Since going blind at 6 years old, Fiona Diggory has lived in the shadow of her twin brother, Cedric.
Now entering her 6th year at Hogwarts Fiona finds herself thrown into a new friendship with Fred and George Weasley while trying to determine the m...
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"One of your children is destined to fall at the Dark Lords command"
Anna Diggory had always been the steady oak amidst a forest of trembling saplings. While the world around her seemed to crumble and decay—Benjy Fenwick, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, one after the other falling to the Dark Lord's hand—Anna remained upright, resolute. She carried their memories like precious stones, weighty yet cherished, refusing to let the encroaching darkness bend her. It was her strength, her defiance, that kept her moving forward when others faltered.
But now, something had shifted. The darkness she had battled for so long had found its way into her very core. A deep, numbing realization settled over her like a cold, damp fog. Her strength, once her most prized possession, seemed to vanish into the ether, leaving her hollow. The world around her had gone quiet, save for the rhythmic chant in her mind: No, no, please no. It spun endlessly, like a broken record caught in an unrelenting cycle.
She sat at a round table in the dimly lit confines of Fortunes for the Misfortune, the flickering candlelight casting jagged shadows over the trinkets and baubles cluttering the room. They seemed to leer at her from the gloom, twisted reflections of her own desperate thoughts.
It had been only a week since Anna and Amos had first stepped through the crooked door of Fortunes for the Misfortune. A week since the witch's rasping voice had spilled the prophecy into the dim room like poison, staining the air between them. "One of your children is destined to fall at the Dark Lord's command." Amos had scoffed, dismissing the words as nothing more than a cruel trick, a twisted performance meant to prey on their fears. "Prophecies are nonsense," he'd muttered as they left, his hand gripping hers with too much force, as if he could hold her steady by sheer will.
But Anna couldn't shake the witch's words, couldn't brush away the dread that had coiled around her heart like a snake. While Amos sought to bury the truth beneath his skepticism, Anna felt it settle inside her, cold and unyielding. She hadn't slept since that night, the prophecy haunting her every breath. It was a future she couldn't accept, wouldn't accept. So, while Amos turned his back on the witch's warning, Anna returned alone, driven by the quiet terror that had taken root in her. She would not let fate take her children. Not without a fight.
"I'm sorry," whispered the witch sitting across from her, her voice rough as gravel. Her wild, tangled black hair framed a gaunt face, a crescent moon headband perched precariously above her thick, unkempt brows. The witch's voice carried the same hollow resonance Anna had once uttered herself, time and time again, when breaking the news of another fallen friend.
"There has to be something you can do." Anna's voice was strained, barely a breath, as she lifted her gaze from her rounded belly to meet the woman's onyx-black eyes.
The witch sighed, a sound like dry leaves rustling across the floor of an empty room. "I told you before, I can only see what the future holds. I cannot change it." She reached out, her hand rough and inked with shifting tattoos that seemed to pulse with life. An owl fluttered up the length of her arm, settling on her collarbone, its yellow eyes locking with Anna's in a knowing, unblinking gaze.
