Life is writ upon the sands of Time

And Destiny etched upon the stones of the Monolith

I wait here for Fate to make up its mind

For I know the stars have cursed me

Predetermined my life and playing out my end.

Destiny is destiny and always only a breath away, but what if yours was different, stranger than rest? What if yours wasn't just written in the stars but also etched on stone, on ancient parchments hidden deep within the memories of those long dead, permeating your world as prophecies and legends? What would become of you? What would become of fate?

I stand here now telling you of what has been, what will be and all that shall never come to pass. You ask how I know, be patient and it will be revealed. My story starts very simply, I was conceived but that is all that remains understandable. You see I was not supposed to be born, I was a miracle to my parents, an ominous warning to my grandmother and a joy to my family, but to the rest of the world I was a mere pulse in the eternal flow of life. What did it matter whether I lived or died? Many asked the question later, after everything was said and done, it was an academic one of course because it did matter. When I lived hope lasted, when I died everything else was lost as well. It seems presumptuous, even arrogant and self-absorbed, but you'll see what I mean. My words will seem like an understatement later on, after you know everything that happened and is still unfolding.

It all began with my brother, they say he was more misunderstood than I and I concur. It was his final year at Hogwarts, and what they chalked up to being the moody actions of a teenager were actually the methodical preparations of an ambitious young man who wanted so badly to be recognized by the world and most importantly, by his family. He had been researching for his Ancient Runes final essay during Christmas break when he came upon the one thing that changed the course of his life and later, that of human history. They say every beginning has an ending and every ending has a beginning but unlike other stories told around a campfire or housed in great tomes of myth and legend, this one begins at the end and then comes full circle.

For his essay, my brother was researching on Arthurian legend, trying to uncover the hidden tapestry of time that led to Arthur becoming the ruler of Avalon and then his unfortunate end. Ofcourse no story would be complete without the retelling of the tragic loves that bound the myth of Arthur to the mortal realm. He was the son of the Pendragon and the witch, both of whom were never supposed to have met nor fallen in love. Yet he was conceived and thus began his story. Most like to claim that his life began when he met Guinevere, but others know it actually began when he consummated his love with his sister, Morgaine. Of course as everyone with a working knowledge of Arthurian legend knows, a son by the name of Mordred was born of this union. After Arthur's death ofcourse, Mordred's line also fades from memory; his line is now most greatly feared, for its relation with the evil forces that were Mordred's constant companions and the incestuous birth from whence he came. The only line that continues from Guinevere is that of Lancelot's which became intertwined with the blood of the Magi to create the Wizarding population. Magical ability in Britons and Anglo-Saxons descends from the Magi, the only bloodline that predates history. It is an ancient and variable line that permeates the very essence of magic in the entire world, from it comes Rowena, Helga, Godric and Salazar's lines as well. The ancient Houses of Weasley, Black, Malfoy, Zabini, Nott, Potter, Avery, Doiron, Lusignan, Tudor and ofcourse the most privileged of these lines, Pruett.

The line Pendragon is said to have been lost, but since the Oracle's Prophecy at Stonehenge, many have begun to search again for strain of Arthur's bloodline through Mordred. It is believed that the sword Excalibur, returned as it was to the Lady of the Lake at Arthur's death, awaits the new Heir to Avalon and will be wielded by the one who will return Avalon to it former glory. Another prophecy speaks of the dead line Pruett rising again through an unlikely heir that will return the ancient house, once and for all to the Nether-realm where the line shall finally be at peace.

Of course both these prophecies are claimed to be revealed at the time of a great crisis that the Magi might face, and as many believe that the situation will be soon upon us with the rise of Voldemort once again, the belief in the prophecies by the general Wizarding population has risen quite rapidly. Where once Stonehenge was abandoned to the Muggle population, many more are returning to it during the Fires of Beltane, to leave offerings for the gods of Merlin and Nimue, hoping and praying for salvation.

Ofcourse, it all seems to make sense in retrospect, and why shouldn't it. But my brother, the only of my blood to stand by me through the Trials, was the one who realized that the prophecies that the Wizarding World held so dear had already come to pass. The instant Voldemort killed the last one of the line of Pruett, another rose up in me, I was meant to be stillborn, dead because Lily would have sacrificed her husband and son for the greater good. But Lily had always been the selfish one, and I had to suffer life. I was born the instant Voldemort cursed her to death, the placenta broke upon the ground and another life was forged from the depths of despair.

So, another line of Pruett rises and this time they will not be denied. The ancestors call out to me at night, in dreams that I know are visions of hell. They demand that I pay the price of my blood and return them to flesh and let them depart for the nether-realms, this I cannot do, as it will require of me the sacrifice of my humanity. In this half-lived life, where nothing has ever seemed to go my way, I treasure all that I have been given. I, who was meant for non-being, now exist in time and space. To give up even this pathetic little existence is inconceivable, even those who are at death's door realize the futility of death right before they succumb to it. Were I the Dark Lord or others before him; I might enjoy giving up that last shred of human will to accept my destiny. After all, it entails a life of immortality, never staring death in the face again, yet I would take a thousand deaths than an eternal life never fulfilled…