift of “Ron Watch” essentially ended, Ginny was reluctant to separate from Ron’s side. However, not even she had the patience or will to withstand Percy’s presence. 

Leyton’s conflicted feelings on Percy were Ron’s feelings, just with the caveat that Leyton saw a bit of himself in Percy. Ron didn’t technically enjoy his third-eldest brother’s company or personality. Yet his love was still there for HIS brother. Leyton, however, liked to question Ron’s sincerity in his devotion to Percy. It was always hard for the duo to settle the matter.

At least now—as Percy led Ron on their own little walk down one of the many cave complexes in the ravine—Ron was grateful that Leyton spent his time indulging Percy’s character rather than critiquing it.

“—and that’s why southern Egypt was referred to as upper Egypt and the north as lower Egypt.”

Leyton’s smile was soft as Ron pictured the brunette teen sitting within the confines of his mind, a perceptive and intuitive glint in his mind. A stark contrast from Ron’s own weary exhale, not at all enjoying Percy’s own rendition of “Egypt: A History.”

“That’s cool.” Ron replied simply, giving little regard to the conversation at hand.

'Wow, Ron, I’m drowning in your enthusiasm.’ Leyton snarked.

Ron huffed in annoyance, his temper warm and primed as he tried to maintain some sense of composure.

'Look, I’m sorry, I’m just not as interested in the whole spiel of all things Egypt.‘

‘You had no problem every time I spoke about this place.’

‘That’s differen—‘

‘Is it?’

‘YES!’ 

Ron almost groaned in frustration as he felt Leyton raise an eyebrow.

‘How so?’

His attempt to ignore Leyton’s words only reinforced the platinum on Leyton’s tongue as the brunette probed on. 

'Oh, come on, Ronnie. What’s the problem? Cause by the sounds of it, I’m not the problem here.’

‘It’s just different, alright! Bloody hell, what does it matter?!’

‘It matters because I would like to know why Percy is held to standards that I am not.’

‘Bog off Leyton; it doesn’t matter.’

‘I think it does. I can’t help but wonder—‘

‘Oh stuff it already!’

Leyton quieted at the growing ire, choosing wisely to not agitate his ginger host, who seemed to grow tired of Leyton’s inquiry. Of course this didn’t stop Leyton from getting one last jab out.

‘Is it a British wizarding thing where you all are emotionally constipated? Or is this whole thing just a part of the greater theme of the tragic brotherly bonds in this world?’

Ron almost stumbled in confusion.

‘What?! What are you even talking about?!’

The mental image of Leyton’s back facing him reignited the simmering fire in Ron’s heart. An ember ready to burst, but halted by the cool hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“Ron? Are you alright?”

The soft baritone of Ron’s brother Percy called out promptly, the elder overlooking Ron in a gentle solicitude.

Taking a moment to clear his mind of the constant irritation that was Leyton, Ron adjusted his focus upon his brother as he properly took in his surroundings.

“I’m fine, Perce. Sorry, I—I just needed a moment.” Ron exhaled softly, his attention split between his brother and the dark entranceway they were in.

“You just went quiet, so I led us into this small corridor just to get us out of the sun for a bit. It’s only some ways away from the main path. I believe the sign said this was an entrance to some tomb.” Percy stated, gesturing to the torch-lit cave they were in. The great stone doors wide open like many others were across the ravine; the rays of the beaming sun burnt the threshold. On the other end, there were steps leading down into the mausoleum, the torchlights emanating a softer kiss than the sun.

“Oh, um… thanks Percy.”

The cumbersome atmosphere was palpable as Ron stood there, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

‘What is there to even talk about?’

‘Talk about your feelings, Ronnie; I’m sure Percy would enjoy something new to dissect.’

The redhead began to secretly pinch himself, enjoying the pained hissing of his mental roommate. 

“You’ve been doing that quite a bit lately.” Percy murmured, attracting Ron’s attention.

“Doing what?” Ron asked with a false confusion, a mixture of concern and worry gracing his mind as he halted his pinching, afraid that Percy witnessed the little act of personal revenge.

Percy composed himself as he looked upon Ron. "Space out and just go silent. Most of the time it looks like you’re having a headache or just staring at something with an upset face.

“Oh.” Ron exhaled, shocked that Percy of all people had noticed something could be up. He’d always just assumed Percy’s attention was always devoted to his books and his overly dramatised reality. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Ron? I know we’ve not seen eye to eye on most things, but I worry about you. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

The youngest Weasley boy could feel the harsh tugs on his heartstrings as Percy spoke. His elder brother’s words were typically divisive, but not this time. Percy spoke with a longing, an olive branch of sorts. He could taste the awkward aura around them transform into something else, something different, something more. Something akin to... affection. 

“Yeah, I’m doing alright. You don’t have to worry so much, Perce. I’m okay.” 

Despite Ron’s assurance, he could still see the glint of concern laced in Percy’s eyes as the elder settled his mind. Ron couldn’t stop the warm feeling in his chest at the way Percy seemed to care this much, let alone at all. It really did touch his heart.

“Right then. I mean it, Ron, I do worry about you. If you ever need anything, I’m always here.” 

Ron answered Percy with a soft nod of his head as a gentle smile broke through. Percy returned the favour as he readjusted his glasses once more before gesturing with his head towards the exit, “Well then, if you’re up to it, there’s a couple more sites I wanted to see.”

The younger redhead nodded before following Percy towards the thick stone doors. Percy had just crossed the threshold when a rumble of rock and stone screeched loudly. Thick stone doors suddenly slammed shut with a violent clang; the force of its harsh act expelled a cloud of dust into Ron’s face and sent him down to the floor. Ron could only cough and swipe away at the waves of dust that swept over him, forcing him to crawl deeper into the cavern to seek cleaner air

“P—Percy!” Coughed out Ron as he cleared his throat, hands on his knees, as he was left momentarily stunned at the sight before him. The stone doors to the tomb had shut. Leaving Ron alone on the other side. Ron just stared at the stone, utterly bewildered as he contemplated the dilemma set before him.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron whispered, not expecting a silvery voice in his head to reply.

‘I think we just got locked in a tomb.’

Chapter Text

‘If I can't reach you, let my song teach you. All you need to keep our love ali—‘

“Oi! If you could kindly shut your bloody trap, I am trying to get us out of here and can barely hear myself think with your awful harmonies.”

He cared not if he was rather direct with his venom; Ron was not having a good time. The massive stone doors had him locked away in an eerie, ancient Egyptian tomb, and his only company was the voice in his head who was singing.

‘Tone deaf blighter.’ Ron thought grumpily, the palms of his hands red from his repeated attempts to make some semblance of sound from within the rocky corridor.

'Well, aren’t you a little rude?' Leyton mused, an amused expression decorating the brunette’s face.

Ron kicked the stone doors in a huff, angry at his current predicament.

"Well, what are we to do?! These bloody doors won’t budge, and I don’t even have a wand to blast us out of here!”

‘Have you ever considered just sitting and waiting?’

The redhead contemplated punching himself at Leyton’s attempt to humour the situation. Of course Leyton was quick to raise his hands in surrender.

'Okay, look, you’re wasting energy trying to pry those doors open with your baby hands.’

Ron reeled back, slightly offended at Leyton’s words.

“B—Baby hands! Look here you right foul g—“

‘You have baby hands. Facts are facts.’ Leyton deadpanned.

"No, I don’t!”

‘Okay then, where’s the callouses? Where’s the scars and whatnot? Oh, that’s right, you have none! Those soft hands are proof enough you have not a worker’s hand, let alone a worker’s soul.’

The silky venom in Leyton’s chastisement left Ron boiling in his ire, getting closer and closer to erupting. Granted, the redhead didn’t exactly know what to be angry about, but he knew that Leyton was antagonising him, and that was enough for him to succumb to his Weasley temper.

“All right, you look here, bogey brained bleeder—“

‘You have softer hands than Dobby, and he’s a bloody house elf. House elves are born with deft and soft hands to do all the work that’s expected of them.’

“I don’t care! You’ve been nothing but a right foul git and a pain in my arse since you’ve got here!”

Ron could feel Leyton’s annoyed look turn into one of realisation as the pink irises danced in contemplation. It irritated Ron that even beyond his breaking point, Leyton could simply ignore how he was feeling so easily.

“Are you even listening to me?!”

‘Dobby.’

He sneered, confused, and utterly incensed that again, Leyton was completely ignoring him. His tongue lit itself as Ron readied another barrage of verbal punches for the brunette.

“Look! I don’t understand what you—“

‘Dobby! Dobby can get us out!’

“What?” Ron queried, temporarily pulled from his wroth.

‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. Dobby! He could apparate us out of here.’ Leyton announced, his epiphany already preparing to send Leyton into another tangent. Ron, however, was quick to subvert that, or at least attempt to redirect that potential flood of information.

“How?”

‘Elf magic is powerful, possibly more powerful than wizardry. There’s a chance Dobby could apparate us out of here.’

‘Really? Is elf magic really that powerful?’ Ron queried, his anger simmering down into an ember, all the while Leyton spewed on

‘Yes. Elf magic is potentially one of the most powerful forms of modern magic to exist. I mean, Dobby was strong enough to keep you and Harry from the platform; I’m sure that wasn’t easy. Especially if the ministry hadn’t taken notice of it. If he has that kind of power, maybe he can apparate here and get us out.’

“Well then… What are we waiting for?”

Ron cleared his mind; his roommate—or headmate if he was being more literal—went dormant as Ron channelled his desire in both mind and heart, calling out with a firm and honest tone.

“Dobby, I need your help, please.”

BANG

A loud crash against the doors of the tomb rang out, sending a harsh growl down the corridor. Ron had covered his ears to spare himself the pain of how loud it was. Dust from all around the cave sprinkled into the air, and the torches adorning the walls faltered in their burning. Something was wrong.

‘Uhmm… I hope that wasn’t Dobby.’

Ron looked around bewildered, the dust that found itself gently falling from the walls and ceilings, continuing on with their descent into the air as the cave started to shake, almost as if it were shivering.

