Chapter Text
YEAR 7 - 20th December, 2048.
“Are you going to write?”
Clarke rolls her eyes, “For the seventh time, Octavia. Yes, I’ll write.”
“Take it seriously,” Octavia says, following her through the halls. “If you make me worry shitless like during summer, I swear…”
“I’ll write,” Clarke stops on her tracks and faces her best friend. Students walk around them, suitcases ready for winter break. “I promise.”
Octavia glances around them and takes a step closer to her, lowering her voice, “If they try to force you to anything… Look, Bell is an auror now. He can protect you. We will protect you.”
“Bellamy is training to be an auror,” Clarke corrects her. “And I can defend myself.”
Octavia crosses her arms and gives Clarke her most incredulous look. “No, you can’t,” she says. “You literally can’t. You can’t fucking defend yourself against wizards if you don’t use magic.”
“Not this again,” Clarke hisses.
“Okay,” Octavia sighs. “I’m not gonna bug you about the vow thing more. But you really should stay here for the holidays, Clarke. You know Nia is gonna be fucking pissed about it.”
“Believe me, if I could stay here, I would,” Clarke answers dryly. “I want to throw up just thinking of spending the holidays with my mother and Lexa’s family.”
“I still don’t get why Woods is not on your side,” Octavia shakes her head. “I mean, it’s a win situation for her, too. You stop using magic, your union is cancelled, she is free to do whatever the hell she wants. Simple.”
“Lexa’s an idiot,” she spits.
“Yeah, I know,” Octavia says.
But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how extremely irritating Lexa is. She doesn’t know that she wants to punch her square in the face and break her stupid nose, because it gets big when she’s angry. Clarke does know that, she’s made Lexa angry more times that she can count. Lexa also likes to bump her nose against Clarke’s when she kisses her and-
Lexa’s a fucking idiot. And Clarke is not going to fall for her game like she did last winter break.
“Oh, no,” Octavia says with her eyes fixed on something over Clarke’s shoulder.
Clarke turns around and catches sight of Raven making her way towards them among the crowd of students. “Shit,” she says. “I can’t deal with her right now.”
“I’m tired of being in the middle of you two fighting,” Octavia sighs. “You are my best friends, and this year was supposed to be the best one but…”
“We wouldn’t be fighting if Raven wasn’t so-”
“Stop that,” Octavia cuts her. “I told you I would support you and your choice, even if I don’t understand it. And I will support you, Clarke. If you want to spend the rest of your life apart from your friends and your mum, alone in the muggle world, be my guest. But I’m with Raven on this, you should think about it.”
“I have thought about it,” Clarke growls. “I’ve had months to think about it, and the decision is still the same. So you need to back off.”
“Clarke,” Raven reaches them just then. She’s still dressed in her Ravenclaw robes, she will be staying in Hogwarts, like Octavia. “We need to talk.”
“I’ve got a train to catch.”
“You have an hour before the train leaves,” Octavia says with a defiant glare. “More than enough time. Have fun with your fiancee under the mistletoe. Raven, come find me in the kitchens when you’re done.”
Clarke sighs and closes her eyes. It’s too early for this, and she can’t even begin to imagine what expects her later today. She turns to Raven and begins to walk away from the crowd, knowing she will follow her.
When they have finally found a quiet corridor, Clarke stops. “What is it now?”
Raven’s jaw locks. “You know what. Please, listen to me, Clarke-”
“The only thing I know,” Clarke cuts her, “is that you are trying to convince me to marry someone whose family would stop you, a muggleborn, from using magic if they had the chance.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Raven says. “I’m trying to talk some sense into you.”
“Seriously, Raven. Did your new best friend Lexa cast the Imperius curse your way? Cause you seem pretty brainwashed to me.”
“You know Lexa wouldn’t do that.”
“Do I?” Clarke challenges her. “And what do you know, anyway?”
“More than you think,” Raven takes a step closer to her. “There are some things that you don’t know, Clarke.”
“So tell me!” Clarke is exasperated. Every single conversation she’s had with Raven for the past few months has followed the same course.
“I can’t,” Raven says. “I told you, it’s about the prophecy. The only way you can find out is by yourself.”
“Since when do you fucking believe in any Adivination shit?” Clarke mocks. “You were always the one who told me I shouldn’t let myself be forced to the life some crazy old witch predicted on her drunk ass.”
