prologue - ' the prophet '
𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟸𝚗𝚍, 𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟿
“Are we sure it’s the right place? Looks more like a nunnery than a girl’s home.” Auror Rufus Abbott muttered, precariously peering back towards Headmaster Dumbledore. Head tilted up towards the sky where rain clouds threatened to drench them, the white-bearded wizard’s gaze trailed over the archways and darkened windows of the church; the bare trees lining the front of the property shuddered in the breeze. Thunder rumbled from around them and a solitary raindrop landed on his half-moon glasses. “You can feel it just from out here, can’t you Rufus? The anger and repression, the fear. All the right conditions to birth an obscurus.”
“Yeah…” Rufus agreed half-heartedly, approaching the entrance and transfiguring their clothing to resemble that of a physician and a priest. “This is the place.”
Wands away, they listened to the chimes of a doorbell and caught a glimpse of the metal plaque in the flash of lightning that signaled the incoming storm.
‘ST. PHILOMENA’S HOME FOR GIRLS OF GODS GIVING LIGHT’.
Orphanages were getting more creative with their names as of late, though it never changed what actually lay behind such holy walls. Even with the muggles’ Children Act of 1948, Dumbledore only continued to see the same treatment that bred children like Aurelius, like Tom. The Ministry of Magic had yet to so much as assign a department to orphaned witches and wizards, as though he hadn’t given them warnings unto what such an oversight could cause. So here he was, on a Saturday no less.
“Ah, Father, thank the heavens. Ye received our wee letter?” Casting a knowing glance at Rufus, he smiled at the young Irish woman dressed in her traditional habit. Far off behind her he could make out another duo watching them, whispering between themselves as they hid behind their sleeves. “Yes, yes. We felt a response was urgent in this matter and that we should arrive, personally. Sister Patrice, I take it?” She invited them in, rain pitter pattering on the concrete and disappearing behind the heavy wooden doors.
“No, no. Sister Patrice is leading the child in contrition this evenin'. Ye can see it in ‘er eyes, poor thing. Always praying on the young ones, he is.”
Sharing a concerned look, the wizards followed the muggle nun through the candle lit hallway with hesitance. So early in the evening and yet the corridors were near silent, few squeaks emitting from the floorboards above them and hushed whispers from behind closed doors. "Remind me, how old is the girl?" Dumbledore asked, noting the ornate detailed carvings in the wood of the archway they paused at. This primary chapel had more than enough pews for a congregation, though tonight it looked barren. Spare Sister Patrice standing like a hawk over the sable-haired girl, bible and ruler in her hands.
"Just turned nine in October with us, she did."
Stepping into the room and waving a hand to interrupt, Rufus kindly greeted Patrice and introduced himself as a specialty-care physician. In case the troubles they'd described were ‘more than God could provide a cure for’. Asylums were all the rage lately.
“Perhaps we can look at her paperwork before discussing transfer, Sister." Rufus suggested, following both nuns out of the room. Despite escaping such watchful guardians, the girl never once faltered in her prayers. Eyes closed, head bent, elbows resting on the edge of the pew seat as she stayed upright on her knees.
Upon approaching her, Albus noticed the red and purple bruising on her knuckles that trailed up to her fingers. She was shivering in her uniform. Opening just one eye to look towards who approached her, she swiftly closed it again and switched her hands to a relaxed position hidden under her chin. Once close enough to sit down beside where she prayed, he watched her flinch just lightly and her fast speech turned to a mumble. "Delyth?" Dumbledore called, resting his palm on top of her hands and lowering them to grab her attention; her skin was cold to the touch. She looked up at him with a distant expression, as though she was still unsure whether or not to fear him.
Before he could continue, though, his attention was stolen by the scar across her forehead. A perfect straight line, still a bit dark red at the center and bruised around the edges. Delyth noticed his concern and swiftly shifted her hair, grown out bangs only slightly covering the evidence of her repentance as she put her hands over the splintered edge of the pew seat. Such trained, perfect posture for a young child. Shifting his gaze back down to her own nervous eyes and offering out a hand, he smiled. "Care to sit?"
The letter they'd intercepted, describing the girl having made a ruler 'explode' during a correction from a teacher, had noted she'd been transferred to St. Philomena's here in Liverpool just around two years ago. From the way she looked at his offer to sit, he'd think she'd been subjected to their program since she first learned to stand. Nonetheless, she took his hand and wordlessly sat on the pew with space left between them. The skirt of her uniform rose up just above her knees to reveal more bruises, dirt left on her shins.
"Is this where you’d like to stay, Miss Byrne?" He asked, looking up towards the stained glass windows that were ever so sparingly illuminated by lightning.
Bags under her eyes as she stared at him for a long moment, Delyth pursed her lips together before finally responding in the smallest voice. "Where else would I go?" She hesitantly looked back to the archway, relieved to see the Sisters had not returned and their conversation remained private.
"Perhaps somewhere with people like you; those with gifts others don't understand." He shifted his focus in the same direction as she, ensuring the muggle presence remained out of the room. With a gentle swish of his wand and quiet incantation, Dumbledore summoned a patronus that softly spread its wings and danced its glow of blue light over their faces. She watched in fascination as the Phoenix glides down from its slow flight above them, resting on the back of the pew in front of them and lowering its head.
"What is he?" She inquired, leaning in for a closer look and being overtaken by the warmest sense of safety. Comforted and calmed by the ethereal being that glimmered before her. "He is what’s called a patronus, like a protector or living shield cast with magic." Delyth looked at the wizard in surprise and consternation, his attire a contradiction to his reveal. "Magic?"
