eleventh hour [t. riddle]

introduction

welcome to

eleventh hour

astra inclinant, sed non obligant.
the stars incline us, they do not bind us.

dramatis personae (cast)

ismene von hahn

tom marvolo riddle

corinn liang

isaiah von hahn

octavia pytovina

abraxas malfoy

nicholas mulciber

thorin nott

cassius avery

procyon black

dionysia manocchio

content warning

graphic depictions of violence

self harm

sexual content

biblical allegory/allusion

torture

manipulative/unhealthy relationships

•••

The gift of clairvoyance has run in the feminine side of the Von Hahn family for several millennia. Out of the hundreds of witches the bloodline has produced, only a few descendants each century are given the familial gift, while the rejects were witches only slightly sensitive to the whims of divination. It is the legend that each witch in their dynasty that possesses true sight holds the power to bargain with the universe.

Most Seers could only listen, but the Von Hahn witches could ask.

The youngest female descendent, Ismene Von Hahn, was the first Seer the family conceived in decades. She remembered her mother reading the prophecies of her ancestors to her since before she could talk. Her mother dissolved into violent sobs when she'd given her first prediction at seven years old.

Ismene had never taken much interest in her gift, appraising it as more of a handicap than a tool. It was a nuisance every time hours of her day would disappear from her life, only to be told she had lost consciousness due to the divine possessing her as an oracle. She took divination for one year when she was thirteen, and decided immediately that it wasn't for her. Her professor went to hell and back to try to force Ismene to continue with the course, but eventually conceded, under the condition that Ismene continued to share her prophecies with the woman.

Ismene had always been much more concerned with the other magic that inhabited her soul. It was not a magic that was passed through her family, therefore she treasured it as her intrigue in controlling it grew. No historian nor archivist could tell her what the dark energy that channeled through her was, only that it was far too malignant to be meddled with by the likes of a silly little girl. Ismene's mother had used some spell (Ismene was far too young to know which, only that it was dark) that completely shredded the episodic memories of anyone who'd seen the magic so that none would be compelled to research on her daughter. Perhaps the dark energy was sacrilege; a stain on the fabric of magic, but Ismene cared very little about tainting what was already both blasphemous and sanguine.

She summer before her seventh year at Hogwarts, the dark witch gave a prophecy so powerful that it left her in a state of unconsciousness for a week following. She was suspended between life and death; in a purgatory that somehow managed to put her soul back in her body. When she woke up, she was mumbling words incoherently through the sharp pain in her head and chest; words like lightning, Albania, Hallows, betrayal, Elder wand, Peverell, and split soul. She bled from the eyes for days after.

The prophecy foretold of Death, war, and damnation. It claimed that a beacon of light must pierce the darkness in the eleventh hour if it was to deter the fated from slaughtering everything in his path. The prophecy said that she, she Seer, was to be that beacon if she wished to avoid the future that haunted her nightmares.

No, no, no. Prophecies were not supposed to involve the Seer. She was only supposed to be an intermediary; a mouthpiece. She wasn't supposed to be involved, nor did she want to be.

Ismene spent only minutes trying to decipher the riddles before resigning. If everything was all part of a divine plan, then what difference would her meddling make?

This was her opinion until she met him. The Fated. The Destroyer. Every survival instinct in her physical body told her to run from him, but every part of her soul was trying desperately to latch itself to him. She clung to him how dew clung to grass, evaporating in the sunlight before she could be absorbed into the dirt beneath him. He gave her reason after reason to run from him, but each time she tried, the impossible played out before her very eyes.

Lightning struck the same place twice.

And three times.

And four.

Five.

Six.

On and on until she realized that the choice she had to make, was not her decision at all.

She could not see salvation in his destiny. She did not think he deserved redemption, nor did he want it. He deserved to burn in hell, and if that meant that the world had to burn with him, then so be it.

Ismene tried to ignore it. She tried to pretend that the premonitions weren't there, but her soul and magic began to fight her body, and her body was losing. The decision was being made for her.

Ismene now had to spend her year fighting through three mysteries: Who was the one fated to ruin the world, what was she to do about it, and why did the universe entrust her with such a salient, unavoidable task?

What unforgivable sin had she committed to deserve such relentless torture as to be eternally tethered to Tom Marvolo Riddle?

a/n: If you are a follower/believer of any Abrahamic religion, this book may not be for you. I explore magic and religion in ways that may be considered blasphemous, and I would not want to disrespect anyone's beliefs. Nothing I write is meant to offend; it is all in the name of fiction and entertainment.