“That’s true,” Raven admits, her eyes wide with desperation. “But I know much more now. What you are doing is really dangerous. For you and for Lexa.”
“Who the fuck cares about Lexa?”
“You do,” Raven raises her chin. “You love her. You were born to love her.”
“Cut the bullshit!” Clarke yells. “I wasn’t born to do anything. I can’t stand Lexa, she’s the most heartless person I’ve ever met. Well, no. Actually, that’s her aunt, who, like you, insists in us getting married to continue her fucking pureblood shit legacy. It’s unbelievably gross that you of all people are on their side.”
Raven grasps Clarke’s shoulders. “You know Lexa is not like Nia,” she says, words fiercely cutting through Clarke’s soul. “This is not a game, Clarke. You can’t just run away from your fate.”
“Watch me,” Clarke hisses. “In three weeks, the time is over. I will take the vow and I’ll become a muggle. So good luck finding someone to continue this prophecy bullshit.”
Clarke shrugs herself from Raven’s hands and starts to walk away from her, but Raven seizes her forearm and turns her around to face her once again.
“Please,” she begs. “I’m trying to protect you. We are all trying to protect you.”
“You keep saying that, but you won’t say what the fuck you’re protecting me from,” Clarke says. “I’m done, Raven. I just want to be left alone.”
###
YEAR 1 - 1st September, 2042.
“I don't understand,” Clarke says. She's clutching her father's hand with desperation and holding Milkshake in her free hand. “Why can't I stay with you? I don't want to go to Hogwarts if that means I won't see you until next summer. Please, dad? I want to stay with you.”
Her father squeezes her hand gently and let's go of the cart. He bends his knees until his eyes are looking straight into Clarke’s. She can see her own blue reflected into them, remembering her of summer, laughter and love.
“If you don't go to Hogwarts, you'll never be a witch, Clarke. You'll never learn to use magic.”
“But you never use magic, daddy,” she protests. “What's wrong with being a muggle?”
“There's nothing wrong with being a muggle,” he sighs. “But I'm not a muggle, Clarke. I went to Hogwarts and I learnt magic.”
Clarke frowns. When she's with her mother, magic is always present: her mother uses it, her grandparents use it, the house elves use it, Lexa’s family use it… But in the summer, when she's with her father, magic is nonexistent. They go to the movies, they bake together, they paint walls, they go camping… Clarke had thought during all her eleven years of existence that her father had been a muggle, so this revelation doesn't make any sense to her.
“But if you're wizard, why do you live in the muggle world? And why do you never use magic?”
His smile is tired, but soft, and he brings his free hand to caress her cheek, “Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't be the good guy. I did some very bad things years ago, before you were born. I gave up magic because I wanted to make up for the things that I did.”
“But daddy,” she wants to tell him that he's not a bad guy, that he's the best guy and that he's the best dad in the world because sometimes he lets her have ice cream for dinner, and because he gave Milkshake to her for her birthday even though her mom said she couldn't have a cat.
She wants to tell him how much she loves him, but he doesn't let her.
“This is a story for another day, one when you're older, and the weight of the things you'll hear won't add to your shoulders.”
She can see her mother in the background, waving at her from the other side of the station, standing next to Lexa and Lexa’s aunt.
“One last question,” she begs, aware of the little time they have left, “which house did the hat put you in?”
His smile returns, this time a happy one, “I was in Gryffindor. I told the hat I wanted to be in Gryffindor, and the hat put me in Gryffindor.”
“Do I get to choose my house, too?” Clarke asks with wide eyes. “Mom and Lexa’s parents wants us to be in Slytherin, but now I want to be in Gryffindor, like you.”
“You see, the most important thing is not the house you get placed in,” Jake grabs the cart again and they start walking to where Abby is waiting for them. “If you tell the hat that you want to be in a certain house, the hat will respect your wish. But remember, Clarke, the most important thing is that you make a difference wherever it is that you are.”
Hours later, when she's sitting on a stool in front of other hundreds of students, with a hat on her head that's speaking to her and asking her what she wants, Clarke says: “I want to make a difference.”
The hat puts her in Slytherin. And for the next seven years of her life, Clarke wonders why.
###
YEAR 2 - 2nd, January, 2044.