“I thought you said Dobby could get in?”

It seemed Leyton explored the same feelings of shock and confusion as Ron, as he too struggled to speak.

‘I… I thought he could.’

His nerves to chastise Leyton were cut short as the falling dust started to worsen. The shaking of the walls and ceilings started to quiver rapidly. Ron could feel his mind go blank at the sight around him. His throat closed up, and his skin chilled itself several times over as the corridor growled. Eeriness flooded his heart and soul as Ron’s mind reminisced.

The Chamber of Secrets.

He was back in the chamber again.

The rocks are going to fall all over him.

And a harsh sapphire cloud of magic is going to rip him a—

‘RON MOVE NOW!’ Leyton screamed into Ron’s mind, the brunette’s willpower forcing blood from Ron’s eyes. Adrenaline poured through his young veins as Ron doubled back, bolting down into the depths of the corridor as the entrance cave collapsed into itself. A harsh cloud of debris and dust chased him further and further in, swallowing the torches and billowing out like a noxious storm.

He couldn’t stop his fall as a gust of wind blew through him. Ron winced as he swiped away at the thick and cloudy air.

‘Damn. You all good, Ron?’

The Weasley simply nodded as he coughed clear his airways, standing up to face the sight before him. The entrance chamber had collapsed. Ron was sealed in here. And he was going to die here.

‘We are not going to die here, Ron.’

“You don’t know that!” Ron petulantly stated, his frustration becoming palpable.

‘Look. Have some faith in Bill... I’m sure he might be on the other side trying to dig us out.’

Ron noticed the semblance of doubt laced upon Leyton’s words but chose to ignore it as he wiped away the dried tracks of bloodied tears to grace his cheeks.

“Did you have to make a mess again, Letty?”

Leyton’s exasperation was apologetic.

‘Well sorry. You were having a moment at a highly inconvenient time. I didn’t want to get crushed by some rocks and figured you might feel the same way.’ Leyton’s nature was on full display as Ron shook away the annoyance growing in him.

‘Okay look. We’re stuck even more than we were before, and seeing as magic can’t really get us out, our options really are limited.’

Ron steadied his breathing, practicing the stunted meditation routines Leyton taught him back during their residence at St. Mungo’s.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Okay. What can we do?”

‘We can sit and wait, and hopefully help will come, or maybe we can go exploring; who knows, we might find some treasure to loot.’

Ron’s eyes bulged at the second option.

"You... want to nick something from the tomb?” Ron asked slowly, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing.

‘You want us to steal from this place? You’re not taking the mickey out of me, are you?’ Ron gaped in his mind, utterly astounded at the fact that prim and high-strung Leyton was suggesting something so... devious.

'Oh, believe me, this will be just the first of the hundreds of potentially awful, horrendous, possibly illegal things I’m going to encourage we do.’

“I… I…. I don’t know what to say. I— Yes! Let’s do it!” Ron declared, elation filling his bones as he dusted himself off one last time, a new distraction ready to enrapture his full attention as he looked down into the long earthly corridor set before him. Several elongated steps that travelled lower and lower into the earth.

‘You ready, ginger?’

He didn’t know if it was his need to be active or his desire to be sufficiently distracted, but Ron didn’t even waste a second to verbally react to Leyton’s question. A nod was all he gave as he took the first steps down the steps leading into the tomb.

‘Hopefully we don’t end up like Indiana Jones.’ Leyton said hopefully, flashes of a huge and polished boulder chasing a man in a brown hat raced across Ron’s mind briefly as the duo descended into the tomb.

The new chamber they found was covered in hieroglyphs. The walls and ceilings were carved and decorated to completion with drawings of the ancient past, of an ancient empire and her ancient citizens. The only testimony to their wondrous history being their melancholic dilapidation. Withered and lacking of its original shine. Designs of gods, men, and beasts, beaten away by time. The torches cast an eerie glare across the large chamber. The floor was a sea of sand, warm under its glow and surprisingly firm in its ability to hold weight. Comparable in size to Hogwarts’ great hall, the chamber made Ron feel small. Minuscule. Irrevocably insignificant and lonely in a hall for the dead.

‘This feels so creepy, yet oddly... beautiful.’

Ron agreed with Leyton’s observations as he looked around in awe. Effigies stretching from ground to ceiling stood strong despite their time-battered appearances. Sitting upon their thrones, backs aligned with the walls, and their scepters standing tall in the grasp of one hand, a fist in the other rested upon the statue’s thigh. The jackal heads stared ahead, their most prominent feature being their obsidian-like eyes. Orbs of sable that sent shivers down Ron’s spine the longer he stared at it.

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, the wall carvings are neat and all, but still a bit scary.” Ron replied softly.

Looking towards the other end of the chamber, the other entrance leading further down into the tomb was smothered in darkness. No torches burned beyond that entrance. Ron contemplated his options out loud, his mind hesitant but his heart curious.

“What are the odds something horribly wrong happens if we go down the dark, scary tunnel?”

Ron felt Leyton wince at the idea, clearly not liking the idea but also severely intrigued.

‘Well. We could either go back up that long flight of stairs to wait because I doubt your family finished digging their way through yet. Or go exploring in the creepy, dark tunnel that has no active torches and could potentially have a mummy waiting to get a taste of some ginger. It’s a no-brainer, to be honest.’

Ron couldn’t have agreed more, pulling together his courage as he marched close to the walls of the chamber.

‘Okie dokie, time to relax and do nothing else toda—uhm, Ronald... What are we doing?’

"Well, we’re going to need a torch if we’re going to see down there.“

‘WHAT?! Whatchu mean go down there? I thought we were about to go back up and wait!’

“What’s that phrase you like to say? Oh! Well, you thought wrong. We are going to go exploring, and who knows, maybe we’ll find something wicked.”

Ron’s declaration was filled with hope and elation as he ignored Leyton’s whining about mummies and beetles. As he picked up the torch closest to him, pulling it up and out of its sconce, Ron felt a sudden and cool sensation radiate throughout his body. The warmth of the torch’s flame diminished the closer Ron brought it to his body. It felt lighter than it should in his hand, its flames alive and flickering with a calming orange glow.

His observation over the torch halted when all of the other torches in the chamber suddenly went out. In a matter of seconds, the orange glow of the ancient chamber vanished under the darkness. The flame upon the torch in his hands danced alone and sullen as its glow radiated only a few feet around Ron. In the far distance, the flames of the corridor he had originally descended to reach the chamber lit up weakly like a dying ember. Whatever had happened, Ron did not like it.

Ron could feel the fear birth itself deep within his soul. ‘What the bloody hell was that?’

‘Put the torch back; maybe it was a safety mechanism of sorts!’ Leyton called out swiftly, filling in the blanks in Ron’s mind as the redhead panicked.

Taking several steps back to the wall, Ron hefted the torch up, expecting the rusted sconce to hold the torch once more. Yet as Ron struggled to place it, his hand grazed the groves of the wall in search of the sconce. A sconce that was no longer there.

“Where…. I… I can’t find it! Where did it go?”

Panic began to dance in Ron’s stomach as he moved along the wall, feeling the dusty grooves of the hieroglyphs. The original sconce was gone. The torches that went out were gone. And so were their sconces. It was only Ron, the voice in his head and the lonely torch with its feeble light, alone in the darkness of the ancient chamber. A realization that spurred on both Ron’s and Leyton’s fight or flight.

“What do I do?! What do I do?!” Ron called out to himself, racking his mind to give him an answer.

‘Screw it. Just drop the torch and book it back to the entrance corridor!’ Leyton called out.

Following through, Ron ignored the resounding crack of the torch as it fell from his grip and thumped against the ground. Its flame flickered as it was abandoned alone in the large chamber. The fear in Ron’s blood felt like adrenaline as he raced through the darkness to the faint light of the corridor he initially entered. 

He was so close to the threshold. The light was only a few steps away before Ron felt a thunderous clash right in front of him. A black figure snuffed the light of the entrance out as it clashed with the ground in front of him, sending him flying unto his back.

‘Ron! Ronald! Get up! Get up now! Ron!’

Ron winced at the rapid commands from Leyton, the feeling of the brunette battering against his temples. The ache in his head was enough for Ron to steady himself.

‘Ron! Are you alright?’ Leyton pressed quickly, his silver tongue laced with the same fear Ron felt in that moment.

‘W—What happened?! That shadow... it struck us. It... it pushed us.’ Ron thought softly, gathering the last bits of his mind as he shook away the weariness.

‘That wasn’t a shadow, Ron.’

Ron crinkled his nose as he got up, dusting himself clean as he turned around in the obsidian ocean they found themselves in, spotting the lonely torch burning its light some ways away.

“What are you on about?”

Ron felt the frosty chill from within his mind. Leyton was afraid. Purely and completely terrified.

‘That wasn’t a shadow that pushed us, Ron. That looked like a foot.’ Leyton’s voice quivered as he spoke.

‘A foot? What are you, mental? It was a shadow.' Ron chastised, annoyed at the unsettling nature in Leyton’s demeanor. Jogging over to the torch, Ron bent down to pick it up from where it burned scorch marks into the stone ground. ‘Stone? How—‘

‘Ronald focus! It wasn’t a shadow!’

Ron harrumphed.

"Okay, then what was it?”

Ron could feel the mess of anger and confusion build up with his temporal friend as he himself struggled to comprehend their situation.

‘I—I don’t know—‘

Leyton growled out in frustration. Ron stood up as he held the torch upright. Holding it before him, he slowly turned in a circle to see what might lie ahead of him.

“You don’t know? Well then wh—“

Terror ripped itself out of both Ron and Leyton as Ron turned around. The faint flare of the torch illuminated the mass of darkness before him, showing the stone head of a gigantic jackal effigy. This particular statue remained on his hands and knees, its head stretched out towards Ron. The jackal-man looked as if he were observing the tiny spectacle that was a redheaded boy holding a torch, alone in this ancient chamber. As the statue stared back at Ron, both Ron and Leyton screamed in agonizing horror as the stone giant stretched its hand towards the young teen.

