Romance Awareness Month - write a soulmate AU of your choosing.

Assignment #3 Hogwarts - Arithmancy: write about someone changing their mind after a fortune telling.

1436 words.

'I fail to see why this is necessary, Mother,' Helena said, without looking up from her book. She idly turned a page. 'The orb never showed thee thy true love.'

'If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Helena,' Rowena Ravenclaw sighed, coming to stand before her petulant daughter. 'The orb never showed me my true love, because thy father was a Muggle. It only works for magical beings.'

'And what if my true love were a Muggle?'

'Then thou wouldst know for sure if the orb remains dull,' Rowena shot back, aware that her daughter had inherited her critical mind. The only way to get Helena to do anything was through an argument. However, she would have liked it if once, just once, Helena had trusted her.

'Thou willst not stop to pester me until I go, willst thou?' Helena asked, closing her book with a snap. Her expression was one of longsuffering as she added. 'Very well, Mother, let us see what the soothsayer hath to say of my soulmate.'

Rowena was relieved. She had been coaxing Helena for months to visit the soothsayer, as the crystal ball only worked for those of seventeen years of age - the cusp between childhood and adulthood. Every wizard and witch in Britain went to the soothsayer, save Helena Ravenclaw. Rowena could only imagine what the other founders would have to say about that. Is thy daughter too good for the soothsayer? Is there something wrong with her? If thou cannot control thy own child, why would we trust thee with fifty?

Of course, they would never say that. But Rowena was certain they would think it, and her reputation would suffer. Rowena Ravenclaw, the witch who knows everything - or too little? Rowena Ravenclaw, always in control save where it matters most.

'Thank you, Helena,' Rowena replied, letting only a little of her gratitude show. It wouldn't do to have Helena realise what her mother was thinking. She had little respect for her as it was.

Oh, curse the fates who gave me such a beautiful and strong-willed daughter, she thought, raising her blue eyes to the heavens. She will be the death of me.

The soothsayers tent was almost comical in appearance, or so Helena thought. The purple banners and trails of incense, coupled with the dream catchers, gave her the impression that the woman was but a charlatan, and a poor one at that.

The woman herself was a wizened crone, her hair falling out and one bottom tooth jutting forth. Her brow had sunk low over her eyes, the filmy orbs themselves sunken into their sockets. In short, she was everything that a fate should be, and yet everything about her seemed practiced, false.

I do not believe in destiny, Helena thought firmly, keeping her expression aloof. She knew what people said of her, that she was too arrogant, too haughty, too opinionated. She would not give this "soothsayer" the satisfaction of reading even a little of her emotions.

She took a deep breath before sitting down. On anyone else, this would be construed as a sign of nervousness. For Helena, this meant that she was strengthening her Occlumency walls, a magic she had learnt from Salazar Slytherin himself. Only a precious few were deemed worthy of learning this skill, and Helena had been one of them. Much to her surprise, the impetuous Septimus Rosier - Baron Septimus Rosier now - was one of them. Even more so was the fact that Septimus had been a natural.

Your thoughts are drifting, she chided herself. An organised mind begets an organised life. Immediately, she felt angry at herself for using one of her mother's sayings. Still, it worked, so she sat, and let the soothsayer begin.

'Look into the crystal,' the witch said in a surprisingly low voice. 'What seest thou?'

'I'm not a Seer,' Helena replied bluntly. 'I will see naught but my own reflection.'

Rowena made a dissatisfied sound from the corner of the tent, but neither Helena nor the soothsayer paid her any attention.

'Quid video, vides, quid sentit, sentis,' the witch suddenly intoned, suddenly reaching across the table and grasping Helena's hand.

'Unhand me, foul being!' Helena cried, trying to pull back. The witch kept a hold of it with surprising force.

'Do not interrupt the process, Helena,' Rowena warned.

I care nothing for the process, Helena thought, and was about to say as much when the soothsayer hissed a cutting spell. Bright red blood trickled from Helena's palm, spattering the orb below.

Immediately, the droplets sunk into the crystal, as though the glass were feeding on Helena's blood. If Helena wasn't so terrified, she would have wished to study it. As it was, curiosity was far from her mind.

She wanted to leave the tent far behind her, and never return. She wanted to scream at her mother for tricking her so, but instead she was rooted to her seat, her eyes drawn to the crystal, which had turned a red so dark it was nearly black.

Trying to fight it, to fight the force that had taken control of her body, Helena wrenched her eyes closed, but soon enough they opened and turned to stare at the crystal once more. Her struggles were forgotten as the darkness seemed to swirl hypnotically.

Suddenly, she gasped as a wave of emotion pushed into her, nearly knocking her backwards. A myriad of love and sadness whirled in her heart, pushing at it painfully.

'One heart is not enough for such depth,' she whispered.

The crone leaned forwards, eagerly licking her lips.

'Tell me more,' she said, still with that unnaturally deep voice. 'Tell me, and I will see them.'

'There is so much pain,' Helena said weakly, the words spilling from her lips as they had never before. 'Suffering from old wounds that still weep, suffering taken from another's heart, and suffering from a love never returned. I see… a glimpse of forest green, the hand of determination and strength, but also fear borne of a father's will. I feel…'

'I see him now, yes,' the soothsayer said, touching a hand to the orb. 'Hair of the darkest brown, but not as black as the heart of the father. Eyes as deep a blue as the ocean, to capture the depths of the soul within. The silver of wealth, the green of ambition. Thy love is a Slytherin, of the finest breed.'

The spell stopped. The colour receded from the crystal, leaving it clear once more. Helena blinked and slumped back, no longer held in her seat. She felt as though emerging from a haze, but once her head was clear, she did not hesitate for an instant.

'That was dark magic,' she accused the soothsayer. 'I did not give my blood willingly.'

'Thy mother was willing and her blood runs in thy veins,' the old crone said. 'It needed coaxing, but it responded to its kind.'

'Mother,' Helena turned around to face Rowena, trying to hold her tears in check. 'How could thee?'

'It was for thy own good, my daughter,' Rowena replied, coming forwards to lay a hand on her daughter's arm. Helena shook it off, unable to stand the touch.

'Wishest thou to know the answer to thy question?' the soothsayer asked, as though she had not performed one of the darkest of rituals.

'That was no question of mine,' Helena said darkly, but tried to think rationally. She had suffered for the information, and though it was not information sought, it was information all the same and it would be a waste to leave it. 'Very well.'

'Thy love is Baron Septimus Rosier,' the old crone replied. 'His three sufferings are those of childhood, family, and love for a maiden who would not have him. Wilt thou have him now?'

Helena thought back to Septimus Rosier, as she had known him at school. He was impetuous, he was dangerous, he was arrogant. Yet he knew no match with the sword and his magic was strong. He ever had a courteous word for her, too courteous. Helena knew that if she sought him out, he would seek nothing but her happiness for the remainder of her days.

Then she thought to the methods her mother had used, how happy Rowena would be, how disgusted Helena would feel at the mere memory of this encounter.

'No,' she replied. 'I will not.'

And with that she left the tent, and England itself, vowing never to return. For although Helena now believed in destiny and fate, that did not mean that she could not run from it as long as she still took breath.

'Quid video, vides, quid sentit, sentis,' - What I see, you see; what he/she feels, you feel.