PROLOGUE

Morana Potter wasn't always the daughter of James and Lily Potter, not at first. She wasn't always a witch, wasn't always the Girl-Who-Lived, Mistress of Death.

At first, she wasn't even a witch. She lived in a time when gods and monsters frequented the world of men, when they came down from Olympus, and rose up from Tartarus.

In her first life, she was born a princess of a small city state on the peninsula between Argos and Athens. She was Athanasia, named so to honor the gods, in their immortal glory. She had dark red hair that glowed the color of freshly spilt blood in the sunlight, and piercing eyes, deep emerald green in color.

Her father, the bastard, left her mostly alone as he tried to marry her off in some bid to gain more power for himself. While she didn't mind marriage, she didn't want it to be loveless, or to be a broodmare. She knew that she didn't have many options as a woman, but luckily for her the art of healing was within her options.

She had always abhorred violence, and when she had first learned of how common it was, she had stated to learn as much as she could about the art of healing as possible. So, from a young age, she frequented the local temple to Apollo, all of the houses of healing in the city, and bought book after book on healing any time the traders came into the city.

Eventually, at one of her visits to the temple to Apollo, she met a man, who became her friend, and over time they grew closer. She spoke to him of herself and her passion for healing and helping others, and he told her of himself. After a while, he revealed himself as Apollo, god of healing, plague, truth, music, art, poetry, light, the sun, and prophecy and gifted her with ambrosia and nectar to aid her in healing others.

Once after she got home from the temple, her father had her brought before him by the guards. He was furious that she had ruined herself and the negotiations he had been in by sleeping with another, and ordered her killed and her body tossed into the ocean. In the last moments of her life, she pushed her love into a prayer to Apollo.

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While this was happening, Apollo was getting a golden apple after having gotten permission from Hera, to immortalize his mortal love. He intended to ask for her hand in marriage.

He had just arrived in the garden when Athanasia's prayer reached him, he immediately flashed himself to her location, killing the guards who had just tossed her into the sea. He collected her body, and went to Athanasia's sister to find out what had happened, only to find that she was the one who had told her father about her sister and her lover in an attempt to take her place with Apollo.

In his rage, he cursed the king and his daughter and all of their offspring with sickness. In his grief, he cursed ambrosia and nectar, so that any mere mortal who consumed either would burn in the wrath of the sun. Apollo then brought Athanasia's body to his sister Artemis and her Hunt, who knew of his intentions to wed her, after spending many days speaking of his love to any of them who would listen, and from her visits with Apollo.

When he arrived, he broke down into sobs. His sister, knowing that he needed support, let him stay. They cremated the body, and Apollo stayed with the hunters for a week in mourning. As thanks, he created a small statue of his love holding a platter of ambrosia, and tipped goblet, overflowing with nectar. Neither would ever run out.

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Over many years he would take other lovers, but none could fill the space his Athanasia had left in his heart.

He saw her again in Troy. She had a different name, but the same face, the same hair, the same eyes, the same passion for healing, only this time, she had a passion for music as well. It was all to easy for him to become part of her life, and once again, he was in love.

Then the war happened.

She was the reason he had sided with Troy. If she hadn't been there, he probably wouldn't have cared. As the city burned, he searched for her, only to find her body. Having been raped and killed. Again he went to the Hunt with her body. Again he spent a week in mourning.

He would find her again and again and again. Always the same, the only differences being the place, and her name. Sometimes twenty or thirty years apart, sometimes a hundred or two, and every time he would bring her body to the Hunt before he could wed her. She never seemed to live longer than a few months after they would meet, so he stopped meeting her, and watched from afar when her found her. Always staying with the Hunt after her death.

Her most recent life had just ended. Her name this time around was Morana Potter, and she died sacrificing herself in a dark forest, outside of a castle, in which wizards and witches were taught. He watched her fall to the new Dark Lord's Killing Curse, and left to tell his sister of his love's latest life. She would love how strong she was and how hard she fought.