Dumbledore chuckled and repeated. "Magic. I heard you caused quite a stir with magic yourself since you've arrived." Her hands gripped the end of her skirt as she cast her eyes down in shame.
"I didn't mean to do it…… I-I could feel it, I knew it was going to happen when Sister Genevive got too close and when I flinched…….the ruler, it just-“
Struggling to explain, she took a shuddered breath when he held his hand up to stop her. “It’s perfectly normal for a witch of your age.” Eyes flickering back to the wispy blue figure that had settled so closely to them, Delyth calmed again. "You couldn't have helped it if you tried, you were scared. It would have manifested some way or another soon." Delyth nodded, wringing her hands together and looking down at his perfectly polished shoes. "And there's other witches? Who can create birds and destroy things with magic?"
Albus chuckled in amusement and slowly raised his wand to dissipate the patronus. "Much, much more than just that can be done. Though, we try to create more than we destroy." For the first time since they'd entered the church, the child cracked a smile. She stood up swiftly, hair swaying around her shoulders.
"I want to join them, the other witches! Do we leave tonight?" Rising to his feet with a low groan and keeping an eye out for the other Sisters, he began to wonder if Rufus simply stupefied them as a distraction. "We have a transfer location lined up. Can you grab your belongings, Miss Byrne?" Arms stiffly thrown to her side like a soldier taking his leave, she appeared quick to heed the request and walk away. Except she paused, turning around and hesitantly taking a step forward.
"Father..?"
Momentarily confused, Albus laughed and waved his hand to dismiss the illusion over his clothing. Her eyes widened. He was wearing the most peculiar black and golden cloak, his shoes bearing a strong point and heels; a hat appeared atop his head where there was none before. "Albus Dumbledore. Though you may soon be calling me Headmaster Dumbledore." Delyth swallowed thickly and averted her gaze towards the windows, rain streaking down against them now as thunder bellowed on. "Other witches... they see the future too, right?"
Taken back, Albus thought back to the letter originally meant for the clergyman in London. It described the child as being influenced by the devil, the incident with the ruler underlined while the part about visions must have been simply glazed over. "Many do practice, though, it's quite a selective gift. How does the future present itself to you?" Downcast by his answer, she held up her hand and counted on each finger as she explained: "In reflections and light, sometimes I can see shapes in my tea leaves but it's my dreams. Whenever I sleep I can- I can feel what's happening and what I see becomes what happens. When I dreamt of turning blue out in the snow, my body stuck and frost-bitten, I woke up knowing winter was coming early. And I was right."
Perplexed and certain this topic would only breed questions he’d not yet have an answer to, he accepted her explanation and gestured for the girl to continue on her way to retrieve her belongings. "The ancient art of divination is a difficult one to master, understanding the messages of foresight is almost as maddening as the frequency of receiving them. With practice and the teachings of our Divination Professor, I have no doubt you will become one whose prophecies guide the wizarding world." Emboldened, Delyth grinned from ear to ear before going to run out of the chapel. Though her excitement had been short lived, her pace slowing and steps straighter the moment she passed through the archway, she was trembling with giddiness.
With his wand back in the pocket of his coat and clothing re-enchanted for the muggle nuns, Albus stepped back out into the hall in search of his Auror partner.
"Father Callum?" Striding up from the opposite corridor, the room at the end of the hall the most well-lit he'd seen thus far, Rufus was followed solely by Sister Patrice. In his hands a white folder. "Is she too far gone?" He asked, a twinkle in his eye as both already knew from the moment they entered the building the girl was a witch. Finding out she was a Seer though…. that was something the Ministry was bound to have an interest in. A playful grin tugged on the old wizard's lips. Perhaps he should keep that information to himself for now. After all there was no telling if her visions held any value quite yet.
"Simply too far for divine intervention, I'm afraid this isn't something just the Lord will be able to cure." Appearing both disappointed and relieved, Sister Patrice folded her hands down at her waist and sighed. "We will miss her light in our halls but it's for the best. May God have mercy on that child and banish the devil from within her head." Crossing herself three times and even reaching to kiss her cross, she clapped her hands together. "Right then, has she prepared to take leave?"
"Yes, Sister." At the foot of the staircase with one large singular trunk on the ground beside her, Delyth had even gone as far to put on the too small clothing she'd first arrived in at seven years old. Her heart was thundering, mind left aflame wondering as to how she'd never come to dream of this moment. Freedom had been longed for since she'd first gotten transferred to St. Philomena's. It was finally within reach, yet a part of her was terrified to imagine this was all some cruel way to punish her for the visions. When would the other shoe drop?
"Ah, wonderful! We should get going before the storm worsens, though we thank you for your hospitality!" Dumbledore grabbed the older woman's hands and gently squeezed, offering a warm goodbye as he led the group towards the door. “She’ll be in excellent hands!” Once all three had made it past the threshold, he mumbled something too quiet for Delyth to catch. For a moment Sister Patrice seemed confused, then content, and she shut the heavy wooden door behind them.
"Any muggles, Rufus?" Both men surveyed the area as their disguises faded, if anyone was present they'd be too focused on escaping the rain anyway. "Not on this block." The Auror responded, though Dumbledore still held up his lighter and clicked it three times. Watching in amazement as every stray beam of light disappeared into the small flame, she squinted her eyes in the dark and looked over to see him holding his hand out to her. "Shall we?"
Within seconds of their hands meeting, an immense pressure smashed into her from all sides and it felt as though the world as she knew it swirled out of sight. But she still felt his warm hand holding hers and while she didn't know where they were going, she knew it was exactly where she needed to be.