"Master Aurelius, are you sure that you want to go to an archipelago near the north pole using muggle ships" Bramble asked again still not believing. "Bramble means to say that Master Aurelius can still afford a portkey. It is not a necessity to go through muggle means. It is over 3000 km."
"Calm down, Bramble" Aurelius replied while packing his things. "It is not worth it. You know our financial situation, too. Besides a portkey to Norwegian Archipelago might be hard to find or too expensive since it is an obscure place."
"Master Aurelius should take Bramble with you at the very least. Bramble is worried that Master Aurelius will not take care of himself. That place is very cold and has a harsh weather." Bramble spoke with worries, as usual. "And.... and Master Aurelius might need a hand for the ritual"
Aurelius turned around to look at bramble. The house-elf was fidgeting uncomfortably. It was understandable. After all, Bramble is practically a father of Aurelius and the child who is not even 6 is requesting to go alone on a long trip by himself. Which kind of parents will not be worried? Aurelius had to persuade Bramble if he wanted the plan to go smoothly. "Listen Bramble, I know it is hard to send a child on a long journey without guardians. But for now, we have to do it because of the shop that will be sold in a week. You know as well as I do that a buyable place in Diagon Alley is hard to come by. It is now or never." Aurelius looked at the aged face of house-elf and said earnestly. "Don't worry. You can trust me on this"
Bramble struggled for a moment and finally relented. "Just this once."
"Pinky promise, I will not disappoint you" Aurelius grinned. "After all, the success of the ritual is a given."
---
Aurelius boarded the first class on the ship. The suit is better than the house that they stayed, wider, more luxurious and stylish. He was somewhat discouraged that even this place on a ship had better living conditions than a place where an heir of an ancient family lived. Well, that is for me to solve, I guess.
Aurelius finished unpacking his few belongings and settled into the plush armchair by the window. The gentle hum of the ship's engines vibrated through the floor, a constant reminder that he was miles from the life he knew, heading toward the unknown. He glanced around the room, taking in the luxurious surroundings that contrasted sharply with the worn-down state of his family's estate.
Bramble's concerns echoed in his mind; the house-elf's voice laced with paternal worry. Aurelius knew Bramble only wanted the best for him, but he also understood the gravity of their financial situation. This journey, risky as it might be, was necessary. The old family shop in Diagon Alley was their last hope, a beacon that could pull them from the brink of poverty if he could secure it.
He sighed, leaning back in the chair. The Norwegian Archipelago wasn't exactly a welcoming destination—cold, remote, and far from any semblance of civilization. But Aurelius was determined. The ritual he planned to conduct was essential, something only he could do, and it had to be done before the solstice. He couldn't afford the luxury of a portkey, even if it meant facing the journey alone.
The ship's horn blared, signaling their departure. Aurelius felt a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling within him. This ritual will determine how he will live in the future, somewhat like college exam. Although he told Bramble that the success of the ritual is a given, there was no way he is calm. The Ministry of Magic banned the rituals for a reason.
As the ship slowly pulled away from the dock, Aurelius stared out at the horizon, a resolute expression on his face. He had promised Bramble that he wouldn't disappoint him, and he intended to keep that promise. Whatever challenges lay ahead in the icy expanse of the Norwegian Archipelago, he would face them head-on. The fate of his family depended on it.
He spent the first few hours of the voyage in quiet contemplation, watching the waves dance beneath the ship and occasionally catching the curious glances of fellow passengers. He had to reread the Rituals of the Voyantil, recounted the necessary steps including potion, drawing symbols and the script to recited written in ancient Sanskrit.
It was during dinner, as he was quietly eating a simple meal of roast chicken and steamed vegetables, that a well-dressed waiter approached him with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. I guess that's what you call a professional smile.
"Excuse me, young sir," the waiter began, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern. "I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be dining alone. May I inquire where your guardians might be?"
Aurelius looked up from his plate, meeting the man's gaze with a calmness that belied his age. "I'm traveling alone," he replied, his voice steady.
The waiter's smile faltered, his eyes widening slightly. "Alone? But surely… a child of your age… It's not safe and the ship do not allow children without—"
Before the man could continue, Aurelius narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. There was no time for this, no need for complications. He took out the old wand that they still have and aim at the man. Aurelius always knew there would be a problem if he went alone. So, he prepared a spell that young Aurelius had practiced for a long time. A good old Confundo should do the job. However, as he was about to cast the spell, he changed his mind and cast "Obliviate"
The waiter's expression grew vacant for a moment, as though he had forgotten where he was. He blinked, then shook his head as if clearing away some fog. "Ah, I… I think I forgot to do something. Young sir, please excuse me."
