Prologue
Amita still remembered the first unbreakable vow she had made.
She hadn’t known his name, but the look in her father’s eyes had made it clear he was someone important.
The boy—or was he a man? She couldn't tell his age—with wavy black hair looked down at her before speaking of the conditions surrounding their deal. “You will never speak of what you see, or what we speak of, during this session.” He added, “To anyone, but myself.”
Amita nodded and was about to grab his hand when she looked back up at him. “And you will never speak of what I can do or who I am to anyone.”
Her father sucked in a sharp breath, seemingly cursing her internally.
The man in front of her simply chuckled, the cursed twinkle in his eyes causing Amita to shiver. “We’ve got a deal then, Amita Rowle.”
Light encased both their hands.
“We have a deal.”
The design etched itself in both their skin before disappearing without a trace.
Tom curiously looked over to the child before him, the way she had clenched her eyes shut when their hands touched, the way her lips and fingers trembled slightly as well as the pity filling her eyes when they had opened once more.
“So?” He asked impatiently, stopping himself from prying the truth out of the child’s mind.
She simply pointed over to her father.
“Step out, Reynald,” he instructed, the other man bowing slightly before muttering a soft, of course, my Lord.
When the door closed behind her father, Amita took a deep breath.
“I don’t think it’ll happen soon,” she started off.
Of course not, Tom scoffed internally.
“But I’m not sure I can say you’ll be truly alive for the majority of the life you have left.”
Tom smiled arrogantly and boasted, knowing she could never speak of their talk to anyone, “My soul might be diminished, but at least I’ll live forever.”
“No,” she corrected with a small shake of the head.
Voldemort’s smile dropped.
“I mean you won’t be physically alive. No body, but still an airing soul.” Amita looked over the growing anger in the man’s eyes before adding quickly, “But you’ll get your body back, don’t worry!”
“Stop beating around the bush!” He snapped, voice booming in her mind. She clenched her eyes shut. “Who did that to me?”
“I- I don’t—“ She took a deep breath. “A baby.”
The spell happened so fast, she couldn’t have prepared herself for the feeling of the floor’s coldness seeping through her robes or of the blood spewing from the side of her head, even if she had wanted to.
“You mock me.”
“I do not,” she answered weakly, waveringly, as she propped her arms behind her to sit. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. I heard the prophecy, I saw your death! The first one’ll happen a year around the time the baby is born, I’m not sure when, it seemed like fall. He has emerald green eyes.”
She breathed in feebly as the man’s eyes seemed to sharpen.
“As for the second time, it’s the same boy. But older. He had a lightning scar on his forehead and round spectacles. You both fought at Hogwarts. He won.”
“Impossible!” He shouted, the room rattling from his anger.
Amita stood her ground, but couldn’t keep her eyes open or stop her body from clenching.
“I know a truth-serum potion exists! You can give it to me if you don’t trust me!”
Tom looked over to his trembling hands which did nothing but fuel his anger more. He wouldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let a child end his life.
With nothing but a hand motion, the doors snapped open and Lord Voldemort walked out, decided to never let a mere child beat him.
He was already in possession of the artifacts he wished to turn into Horcruxes next and he was intent on doing it tonight.
—
When Amita received her Hogwarts letter at age 11, she had already predicted the deaths of most of his Death Eaters. Anyone with money would somehow end up being approached by the Rowles and would always accept, not wanting to get on their bad side when Reynald Rowle was particularly cared for by their Dark Lord.
Having been in contact with so many nearly dead people, Amita felt like a walking corpse herself.
Her parents surely knew of it as well, but her pain was nothing compared to their newfound influence.
When the sorting hat was placed on her head, it stayed there a few minutes, before finally uttering, monotonously, “Gryffindor.”
It had shocked the Slytherins profoundly, especially since she was the second pureblood from a Slytherin family to end up in Gryffindor that night.
Amita shared her dorm room with none-other than Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon—not that they had ever really talked—but being in the same room as the girls, especially Lily, made her realize how stupid blood superiority was. Especially when half the people she knew the deaths of were stupid and talentless, while basking in power.
Lily would probably never know the impact she had on the girl, but when going back to her family that summer, she lied that all visions were gone, that she couldn’t see anything anymore.
Her father had snapped at her, insulted her, and took especially good care of mentioning just how much of a disappointment she was. He forced her to tell the deaths of several Death Eaters who had already been promised prophecies, but Amita had been so desensitized to death that she could refrain from flinching when the visions appeared.
Everyone bought up her lie.
She was disowned before third year.