‘RUN RON!’

Ron didn’t need to be told twice as he turned around, fleeing with all his might as he charged into the endless sea of darkness. There was no chance he was going to fight a stone giant, not in the dark, and not without a wand.

He hadn’t gotten far before a thick stone hand picked him up from where he flailed and screamed for mercy. The hand constricted gently as it simply held him up, ignoring the storm of cries and yells coming from both Ron’s shivering lips and his dual mind.

“STOP!”

‘LET US GO! NO! LET US GO!’

“PLEASE! NO!”

‘YOU’RE HURTING HIM! YOU’RE HURTING US!’

“LEYTON! WHAT DO I DO?!”

‘I DON’T KNOW! LET US GO YOU DAMN DOG!’

“PLEASE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

Ron shivered in fear as he felt the stone hand bind him in place, suspended more than a couple meters off the ground. The feeling of the coarse stone hand rubbed against his arms through the sleeves of his jellabiya, its grip painful but not suffocating. The jackal’s face glimmered under the light of the torch. Half of its face illuminated under the orange glare, as the other half remained one with the darkness. Its visible eye shined like a gem, moving and contorting as it inspected Ron.

“Who dares intrude upon this tomb?”

The dark baritone of the Jackal’s voice kept Ron frozen in fear. It sounded like several giants talking in unison. Deep like the great sand sea of the Sahara, the voice commanded a certain sense of fear. This statue, this being, this entity was a guard, Ron had realized. A guard over the tomb that he had so carelessly trampled upon.

“I—I—“

“Who dares intrude upon this tomb?” The statue demanded, its layered, tar-like voice commanding a vast wave of fear out of Ron.

‘Leyton! What do I do? Do I tell him my name?’

‘No… Yes! I don’t know!’

“Speak intruders, or you will have your entrails paint the walls of my master!” The jackal thundered out. Ron could only answer meekly, for both he and Leyton were left supremely to the stone giant’s mercy.

“I… My name is Ron.”

The jackal’s visible eye narrowed, sharp stone teeth revealing themselves as the living effigy spoke in its heavy voice.

“You lie.”

Those two words were spoken faster than Ron could comprehend what was happening. His body burned with a hellish fury as the guard’s grip tightened. Ron screamed out, the pain almost suffocating as he tried to fixate on his breathing to help him maintain consciousness. Tears broke free as just inhaling too much air was painful.

“No! No! That’s my name! I promise!” Ron screamed.

‘Say your name! Your full name! Maybe that’ll stop him!’

“Ronald! My name is Ronald! Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

The jackal’s grip loosened just the smallest fraction. His glare was firm in its angered disposition.

“That is your earthly name, blue eyes. But not your true name. Nor is it the name of your companion.”

Ron would have gasped in surprise if he had the breathing room to do so. 'It... it knows your here, Leyton! H— How?! Wh—‘

‘I don’t know Ron! But it’s no matter. Tell him our names.’ Leyton remained winded from their current predicament. Full of fear and contemplation.

‘But it said my name is my earthly name! What the bloody hell does that even mean?! That is my name, my real name!’

‘Just try it.’

He mentally sighed in frustration. This didn’t make sense to him. And it didn’t help that he only knew he had feeling in his bones because he could still feel his hands tremble in fear.

“My name is Ronald Bilius Weasley. My companion’s name is Leyton. We... we don’t know or remember his surname.“

“I care not for your mortal names. I demand your true name! What is your true name?!”

The guttural roar from the stone giant had Ron closing his eyes in fear.

‘Ron… I don’t know what to do... I’m so sorry.’ Leyton softly said from a corner of Ron’s mind where the brunette had hid comfortably, trying to comfort himself from the situation at hand.

Ron had wished for once that could be him, comfortable within the strange imitation of his home—so far deep within the confines of his mind that he could manifest only a voice or a reflection. But that was not the case for Ron here, in the now. He simply stared in fear and anticipation as he readied a response to the glowering stone giant.

“I… I’m sorry… but I don’t know my true name. I’m sorry. All I know is that I am Ronald and he is Leyton.” He declared softly and wholeheartedly, unsuspecting the guard’s response.

“Then you will remain here. For I cannot allow you to leave.”

Ron’s face flooded with horror.

“NO! PLEASE!”

‘He can’t keep us locked up here!’

“I promise, we didn’t take anything! We’re sorry for trespassing! Please!” Ron begged, eyes growing misty once more at his predicament.

“Speak your true name, and you shall be free.”

The guard’s words were like an ocean of dread passing over Ron. His breath quickened, all the fear and confusion colliding into a storm of anxiety, sending Ron down a path of mental despair as he gave up trying to beg for his freedom. He flailed, wretched, and screamed out his frustration, trying to fight for his freedom, ignoring away the obvious futility of it all.

‘True name! That doesn’t make any bloody sense! It’s not right! It’s not fair! LET US GO!’ Ron screamed in his mind, his consciousness, vicious with its attack on the jackal-headed guard, unlike his physical performance at hand.

‘True name... true name... What does that mean?' Leyton pondered aloud, his voice almost as frantic as Ron’s.

“You are intruders. I cannot allow you to leave without the exchange of your true name, for only your true name can pay for your release,” said the guard in finality as it tightened its grip on the redhead.

‘L— Leyton!’ Ron whined, woefully scared that this might be his last few moments of life.

Leyton screamed in desperation, his epiphany. ‘Ren! He wants our ren! Our secret name!’

Ron groaned out in pain at the slow encapsulation of his body, the constriction of limbs slowly diminishing under the strain of his breathing. The torch fell from his grasp to the floor, casting a faint glow upon the stone giant as it stood tall. It was obvious that Ron was nearly past the breaking point, his breath quick and shallow and eyes tearing up. Through the pain of being squeezed, Ron felt the vicious barrage against his temples from a fiery Leyton.

‘We have to give him our ren! I don’t know what it is, but tell him we’ll give it to him!’

Ron’s eyes shut harshly, the last of his concentration focused on Leyton’s words as he ignored the guard’s grasp and the streams of blood spilling out as tears from his eyes.

‘I… I don't know if... I can stop him. We can’t stop him. Leyton…’

The exhaustion was mounting in Ron as darkness danced in his mind, flickering the mental visage of Leyton in Ron’s mind. Had he the strength and full strength to comprehend what was happening, Ron would have noticed Leyton’s swift ascent from a worried teen to a pressured erudite. Leyton screamed aloud in Ron's mind, forcing the redhead's eyes to open wide and fierce. Misty, blue eyes glared at the shadowy giant as both Ron and Leyton screamed out in unison.

“SUH-FAR!”

Ron felt the instant relief of fresh air penetrate his lungs as he took in the sweetest and deepest breath he could. Stone fingers, once alive and defined in its quest to kill, suddenly found itself releasing the redhead from its grasp before crumbling into dust. Ron felt the cool wind of his fall kiss his body only briefly before he fell hard against the cold stone ground. Dust and rumble sprinkled themselves on and around Ron. Ron groaned in pain as he held on desperately to his consciousness.

"What... what was that, Leyton?” Ron queried breathlessly, bewildered at the change of circumstances. He couldn’t help but wonder. ‘That… wasn’t our ren was it? Was that magic? What kind of magic was that? We... didn’t even have a wand.’

‘Divine words. Egyptian magical commands from that story I told you about earlier. I didn’t know they’d work.’ Leyton responded, shock decorating his speech. Ron was glad it had worked, simply letting the waves of relief flood his body as he thanked Leyton for their apparent windfall.

“That was bloody bizarre, Leyton.” Ron said in near reverence, wiping away at the blood, sweat, and tears on his cheeks.

“Yes… bizarre indeed.” The guard, now lacking a hand, spoke as it loomed over the winded teen.

Ron barely heard the giant’s voice before a crude clangor of stone, gnashing and crumbling, billowed throughout the dark hall. Both Ron and Leyton held their breath for only a second as the imposing jackal-headed statue was joined by its brothers from around the chamber. Nine towering guards lingered in the darkness, with only the soft kiss of light from the torch evincing their existence to the two human souls in the tomb.

Chapter Text

The sea of darkness glimmered with obsidian-like eyes that shone like stars. The nine jackal-headed giants burnt glares into Ron as he whimpered from the pain of nearly being crushed to death. His body quivered, while his mind raced whilst under the crutch of Leyton’s contemplations.

‘Nine on one. Not the worst of odds.’ Leyton mused, his silvery voice filling Ron’s head.

'Uh, don’t you mean nine on two, Leyton?’ Ron’s eyebrows furrowed as he questioned.

Ron could taste the sheepishness pouring out of Leyton’s mouth as the brunette responded.

‘Oh, I didn’t technically count you since... you know... no wand, barely any wandless magic, and me and my brain doing like 90% of all the work.’

‘I can still fight, you prat!’ Ron reeled back, his fire reigniting just a fraction as he gathered his bearings.

'Okay, calm down. Nine versus one plus Ronald. There, you happy?’

If he could, Ron would have growled at Leyton’s blabbering. Yet, the glowering presence of nine stone effigies—one of whom remained maimed—spurred Ron into a defensive position. The strain on his muscles was immense as sleep called to him in the distance. He could feel his magical core humming, the feeling of warm hands soothing it from within. Leyton was caressing their shared magical core, a core comparable in size to his brothers Bill and Charlie—but skill-wise, still a second-year wizarding student.

Ron fixed a harsh look at the jackalmen as he called out to Leyton. Leyton just masterminded his release from imminent death. The divine words he called it left a foreign tingle in his bones, under his skin, within his blood. A feeling unlike the euphoric kiss he felt when his own magic sang to him when used properly, that is. There was also the fact that they had done it without a wand.

Wandless magic.

Ron had just done wandless magic.

The realisation sank in deep as he finally gathered the strength to stand on his feet, his body haggard from the pain and fear. He couldn’t think on it for long before the nine stone guards spoke as one, their gravelly voices booming through the hall.