With that, the man turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Aurelius to finish his dinner in peace. It was a relief that there was only one person asking him the question. He currently didn't have the ability to cast multiple spells. There was no one who is paying attention to him, so all is well. He had no intention of drawing unnecessary attention to himself, especially not now when he was so close to his goal. Thankfully, young Aurelius was quite talent at mind arts. Born as a Legilimen, practiced Occlumency since the age of four, Aurelius is a natural at mind arts. A simple Obliviate was nothing.
The rest of the voyage passed smoothly. Aurelius kept to himself, spending most of his time in his cabin or out on the deck, where he could blend in with the other passengers. Occasionally, he caught snippets of conversation or laughter, but for the most part, he remained unnoticed. Of course, he had to cast Obliviate once in a while.
When the ship finally docked at Longyearbyen, Svalbard, Aurelius disembarked with a quiet determination. The town was a picturesque sight, a small cluster of buildings nestled amidst snow-covered mountains, with the sun hanging low in the sky, refusing to set. It was a land of perpetual daylight, a strange but beautiful place that seemed almost otherworldly.
Aurelius spent a few days in the town, careful to keep his presence minimal. He explored the area, gathering his thoughts and preparing for the ritual that had brought him here. He had to be extra careful since he can't let any complication to set in. It will be easier if there is a spell to make people ignore me subconsciously.
Finally, the day arrived. Aurelius climbed to the top of a desolate mountain, the air thin and biting cold, yet he felt no discomfort. This was where the ritual would take place, the spot that the ancient texts had pointed him to. He was not the first to do this powerful ritual of the Voyantil, after all. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked, carrying the supplies he had meticulously gathered from Diagon Alley.
The summit was stark and barren, a perfect place for what he needed to do. There was a rock the size of a human with the crust of Voyantil family, a vertical eye between two eyes without irises, and the text that said "Future lay ahead. Will you go on and sacrifice the past?". Aurelius began by drawing the ritualistic signs in the snow, using a knife to prick his finger and let the blood flow. The crimson lines stood out starkly against the white backdrop, forming a complex pattern that twisted and coiled around the area where he would stand.
He set to work brewing the potion, his hands steady despite the cold. Phoenix Ash, the rarest of the ingredients, shimmered as it was added to the mix, the potion bubbling and swirling with an almost sentient energy. Other ingredients followed, each added with precision, until the potion was complete.
With a deep breath, Aurelius reached up and ran the blade of the knife across his scalp, removing his hair in swift, careful strokes. The ritual demanded a bald head, a symbolic gesture of shedding the old self to make way for the new. When the last strand of hair fell to the ground, Aurelius wiped the blade clean and stepped into the circle. Piled up the hairs on the books that he had used to recorded the events of Harry Potter and muggle world's future.
In the center of the ritualistic signs, he placed the potion and several books, filled with knowledge that will make people question their whole lives. He could feel the power in the air, a tension that seemed to vibrate through the ground and up into his bones.
He took a deep breath and drank the potion, the liquid burning as it went down his throat, filling him with a warmth that spread through his entire body. He felt a surge of energy, his vision sharpening, colors becoming more vivid and intense.
As he began to recite the script, the world around him seemed to react. The snow at his feet began to melt, the air thickened with mist, swirling around him like a living thing. The ancient words flowed from his lips, a language he did not fully understand yet spoke with an innate familiarity. The sacrificial books began to disintegrate, their pages turning to ash and blowing away in the wind, taking with them the memories and knowledge they contained.
A strange sensation spread across his forehead, and as he continued the incantation, a dark blue symbol began to form between his eyebrows. It was an irregular eye, pulsating with an eerie light, as if it was watching the world from within him. The pressure built, the world around him growing more intense, more saturated, until it felt like it might tear apart at the seams.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The mist cleared, the snow refroze, and the colors returned to normal. The only sign that anything had happened was the symbol on Aurelius' forehead and the sense of power thrumming through his veins.
He had succeeded.
As he stood there, breathing heavily, a voice—deep, ancient, and resonant—echoed through the air, not from his own mouth but from the fate itself. It was a prophecy, one that would shake the very foundations of the magical world. He prepared himself for the coming prophecy.
---
In the dim-lit confines of Nurmengard, where the stones seemed to echo with the weight of forgotten hopes and whispered fears, Gellert Grindelwald sat in silent contemplation. His once fiery eyes, now tempered by years of confinement, stared into the void, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The silence of the fortress was absolute, broken only by the faint flicker of candlelight and the distant, mournful howl of the wind against the stone walls.
