Twins Io and Aster Visage transfer to Hogwarts at the behest of their uncle who witnessed a Seer prophesize Dumbledore's death. While at Hogwarts, Io catches the eye of Draco Malfoy who's more involved with the prophecy than she knows while Aster fi...
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Uncle Altair once told the girls that everyone in life is given the chance to receive three engravings of immense value: their name on a necklace, words from their lover on a wedding ring, and their life story on a tombstone. Then he'd say, "You're the luckiest person on earth if, in this life, you get all three."
Aster hated that concept. Even though she was the more mischievous of the two, she hated morbid thoughts. She loved chaotic romance and ecstasy, and she thought heartbreak was nothing more than a drop in a vast black ocean.
But if there was anything anyone should know about Io Visage, it was her odd propensity towards feeling all the negative emotions people normally hide. And she felt it all at once.
She loved hiding her face beneath her fringe. It masked some of her emotions. She cried too easily, and she never denied it. Her anger was a raging funeral pyre, but her joy was split into a million fireflies floating in the forest. She relished in her alone time. Aster used to joke that Io was the mask of sadness, while she was happiness. That wasn't wrong, not entirely.
Io sat among the stacks of books in the restricted section of the library. There were ten books about ancient magic, specifically about potions. If Voldemort's regeneration portion was here, it was very well hidden. Half an hour into reading, Io's eyes began to sting. It was like they purposely kept the light dim in this section to keep anyone from being here too long.
The old iron doors to the section creaked. Someone else was here with her.
Io looked to the end of the bookcases, and whoever she thought she was expecting - it wasn't him.
Harry Potter stood quietly, clutching a book in his right hand. He looked around, shocked at the presence of another student.
Harry was everything Io expected. The tousled hair, the spectacles - it was really him. She and Aster grew up hearing of the Boy Who Lived. At Ilvermorny, he was seen more as a figure or an idea as opposed to a young boy whose confusion was humble and relatable.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here." He finally spoke after a couple of seconds of silence.
Io stood up, shutting the third book in her stack. "What are you looking for?"
Harry was hesitant. They'd never met before, and Io knew he wouldn't simply share everything with her. "Just, um - the history of draught of living death."
"In the restricted section? Isn't first period still - "
"Slughorn let us out a little early." His fingers tapped erratically on the book in his hand. "You're Io, right?" He quickly changed the subject.
Io folded her arms across her chest, looking everywhere except at Harry. "Our arrival wasn't exactly subtle, was it."
"I'm - "
"Harry Potter. Yes, I know."
He nodded, once again scratching his head.
Io motioned towards her stack of books. "I'm also reading up on potions. This one," she picked up one that was particularly worn, covered in aged brown leather. "This one has some mentions of draught of living death."