“You vermin speak the tongue of masters. How have you come upon a divine craft as such? Did you steal it?“

The jeers and murmurs among some of the guards had made Ron’s soul burn with indignation at their accusation.

“I—We did not steal anything! We didn't!"

Despite his firm declaration, the guards only responded with clear derision and suspicion. Their canines gnashed and their eyes narrowed as growls sang their way into the ambience of the chamber.

“You are not of the blood of Ra. You must have purloined such studies from our divine carvings in this very hall. The theft of such knowledge makes you not just an intruder but a thief as well.”

Ron ignored the way his body screamed for slumber as he backed away slowly. The nine towers of living stone inched forward, almost cornering Ron into the darkness.

“I told you! I didn’t nick anything!”

They seemed to ignore Ron’s voice as the guards continued their advance. Ron almost stumbled back when his foot lost balance, stepping on the lonely torch, burning brightly as Ron quickly picked it up, raising it like a club, prepared to strike. Ron silently glared at the looming statues as they all began speaking over one another. Condemnations and insults spilling from their stone orifices.

“Surrender yourselves, and you’ll be granted a quick death.”

“Thieves!”

“You have befouled this tomb with your presence.”

“Intruders!”

On and on their chastisement went, and back and back Ron moved, biding his time as he tried to figure out what to do.

‘Leyton! What do we do!?’

‘We have to get out of here. We have to find the exit.’

Ron split his attention for just a second, looking for either exits and finding nothing but darkness.

“Your attempt to flee justice is futile. Surrender yourselves, and your death shall be swift.” Declared the first jackal-headed giant before suddenly a large stone foot was raised up high before stepping down harshly to the ground. Ron jumped back, barely dodging the attack, before he felt the constricting feeling of Leyton’s hands stretching into his magical core and the brunette’s chant-like screams.

“N’DAH! N’DAH! N’DAH!”

Ron followed suit as he joined his voice with Leyton’s, breathing life into the magic brewing beneath his skin. An insatiable warmth exuded out from his body as he felt his magical core burst out. Sticking his right hand out before him, Ron felt his magic channel itself through his fingertips. Suddenly, a small wall of light materialised before Ron, appearing with a resounding crack of stone and glass when a new stone foot arose and viciously collided with it. Echoes and rocks ricocheted across the chamber, the impact causing a large dent and cracks to appear in the shield. The shield was a flimsy film of light as it cast a shimmering blue gleam into the chamber. Now a nearly shattered wall of light, it compared to a washroom’s mirror in size as it flickered weakly. The guard who landed the stomp found himself thrown onto its back, yelling at the force as his stone brothers roared in shock and rage. Ron felt his body quiver from the palpable taste of magic in the air. Despite the dark spots in the corner of his eyes, Ron couldn’t help the small smirk of wonder and awe escape his lips as the shield lit up in front of him.

His thoughts, however, were quick to diminish under the sudden burning in his hands. His chest heaved as he shook his finger rapidly to alleviate the sudden burning sensation that danced beneath his skin. Looking down, he saw the skin of his right hand turn a horrid maroon and violet colour as they bruised and urned. His shield, Ron had realised, was made with wandless magic, and now his body was paying the price. He nearly dropped the torch in his left hand as his right ached to be coddled.

‘Dammit! Ron run!’

No questions left his lips as he heeded Leyton’s demand, torch in hand as he raced as fast as his body allowed him to.

'Ron... to the right! The exit!’

The shield’s blue light flickered amongst its cracked and damaged form, yet shone just enough for the faint shadow of an exit to appear in Ron’s peripheral. Ignoring the thundering steps behind him. The shield that lit his way abruptly whipped around him to cover his back as it blocked another crunching hit from behind. A screeching sound like glass shattering exploded from behind him, loud and wild as the crash of another stone giant joined its symphony of chaos. The blue hue of the hall vanished with the hit, leaving the torch to light Ron’s way.

“HALT!”

“INTRUDERS!”

“DEATH’S HANDS COME FOR YOU!”

One after the other, the statues’ voices boomed against the stone walls of the chamber, chasing Ron ever closer to the door. Once he crossed the threshold, he realised which exit he had taken when his body lost balance. Ron felt the brief abrasion of stone fingers slash away at his back before he fell forward down the darkened hallway. His descent further into the tomb was met with roars from both himself and the giants, who could not fit through the human-sized door.

An anguished howl echoed out from Ron as he fell down the short flight of stairs leading into the next stony passageway. The darkness in Ron’s eyes took command of him completely as the horrid burning pain that waltzed across his body consumed him.

It was the ache on his back and the faint humming in his head that roused Ron out from the depths of slumber. He couldn’t stop the moans and grunts of pain and weariness that escaped his lips. Ron’s body felt like he’d been picked up and flung repeatedly into a wall. His hand was tender and burnt with every abrasive touch, and his back stung from the giant’s touch. Ron felt sick and tired. He just wanted to get out of the underground hellscape he got himself stuck in.

‘Why did the doors close anyway? Why did I have to get stuck down here? Should have stayed in the café with Ginny.’ Ron whined in his head, rubbing the sleep away with his one good hand.

‘Yeah, at least then we could have gotten some fresh air. The scent of dust and torch gets boring after some time, you know.’

Ron felt the slightest bit of rejuvenation at the sound of Leyton’s clear and strong voice in his head.

“Leyton! H—How long was I out?” Ron stammered out, happy with the sense of ease exuding out from Leyton and into his own being.

‘An hour give or take. I tried allocating your magic to where you needed it, but it didn’t work completely. Your back is mostly fine, just tender. But your hand needs help from a doctor.’

Ron could only shake his head in both fondness and exasperation.

“You mean a healer, Ley—“ Ron began, only to be brutally cut off by an annoyed huff from within his head. Of course Ron never finished that sentence, doing both of them a favour by avoiding another societal rant from Leyton.

Ron giggled at the irritation that simmered from deep within. Leyton’s emotions typically felt like a warm blanket, only becoming painful when Leyton grew loud or incensed, hence the occasional tears of blood. But in the small moments like this, Ron felt content, the knowing of never being alone almost a comfort in a strange way.

With pure determination—or spite—Ron made his way onto his two feet. Hunched over slightly as his aching body was brought to life. He grabbed the torch that miraculously survived Ron’s little tumble into safety and slumber, with its tip still burning brightly. Orange basked several meters of the hallway around Ron as he raised the torch up.

“Arghh!” Ron hissed as his injured hand brushed against his side again. His eyes bore into his hand as he felt the simmering fire that burnt all around the injury. The once-red hue had darkened closer to an ugly purple.

‘Take off your jellabiya.’ Leyton called out.

Ron’s eyebrows scrunched.

“What?”

‘Take off your jellabiya—‘

“Now wait—“ Ron’s attempt to chime in was ignored as Leyton continued on.

‘—and fold it up the long way so you can use it as an arm sling.’

Ron wanted to argue back, but instead hissed in pain once more as his hand brushed too quickly across his side.

‘You probably can’t feel it because your back is still sore from that giant, but your jellabiya is already ripped open in the back.’ Leyton pointed out.

He instinctively focused his attention beyond the ache in his back. Instead feeling the thick, musty air brush against his tender skin from behind. With a huff, Ron set the torch down before he contended with the pain that came with taking off his jellabiya. The linen was one of Bill’s, one of many lended to most of the Weasley brothers, seeing as most of the family didn’t think to buy clothes to temper the Egyptian climate.

As needles and pins ignited across his skin from the uncomfortable act of taking off his jellabiya single-handedly, Ron couldn’t help but think back to his near demise. More specifically, the giant’s demands. ‘What’s so important about our stupid secret name? They couldn’t just take our real name, those stony old codgers?’ Ron huffed.

‘The ren is not just someone’s identity.' Leyton began as Ron carried on with Leyton’s earlier advice. His teeth biting down on the fabric tightly as he tied it together, pulling it over his head.

‘The ren is supposed to declare the nature of someone’s soul. To have someone’s ren is to exact control over that person’s very existence.’

Through gritted teeth, Ron delicately ushered his injured hand into the sling. His hand and forearm throbbed in its new shelter, his hand firm in the way it stuck out in the makeshift sling.

"Well, if it’s so powerful, why would we even give it to them?” Ron asked as he steadied himself, picking the torch back up and looking around the stony passage around him.

'Well, if I had to guess... it’s probably because trading the most important fraction of our soul would be a decent enough trade and deterrent to prevent us from ever coming back... in their eyes at least.’

Ron acknowledged Leyton’s words as he stared back at the way he came. Up the steps leading back to the jackal-ridden chamber, he could see nothing but the empty sea of darkness still lingering. Quiet and eerie. 

‘They went quiet a couple minutes after you passed out. It was pretty creepy.’ Leyton explained as blue eyes stared up at the darkness behind before turning around to stare down at the darkness ahead. Ron felt the weight of reality sit upon him once more as he stated the obvious.

“Merlin’s tits, Leyton... We almost died again.”

It spoke volumes that Leyton remained silent at Ron’s words. It felt odd to Ron whenever they both were in such synchrony. In this case, quietly stewing within their private thoughts as their current predicament weighed down on them. The only noise was the faint flickering of the torch.

Ron’s mind filled itself with images of stone hands poking, prodding, crushing, and hitting him. The hundreds of what could have been flashing through his mind before he forced a deep wash of fresh air into his lungs. He closed his eyes, allowing Ron to enjoy the darkness for once.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

‘You’re getting better at that.’

Leyton gestured with his hands towards Ron’s breathing technique. Ron mumbled his thanks to the compliment, appreciative of Leyton’s lessons back at St. Mungo’s.

“So…” Ron drawled out, eyes staring into the dark corridor set before them, with its faint hieroglyphs that decorated the walls. “What now?”

‘I say we go on.’

Ron‘s head shot up quickly, catching the curious look in Leyton’s eyes as his mind tried to read the elder’s emotions. Apprehension, curiosity, and determination pooled within him as Ron felt Leyton’s presence warm his heart.

