24 - The Prophecy

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Narrator's POV

The 15 year old stood on the newly paved pathway. Her eyes cautiously dart around, as she absorbes each detail of her home town. How the sun smiles between the trees, how the birds flutter above buildings. How the stomps of school children running into their parent's arms after a day at school is somehow now blissful. The smile that was tugging at her lips faded as she reached Number 77 at Golding's Street. Each footstep was a  trudge and each breath was toxic, as she made her way over. It was as though her soul was being ripped when she looked up to face her so called home. The home she could be spending her Christmas in, joyfully opening gifts wrapped up with left over paper from last year or eating home made roast chicken as she listened to her family singing and dancing to a Christmas carol. Instead, as she placed her cold hands on the now graffieted wall of her home, she felt empty. Broken.

"Avery" A voice that sounded so much like her brother's called for her. But this time, the voice was harsh and bleak, their was no colour or joy as her name was spoken.

Her father addressed her like addressing a peice of gum attached to your shoe. Oliver (fathers name) looked down at his daughter; the one who betrayed him, the one who failed upholding the name of the Devont family. The one that became a filthy little blood traitor. His blood boiled as he faced the utter disgrace before him, but she was now the one that could glue the shattered peices together. She could change everything.

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**flashback**

"My Lord... you- you called me"

I watch as the Dark Lord circles me, his wand pointed into his index finger. He gives a hollow laugh and proceeds with mocking me.

"Oliver Devont" He sneers. "Once my most trust worthy follower... now a stuttering peasant begging on the ground"

All the death eaters gathered round started cackling menacingly.

"Stop!" The Dark Lord orders. "You fool" He spits at me. "You spilled pure blood when you killed him. You spilled your own blood when you killed him"

He spoke this as if I didn't know. As if I wasn't constantly reminded of my mistake.

"Of course I am going to remind you!" He said after reading my thoughts. "I do not care for that boy, nor do I have any feelings towards your case, however the shame you have brought to us whilst I was... gone... is disgraceful. Not even able to muster a cover up story. How pathetic."

The cackles broke out again as they all rung in my head.

"Nevertheless, I find your... other heir... quite useful. She's the last jigsaw to my master plan you see-" His lips curl into a sickening smile as I almost see flames flicker in his eyes. "The blood traitor will collect the prophecy"

Silence emitted throughout the Manor we had gathered in. Lucius, who was previously tasked with the honour of retrieving the  prophecy, goes pale.

"But surely my Lord, that... girl couldn't be worthy of collecting such a precious, delicate object as the Prophecy?"

The Dark Lord turns his head towards Malfoy. "And you think you are?"

Everyone gives a dead laugh again, as they wait for the Lord to speak once more.

"Your daughter who finds herself accompanying Harry potter-" His face contorts into disgust as he speaks the boys name. "Will come to the Ministry when the boy thinks his dear godfather is in trouble. She will take the prophecy from the boy... She will do that, will she not Oliver?"

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