Thirteenth Gryffindor
I
"Gryffindor!" cried the raggedy old hat.
Professor Flitwick, the ancient headmaster, lifted it from Kendra Potter's straight black hair. The Gryffindor table erupted into applause. Loudest of all were her siblings and cousins. Her black-haired, green-eyed brother Albus, a fourth-year, was shouting "Thirteenth in a row!", the red-haired, blue-eyed James, her seventh-year brother and Head Boy, was yelling "I knew it! I knew she would be Gryffindor!", and her third-year sister, Lily, was jumping up and down, red curls bouncing. Her redheaded cousins, Rose and Hugo, were shrieking at the top of their lungs. Rose and Hugo were Uncle Ronald and Aunt Hermione's kids. Dominique, Ariana, Mollie and Apolline, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur's kids, were calling to her in French, which they had grown up speaking along with English. Uncle George and Aunt Angie's kids, Fred and Roxanne, were just plain yelling. Even Victoire Lupin, the Transfiguration teacher, and Ted Lupin, the D.A.D.A. teacher, were cheering. It was the best day of Kendra's life! She bounced over to the Gryffindor table, green eyes sparkling, and sat between Mollie and Ariana.
Suddenly, her heart started pounding unexpectedly. But why? Then, Kendra remembered a prophecy from the twelfth century. Her mother had read it to her.
The thirteenth Gryffindor will be the Grim of the House.
The thirteenth Gryffindor will be an omen of misfortune.
The Dark Lord lives on through the blood of his dead servant.
The heir will seek revenge upon the man who killed his father.
The thirteenth Gryffindor shall challenge the heir.
The thirteenth Gryffindor is heir to the Hallows.
One shall rise, and their house is to be a beacon of hope in dark times.
Kendra was the thirteenth Gryffindor in the family that was sitting in this hall. Her father had killed You-Know-Who. He had told her of Bellatrix Lestrange's twisted devotion to her master. And her father had an Invisibility Cloak, one of the Deathly Hallows. She was the youngest child, which made her the heir of Ignotus Peverell. She was the child of prophecy.
"He killed my father," Mina shouted furiously, pacing the tiny room in a Spinner's End townhouse, "and you told me that now? I've been admiring that stupid poster of Harry Potter for eighteen years, and he killed my father?"
"Now, now, Bellamine," her aunt, Narcissa Malfoy, said in a cool, reasonable tone. "Let's not get too angry about the matter."
"Angry?" Mina thundered. "I'm more than angry! I want to murder them all! I want to go to that stupid school and kill all the Potters, all their friends and relations, and everyone in stupid Gryffindor! I'm a bit more than angry!"
"My dear Bellamine, your father told me that if you ever desired revenge- for he knew that the Horcruxes were gone by this time- I was not to stop you. But he told me that you must spare Slytherin house." Mina Disapparated before you could say "Avada Kedavra". Narcissa sighed. Mina had the ruthlessness of her father, the Dark Lord, and the passion of her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange. Her parents, when together, were the most dangerous wizards in the world. Consolidated into one eighteen-year-old witch, these qualities could cause mass destruction. And nobody wanted more of that.