‘I don’t know if it’s the spite talking right now, but we’ve already made it this far. Might as well loot the damn place.’

Ron needed a second, his mind coming to a full stop as he took in Leyton’s words.

“What? You want to continue? Are you mad?!"

'Okay, it is the spite talkin—‘

“Blimey Leyton—“

‘We are not leaving this place empty-handed after nearly getting biotched!’

Ron’s face scrunched at Leyton’s vulgarity as he tried to argue back.

“Nine dog-headed statues just tried to kill us!” Ron shouted out to the open air, knowing that despite Leyton’s silence, the brunette had very much heard him.

‘We already made it this far, Ron, and who knows, maybe there could be a back door.’

It wasn’t Ron who typically stared out in contemptuous disbelief. Leyton would usually be the one to call out moments he thought Ron was being dense, with a quick tongue and severe eyes. It seemed this time the roles were reversed.

“Are you daft?”

Leyton growled in annoyance.

“This is a tomb." Ron gave Leyton a second to respond once more, but simply erupted when all he was met with was a glare of annoyance.

“WHAT BLOODY TOMB HAS A BACKDOOR?”

Ron almost winced at the way his roar echoed across the tomb walls. The voice descended rapidly down the steps and walls of the dark tomb, leaving both Ron and Leyton in a fiery pause before the flood began.

'Okay, look, I understand that you’ve now learnt your lesson on not going down the creepy, lightless tunnel the next time it presents itself—'

“Damn right, I learnt my lesson! We nearly crossed the Jordan around an hour ago—“

‘Here we go again with the British prattle—‘

“Stuff it you—“

‘Alright! Fine! We’ll stay!’ Leyton huffed out; a clear vision of the brunette pouting in their shared consciousness passed through Ron’s mind.

Ron sighed, exasperated as he slowly lowered himself. Taking a seat with his back against one of the walls, setting the torch down next to him, Ron almost whimpered when his sore back touched the cold and dusty wall. Ron let the air in his lungs be cleaned out as he focused once again on his favourite breathing exercise.

Inhale.

Exh—

‘This is boring. I can see now why you didn’t want to do this earlier.’

Ron’s nostril flared as his eyes opened viciously. In a clipped tone, Ron went off.

“We are sitting here, and we are waiting. No matter how long it takes—“

‘We could find so many potentially helpful things down here in this hellhole! Especially with everything coming up this new school year...’ Leyton trailed off, the last few words in his sentence barely a whisper.

Too annoyed to even entertain the notion of Leyton’s outlook on their shared future, Ron simply closed his eyes, continuing on with his breathing exercise before finishing.

“We are not going forward. End of the bloody story.” Ron stated with a harsh finality.

Not once noticing the soft spark of light that ignited in Leyton’s eyes.

Ron hated Leyton.

Maybe not hated him. More so the elder’s incorrigible nature. He could be resting his wounds as he took a nap in the comfort of his hopes and dreams. Instead, here he was, walking down the long and dark passageway as the gentle tunes of unfamiliar music played in his mind.

‘And I will be loathing, for forever, loathing truly deeply, loathing yo—‘

Ron could not stop the exasperated groan he let out. Not that he hated Leyton’s voice or the songs he’d blast in their shared head—he actually quite liked Leyton’s musical taste—but he figured singing pop songs and love ballads to be the most inconvenient genre to be playing as they descended further and further into a dark and dusty tomb.

‘What’s wrong now, Ron?’ Leyton complained, clearly annoyed with the umpteenth interruption of his warbling.

“What’s wrong is that we are probably hundreds of leagues beneath the bloody depths of the earth, trapped, and probably at risk of being killed again.” Though his words were incredibly pointed, Ron’s tone was heavily resigned. He couldn’t risk the horror of enduring what Leyton had inflicted on him barely an hour prior—horrid images of his two eldest brothers and Leyton in such scarlet positions—it made Ron want to rip his own eyes out from their comfortable sockets.

‘Well… Yes, the situation is probably not ideal—‘

“Not ideal! Of course it’s not ideal! What if we see more of those giant, stony pricks again?!" Ron interrupted, his tongue a steady fire in comparison to Leyton’s steady river.

From what Ron could gather, Leyton wasn’t the least bit perturbed, more so optimistic. Whether it was forced or not, Ron couldn’t tell.

‘If another Anubis wants to try us, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. But if anything, I have a feeling the next thing to get in our way probably won’t be something as obvious as talking statues.’

Ron was ready with a retort; however, he was cut off by the sudden screech that left his lips as he felt his balance shatter. He wobbled and shook as he refocused his attention to where a sudden stone pit had appeared in the pathway. Ron fell back on to his bum as he harshly scooted back up the passage he had been descending.

Catching his breath, Ron winced at the ache that radiated across his body once more. ‘I HATE THIS! I HATE THIS! I HATE THIS!’ Ron chanted in his head, letting the fire roll across his mind instead of spitting such vitriol out loud. The thought of the tomb listening not only to his voice but also to the voices in his head sent shivers down his aching spine.

‘Damn. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, I see.’ Leyton said, bemused.

“Leyton…” Ron growled out, silencing the brunette.

‘Y—Yes?’ Leyton whispered out, unknowing what to expect from Ron as he simply began to tremble.

“We. Nearly. Died. Again.” His words were nearly silent, echoing not across the dusty, darkened depths of the tomb but rather across their shared subconscious—like an eerie whistle in the night.

Ron felt Leyton shift within himself, uncomfortable despite the clueless look on the elder’s face.

‘Well… yes—‘

“WE! NEAR—“

The rage that vibrated in Ron’s body was interrupted by the harsh rumbling from far above them. From the other end of the passageway they were in, a cruel rumbling began to descend the steps. Ron lay there in trepidation as the gnashing and roaring of stone and rock thundered its way down the long, winding steps. Ron’s rage froze over as fear once again took hold—something was coming.

‘We gotta get across! NOW!’ Leyton called swiftly.

Ron felt a nauseating sensation fill his gut before it replaced itself with a cold brush against every inch of his skin. Ron had never felt so rejuvenated since being trapped down there. ‘W—What the… Blooming hell, Leyton, what’s going on?’

Images of Leyton pushing more and more of himself into the flaming, garnet ball of magic passed through his mind.

'I'm... merging... with your... core...' Leyton’s voice was staticky like his father’s wireless.

Ron felt a gradual increase in energy as the aches and pains that lingered in his body vanished. Ron felt his injured hand go numb, and a series of prickly cold bites danced across his uninjured hand. His grasp on the torch became unyielding as he digested Leyton’s words.

“Merging? What…. How?” Ron questioned, clueless as he got up, body facing the dark chasm as the thundering stone descended closer and closer. With each passing second, Ron felt his body tingle with magic as images of Leyton forced his petite body more and more into their erupting magical core. Flashes of what he could see through Leyton’s eyes and the hymns of his magic singing clashed against the clangour of rock and stone. Ron’s sight danced in a hundred different colours and none at all as his body simmered with magic.

'I... can’t explain it... just... be ready, Ron!’

His ears rang from the roaring behind him as he felt his uninjured hand point the torch forward. It was a feeling unlike any other that he had ever experienced. It felt unnatural, bizarre, and utterly subconscious. Like it wasn’t him completely controlling his body. The flame flickered in its new horizontal position, its orange kiss igniting the faintest visual of the open threshold that awaited them past the black pit.

“Leyton! What… What’s happening?!”

The thundering behind him grew louder and closer, nearly deafening to Ron’s ears as the strange sensation of magic radiated out from near his diaphragm. Like sparks of lightening heating up his body, the unfamiliar sensation danced beneath his skin, travelling out from his abdomen, gently caressing his heart before passing through his shoulder and into his uninjured arm. Like smoke escaping its hearth, faint wisps of garnet spilt out from Ron’s skin, travelling from each crevice and wrinkle in his grip on the torch. The cold that nipped away at his skin thrummed in synchrony with the faint chanting Ron could hear from within. Leyton’s voice, nearly swallowed by the sound of their flaring magic, chanted another foreign word that Ron had never heard before.

‘Se… keb…. be…. Se…. beb!’

As Leyton chanted and the passageway roared, Ron’s eyes trembled in awe as red fumes of magic imprinted themselves upon the torch. Like a fire burning its way into unfamiliar designs and patterns, the torch glimmered faintly as it was inlaid with what Ron knew to be his red streaks, his own magic. The frosty feeling that nipped away at his arm now kissed his skin with a bruising force.

‘Se-kebeb! Se-kebeb! Se-kebeb!’

A burning cold ripped itself out of his skin as his magic accelerated out of his palm and cast a glowing reverberation upon the torch. The flame that once burnt orange shimmered into a pale blue flame. Blue light emanated from the flame as wisps of cold left both his grip and the torch. Ice that twinkled a blue light plastered itself over the red etchings of Ron’s magic, igniting a soft purple glow to bask the room in temporarily before the chanting in Ron’s head exploded into war cries.

‘SE-KEBEB! SE-KEBEB! SE-KEBEB!’

Ron, feeling the thunderous roar of stone reach closer and closer, joined his voice with Leyton’s, igniting the fuse that triggered an explosion of magic unlike any he had ever seen before.

“SE-KEBEB! SE-KEBEB! SE-KEBEB!”

With a raucous screech of rock and ice, Ron felt his blue eyes shine in wonder as his magic channelled itself out of him through his torch and transformed the heat into a lively, blue inferno. Flames of sapphire erupted out from the torch’s tip, reaching across the chasm to the other side. The empty space right outside of the threshold crackled upon impact from the sapphire flames. The sapphire inferno transformed once more into a frosty blast of ice as it latched onto the walls of the tomb, building a disfigured path of ice. The magic shimmered and basked the chasm’s chamber in a parade of blues and purples as Ron and Leyton crafted a bridge of ice to escape.