Then, suddenly, the air itself seemed to change. A shiver ran down Grindelwald's spine, a sensation so profound that it yanked him out of his reverie. It was as if the world itself had taken a breath, holding it in anticipation of something monumental. And then, without warning, the prophecy burst forth from his lips, unbidden and unstoppable.
"In the age of dusk where shadows creep..."
His voice, once commanding armies and inspiring fear, now trembled with a power that was not his own. Each word resonated through the walls of Nurmengard, filling the dark fortress with a foreboding presence. His eyes widened in recognition as the prophecy continued, words that spoke of a power he could not ignore. Grindelwald's heart raced as the prophecy came to its chilling conclusion, and in that moment, he knew—something had shifted in the very fabric of the world.
---
Far away, in the cozy, bustling Great Hall of Hogwarts, the evening meal was in full swing. The clatter of silverware, the hum of conversation, and the warmth of the crackling fire created an atmosphere of comfort and security. Professor Trelawney, seated at the staff table, picked delicately at her meal, her large, magnified eyes peering down at her plate through her signature thick lenses.
She was just about to take a sip of her sherry when her hand froze, the glass slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor. The noise drew the attention of her colleagues, but before anyone could react, Trelawney's voice rang out, clear and resonant, unlike anything they'd ever heard from her before.
"In the age of dusk where shadows creep..."
The entire hall fell silent as every head turned toward the Divination professor. Her voice echoed eerily off the high stone walls, carrying the weight of an inevitable truth. The students, wide-eyed and frightened, watched as their eccentric professor, usually the subject of mild amusement, became the vessel for a terrifying prophecy. The headmaster's expression tightened with concern as Trelawney continued, her voice devoid of its usual quavering tone, filled instead with a somber authority. When the prophecy finally ended, the Hall remained in stunned silence, the implications of the words hanging heavily in the air.
---
"In the age of dusk where shadows creep,
And the world doth slumber in twilight deep,
From the womb of time, a child was torn,
In the hour 'twixt night and morn.
The sky was rent, neither sun nor moon,
In a stillborn day of eternal noon,
When he drew breath, the air did sigh,
For the Weaver of Strings was nigh.
A curse on those who'd dare to pry,
Into secrets veiled by his third eye.
For he, the Prophet, peerless, born,
To weave the fate that none can scorn.
By ancient stars and fates untold,
The Sword of Bravery shall be bold,
The Bane of Curse shall dark paths tread,
Yet all shall dance to the strings he thread.
In halls of stone where whispers cling,
And broken men of him shall sing,
'Beware the child, both fair and grim,
For the world shall bend to the will of him.'
He comes in darkness, yet brings the light,
To bind the wrong and guide the right,
In lands unknown, and times unseen,
The Weaver of Strings shall walk between.
So mark this day, and tremble all,
For upon his birth, the fates do call,
In him, the world shall find its thread,
Woven 'twixt the living and the dead."
His voice, though childlike, was firm and unwavering as the prophecy took hold of him. "Aurelius recited each line, the syllables falling from his lips with a gravity that belied his years. The dark blue sigil that had appeared between his eyebrows pulsed with energy, reacting to the power of the words that were not his own. As the prophecy reached its conclusion, Aurelius' eyes opened, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He knew, without a doubt, that this was a turning point—one that would send ripples through the wizarding world. The prophecy was not just a foretelling; it was a declaration, a sign that his actions had not gone unnoticed by the fates that governed their world. I guess I just need to lay low for a bit.
---
Across the globe, the prophecy echoed within the halls of every Ministry of Magic, sending shockwaves through the very foundation of magical society. In the British Ministry, panicked owls were dispatched, racing through the night sky with urgent missives. In France, the Beauxbatons Academy's headmistress sent word to her counterparts in Durmstrang and Ilvermorny, seeking counsel and reassurance. In the American MACUSA, Aurors were called to stand by, their wands at the ready, as the leadership convened in emergency sessions.
On the front page of tomorrow's Daily Prophet, Minister Fudge is pictured speaking gravely: "Throughout history, there have been many prophecies. You might wonder why we should be concerned about just one more. However, ladies and gentlemen, as of yesterday, every seer and prophet around the globe has uttered this same prophecy. This is unprecedented. I believe this issue is more significant than we can comprehend. So please, if you have even the slightest inkling about the prophecy known as 'Weaver of Strings,' contact the Ministry immediately."