The Cursed Child (Original Plot)

Chapter 1 - Fire and Destiny

1 March 2013

It has been nearly fifteen years since the forever defeat of Lord Voldemort. Fifteen years of peace; fifteen years of mourning for the deceased; fifteen years of picking up the bits and pieces of brokenness, until it all felt like the good old days before the intrusion of the dark lord again. For those who had lost family members and friends in the wizard's war, it never felt the same. For them, the feeling that an important part of their heart was missing never faded away.

Since the dawn of Voldemort's death and of the death eaters' attempted escape, it was officially known that the need to be patient was one of the decent-sized priorities, but still, everyone was eager to fix a million fractures in the world at the same time. Such as revenging upon the death eaters that took their loved ones, patching up the ministry, developing equality among those of different parentages, deciding who was under the imperious curse and who was acting of their free will, and the list went on and on until it went to minor issues between random people. There had been arguments and riots against Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt's choices of order, but the world was successfully rebuilt to a better place where no one has to ever be afraid of a swish of a cloak anymore.

It was a peaceful Friday afternoon at around three-thirty. Screaming children ran along the streets in their little uniforms, chased by laughing parents as they played their games and sang their crazy rhymes. A smile tugged at Isabelle's lips as her breath fogged on the café's dingy window, wondering how could those children of her own age be so carefree when she'd been so careworn.

Her schoolmates ran around a corner and disappeared down an aisle, leaving nothing but a clash of giggles and panting adults.

No sooner had they disappeared did a thud shake the table. Isabelle spun around and put her hands on the tablecloth just in time to get a handful of wet, repulsive coffee.

'S-sorry Madam... I will g-get a new cup of... of c... Coffee? For you? I- uh... oh! Please wait, f-for your coffee. Yeah... Madam.'

Isabelle's mother Avalene shook her head contemptuously at the waitress's retreating back, mouthing stuff only a lip reader can understand, though Isabelle was quite sure she interpreted 'Forgetful' and 'These days'. She reached underneath the wooden table and dried her hands on the tablecloth, the new and old brown stains told her it happened quite often here.

Isabelle's feet dangled 2 inches above the ground when she sat on her spindly chair. Her slender fingers pressed down onto her chair in an attempt to look as tall as possible. Her red hair ablaze carried light curls that made it tamable and wavy as well as wild and full of personality: there was a time when her hair thought for itself and stubbornly stayed in savage tangles, especially every morning out of bed. Her thin layer of bangs wrapped itself in just above her bluish-green eyes she inherited possibly from her non-existent father, or maybe her mother... Maybe she just never bothered to look.

'Mum?'

'Mmm-hmm?'

'Do I have Papa's eyes?'

Avalene's eyes zapped up, alarmed and very, very blue, without a spill of green in it.

Isabelle tried very, very hard to hide the mounting excitement threatening an abrupt wave of adrenaline.

Because this is the moment her mother will tell her, after 7 years of avoiding the topic. She would tell her that she has her father's eyes and that he loved Isabelle a great deal before he was gone. She felt dizzy with euphoria just thinking about it, and oh please... by the name of... er- me? Don't pass out, please don't-

'Your coffee, madam... Thank you for... for? Your p... patience? Thank you for your p-p-patience, ma- um-'

'You are very welcome.'