He didn’t realise he had run across. Nor did he feel the ice crackle and fracture after every harsh step. But when Ron fell to his knees after he passed safely into the next chamber, the torch’s resounding crack against the stone tiles rang like lightning in Ron’s mind as the world around him blurred in and out of focus. His once uninjured hand vibrated in its blue and purple hues, his skin almost ice cold as he shivered violently from the exhaustion that took hold of him. The stress, the pain, the cold, the burn—all of it—every little piece brought Ron closer and closer to the inevitable darkness.

And as he felt his body collapse to the dusty, tiled floor, the torch’s flame returned to its natural complexion. Its orange glow was the last thing to shine into Ron’s haggard blue eyes before they closed once more, for a desperately necessary slumber—unknowing to the fact that the next time it laid a kiss upon his eyes, they would not shine a shimmering sky blue, but rather an earthly pink instead.

Chapter Text

Leyton coughed out violently, expelling the taste of dust that lingered in his orifices, as consciousness came back to him. The gravelly voice grated on his ears, bringing Leyton’s senses to a complete steadiness.

“What. The. Hell.” Leyton’s voice was a desperate mix of confusion and consternation as he got up from the dusty ground.

Pink irises flitted about as Leyton took in his surroundings, his presence, and his being. A calloused hand made its way to his face, feeling his cheeks and his hair. His beauty mark, his eyes. He felt the dust that painted his skin and the dried tracks of blood and tears that painted his cheeks. The way his chest heaved with breath and the way his skin warmed. He could feel it all. All of it encompassing a single truth, a truth he never imagined to ever become a reality.

He was breathing.

He was alive again.

He held a physical form once again.

Born out of the flesh of his host. Red hair, freckled skin, and blue eyes—all of it, magically transfigured and soulfully redesigned to be Leyton’s own body.

As Leyton took a full look over his body, the fortitude of his thoughts took hold of him. Images raced across his mind of Ron’s unbeaten and unbattered form as it rested comfortably within their subconscious. Their mental paradise took on the form of the Burrow, from the creaky steps to the smothering warmth of the hearth that wafted throughout its entire structure. Ron’s snoring was a soft hymn in his head, with every note a knife to Leyton’s heart. The weight of their current circumstances left Leyton both relieved and burdened.

Relieved at the revelation that physical injuries didn’t translate into their shared mental-scape.

Burdened as the streams of guilt that ventured to pool within his heart and soul, seeking to drown him completely.

Either way, Leyton knew that any attempt to further dissect his emotions would only send him further down a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to confront yet. So instead, he remembered the maxim he adopted ever since his arrival—a maxim he only now questioned with every physical fibre of his existence.

‘This is a story. These people are characters. There is nothing real going on here. This world is a fantasy.’

Leyton shook himself clear of the impending emotional crisis that began to circle him as he took upon his current situation. He had a body once again, and after around two months of being nothing more than a voice, a figment in another’s mind, Leyton could stop the creeping contentment that came with every passing second.

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

Once his mind and heart settled, Leyton picked up the torch—now scarred from the magical etchings that decorated its entire being. It was a miracle Leyton’s little idea of using the torch as a conduit worked, or else his little stunt of forcing his life force into their volatile magical core would have probably vaporised him.

‘I really need to start reading up on magic. The come-and-go room should have some books on the topic.’

As the orange glow illuminated the newest chamber graced with their presence, Leyton couldn’t help but feel the foreboding sense of death in the tomb. Granted, he should have expected it. Tombs. Death. They tended to come hand in hand. But still, Leyton never scrunched his nose as much as he did in that moment as he finally absorbed his surroundings. The scent of lifelessness and dust made the air stale and dry to inhale. He wasn’t as claustrophobic now with both the chamber he now found himself in. The chamber was inanely ornate, with every crevice, pillar, wall, and tile carved and painted to perfection. Each speck of gold paint glimmered with the torch’s kiss, and each pillar cast a harrowing shadow over the chamber with every move of the flame. It was a stark contrast from the entrance corridor and pit that came before it.

Leyton was quick to turn back out of the chamber for just a moment, reaching the previous cavern to see the dark chasm.

‘A well shaft. How rich was this dead guy?’

Leyton wondered as he eyed the clear, frayed, and weathered stone that made up the latest obstacle of the tomb. There were no traces of the ice bridge that he helped Ron craft, or if there were, Leyton couldn’t detect it, the place too smothered under the blanket of darkness. What he could see with a harsh strain of his eyes was the pair of glowing, red irises that glared back at him.

Ice enveloped his bones as Leyton stared down, eyes wide and ears prickling under the faint growling noise that could be heard over the crackle of the torch. The rumbles sounded close to that of a lion’s warning hiss or the gnashing of a crocodile’s fierce jaw. Both left little room for Leyton to understand that this creature was a threat that needed to be taken care of. A sentiment proven only seconds later when suddenly the growl became fierce and suddenly a shadow came bursting up from the depths of the pit, jaws snapping as it came under the flickering light of the torch.

Leyton felt his throat contract with a violent scream of shock before he threw himself back, just out of reach for the stony beast to miss him. Its horrendously stout and rugged stony body was a disgusting chimaera of both lion and hippo. Two pairs of different limbs with a lion's mane and an almost skeletal crocodile snout. The beast reared its head rapidly as it attempted to claw at Leyton, ultimately missing and raging as it fell back down into the shadow—claws screeching across the side of the well shaft.

‘Ammit! This bastard had an ammit just casually guarding his tomb?!’

Leyton didn’t need a second to register the reality. As much as he wanted to repeat his truth to himself in his head. ‘This is a story. These people are characters. There is nothing real going on here.’ The very presence of the devourer of the dead was enough for Leyton to jump into action.

Leyton’s eyes trained succinctly on every little corner of the well shaft, taking in every piece of darkness in sight. The soft song of Ron’s snores in his head was Leyton’s only anchor to reality as he deliberated what to do. Fight or flight? Either way, Leyton came to the same conclusion: he wasn’t becoming some stupid statue’s food.

The red eyes, so devilish and horrific in the way they danced in the dark, glowed with a hungry fervor. It made Leyton take a step back, the teen’s mind racing with the divine word he intended to use as he adjusted the torch in both hands.

‘A’max!’

‘A’max!’

‘A’max!’

Flame facing downward, the orange light glared into the well shaft. The stone beast hissed violently as it jumped once more, barely missing the torch as Leyton began letting the magic expel and exude. He held his ground, unwavering under the close assault as the flame flickered rapidly, growing and glowing and basking the well shaft with its light. Faint, citrine tendrils of magic traced themselves over the torch, its golden glow adding nothing to the torch’s light. His fingers felt bruised as he felt a faint crack of the wood within his grasp. Leyton trembled as he proclaimed with every timbre of his voice the spell. The glowing ruby eyes shone like stars as it jumped once more, ready to devour him.

“ A’max! ”

The tip of the torch exploded with a violent cracking sound that reverberated across the chamber and throughout the tomb. Leyton would have winced had it not been for both of his hands beholding the torch so desperately. Leyton felt the breath in his nostrils, in his throat, in his lungs escape him as he suddenly became cold. A horripilation of awe and lassitude erupted across Leyton’s body as he felt the warmth escape him, heating his fingers before they too became cold.

The yellow tendrils flashed for merely a moment before vanishing like vines as they were subsumed into the flame of the torch. With another flash, a large ball of fire erupted out of the flame. Bright and burning, the ignited orb of magic and fire fell swiftly towards its target below. The Ammit’s violent roar was silenced when its crocodile snout was struck by the fireball. The devourer’s ravenous clamour was replaced by a sharp cry of rock gnashing and grinding before the stone beast was enveloped and incinerated into a golden inferno. The force of the exploding Ammit sent Leyton back as the explosion echoed throughout the tomb.

Leyton let out a soft groan as he stumbled back. The breath and warmth that escaped him suddenly returned to Leyton like a baseball bat to the head. He could barely stomach it as he collapsed to the floor as vertigo consumed him. His skin danced with hot flashes and chills as both vied for dominion over his exterior. His lungs stretched and contracted rapidly, as if he was tasting oxygen for the first time. The torch left a hollow bang to the floor as it fell out of Leyton’s grip—his hands wrapping around himself in a shivering embrace.

‘Fucking hell… W-What the…?' Leyton mused silently as he fought the desire to let Morpheus take him.

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

Each breath felt like a fire in his core, waning with every exhale. The progression of time escaped him as Leyton sat there on the tiled floors of the tomb, exercising his lungs.

Leyton’s aches ceased eventually, his mind coming back to life only after a thick, red teardrop fell from his cheek. The warm touch of his bloody eyes was enough for Leyton to ignore the remaining tingles in his fingers. Quick to wipe away what he could of the crimson mess that now caked his face, Leyton felt the weight of exhaustion sit on his shoulders as he stood up. He wanted to whine, to complain, to question what had just happened. But Leyton had already garnered himself an answer to such a fleeting quandary.

Magic.

‘It seems my body isn’t adjusted completely to the concept of magic yet.’

‘Or was it the brand of magic? How freaking lucky was it that Divine words worked here?!’

‘Is my body just Ron’s body transformed?’

‘I really need a wand.’

‘Please let there be some godsdamn gold in this stupid tomb.’

‘Why did my magic look so weak compared to Ron’s? It was yellow too… Why was his red?’

‘Billy, you better be working your ass off trying to get us out of here.’

All these thoughts and so many others whipped and whirled around Leyton’s mind like a typhoon, thundering about as he perused the new chamber he found himself in. Connected to the ornate chamber was a side chamber, a destitute comparison to the ostentatious one he was previously in. Not even the trembling flicker of the flame could divine a single piece of ornamentation in the side chamber. Leyton pondered lightly, curious as to why the side chamber was left in such a state.

‘Maybe the builders didn’t finish the tomb?’ A pained, yet curious voice rang in Leyton’s ears, making the teen jump from the shock of hearing that voice.

“Ron! Y—You’re… You’re okay!” Leyton called out, his attention turning inward as visions of a drowsy Ronald Weasley waking from his slumber filled his mind.

‘Please… don’t yell… My head hurts.’ Ron whined before he slouched back upon the sofa.

