A/N: Hello everyone! Some of you are new people who are unfamiliar with my writing, and some of you are my fabulous friends from The Stone Speaks. Either way, I LOVE YOU and I hope you like The Letter P. I realize that the name is a tad random, but you will understand in time. This chapter is quite short, as it is just a prologue. This is AU – about as AU as it gets. The War is over, and the Light side lost. Dumbledore, Ginny, Professor Sprout, and three under-fourteens are the only survivors at Hogwarts. All of the Weasleys are dead. This is Ginny's story – GWxTMR.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter – as I say every time, if I did own Harry Potter, then Fred Weasley, Lily Potter, Dobby and Dennis Creevey would have survived. And Hedwig. I loved that owl.

The Letter P


Chapter One: P is for Prologue

Sybil Trelawney weaved through the Department of Mysteries, humming a little tune to herself. She really shouldn't be so cheerful at such a grave time, but it was a very catchy song by the Weird Sisters and it really was stuck in her head.

Now. Where shall I put this prophecy?

Trelawney was quite pleased with herself. She hadn't made a prophecy for seventeen years – that one about that Longbottom boy had been very important, and she was very pleased to have created it… shame about Neville. Destined to be the saviour of the Wizarding World; ignored by all because of a deception of Harry Potter being the hero; and then fell down a flight of stairs on Boxing Day, breaking his neck in three places.

Well, it was only to be expected of such a clumsy boy.

The little old Divination teacher knew that Neville Longbottom was the true saviour, but had Albus believed her? Oh no. It took a huge war, the death of thousands – and, finally, the death of the 'Boy-With-Many-Self-Explanatory-Titles' (Trelawney snorted: Boy Who Lived, My Left Buttock. Oh, what was that on the prophecy? It seemed to have come out of her nose. Glancing around, she rubbed it off) – before anyone would acknowledge that she was right for once.

And by that time, poor Neville was nailed in a wooden box somewhere, six feet under.

Dear, dear.

The pitter patter of her small slippered feet echoed lightly through the prophecy room. Where should this go? Trelawney frowned through her large glasses. Aha. She smiled triumphantly and fitted it in a space between two slightly larger glass balls.

The prophecy foretold the terrible ducks returning. One day, very soon, Trelawney feared, they would grow teeth, and would swarm and attack Birmingham. They should be evacuated, Trelawney mused, but, as per norm, her pleas of vacating the city were ignored by the Dark council.

His Lord and Master of the Universe Voldemort had created a council, in place of a Ministry of Magic, though he still resided in the Ministry building. After destroying all Muggle-borns and Squibs, he had insisted on having a Dark council to ensure that everything went as evilly as he wanted.

Smiling still, Trelawney moved away from the shelf. Her satchel swung around and struck it. She gasped, turning around again. There was a tremendous rocking of glass as thousands of prophecies rolled about, but, thankfully, only one fell.

She hobbled forwards quickly, and, with reflexes that she did not ever remember having, she caught it. Trelawney shifted her glasses higher up her crooked nose and peered down at it. It was swirling oddly, and smoking. What the… The prophecy cooled down, and, then, humming quietly, it spoke.

"When He rises up again,

It will signal the very end.

Of wizards, and Squibs, and Muggles alike,

All destroyed because of His spite.

But there is one to save the world,

And that is a terribly ordinary girl.

Blessed by her ignorance,

rescued by insolence.

Born the day that He first fell,

Growing up strong, and to rebel.

The youngest and fairest and purest of seven,

His number.

A boy in black,

Becomes a man,

Lest he be saved,

Destruction planned.

To free the world,

She destroys His heart

Else, should our world

Fall apart.

Beware the girl with the signature red,

To save the world, you must heed what I said."

Trelawney's eyes were as wide as saucers. The prophecy! It had spoken to her! And – and it had spoken of a way to defeat the Lord and Master of the Universe! How had she heard it, though? The prophecy could only be heard by those it referred to, or the one who made it.

Removing her glasses with her free hand, and rubbing her eyes, before returning her spectacles to their original place, Trelawney peered up towards where it had fallen from.


An empty space, where a crystal ball should be.

She stood on tiptoe and read the golden-plated tag saying who it was created by: Cassandra Trelawney III.

Of course! Feeling smug of herself, Trelawney grinned. This incredible prophecy had been made by her great-great-grandmother. She glanced around nervously; no-one was watching. It would not be at all good if the Death Eaters found out about this before Dumbledore did.

She tucked the crystal ball into her black cloak, fixed her spectacles again, turned on the spot, and disappeared into the land between Here and There.

Albus Dumbledore watched the prophecy intently from above his steepled fingers. Three days had passed since Sybil had come to him with this incredible discovery. Three days he had been thinking very carefully about this, and he was now sure of whom it indicated.

The one with fiery red hair. The youngest of seven. The rebel. The one born on Hallowe'en, the day that the 'Lord and Master of the Universe' fell from power upon attacking the Potters.

He sighed, pushing a strand of wavy gray hair back from his withered old face. Today. It was precisely a year since the Great War – since so many died. The Head Girl, Granger. The Head Boy, Malfoy. The Boy-Who-Lived, the hero, Harry James Potter. Minerva McGonagall. Rubeus Hagrid, at the hand of his own (Imperiused) creatures. That nice Prefect, Dennis Creevey, who got him sherbet lemons last Christmas, and his brother, Colin. Severus Snape. Every Weasley ever to set foot in Hogwarts. Save for one.

And she, Dumbledore was certain, held the fate of the entire world in palms of her little hands.

A/N: Like it? Let me know if you do! Please review, tell me if you don't understand or if you think that I should make something clearer. Thank you to my beta SilverXan, and enjoy the rest of the fic!