Prophecy at Vault 712
April 26th 1867
She was tense, her brown eyes stared bleakly into the self-stirring cauldron. Her black hair swayed from side to side with her curls battering against her thin neck. Her smile was tainted with concern. It was April 26th - four days before her sixteenth birthday. Her assignment for the moment was to create a potion that cleans wounds. Every twitch of liquid inclined her to watch the bubbles like a main hunt. Her professor's words were all ramble to her, it wasn't as if he built the first television. He stirred substances for a living and was worthy of ignorance. She could feel Ethan Bexley's gaze constructing it's move toward her cauldron to which she replied by turning away.
Her name was Millie Luckless. The irony in her name wasn't missed by her nor her classmates but settling down in Potions was one of the easiest things she could've done that day. Not attending class might've shown she had some sort of life. Rolling her eyes she tried flipping through pages and pages of notes to help her with her assignments while Ethan's creepy looks persisted. Ethan was one of the guys that no matter what happened to anyone else, they were always going to get what they want. She knew this, everyone talked about it. People still care about all the guys that he'd tied to the roof - his thing.
The only reason she spoke to him was because they were both chasers for Ravenclaw. If they hadn't tactics they wouldn't win a single match. Either way, Millie wasn't eager to test that theory. Next match they were going for intense entrapment of the opposite team who had a boulder for a keeper. The very moment that class finished he approached her with a painful slap on the back. She almost yelped before spinning around to see a phone next to Ethan's ear.
"It's the English Quidditch team on the phone, they say you should get your act together before the next game" he sneered.
"I'm pretty sure I'm not the chaser that needs to up his game" the nerve of him, she thought.
"Who are you talking about then?" he smirked.
"Well he has gray eyes, bad hair, stands like a woman and dresses like Satan" with a satisfied grin and challenging eyebrows she carried on walking through the dungeons, sincerely hoping for entertainment's sake that he'd follow. She clutched onto her winter cloak as her walk with Ethan turned into a random patrol of the Hogwarts grounds. A regular occurrence since she joined the Quidditch team. She'd told Ethan all about how she had transferred from Bearscar School of Modern Necromancy in Norway when her mother became a Healer for the Hospital wing back in October, it seemed that he gave her the acoustical advantage to speak because Ethan seemed to be a good listener.
Then, on the 13th January 1897, she married him…