Despite his initial desire to inform Ron of their… switched fortunes, Leyton decided to remain silent as he granted Ron a chance to recuperate.

As the redhead adjusted to his whereabouts, Leyton returned to the ornate chamber, trying to remember his first life and what he remembered about Egypt and her ancient culture. Once a person who held the pursuit of knowledge, or rather a sense of escapism, so dear to his heart, Leyton was arrantly grateful as he trickled down the archives of knowledge in his mind. Whilst Leyton perused his mind for what to do next, he remained nearly oblivious to the growing ire of his host.

‘Leyton…’ Ron called aloud from within.

“Well, shafts stopped intruders and floods… What did the empty chamber do… stop intruders? Yes… but what el—“ Leyton spoke softly to himself, desperately following a train of thought.

‘You slimy—‘

“Desecrate? No. Divide? Damn it! What is that wor-“

‘Body snatching—ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING—‘

“Diversion! That’s right! Empty halls were sometimes diversions for tomb raide—“

‘BLOODY BASTARD!’

Leyton’s brainstorm was halted by the fiery barrage coming from within. A constant badgering that finally ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Um… What seems to be the problem, Ron?” Leyton asked slowly, his answer being a guttural roar to ring through his ears.

A clangour that nearly brought him to his knees, Leyton could only hiccup in both surprise and pain as his insides stirred and became hot. Nausea and vertigo were not the right words to describe the shifting unease and upset that danced within his body. It felt like a liquid shifting beneath his skin, burrowing itself around and swishing around, making him feel sick and seeping through into his heart and lungs, planting seeds of fire from within. Ron’s rage was taking root and expanding, trying desperately to find a way to escape. If it wasn’t evident enough through the way Leyton could feel his own blood and skin heat up, then Leyton could thank Ron’s verbal vitriol to tell him what was happening.

‘GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK NOW!’ Roared the young redhead, eyes watery and face gradually becoming the same colour as his infamous hair.

The flashing images of the younger’s tears, freckled hands clenched white, and aura simmering with an unmatchable fury haunted Leyton’s mind. He wrung his hands after setting the torch down against the wall. Leyton didn’t know how to exactly respond, for the overwhelming state of Ron’s anger halted whatever placatory notions Leyton could conceive. A part of him knew that his assumption of control over Ron’s body was practically possession at this point.

However, Leyton couldn’t help but feel a growing pool of selfishness take hold. His time as nothing more than a whisper or a figment in another person’s mind was truly a daunting experience at best, madness-inducing at worst. Leyton never thought about life and what it meant to live one. But he knew he had already lived one short life. An unhappy life. An unfair life. A life that left him a pessimistic and self-serving mess. But with the chance to try again and a little head start into a fantasy he used to escape to, Leyton knew that he couldn’t give Ron what he wanted.

“Sorry, Ronnie. But it’s my turn to live a little,” Leyton began as his body trembled under the permeable rage that trickled out of Ron and into Leyton.

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

Leyton let the stale, dusty air fill his lungs and consume his attention as tears and pleas spilt out from Ron. Ron’s pleas left ignored as Leyton closed his eyes and enjoyed the darkness… and silence.

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

Once an ocean that persisted from within as it filled every fibre of Leyton’s existence, Ron’s rage evaporated. Instead, it brewed and flared before it transformed into a storm of anguish as Leyton pushed Ron further and further into the depths of their shared mind.

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

With a final expulsion of breath, Leyton listened to the cries of his host fade as their mental paradise was pushed back beyond the depths of his subconscious. The sound of thunder and chains echoed away in Leyton’s mind. And as Ron roared in utter frustration, Leyton opened his eyes and gathered his cleared mind and bearings.

“Now… where was I?” Leyton said almost silently as he grabbed the torch once more, ignoring the humanly soreness that came with his new body.

When he received no response from the world around him and the one within him, Leyton hummed to himself with a silent contentment at his solitude.

“That’s right, time to get some treasure.” Leyton told himself comfortingly, hands quick to wipe away the thin tears of blood that escaped his eyes.

There was a hidden door that led to the final burial chambers and treasures; Leyton just knew it. He perused and traced every tile, every fleck of paint, and every carved expanse in the ornate chamber. Even the pillars weren’t left unchecked as Leyton poked, stomped, prodded, and slapped at every inch of space within the tomb. His theory on the tomb being of a similar design to Pharaoh Seti the First’s left little for Leyton to choose his next step.

The tiled floors were withered and dusty, yet eerily pristine enough to exude their primaeval majesty. The hieroglyphs that decorated the ancient tiles were faded, extensive, and complicated and birthed a sense of agitation within Leyton.

Every stomp and step, and every press and coax, was left unanswered. Leyton had tried to maintain a sense of patience—a sentiment that improved under his suppression of his flaming-haired host—but after what felt like hours upon hours of wasted breath and intrigue, he was ready to resort to other means.

The torch felt weightless as Leyton let it bang against the occasional tile—ears strained and lungs quiet as Leyton waited for the sound he wanted to hear. It felt like another eternity had passed before his ears rang with delight. A faint, hollow ping echoed lightly across the chamber with each hesitant hit of the torch against the tiled floor.

“Bingo.” Leyton said happily as he smirked in victory.

He stood up, taking a few steps back before he aimed the torch flame towards the hollowed spot. Leyton’s mind was made up as he eyed the dusty tiles with a foreboding elation. His mind raced vibrantly as the thought of what treasures lay beyond this hidden door.

With a sly glint in his eyes, Leyton chanted out the divine word with a harsh growl.

“SUH-FAR!”

The familiar tendrils of bright yellow still lacked shine as Leyton felt the warmth escape his body once more. His chest nearly heaved as his breath left him as well. His hands trembled in its grip before they reaffirmed, and the magic tendrils consumed the torch once more. The flicker of the flame was rapid before a nearly invisible ball of citrine magic burst out of it. Like a puff of smoke, the burst smashed and plastered itself against the tile, spreading out against the tile. As the magic sunk into the floor, its weak golden glow vanished, and soon, the stone floor began to disintegrate, revealing a short staircase leading downward into a hallway.

Leyton’s eyes widened as his eyes caught sight of the orange glow that reached out from beneath the crumbling stone. Leyton felt tears escape his eyes as he saw the light. A light so bright that he felt refreshed at the heat that began to escape the more the stone gradually vanished. His awe was cut short as the torch was pushed past its capacity as cracks and splinters erupted from it. Everything happened so quickly, too fast for even Leyton to comprehend how the torch in his hands suddenly exploded into a cloud of dust.

Leyton barely caught a glimpse of the torches that decorated the walls of the next antechamber before an eruption of pain spread behind his eyes. Silence and darkness suddenly screamed its existence to Leyton with every passing second. Scarlet tears escaped his eyes in rivulets before obscuring his sight completely. Leyton was left feeling every little touch, scrape, and breath he took before the darkness consumed him.

Leyton felt the cold before he could truly gather his bearings, groaning in pain as he awoke. His mind was cloudy as he shivered and trembled from the unnatural chill that painted his skin. The glint of the orange torch flame was enough motivation for Leyton to force himself out of the throes of unconsciousness. It seemed the weariness had the last laugh as Leyton felt himself trip and stumble down the steps into the antechamber, still locked in a haze for a bit before coming to.

The hallway he found himself in was a long and decorated corridor. Torches burnt bright amongst its walls as it descended further into the heart of the tomb, illuminating the hieroglyphs that adorned its entirety. The warmth of the dozens of torches felt divine in the way they embraced him. Leyton so desperately missed the sun’s kiss and the fresh breeze of the open air; he felt himself sway at the memory of such, imagining the torches’ glow being the sun’s. It was all he could do in that moment as he shivered and trembled.

The cost of him using magic left him a freezing husk of blood and meat, and he had his theories on why that was. Leyton may hate whatever force threw him into this fantastical realm. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least hopeful to make something of himself here—or at least something out of Ron versus the mess that fanon had made of him.

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

‘Breathe in.’

‘Breathe out.’

Once some semblance of steadiness came back to him, Leyton found himself descending further and further into the corridor. His eyes welcomed the brightness, the visibility of the tomb something he preferred over having to part the darkness with a feeble torch. The further he descended, the more Leyton pondered on his recent epiphanies on magic.

‘I really need to do some research on Egyptian magic or soul magic.’

‘If divine words work, I wonder if shabti work as well? A lost art perhaps? That would explain the statues.’

‘So why could I make the torch a conduit? Was this some weird consequence of the whole issue with our core?’

The thoughts raged on for a while as Leyton marched deeper into the tomb until he reached another open chamber. The antechamber was both incredibly ornate and beautifully modest. Murals and hieroglyphs graced the walls from floor to ceiling and all across the ceiling. A midnight blue sky painted the ceiling with gold flecks representing the stars peppered itself above. The walls held murals of canoe folk on the Nile, farmers in their fields, beasts in the reeds, and warriors on their chariots. Leyton couldn’t help but be amazed as the torches in the antechamber blessed him with the sight before him.

“Magnificent.” Was all Leyton could utter as he pulled himself further into the antechamber.

His awe turned avid as he eyed the various illuminated doorways. Two side-chamber entryways and one larger chamber entrance between the two. He made it. He had finally made it to the very heart of the tomb.

“Jackpot!”

Elation spilt out of Leyton, waking him fully from the grasps of the cold and darkness from earlier. Leyton didn’t waste a second before he raced into the open chambers. His pink irises flickered rapidly in the first side chamber he entered. Despite the thick stench of dust and death that continued to fill his lungs, Leyton felt a sense of relief fill his lungs as he eyed the endless shelves that spanned around the entirety of this chamber. Stone jars sat upon those shelves, aged and covered in thick layers of dust. Leyton didn’t need to open the potentially hundreds of jars to recognise exactly what they were.

“Canopic jars.” Leyton said to himself as his eyes glittered across the side chamber once more, taking a humble and curious look around.

‘These jars would be so much more incredible to see if it weren’t for the fact that there were mummified organs within them.’

