Disclaimer: All persons, places, and concepts you recognize are, quite obviously, not mine. All I can claim is Cerridwen.
a/n We're in for a long ride. Pack your satchel with undetectable extension charms, wear comfortable footwear, and remember to rinse out your socks.
IN LOVEGOOD'S POSSESSION
26 May, 1993 - The Rookery
The upstairs bedroom, furnished in eye-watering colours, bristled with a manic brand of energy. Two young women, girls really, tinkered with a rudimentary home Potions set-up. One such young woman, twelve years of age, had long, flowing blonde hair, silvery eyes, and a disconcertingly absent expression on her softly pleasant face. This girl's name was Luna. The other, small for her age, with deep-black (nearly blue in the light) hair dandling between the shoulderblades in soft curls, strangely black eyes, and exceedingly pale skin covering her fae features, added one last anti-clockwise half-stir to the experimental smoky blue potion. Laying aside the clear glass rod, she hesitantly picked up her English Oak wand as the younger girl gasped.
"Cerridwen ... you must heed me ... hear me ..."
Cerridwen looked to her foster-sister in something approximating alarm. Her hand began shaking, accidentally disturbing the contents of the cauldron, sending a lilac-scented puff of smoke to the ceiling. Her "sister" spoke in a ringing, bell-like lilt that would have sounded more at home in Cerridwen's own birthplace of Holyhead, Wales.
Luna Lovegood spoke her Prophesy ...
"The Feather'd Serpent will be saved by the Temple of the Prince
And the Throne will seat a new King
Else magic flee from the Isle of Knut, former host to Rome.
Hadrian's Kin shall rule when comes the Restored Black Prince
As His Chosen Ministers bring back to Balance the Day and Night.
The Feather'd Serpent will be saved by the Temple of the Prince
And Londinium will be Reborn ..."
Luna's eyes almost began to gleam, just in time for her pupils to blow out in dilation, matching Cerridwen's already damaged irises. Both girls dropped to the floor as a sickly green foam began oozing slowly from both of their slackened mouths.
The room began glowing with a soft lavender light as soft, feminine laughter filled the air. Cerridwen Goron, orphan, the last of her House, shimmered softly and slowly disappeared from the room. Indeed, she disappeared entirely from The Rookery, 26 May, 1993, precisely at 9:13 in the morning, just as she would have legally turned 17.