Dark Heiress

Prologue

"Melantha! Are you listening?" The little girl cringed like she always did whenever anyone called her name: Melantha. How she hated that name.

Unaware, her mother continued, "I do not want to have to go looking for you again. So if you know what's good for you, you will be waiting in this exact spot when I return! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

"Yes, Mother," she replied, whole-heartedly wishing she was anywhere but there, in Knockturn Alley. In fact, she knew that this place was not fit for anybody, least of all five-year-old who were being left alone. This was a creepy alley where who-knows-what could be lurking, just waiting to pounce from who-knows-where.

Melantha watched her mother enter Borgin and Burkes, mumbling something about leaving her with the house-elves next time. Melantha couldn't agree more. She would much rather be playing with Flora, their house-elf, then be dragged through endless alleys and shops by her mother.

Melantha stood clutching her stuffed orange hippogriff. She kept whispering words of comfort to it, to be brave, as she would protect them both from any creature stupid enough to cross her path. Her large, dark eyes took in her surroundings; she was wary of the many hags and other hooded, unidentifiable beings that drifted by, some giving her leering looks as they passed.

"Ah, I have waited long for this moment."
Melantha spun around to find herself facing the oldest woman she had ever seen. She was stooped, with a kindly face that was composed of many lines and folds of skin.

The old lady continued, "I sometimes wondered whether it would actually come to pass, but then the Sight, it never lies. It is an honour to finally meet you, young Heiress of the Dark."
Melantha stared blankly at the old woman in response.

"But of course, Morgana, you have no idea of what I speak, do you? Dear, dear, it will come to you when you are ready, but you must be strong. I know you have an immense depth of power within you that will bring envy to those around you. Some will wish to harm you, even use you, but you must never let it overpower you; harness it and you will conquer all."

If Melantha was puzzled at the old woman's earlier words, it was nothing compared to how lost she felt now.

"Uh, ma'am, I th-think you m-may be mistaken, um, my name- my name is Melantha, n-not Morgana," she stammered.
"Melantha? Child, but that is no name for our Dark Heir--" The old woman was interrupted by a shrill voice.

"Great Lady Cassandra! There you are! I've been looking all over for you, I thought I had lost you there back in the Incense Emporium," came the outburst of a ditzy-looking young girl. She had short, straggly hair; large moss-coloured glasses; and numerous beads around her neck and wrist.

"Now, now, Sybill, what have I told you before? Mother Cass will do, or even just Gran--" Again, she was interrupted by the girl called Sybill.

"Yes, but Great Lady Cassandra, it is of the utmost importance that you are shown the respect you so rightly deserve. Why, we noble Seers have been overlooked for far too long, and have had our sacred gifts ignored by those woefully ignorant and--"

The old woman rolled her eyes in resignation and let out an exasperated sigh, before quickly changing the subject.
"Look Sybill dear, it's her: she who will aid in banishing the impending rise of evil from His onslaught of destruction."
When the old woman saw that she was only drawing a blank look from her companion, she then added, "The Heiress of the Dark, Morgana."

Realising the Knut had finally dropped, the old woman turned back to Melantha who had been watching their banter with undisguised puzzlement, only to hear Sybill comment, "She's a bit puny, isn't she? I mean, what sort of savior hugs a stuffed creature and wears red ribbons in her curls?"

Deciding that they had already driven young Melantha, or rather Morgana (as Cassandra truly knew her to be), to the height of confusion, she made to bid her goodbye; she hoped that the wizarding world's young sorceress-in-the-making would, at some level, bear her words to heart.

"Well, Morgana my dear, I can only hope for the best for you; just remember to always be strong even in the bleakest of moments. Come along now Sybill, we must get back to air out the drawing room. I daresay you use much too much of those scents. Why, I do believe my sinuses will be the death of me!"

The old woman had already begun to make her way out of the dank alley and into the more reputable and frequented part of London's wizarding town, Diagon Alley.
She had not noticed Sybill lag behind and how she had gone oddly still: she had a distinctly vacant look on her face-even more so than usual. When she finally spoke, her voice had taken on a gruff tone, which sounded entirely out of place coming from the mouth of a young girl.

"Do not lose hope, for the Heiress and her prince will love fiercely. The Heiress will not forget, never; for though the dark prince is lost on the burnt path, their souls forever will be entwined, giving life to each other, for neither can live if either does not."

And as soon as she had finished speaking those bizarre words, she snapped out of her trance without noticing anything out of the ordinary.

"What, oh, um, I suppose I have to go. Right, so good luck defeating evil then. Great Lady Cassandra! Wait for me!"

And with that, Melantha was alone again for all of two minutes, until her mother flung herself out of the creepy antique store to grab her arm in vice-like grip. She was unceremoniously dragged along, all the while having to listen to her mother's muttering on having to bother with useless, time-consuming tag-alongs who were better off being someone else's burden.

As the day's somewhat eventful trip to Diagon Alley came to a close, Melantha was certain that St. Mungo's was missing two of their permanent in-patients from the ward for those with magic mind maladies. She would not consciously remember the apparently mindless drabble she had heard from the pair for a number of years to come.