Never Let Go

Emilia lowered her head, not wanting to hear the prophecy that Dumbledore spoke of. She was already overwhelmed by everything that was going on. One moment she was following Draco, the next she discovered that he had orders to kill Dumbledore, and now, now she was sitting in a room with two of the most powerful wizards in all of Britain, and they were trying to convince her that a prophecy had been made about her. It was all too much for her. That wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was meant to help Harry. He was the important one, the one with the prophecy, not her. No. She was just . . . just Emilia. That was it. There was nothing special about her. The only thing worth noting about her was the family she came from, but she, herself, was nothing remarkable, nothing at all. At least that’s what she kept thinking to herself. She believed that if she convinced herself that there was nothing special about her, that Dumbledore and Snape would forget all about the prophecy, and that she would wake the following morning, with no recollection of the meeting or of Draco’s distressed words.

But that was not meant to happen. Their gaze remained on her, watching as her shoulders slumped forwards and her dark curls fell into her face. They tore their gaze from her and stared at one another, silently asking if it was truly the right moment to unearth the secret that her grandparents had worked so hard to conceal from her. Both knew that there would never truly be a right moment to tell her what they had to. The perfect occasion would never arise. It just had to be done, and they hoped that the teenager would take the news well, or if not well, that she would at least not take it too horribly.

“Emilia.” Dumbledore whispered her name, soft and pleadingly. “Emilia, dear child,” he said a bit louder, hoping that she would raise her gaze to meet his.

Her eyes remained closed, her head tilted downwards. “There can’t be a prophecy about me.”

“But there is.”

“There isn’t.” Emilia declared, rather forcefully. “Don’t you get it? There’s nothing special about me! There can’t be anything special about me! I mean, just look at me. I don’t look like the sort of person that would have a prophecy made after them!”

“I am afraid, my dear, that you are far too harsh on yourself.” Dumbledore commented. “For when I look upon your face, I see a very talented young witch that possesses a heart of gold.”

“If that’s true then why aren’t I in Gryffindor?” she snapped, finally raising her gaze to meet his. “Why did the hat put me in Slytherin?”

“Because I begged it to,” he declared.

“Y-you what?” she stuttered, eyes wide in confusion.

“I begged the hat to place you in Slytherin.” Dumbledore repeated.

“That’s not true.” Emilia refused to believe him. “The hat thought it out. It t-thought about putting me in Gryffindor, but then it started rambling on about Slytherin. If you’d asked it to put me in Slytherin, it wouldn’t have put on a show.”

“It put on a show to keep you in the dark. It put on a show in order to ensure that you would not question why you had been placed in Slytherin, when both your parents had been Gryffindors.” Dumbledore paused before adding. “Though, as we both know, you did question your placement. You did your absolute best to have yourself removed from the dungeons, but nothing helped. Even your grandparents knew that the dungeons were the best place for you to be.”

At the mention of her grandparents, her mind darted back to the last conversation she’d had with them, the conversation in which her grandfather had said, “And in time, you will understand why things happened in the manner that they did.” She’d been furious at that moment, far too outraged to process what either of them had said, but as she sat there, their words began bombarding her. She remembered every look her grandparents had shared on that fateful day, every word they’d uttered. She’d known something strange was going on, that they were hiding something from her. But could their looks and words have been employed to hide a prophecy? Could that have been the reason why? She didn’t want to think it was, but it made sense. Cryptic statements had been exchanged between the elderly witch and wizard. They’d spoken almost in code, and as she sat there, she knew that Dumbledore was telling the truth, that a prophecy had been made about her.

“It’s because of the prophecy that they left me in Slytherin. Isn’t it?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Oh Merlin,” she tilted her head back, covering her eyes with her hand as she did so. “This is so fucked. I'm not supposed to have a prophecy. Harry’s supposed to have a prophecy and I'm just supposed to help him. That’s it! That’s all I wanted to do.”

“And that’s what you’re meant to do.” Dumbledore scooted forwards in his seat. “That’s what your prophecy proclaimed.”

“That I’d help Harry?” she lowered her hands.

“Not just help.”

“Why are you being so cryptic? Why don’t you just tell me? I mean, you’re gonna tell me, so why not just do it and not be all mysterious. Are you getting a kick out of this?”

“Emilia, I assure you that I am receiving no kick from this conversation. I apologize for having been cryptic in my choice of words, it was not my intention.” He paused, searching her face for a sign to continue and when he saw her staring expectantly towards him, he took in a breath. “You are well aware of Harry’s prophecy, of the one made by Professor Trelawney, months before he was born. Unlike Harry’s prophecy, yours was not made before you were born, but instead, months after the birth of Harry.”

“Did Trelawney make it?” she inquired, softly.

“Trelawney was not your seer. Yours was an elderly witch, one whom I was personally acquainted with during my time at Hogwarts and whose friendship I have retained to this very day, though in recent years, Cassandra Vablatsky has retired from public life.”

“Vablatsky,” repeated Emilia. “She sounds familiar.”

“She is a writer, whose books on divination are taught all throughout the world. Surely you have read some of her work.”

