It sates itself on the life-blood

of fated men,

paints red the powers' homes

with crimson gore.

Black become the sun's beams

in the summers that follow,

weathers all treachery.

Do you still seek to know? And what?

Brothers will fight

and kill each other,

sisters' children

will defile kinship.

The eagle shrieks, pale-beaked,

he tears the corpse.

It is harsh in the world,

whoredom rife

an axe age, a sword age

shields are riven—

a wind age, a wolf age—

before the world goes headlong.

No man will have

mercy on another.

-as foretold by the Cimmerian Sibyl in AD 473


The events that lead the avatars of the Norse gods of old to the Ragnarok of the new world, as faithfully recorded by Megan and Aerin.


It was a cold night.

On the Isle of Azkaban, all the nights were cold. But tonight, the breeze blew off the North Sea in frigid splendor, carrying the smell of brine. It was not only the wind, however, that chilled the ferryman and forced a tear from his eye. He had broken his cardinal vow, that night, and nothing could bring repentance.

The prison of Azkaban grew smaller on the horizon as the barely sea-worthy sampan traversed the choppy waters. The ferryman shuddered, forced his mind away from the news he would have to break when he reached the shore.

Ronald Weasley was dead.

And it was his fault.

Full Fic Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Norse mythology, or any constituents. Also, the prophecy is adapted from sections of the Poetic Edda, accessed through Wikipedia's page about "Ragnarok."