Chapter Text
Adelea likes to count her blessings. At the age of 20, she has had her score of ups and downs. Born in the wealthy, respectable and magically established Pendragon family? Super up, it doesn't get any better than that. But having both parents slained during Voldemort's wizarding war? Low point for sure, but she was a newborn and had no memory of said tragedy.
Plus, she was then raised by his grandfather instead of being tossed into an orphanage or passed to an evil envious aunt, so all in all that's an up. Counting her blessings keeps her head optimistic and she thinks she sleeps better that way.
And right now, she really really need to start counting. Because yesterday, she and her grandpa was living at the Pendragon manor in Scotland. Green hills where the land rolls gently beneath the ever changing blue sky, which her grandpa loves to compare with the colour of her eyes.
And today, she woke up to a total catastrophe. Where there used to be luscious green hills are now rocky ruins -vast and broken beyond sense. The blue sky is gone, replaced with dark ominous air where smoke and ash veil the sky. The air hangs thick and sulphureous, heavy with heat that presses against the lungs. The land itself was cracked and uneven, most likely due to earthquakes that may have occurred. She can see some flat land, some sunken and risen in another. Occasionally, there would be holes on the ground, where it would spat ashy hot air to the surface.
"Count your blessings," she said to herself, standing on the 2nd floor balcony of Pendragon manor. "Whatever the fuck going on right now, at least grandpa is here, the manor, the sanctuary is also here. This place looks like it went through hells and back, but it's fine, really,"
"Lea! Stop moping! Come down and see this!" Her grandpa, Godric hollered from the ground. Compared to Adelea's frowning face, he seemed strangely excited and unperturbed by their situation. He was holding a rock on his left hand, while cheerfully waving at Adelea to get her attention.
Adelea sighs, "Yeah, we're definitely going to be fine," she reassured herself, smiled and waved back.
Adelea had heard about the prophecy of the boy who lived, Harry Potter, numerous times. How one Hogwarts' divination professor had talked of a prophecy of a mere babe who would rise in power to defeat the Dark Lord, marking him as his equal, and neither could live while the other survived.
At one point after the first war hastily ended with the disappearance of the Dark Lord, the prophecy was a hot topic. Everyone wanted to talk and speculate about it. Considering that her parents were both killed by Voldemort's fanatic followers, she too was pretty invested.
When she turned eleven, she was so excited to step her feet onto Hogwarts' grounds, and finally meet the legend himself who should also be eleven, but her grandpa had shockingly enrolled her in Beauxbatons instead. She had screamed, fought and asked him a hundred times why.
It wasn't long after that Godric sat her down, and talked of their own prophecy which had spanned over centuries, passed down from one generation to the next generation of Pendragons.