Prologue – The Prophecy Of Sybill Trelawney
There once was a prophecy, made by a middling British seer called Sybill Trelawney during the most important job interview of her life one rainy day in the back room of a dingy little pub nestled within a secret community in Scotland. Her prophecy – the first she had ever truly made – concerned the potential fall of a dark wizard terrorist at the hands of a child and therefore end the grip of tyranny on the land once and for all. It claimed that a child joined by bonded friends would stand a chance at ending the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all:
The child with the power to vanquish the darkest of wizards approaches…
born to those who have thrice defied Voldemort, born as the last sun of the seventh cycle sets…
the Dark Lord will mark the child as his equal, but the one bound by fate and destiny will have power foreign to the Dark Lord's darkest soul…
and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while their opposite survives or thrives…
the fated one will work hand in hand with a Guild of Lightning and will be joined in battle by the bonded friends, for alone the fated one will fall but together the light bringer may yet rise…
the fated one will be born as the last sun of the seventh cycle sets…
At this time the wizards of Great Britain knew of only two children that had been born on the final day of July and who fit the requirements of the prophecy. A baby girl to the Potter family and a baby boy to the Longbottom's. Unfortunately a follower of Voldemort overheard the first two lines of the prophecy and so the Dark Lord set his sights on his prophesised enemies, at the same time the most powerful of the light wizards Albus Dumbledore advised both families to go into hiding.
The Potter family however placed their trust in the wrong man and on Halloween of the girls second year the Dark Lord would find them and orphan the young girl at a cost far greater than he had expected, a cost that would lead to him spending the next decade without a body until a sympathiser of his would stumble upon him.
"Not Isabella," Lily pleaded, her voice breaking, "not Isabella. Please, not Isabella."
"Stand aside, you silly girl." Voldemort jeered, "Stand aside, now."
"Not Isabella," she repeated, more boldly this time. "Take me instead, just please, not Isabella…"
Voldemort took another step towards the young woman, studying her fierce expression as he stood over her, her defiant eyes turning up to him.
"Please, not Isabella… Have mercy," she begged, silently incanting the words for her sacrificial protection. "She's just a child, spare her please..."
Voldemort raised his wand with a sudden swiftness he brought it down wordlessly, a blinding flash of green light enveloped the room, and Lily Potter fell where she stood young Isabella Potter watching on in youthful befuddlement.
A shrill, cold laugh echoed menacingly throughout the house as the Dark Lord stood over the crib, aiming his wand dead centre for the infant's face where a curious set of runes where drawn in blood. Paying the runes little attention Voldemort, whose grin only widened in delight, directed his wand and his cold calculating voice incanted, "Avada Kedavra!"
There was another flash of green light that illuminated the room, followed swiftly by a wave of red and purple light collapsing back on the Dark Lord, who let out an agonising howl as his body tore itself apart.
Her magic exhausted Isabella Potter drifted off into a deep and peaceful sleep and knew no more.