Disclaimer: I don't own Hermione, Grindelwald, Voldemort, nor the Sacred 28. I do, however, own Sagitta and Prattertome. I will continue to own these, therefore I won't tag a disclaimer on every chapter. Consider this an umbrella disclaimer.
A/N: Beyond the first paragraph, everything is a recount of the information found in Hermione's book.
Hermione sat pouring over the book all night. As the sun came up, she sat back and closed the book, rubbing her eyes, shocked by the things she had just read. Originally, there were 29. One bad decision, one secret hidden, and then there were 28.
Before Grindelwald, there was another. Plinexis Prattertome, now lost to history, buried by lies, could be hailed as a force more terrible than Voldemort or Grindelwald. Even the powers they held combined couldn't match his while he was asleep. He had been known to lash out in said sleep, able to shoot straight and true even with both eyes closed. He'd left wreckage in his wake, only destroying selectively, although no one could figure out why he had targeted certain victims. It had been seemingly random, though clearly well planned and thought out. Each position of his minions had been so carefully orchestrated; those attacks in which he'd led others, not a single Auror had been able get through to his line of fire if he's so desired. Purely on a show of sheer strength and power, Prattertome had raided homes and had set public squares on fire singlehandedly. Never had an Auror matched him, even the most powerful of curses had been deflected to form mere papercuts. Those had served only to incense him further, most often resulting in a pile of ashes where the Auror had once stood.
Clearly to his enemies, he had brought his wrath swirling upon them, terrorizing those who he'd decided would get him where he needed. To his supporters, those too cowed to oppose him, and those who doted on his every desire, Prattertome had showed the greatest of mercies. To those decidedly neutral, he had surprisingly refused to bring harm; he had simply enjoyed anything which destroyed them, only never causing the destruction himself.
In that time, Purebloods had been the leaders, the government, the healers, the innovators. Each and every pureblood family had pride in its stature, blood supremacy the only ideal. 29 such true Pureblood families existed. 28 had supported Prattertome, some from fear, all clearly believing that his strikes against muggleborns were justified. The 29th family, the House of Sagitta, had remained neutral, never taking any sides in any war, only loyal to family. No cause was desperate enough for them to break their peaceful natures. The other families had respected their tendencies and ideals, and they'd even gone as far as to divulge deep secrets to the trustworthy Sagitta.
The terror reign had continued, outside the blissful bubble occupied by the elite. One day in the hot summer months of 1880, Prattertome had gathered the people of magical Britain to his countryside manor. There on a stage raised for all to see, the great man stood, dressed in black from head to toe. With poise, he began to speak what was to be his last speech.
"From my soul, there will be three. Each will serve to uphold my name. Each will be driven by a single goal, stronger than anything else. The first will rise before you soon, heed my words. Driven by power he shall be, the need to control, to master over all. Betrayed, he will be, by one close at hand. The second will bring about the end of the first, obsessed with immortality. He shall rise twisted, and reign twisted, and die twisted, and haunt, still twisted. The third will rise against the odds, ending the regime of the second. A queen she shall be, consumed with revenge. Her path is unclear, either demolishing this earth to watch it burn, or tearing it to shreds to bring from the ashes something anew, a greater peace.
Same they are, yet so different. Each to be mocked as youth, each to be stripped of innocence before the need arose. Two will seem pointedly Dark from childhood, never shaking it, while the other will start Light. Two will befriend the guardian of the Light, while the other will destroy ever semblance of that side. Two can be saved with the most innocent of Light powers, one for whom it will be too late, while the other will remain unaffected. Each will know the hallows, will be one step to mastering Death himself, yet will never succeed.
Know this, people of magic, no mere mortal nor wise wizard will be able to survive all three. Far and wide you may run, but my soul, you will never outrun. Fight all you may, but the future will unfold. Learn from the first, learn from the second. Save the third. Save yourselves and this world. I am but the first manifestation, I enjoy having the world at my feet. May terror spiral insanity now for a long while yet as I take my leave."
With those parting words and a bow, Prattertome waved his wand and ascended a short set of steps, walking off the other end into nothingness all around.
A/N: Hope you know who the first, second, and third parts of Prattermore's soul are! The next chapter will shed some light on how 29 became 28. Reviews are wonderful, as always!
