A Change in Fate
The Summer Solstice 1981
The rain falls hatefully as the young witch scurries past the looming manor down the narrow path towards the greenhouse.
Reaching for the handle in small desperation to get out of the torrid weather, she huffs in frustration at finding it locked.
Pulling her hood further over her face she reaches into her robes for her wand.
It is quick work, unlocking the door with a muttered, “ Alohomora .”
She pushes in, careful not to trip over the sill.
Ignoring the darkness, she stalks forwards until she reaches a low table that sits just a few feet into the greenhouse.
As much as she wants to cast an illuminating spell, she won’t risk being found out.
Bronwyn chooses instead to settle against the low table and hope that the Devil’s Snare she knows grows here doesn’t make quick work of her.
Under the faint light of the moon she notes that the elves must be harvesting from the tentacula, as the surface beneath her is covered in slick honeydew.
She doesn’t have to wait long before the door opens once more, a tall figure stooping to enter.
“Miss Sayre,” the figure greets.
Rising, Bronwyn Sayre tries to keep her breathing quiet and even as she dips into a short curtsy.
“My Lord,” she manages.
Lord Voldemort removes his own hood and Bronwyn watches as he wandlessly illuminates the space. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Which seemed impossible now, taking in his sharp jaw and aristocratic brow.
“We will have privacy for as long as we may need. You haven’t spoken it yet, have you?” He asks, drying both of their robes and cleaning the honeydew from hers.
She shakes her head, the watery feeling at the back of her throat returning.
Swallowing, she tries to think of how best to explain everything.
“When I woke up this morning I just knew. I can’t see it all. Just you and a child for now. The prophecy will come soon though. I can feel it like a wolf feels the rising moon.”
Lord Voldemort smiles in the tilted manner that convinces people like Bronwyn to support him. To believe in him.
“The boy?” he asks.
“A boy, my Lord? No, it is a girl. She has wild curls and pale features.”
He doesn’t seem pleased by this, and Bronwyn has to wonder if she has made a mistake coming here tonight.
But he would have certainly called on her again, and she wouldn’t have been able to hide the lie.
She can only hope that he doesn’t believe in killing the messenger.
“Is she a danger to me?” He snaps, magic crackling through the air as a reminder of his power.
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe so, my Lord.”
The girl seems intertwined with the man in front of her. Like the glue that will keep him together.
Though she cannot be certain until the prophecy is made.
Soon.
With every breath she can feel the other part of her growing with the need to be heard.
“How much longer must I wait?” He asks, more to the air around them than to the witch herself.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait even a second longer. Before she can say anything, Bronwyn Sayre’s eyes roll back and her mind goes dark as a prophecy tumbles from her lips.
When a sparrow soars higher than any other winged beast
It’s lowly nest will fall to the earth
And its claws will land on the arm of an enigma’s branch
Where it will grow amongst the strands
Of a nest reshorn by those with feathers of silver and green
Should an enigma cease to confound
A sparrow such as she may decipher
And fly through the sky with a raven whose wings spread wide.
Lord Voldemort listens to each word, trying to decipher its meaning before the next one comes.
A girl who can ensure that he vanquishes his enemies. The boy Severus spoke of. Magic beyond which he can achieve on his own.
When Bronwyn finishes, she coughs, as though expelling some sort of demonic spirit.
She slumps back against the table and catches her breath.
“That was… scintillating, Miss Sayre. I must offer my gratitude for your discretion.”
She nods, not sure how to respond.
“You can’t recall your prophecies on your own, can you?” He asks, hand slipping towards his wand.
Should he need to, he will obliviate her.
“Never. And I have no say over when they come. All I get is a glimpse of the subjects. It helps me find the person I am meant to speak it to,” she explains.
He nods, knowing she speaks the truth as he can see into her mind and read her thoughts.
Besides, who would dare to lie to him when he is known to grant no quarter?
“Can you show me the face of this girl?” He asks, already pressing into her mind.
She calls the child’s face to the forefront of her mind and the Dark Lord’s face splits into a rare grin.
“You must be tired. I’m sure Lucius would be able to find a room for you,” he offers without meaning it.
“I should be off, My Lord. But I thank you for your hospitality,” she stands on shaky legs, ready to apparate away from the manor and back to the safety of her own home.
Lord Voldemort nods, stepping aside to allow her to exit.
Bronwyn is gone in a flash, and the subject of her prophecy waits a moment before walking back towards the manor.
Once inside, he sheds his robes and rolls up his sleeves.
There, on his left forearm is a long thin scar. He flexes his arm and frowns.
A child with magic. One who can secure his position within the world. This girl will need his guidance so that she may give him what he requires.
He calls for a house elf and orders them to find Lucius.
Severus must be consulted as well.
Perhaps Tom has tempted fate to ask for immortality. That two children should play such a large role in his life story.
Hundreds of miles away, Shepard and Emilia Granger are sitting on the couch of their small two bedroom home.
“I can’t believe our daughter has magic,” Shepard says, still reeling from the visit of a wizard with half moon glasses and a beard the length of his torso.
He’d come to help explain the incidents they’d been having for the past few weeks.
Their daughter’s emotions seemed to drive all sorts of different fantastical things. Floating foods and flooding floors.
Things that two lovely dentists living in Hampstead Gardens Suburb were woefully unprepared to handle.
“We always knew she was different. But this,” Emilia agrees, thinking of how difficult things might become for their small family.
The wizard had given them a lot of advice and even set up some spells to help them cope with their daughter’s accidental magic.
“And that school? Shep, how are we supposed to just send her away?”
Shepard tries to comfort his wife, but he feels the same way.
“We have plenty of time before then,” he says, knowing the time will fly by.
“Right. We just have to make the most of the time we have with her. God, I just love her so much, I don’t ever want to let her go,” Emilia tears up. She had thought she was all cried out, but obviously the knowledge that their daughter would one day walk into a world they could not follow her into was weighing heavily on her heart.