Morgan snapped back to the present as she smelt burning. She had drifted off into a trance yet again, and ruined the stew for the second day in a row. She cursed under her breath as she muttered a spell to vanish what had spilled. She could have done it silently, but it took more energy to do it that way than she wanted to exert.

"Another vision?" her brother asked.

She gave a curt nod as she bustled around, trying to save the stew. Whatever it was about cooking that brought on the visions she would have to change.

"Third one this week," he said. "Was it the same as the two before?"

Morgan nodded. "They're getting stronger. Whatever it is, we have to do something. But I don't even have the faintest idea what to do."

"It's war, there's not necessarily a way to stop it."

"I know that Robert. The problem isn't the war. It's the heartache that comes afterwards. And the unwillingness of everyone to change. There's a girl, and no matter how things go she's going to be looked down just for her birth."

Robert sighed. "I thought we were past that," he said.

"I'm afraid that it looks like it will be a struggle for people well into the future. This vision is so far in the future that women are wearing trousers," Morgan said.

Robert laughed. "I can't imagine a future where all men wear trousers often enough that women would want to as well. Horribly impractical."

"I don't know if I could say that," Morgan argued. "The way everyone moves it seems way more practical to wear trousers than robes. The fighting's more advanced than anything I've ever seen."

The blood that had returned to her face faded again as she recalled what she had seen. The world swayed under her feet and everything went black.


Morgan woke up to her mother and father standing near her bedside. They didn't look worried, but since they both had the gift of sight it wasn't unlikely that they had seen that she would be fine.

"Robert said the visions had been getting worse," her father said.

"Robert knows that he's not supposed to tell you about the visions without me," Morgan said. "He always gets the details wrong."

"You fainted," her mother said. "He wasn't wrong to get us. We knew that the visions were getting stronger. We've been getting them too. But he wasn't wrong to tell us that. And that was all he told us."

Morgan swung her legs over the side of her bed. She didn't want to spend all day in bed. It made her feel awful. But she wasn't sure that she wanted to try standing on shaky legs with her parents watching her. Even if they had the sight, she didn't like to watch the looks on their faces.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked. Morgan did her best to keep the irritation out of her voice. She wasn't sure if she succeeded, but felt as if she was failing.

"Just your agreement to record your prophecy when it comes, and it will," her father said.

Morgan shuddered. She could vividly recall the handful of times her mother had come to prophecy. And her father, who was often far from home, had had them even less. Morgan herself had only given one prophecy, and it was the most excruciating time of her life.

She had felt as though she had lost control of herself. She wasn't looking forward to doing that again. But she knew that the stronger a gift was, the more likely it was that a prophecy could come from any vision. But at least with a vision, she could tear herself out of it.

She had had an inkling that her visions were leading towards a prophecy. They were strong, and getting stronger by the day. But it was so far away in the future that she hoped the time would allow her to escape.

She nodded. With what she was seeing, it was the least she could do to have it recorded. Maybe, just maybe, it might save someone some suffering in the future.


"Prophecy 1603," the clerk said.

"No one's asked for that in a while," the department of mysteries worker said. "Beware, it's old."

"I know it's old," the clerk retorted. "That's why I was asked to fetch it. The minister seems to think that there's something in there that's important."

"The minister's been looking for something important since he took office. I'm still not sure he'll find significance in the only prophecy from that year," the worker said. "Whatever it was, it was important enough to be recorded. It came from a small family all gifted with the sight apart from the squib son. Still no clue what it means."

"I don't know either," the clerk said. He sounded exasperated. "It's 1805 and he's not scheduled to have anything done until next year. Whatever he's looking for had better be worth it."

"Just make sure that he doesn't do anything crazy with it. It's the original, and the only copy we've got the funds for," the worker said.


The minister of magic frowned over what he had just listened to. He didn't know what he had been looking for, but it appeared as if he had just found it. He penned a letter to his undersecretary. Something would have to be done. Something drastic.


A/N: I know this chapter is a little disjointed. And it might not necessarily have much to do with the rest of the story. But it's important. And it will make sense later. I guess it's more of a prologue than anything.