“I think I have, in America.” Emilia wracked her mind for the title of the book that she’d read. “Unfogging the Future, is that hers?”

“That is indeed.” Dumbledore answered. “And it was she that made your prophecy, on an autumn day in September.”

“Were you there with her? The day it happened?” she knew it’d be better if she shut up and just let him talk, but she couldn’t help but ask questions.

“I was there.” Snape spoke from beside her.

She turned to look at him, her brows furrowing in bewilderment. “But weren’t you still working for him then? I mean, I don’t when you joined the Order, but weren’t you still a Death Eater?”

“I remained a Death Eater, yes. But my loyalty was to Dumbledore.” Snape replied, his voice remaining emotionless as his heart clenched with the memory of Lily Potter.

“I'm confused.” Emilia shifted in her seat.

“That confusion, I am afraid, will remain intact.” Snape was not about to discuss his personal life with her, he was not going to tell her that he had defected the ranks of Voldemort, in hopes of saving Lily. “What I will discuss is your prophecy and the means in which I received it. Nothing else, is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied.

“Very well,” he slowly stepped towards Dumbledore’s desk and stood beside the elderly headmaster. “As you might imagine, the prophecy concerning Harry struck fear into Voldemort. He was threatened by the infant, terrified of what might come to be if Harry was allowed to live. And so, in an attempt to know what his fate would be, he tracked down Cassandra and kidnapped her. It was a challenge, for she had gone into hiding, shortly after Harry’s prophecy had been made. She was very clever. She knew that Voldemort would seek her, since she was such a celebrated seer. And so she hid, and so he sought her, until finally uncovering her hiding place in early September. She hid well, much better than most would have, but when Voldemort wants to find something, he finds it. And when he found her, he took her to his private residence, a manor which he had stolen from muggles. It was there that she was locked away in the dungeon. It was there that she was tortured, that he nearly killed her on a daily basis. It was there that she dared not utter a word. She screamed, oh, how she screamed, but not a word was uttered. At least, not for the first seventeen days of her confinement,” he closed his eyes, forcing himself to relive the fateful day in which she’d finally spoken. “It was on the eighteenth day that Voldemort decided that he had no use for her and that she would be disposed of, but when he went downstairs, accompanied by Barnshaw and myself, he found her lying on the ground, her eyes wide open, but with a veil that kept them from seeing.”

“Did you hear all of it or did you just catch the end?” she asked.

“I can not say with great certainty if I caught the end or caught her words from the halfway mark, but I can say that I did not hear it in its entirety, but what was heard, sufficed to change everything.” Severus cleared his throat, preparing himself to recite the prophecy. “And tribulations await the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord . . . alone, he will forever be engaged in battle . . . destined to never know peace . . . to partake in duels that may harm the Dark Lord, though never fully destroy him . . . it is only with the golden lion at his side that he will vanquish the evil that plagues the land . . . the golden lion, gifted to the world on the day of presents . . . born to those whose blood runs golden . . . whose courage knows no bounds . . . the golden lion will ensure his victory . . . ensure the return of light to the land . . .”

“Thank you, Severus.” Dumbledore bowed his head in thanks to his friend. “Emilia? I expect you have questions. Please, do ask them.”

Emilia parted her lips to speak but found that communicating was impossible. “I-I . . .” she stuttered. “I can’t even ensure I’ll get to class on time. How am I supposed to make sure he’ll win?” she stared at him with a distraught look on her face. “I can’t be the golden lion. I'm not that. I know I'm not!”

“But you are,” spoke Dumbledore. “There is no one else that it could have possibly spoken of, no one else.”

“Why don’t you go over to St Mungo’s and look through their records? Go find someone else born on Christmas Day!” she ordered. “Go find them and make them the lion!” she was nearing hysterics.

“Simply being born Christmas Day would not be enough to make them the golden lion. There parents would have had to have been courageous Gryffindors.” Dumbledore left his seat and walked towards her, taking the seat at her side. “There is only one individual who meets those requirements.”

“But it can’t be me.”

Dumbledore reached out for her trembling hands and took them into his grasp. “You are the golden lion.”

“I'm Emilia. That’s it.”

“That is not it, and you know it. My dear, in your heart you know that it was always odd that Voldemort would personally hunt, your parents down.”

“I just thought they were really big threats.”

“Your parents were very skill wizards, but they were no direct threat to Voldemort. It was you that was the threat. It was you that, believe it or not, he wanted dead with more urgency than he did Harry. For if you were killed, he could not meet that very fate,” he watched her closely. “That’s why he went for you in July. He believed it to be a simple task. Your parents had never faced him in a duel, so he knew not the extent of their abilities. But your mother fought him; she gave your father enough time to get his wand and apparate to that shack in Scotland.”

“How do you –”

“That shack belongs to me; though to be honest it is more a flat than a shack. There were two bedrooms in there, a library, a bath. It was merely made to look as a shack so it would be ignored. And it was maintained by me, it was I who took groceries, who tidied up whenever I visited, and who bathed and clothed you.”

