Post by LARK on Dec 29, 2010 1:08:55 GMT
The year is 2028, it has been thirty years since the legendary defeat of Lord Voldemort by Harry Potter, the chosen one. After years of terror, the wizarding world is finally at peace. Like the golden twenties of yesteryear, normalcy has returned and the wizarding world is basking in it's golden age of celebration. The economy is booming, the ministry is still standing, and the wizarding community is enjoying a life of wild parties, celebrations, and peace. Love is reigning, and it seems as though another baby boom is about to begin. The wizarding world is flourishing. Or at least, that's how it looks from the outside. In an effort to forget about the "dark years," many older witches and wizards turned to a flagrantly decadent lifestyle, turning a blind eye to any possible repercussions. Is the economy booming? Sure. But are the Gringotts vaults becoming a little dusty, and dare it be said - empty? The balance is precarious at best, and the Ministry is doing its best to keep the one prophesy with the capability of tipping the scale under wraps.
After battling a strange disease for weeks, Sybill Trelawney lay on her death bed in the year 2005, a very small group huddled around her, listening to the rattling of her breath, every passing minute signaling greater and greater struggle. 'It's time,' the healer said softly, 'Visiting hours are over, only family members." Knowing it was the last time they would see her alive, each member of the group took a few moments to say their goodbyes before quietly leaving the room. The last person in the room looked at the woman before her and looked up at the healer. 'Can I have a moment alone? For the last time?' Minerva McGonagall said. The healer nodded, 'I'll be right outside,' the healer said. McGonagall leaned down to the dying woman, grasping her hand carefully, when suddenly Trelawney's hand clamped down, encasing Minerva's in a vice-like grip as her body suddenly went rigid.
An unearthly sound began to come from her lips, a voice comprised of the beginnings of a death rattle combined with the rustling of dead leaves across a dying forest floor. "Two generations from now, one will be born with the power to rival that of the Dark Lord. The world will plunge into ruin, and the balance of power shall shift, the only hope of redemption and restoration in the hands of those who least expect it." And as the final word fell from her dying lips, it seemed that every drop of life force bled from Sybill's body, and the hand that had been clutching Mcgonagall's fell limp at her side.
With a quick beating heart, Minerva stared in shock at the dead woman in front of her then quickly looked around the room to ensure that she was the only one who had heard the Seer's dying prophecy. Pulling the blanket up under her chin, Minerva smoothed back Sybill's hair and quickly exited the room, nodding to one of the Healers before rushing to the Ministry. McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, spent hours in his office debating the merit of publicizing Trelawney's dying words, but eventually, the mutual conclusion was reached that it would be kept quiet in an effort continue the rebuilding process of the currently fragile wizarding world.
And so the prophesy was kept under wraps and the wizarding world reached the high swing at which we currently find it. However, while a pendulum may pause at the high point, it must fall back downward eventually. So in this pause, all one can do is find the time to pretend.
IT'S TIME TO PRETEND
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