PROPHECY CHILD

1

Lyra Dorea Potter or better known as the girl-who-lived was a girl who prided herself for her patience, but seeing her Walrus of an uncle shout at her, made her clench back the magic swelling in her, begging for a release to be put use, to teach this man his place, but she did not do that instead she just nodded her head and refrained herself from rolling her eyes.

"-- do you understand, girl?" He spat as I took a deep breath and nodded, " yes uncle Vernon." I said sweetly as I moved towards my room or the Dursleys, my cousin's second room which I only got after I went to Hogwarts as before then she used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.

I walked into the room and automatically went and opened the Arithmancy Book and made myself comfortable in the bed and wandlessly casted the Wingardium Leviosa charm and read the book and flicked my finger for the book to turn the pages as I read the book, knowing that even though I have not taken Arthimancy it is an useful subject.

The entire summer went the same as before, consisting of reading and learning books contents knowing that when the eyes pry I would have to act as an oblivious and naïve idiot, who doesn't have the lick of knowledge about anything.

The scar which sat on my forehead sometimes sent jolts of pain making me hiss and the dreams which I was having weren't pleasant either as they usually contained Voldemort and the filthy traitor Pettigrew.

Lyra got up from her bed and looked at the full length mirror in the corner of her safe haven which she had admittedly put a wandless Muggle Repellent Charm, and saw her bright green eyes looking at her coldly and her black hair which she had made tidy with the help of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, which was made by my ancestor himself.

Her eyes darted to her forehead and she looked at the famous lightning bolt scar, to see it like usual and sighed heavily knowing from the dreams and pain jolts that Voldemort is going to play his move this year, as admittedly he had been silenced for about three years.

And that son of a bitch, would just love to kill me.

How ironic this situation truly is, Voldemort wants to kill me and Dumbledore wants me to kill Voldemort but I wouldn't be in this situation long enough for any of them to touch a single strand of my head.

I looked around the room and saw that there were an extraordinary number of unusual things in the room. A large wooden trunk stood open at thefoot of his bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and spell books.

Rolls of parchment was stacked in that part of my desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cage in which my snowy owl, Hedwig, usually perched.

On the floor beside my bed abook lay open; Lyra had been reading it before she fell asleep last night .

The pictures in this book were all moving. Men in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks,throwing a red ball to one another.

I walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball througha fifty-foot-high hoop. Then snapped the book shut in irritation as the best sport in the world-- Quidditch could not even distract her from the ridiculous situation she is stuck in.

She in an attempt to distract herself imagined what her 'friends' would suggest if she were to tell them that her scar hurt.

She closed her eyes and imagined Hermione Granger and she could hear the replies word by word and she knew she wasn't even wrong.

Hermione Granger would say something along the lines that I should tell Dumbledore and she would check in the books.

Like that would help, who else has survived Lord Voldemort's wand other than her? And Dumbledore? He would just be gleeful that he got his precious little weapon to finally murder the bastard and he would swoop in and claim credit for it.