“So that wasn’t my dad who did that?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Your mother’s death devastated your father. He was inconsolable. He could not properly care for a child.”

“Then why’d you leave me with him?” she snapped. “If you saw how it was with him, why’d you leave me with him?” she tore her hands from him. “Nan says I was nearly dead when they finally found us. If I was so important then why’d you let my health get that bad? Why’d you leave me with a drunk?”

“Because you could not be looked after by your grandparents, because I could not have taken you, and because your father refused to let you go,” he replied. “And I feared that he would kill himself if I took you from him.”

“He still killed himself.” Emilia reminded.

“But not while you two were in hiding.” Dumbledore sat up straight. “I had hoped that your father would recover. That when Voldemort was momentarily defeated by Harry, your father would find his will to live. That was what I hoped your grandparents would be able to help with, but –”

“You were the one that showed them where the shack was. I always thought they’d found out through the private Auror they’d hired.”

“That was a lie we told to keep you ignorant of what had transpired.” Dumbledore explained. “It was I that took them to the shack. They were absolutely livid when they saw the conditions you were both in. Your grandfather tried to duel me. He was so furious.”

“Rightly so,” she muttered.

“Yes, rightly so, but it was all done for the greater good, Emilia. Had there been another option, a viable option that would not have put anyone in danger, then I would have gladly taken it, but there was none. You and your father had to disappear off the face of the earth. No one could know.”

“But why not my grandparents?” she questioned. “I don’t get why they couldn’t have known! It’s not like they would’ve started running their mouths!”

“Had they been placed under the Imperius Curse that would have happened,” Dumbledore said sternly. “Voldemort searched for you. He was relentless. He killed quite a few of your relatives during his plight, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before he went after your grandparents, so I kept them ignorant, I placed enchantments to protect them, and when it was possible, I divulged your whereabouts. And yes, they were angry, yes, your grandfather wanted to kill me. He still does, I believe. But he doesn’t, because he knows that I have your best interest at heart.”

“Best interest?” she scoffed. “None of this is my best interest! I'm gonna – gonna get killed or something. I mean. What happens to me now?” Emilia blinked away the tears that were forming in her eyes. “Voldemort’s back, probably stronger than before, who am I kidding, he’s way stronger than before. So what happens to me? Am I still a threat? Is he going to kill me? My grandparents?” her voice cracked.

“The Dark Lord is keeping an eye on you.” Snape reentered the conversation. “But you are no longer viewed as a direct threat.”

“What?” she turned to face him.

“The Dark Lord no longer views you as a direct threat.” Snape repeated. “The prophecy spoke of a golden lion, of a witch that he assumed would be sorted into Gryffindor.”

“That’s why I'm in Slytherin!” she exclaimed. “That’s why they kept saying it was for my own safety, but I didn’t think it was because, well, everyone in there hated me. But that made him think that I wasn’t like my parents.”

“And punching Potter made him believe that you ardently detest the boy who lived.” Severus commented.

“How does he know about that?” she asked Snape. “Did you tell him?”

“I did inform him of the incident. Though he first heard it through Narcissa Malfoy, whom was informed of it by Draco,” he replied. “He was, shall we say, quite puzzled by the news. He had heard that you and Potter were intimate friends. It was due to that friendship that he kept a close eye on you. He still has people watching you, students mostly, ah . . . as well as I. But you are not the threat you once were. Your existence is no longer unbearable for him. For Voldemort, though believing in prophecy’s, does not believe that they are infallible. And he has expressed his belief that any prophecy relating to him and Harry may only come to be if uttered by Trelawney.”

“Does that mean he’s going to kidnap her?”

“Not at the present.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” Emilia mumbled.

“Do not concern yourself with the welfare of Trelawney.” Dumbledore spoke. “That is for me to do.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Am I just supposed to keep acting like nothing happened? Because I can’t,” she gritted her teeth, fighting back the sob that was brewing within her. “I just . . . I just found out my parents died because of me. That some of my aunts and uncles died because of me. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Can you – FUCK!” her entire body began to tremble. “I always dreamt of helping Harry, I really did. That’s why I told my grandparents that we should move back to England, instead of staying in America like they wanted to, but I never thought I’d help him like this. I'm not Order worthy. Not really. Well, yeah, I think I can be Order worthy, but not a fundamental part of the Order. I can’t be the person that everything’s riding on. I can’t ensure ANYTHING! So why am I the golden lion? What does a golden lion do? How do they act? What do they think? I don’t know a fucking thing and I'm losing it. I'm losing my damn mind over here!”

“That is quite normal –” Dumbledore began to say.

“No it’s not!” she bellowed. “It’s not normal to feel like your world’s crumbling all around. It’s not normal to feel like your entire life has been a lie. NONE OF THAT I S NORMAL! So don’t sit there and act like what I'm going through will sort itself out. Because I don’t know what to do anymore,” the tears started to fall from her stormy grey eyes. “I always dreamt of being a hero, but now that it’s time to be brave . . . now that it’s time to be strong, I don’t know if I can do it . . . I don’t know if I have it in me.”