OK, let's start something. Nothing is original anymore, but I shall try my best to avoid cliche situations! (Though ultimately they are unavoidable, aren't they?) Wish me luck! (I'm going to need it.) Treading even semi-new ground can be scary! Who'd have imagined that?
CLAIMER: All the 'legends' are completely my own! No stealing or I WILL come after you!
DISCLAIMER: All the HP characters you recognize are very much not mine... I am just borrowing for the sake of entertainment, not making any profit by it and all that rot...
The Oracle
A Bit of History...
Of a rather lanky, yet elegant figure, she has the lightest sea-foam coloured hair that reaches her ankles and looks as if there is always a breeze blowing it back gently. Her eyes are said to be pure white and terrifying to look at for more than a moment. No one has ever heard her voice, for she speaks in the voice of the one whom she is addressing. She has a very calm demeanor, but when crossed will open her mouth wide as if to scream. None but her victim will hear the ear-piercing screech, and then he or she shall fall permanently deaf, for they have failed to heed her word and so shall never hear another sound again.
The Oracle though, does not forget, and she knows not forgiveness. Only the Mages of Time may tell, but then even they may not know, for the Oracle works not through or with time, but she bends it to her will. What is to be will be, what is to happen will happen.
The Mages of Time are twin brother and sister. Together they watch over the present, but ultimately have no say in it. Their job? To see to it that the will of the Oracle is realized, be it for good or not.
During new moons and the winter solstice the sister takes on the form of a small child, though the rest of the year she is an adult woman (though she is not very old, she is of indistinguishable age) She has jet black hair and pale lilac eyes. She controls all youths and pasts.
Her brother, during full moons and summer solstice takes the form of an ancient old man, and throughout the rest of the year, he is a teenaged boy. With constant white hair, and pitch black eyes. He, similarly to his sister controls all those who are elderly, and futures.
Yes, when we forget our roots, where our beliefs stem from, they tend to bite back. With a vengeance.
---Prologue---
So many damned obstacles! So many, and every hurtle they jumped only led them to be thwarted at the end? What kind of a cruel fate was this?'Why?! It isn't fair!'
The glass vase that was hurled across the room hit the wall and was smashed into tiny pieces. Papers flew off the desk with a sweep of a hand and they fluttered gracelessly to the floor.
'Why me?!?! WHY!?? What did I do to deserve this?!'
A table was kicked over, one of it's legs smashed in the process as it fell atop the mess already littering the floor. The young woman didn't seem to notice, or rather, she didn't care as her rampage continued on.
With a flick of her wand all the windows in the small flat slammed shut. No one needed to hear her venting.
She stalked into another room, paced a moment, then saw something that made her bubble up with renewed anger. She snatched up the picture of a sullen looking Dumbledore, his eyes widened just before the small picture, frame and all, was tossed violently into the fire. It landed with a loud crash.
Tears were brimming in her eyes, and she held them back as best she could. She couldn't, they came anyway. 'Gods! I can't even control this!!!!' She thought of her tears, swiping at them in a fit of torrid anger.
She pounded her fist into a mirror on the wall, shattering it, tearing up her own delicate hand as she slowly broke down into sobs. The softening blows were punctuated with a series of whispers, "Why, why, why....?"
The woman slid down the wall, spent and bleeding. Crying, and feeling ready to just simply die. Life seemed to hate her more than it was humanly possible. Not just her, but her best friends, everyone she cared for.
Wasn't good supposed to win out over evil? Wasn't she one of the good- guys? It made no sense. Perhaps she had it all horribly twisted? No! That was ludicrous, her life was simply horrid.
"God dammit, WHY?!?!?!" she screamed at the top of their lungs.
Several minutes passed, or perhaps it had been hours. She didn't know, nor did she care. Her immediate anger had faded, but her raw hurt was still prickling at the surface. 'Another death....' her mind whispered. And this one hit home. One of her very best and dearest friends. The one of them who had suffered quite terribly since he was a small child because of the never-ending war against Voldemort and his death-eaters.
Running her good hand through her brown hair she glanced at the clock. Through her blurry vision she could see it was practically three am. She and a few of the others had to meet Dumbledore for a secret meeting shortly.
Eyes still red, and holding her injured hand gently she went to the bathroom to wash up before leaving. The blood on her wall and floor could wait. Her shattered objects could lay in defeat for a while. 'After all,' she thought bitterly, 'My life doesn't matter, I am here only to sacrifice everything for the greater good.'
She barely even registered her harsh laugh as she ran her hand under cold water. The red of her blood tainting the sinks pearly whiteness. Just like simple-minded prejudace, it spread from a few solitary drops, before blending with, and extending out to the rest of the water causing dark rings to form on the inside of the sink. More blood cascaded down, darkening the area further, bits of it splattering about as the sink was filling up and the drops of new blood disturbed the surface. "Completely poisoning..." she whispered to no one.
She stared down in wonder, even as the sink was threatening to overflow. It was the very liquid that flowed from her wound that had caused this. Her dirty, muggle blood. Her tainted blood. Blood which was considered unfit to most of the ancient wizarding world.
Insults from her past, and present came fresh to her mind, and suddenly they stung once again. Something they hadn't done in years. She must have been going mad, but she just stared as the bloody water over-flowed, covering the counter, dripping steadily to the floor. But suddenly, it wasn'y blood anymore. It was mud. Thick, vile globs of mud. The very reason she was worthless.
She was nothing but a filthy mudblood. Gods that word stung so bad, even as she was facing the reality for the first time. The completeness of it paralyzed her. She was condemed because of a heritage she had no control over whatsoever. And just like everyone who stood in her defence, she would die at the hands of those who hated her most.
A tingling, warm feeling suddenly spread throughout her body and she woke out of her trance. There was lightly red water covering the floor and her counter, the water still running. And she was still bleeding, ordinary, red blood. It was time to go. She shut off the water, wrapped her hand in guaze quickly, hastily snatching up her wand and disapparting to their meeting place.
---End Prologue---