It was the primary thought on Leyton’s mind as he stared in awe at the sight before him—despite its nauseating truth. He couldn’t help but hold a hand to his own heart as he imagined his heart, sitting prim and prepped in a jar, destined to sit for a millennium or more. It was as incredible a feat as it was disgusting to Leyton. The heads of the jars were beautiful and haunting as well: human heads, jackals, baboons, and falcons, all collaborating in their effort to stare back at him.

As Leyton peered around, an epiphany struck him. A mummy only needed four canopic jars to carry their personal and prized organs: the liver, the lungs, the stomach, and finally, the intestines. As such, the only possible explanation for the many other jars would be that these were the organs of the servants who followed their master to the afterlife.

“Quite the worker’s contract. Poor souls.” Leyton said softly as he internally winced at the reality displayed before him.

The realisation was enough to pull Leyton out from that chamber, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding once he exited.

The next chamber—the larger one—put the ornate hall to shame with its adornment and decor. Following a few steps down, Leyton was greeted with a large, spacious hall filled with pillars, murals, large jars, and pottery. It was honestly very overwhelming for Leyton the longer his eyes danced over this chamber. Gold accents, masterly carved hieroglyphs, and an array of pottery, all intricately designed. Busts and statues aplenty were spotted all around the tomb, almost like an audience as they presided over the stone sarcophagus at the chamber’s center. Leyton felt a shiver run through his spine as he eyed the massive, stone sarcophagus. It was crafted to perfection, with every ash-coloured hieroglyph, every speck of golden paint, and every storied etching working in tandem to craft an intimidating aura that haunted the tomb in which it sat.

Leyton couldn’t stop the shivers that continued to run up and down his body the longer he remained in that chamber. He’d never felt such a haunting chill fill his body before. Not when he once visited graveyards in his past life. Nor in any of the times he had spent hiding from the monsters of his childhood. The eeriness that permeated throughout the chamber lit a fire under Leyton’s behind as he stumbled back up the steps and out.

creak

Leyton’s head snapped around the burial chamber, eyes darting from torch to torch, from statue to statue, from hieroglyph to hieroglyph.

‘That wasn’t a fucking torch flickering.’

The breath that filled him upon his quick return to the antechamber left Leyton almost winded with how desperately his lungs filled themselves. The scent of death still lingered, but the chill vanished the longer he spent away from the sarcophagus.

With another look back at the steps below, Leyton felt his eyes beam across what he could see of the burial chamber from where he stood. Only the dancing flames of the torches could be heard. But Leyton couldn’t stop the sense of precaution from sitting upon his shoulder. He knows he heard something. At least he thought he did.

‘This is a story.’

‘Breathe in.’

‘These people are characters.’

‘Breathe out.’

‘There is nothing real going on here.’

‘Breathe in.’

‘This world is a fantasy.’

‘Breathe out.’

Leyton calmed himself down, not wanting to take the chance of spiraling. His legs moved before his mind did, dragging him onwards to the next chamber. As he crossed the threshold into the final chamber, he couldn’t stop the soft gasp of wonder that escaped his lips.

Though the room was bare and only a third the size of the burial chamber, it was the heap of items stacked up and arranged about that made Leyton’s soul erupt with joyous triumph.

“Finally!”

An assortment of ancient furniture, aged weapons, large chariots, various potteries, ebony statues, sandstone effigies, stacks of chairs, rolls of cloth, large gems, silver aplenty, an abundance of gold, and so many other things he could not describe filled the room. Leyton felt his boggle and his mind swell at the wondrous sight. It was no wonder the room wasn’t as pretty as all the rest. No elaborate mural or sinuous story could compare to the sight of all that stood before him. The treasure was the sight, the story, the record of history for this chamber. With items stacked up and nearly reaching the ceiling, Leyton could only thank the heavens for allowing him this chance to better his fortune—or at least tip the scales for the future.

His first target was a beautiful and large chest. Intricate hieroglyphs were carved across its entirety as shades of blues and greens were accented with the gold inlaid in most of its being. He marvelled at its size, probably big enough to fit Ron if he were to lay down inside. The ivory knobs were cold to the touch, the dust being the only barrier between the mineral and his skin. Despite his growing excitement, Leyton made sure to be gentle as he opened it up. Folded bundles of the finest ivory linen sat stiff within it, with plenty of room to fit more things inside.

‘How much stuff can fit in it?’ Leyton queried internally before he felt himself flung across the room by his own feet.

His hands became filthy with every dusty piece of pottery he picked up and put into the chest. His hands barely reacted to the scratchy feeling of the aged papyrus baskets he carried—each filled with a different assortment of treasures. Gold coins and silver coins in one. Collar necklaces, amulets, beetle-shaped jewels, seashell bracelets, gold cuffs, a weird golden handle beholding a silver saucer, earrings, and rings, all primarily of a gold base. Accented with the likes of lapis lazuli, carnelian, silver, or even amethyst in some cases, all of it was just overwhelming.

A wrapped-up cloth that unravelled revealed a collection of small knives and other strange boomerang-looking objects, some gold, some iron, and some ivory. Even a couple of gold-handled khopeshes found themselves in Leyton’s sight. Another small wrapping of linen Leyton revealed dried-up seeds; they too, along with a couple more potteries filled with old scrolls and more bolts of linen, found their way into the chest. Leyton had barely taken a break during his little perusal of the burial chamber when he heard it one more time.

creak

The chill that ran through his bones was quick and fierce as Leyton felt the hair across his body flare. His eyes narrowed as he stood up from his crouched position, eyes trained out towards his sight of the burial chamber entrance.

‘This isn’t real. Fantasy world. Fake. It’s fake. It’s fake. This is not real.’

It was most definitely real as once more, another creak ripped through the sound of the torches flickering. Like the sound of stone cracking, the creak was violent and unmistakable. Leyton felt the sweat in his skin get colder with every passing second before suddenly, another intense creak reverberated across the chambers. With the sound, a gust of wind, dust, and heat billowed out of the burial chamber, like a shockwave. Leyton felt himself fly back off of his feet, barreling back into a chariot. The crunch of wood breaking across his body as he felt the wind leave his lungs had Leyton seeing stars for moment. His mind whirled in confusion, aversion and fear whilst his body burned with the waves of pain that flooded his body. Darkness was closing in on him, and with it, a sharp flash of pain struck Leyton’s head.

From within, the sound of chains shattering echoed so quietly that it remained buried under Leyton’s pained groans. Leyton felt his eyes moisten as he winced, confused on whether he should let the darkness consume him.

‘Get up!’

The voice shouted. It traversed Leyton’s mind like a rolling storm, thundering down from the heavens and getting louder with every harsh clap of its angry baritone.

‘Get up, you selfish prat!’

Tears both clear and crimson streamed down his eyes as Leyton felt his chest contract and his head tremble under the screaming assault from within.

‘YOU THIEVING GIT! GET UP!’

And like a gong being struck, Leyton felt a surge of adrenaline fill his nerves as he gathered enough strength to get off of his back—and with it, the commanding howls and bellows of Ron came back to him.

“R—Ron?” Leyton called out, still winded and dazed a bit, his mind clearing sluggishly.

‘Yes, it’s me, you body-snatching, dung-brained blighter! Get up!’ The young redhead’s fire was alive and well as Leyton felt a heat travel within him.

Images of Ron within their subconscious, hands tracing the flaming, garnet ball of magic, flashed through Leyton’s eyes. An explanation to their

‘Do… I even… want to know what just happened?’ Leyton asked himself silently. Rhetorically. Yet, Ron seemed to have an answer.

‘What happened is that you stole my body, and now you probably just woke that mummy from its millennium-long kip, you dodgy prick!’ Ron accused, his voice a hammer to Leyton’s sanity as he struggled to get up.

The bronze-headed teen massaged what he could of his sides and back, sore as he stepped out of the wrecked mess of one of the wooden chariots, crushed beneath his weight.

‘If you did wake that mummy, the least you could bloody well do is return my dying body.’ Ron grumbled out.

Leyton rolled his eyes, hands moving to his knees as he caught his breath, mind becoming clearer by the second. It was like taking a strange rejuvenation potion having Ron back at the helm of their subconscious. Leyton still felt the physical exhaustion that permeated across his muscles and bones, but like an energy drink, Ron’s fiery existence filled his own nerves with a gentle kickstart—not so much vanishing the darkness, but rather painting over it with some degree of light and vigour.

“Why… must you speak such things into existence? Watch us actually have to face a mummy now because you wanna yap.” Leyton murmured.

‘This is a story. This world—‘

‘IS REAL! I AM REAL, YOU BLASTED PRAT!’ Ron viciously cut off, beyond vexed at Leyton’s attempt to bury the reality.

Leyton sighed heavily, his body ready to move about. His mind roared with a storm of witty and cynical responses for him to throw back at the seething ginger within before his eyes looked up. Ron’s fire that warmed his blood was smothered with a cruel, cold fist as a chill consumed Leyton, leaving him both breathless and irrevocably horrified at the sight before him.

Stood in the threshold of the treasure-filled chamber was a haggard being, exuding an awful terrene stench. Leyton had never seen a body so… aged and dehydrated, almost as if their very essence was ripped out of them—Leyton mentally compared it to that of any witch gullible enough to travel the path of the witches’ road, utterly devoid of any sense of life within them. The only sign of life that stood before him was that of the way its chest seemed to heave with every drawn-out breath. Not even its eyes held any light, for it was instead just black pits left in darkness despite the glares of the torches around them. The linen that dressed itself upon the creature before him looked closer to ashes waiting to fall apart versus actual fabric. Leyton had only ever seen mummies within the confines of movies, television, or even the occasional book or story. He had never thought he’d be cursed to witness such a sight in person, but it seemed fate had a funny way of proving him wrong.

Leyton couldn’t stop the wordless terror that filled him, nor could Ron as the younger stumbled over everything he tried to say. Their joint silence was hardly quiet enough for them to hear the raspy voice of the mummy, as its stone-dry lips stuttered out.

“Itja.”