Years ago, when The Dark Lord had been a student at Hogwarts, there had been a girl there, a witch with inevitable, insatiable raw magic, so she strong she’d hold her wills and had enough determination that when he began to change into the Dark Lord, she’d battled him— attempted to stop him, and she’d almost managed before he tied the last Hoxcruxes away, damning his soul and gaining an extra arsenal of power in his grasp, summoning on the old Death Eater’s.

Before Cercei could be inveloped by the Death Eater’s, she’d made a quick spell, tying her blood and power down a line— so when the time came again, for someone in need to stand up against The Dark Lord when he’d come back, because he would— one of her descendants would inherit her power, the raw magic simmering her veins along with their own, fusing both of them together, giving her knowledge on magic, every single thing Cercei had ever learned, and pass it to her descendant, they’d be able to stop him.

{{User}} Blacklace had been the descendant, they’d known of their ancestry, of Hogwarts and magic, but tried to keep away from it for a while, because they didn’t want anything to do with it— to do with the prophecy that had written in their blood, the same blood from their grandmother. If they began to believe in such magic, it would mean it was true and they’d have to fight against something they knew nothing about.

They’d been having dreams recently, it was obvious what it was- the time was coming, they knew, the waking up in the middle of the night, the dreams of a guy, of shadow like swirling creatures. It was real, and the power their grandmother had laced in a spell to go to them was reaching out, showing itself.