She finds Wells on the Ravenclaw table, predictably playing magic chess. She doesn’t mind that he’s in the middle of a game with someone else, she’s missed her best friend during the holidays, and what she needs to tell him can’t wait any longer.
She couldn’t write to him, there’s always a voice in the back of her mind telling her that whatever she sends, Nia will read. If Nia found out the things she writes about her precious niece, she will surely stop treating Clarke like she’s her favourite pet. Not that Clarke minds, really. In fact, she wishes Nia would finally disown her and call off the union, because she can’t stand Lexa and she can’t stand Nia. She hates them both, she has always had.
But then she remembers her mother’s tense smiles during dinner. Clarke knows there’s something weird going on. Usually, her mother will get on perfectly with the Woods, and Clarke hates it. She hates everything that has to do with Lexa. However, she couldn’t have imagined that seeing her mother look constantly guarded and tensed around them was far more worrying than seeing her look happy. Abby had looked almost afraid.
She wishes she could just write to her father, and talk to him about it. But he doesn’t like it when she talks about the Woods. Clarke doesn’t know why, she always thought her father would be with her on this. She’s learned with time that no one seems to give a damn about her engagement to Lexa. No one gives a damn about whether she wants to marry Lexa or not. Not even the people that love her care about her feelings. She’s a twelve-year-old girl, and she already has a marriage waiting ahead of her. To someone she hates. And no one cares about how she feels.
No one but Wells. That’s why she needs to talk to him, as soon as possible. If that means interrupting his game, so be it. Clarke can beat his ass later if he wants to play, anyway.
“Wells,” she says. He nods his head in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at her. He’s too engrossed in his game, and Clarke fears she won’t have his full attention. “We need to talk.”
“We’re kind of in the middle of something, blondie,” his partner says.
Clarke recognises the girl, her name is Raven Reyes. She’s in the same year as her, and they share a few classes together. She’s fond of Reyes, they don’t talk much but they usually get paired up in Potion. Clarke thinks it’s hilarious how Raven is one of the most promising students of Hogwarts, even though she’s only in her second year, yet Professor Jackson has to pair them together in her class to keep Raven from making every single potion go boom. Good thing Clarke’s gift for the class keeps them on top of the list.
“It’s not as important as what I have to say,” Clarke narrows her eyes playfully at the girl.
“Oh, really? And what could that be?” Raven raises an eyebrow at her, as she makes her move on the game. She smirks, “That you’re a bit too much full of yourself?”
Clarke rolls her eyes, they’ve got an ongoing bickering battle, which she usually loves, but now she doesn’t have the time for it.
“Raven,” Wells says. “Your turn.”
“So fast? I swear to God I…”
Wells gestures at her to sit besides him, and Clarke reluctantly does so. This may not be the best place to bitch about Lexa but, whatever. She would tell Lexa to her face how much she despises her. Oh, she’s already done that, actually. And besides, Raven’s a friend, kind of. She can trust her with this.
“Okay, so guess what’s my mother’s last great idea? Well, it’s Nia’s, actually. But my mother is totally up for it, as usual.”
“What is it?” Wells asks.
“They want Lexa and I to unite right before seventh year is over,” Clarke says with a shiver of disgust. “In Nia’s words: ‘The sooner the legacy is secured, the better. That way, you younglings will have all summer to go off on a little love adventure of your liking.’ That’s like, five years away. And they’re already making plans about it.”
“Don’t worry,” Wells tries to reassure her. As always when it comes to this particular subject, he fails. “I’m sure there’s something we can do. Like you said, seventh year is five years away. We’ll come up with something.”
“That’s the thing, Wells,” Clarke feels tears prickling at her eyes. It’s so unfair. She’s twelve, she should be crying about the person she likes not liking her back, not about an union against her will. But she’s not going to cry, not again, not this time. “There isn’t anything we can do about it,” she says defeatedly.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Raven says, interrupting them with a slow pause. “I was thrilled to discover just how open-minded the magic world is about sexuality, gender, and all that jazz.” Wells frowns, and Raven is quick to keep talking before he asks what jazz is. “But… you do know that you can’t have a baby without a penis, right? Didn’t you at least learn the basics of anatomy?”
“Of course we know that, Raven.” Clarke rolls her eyes. “Unlike muggles and muggleborns, we aren’t told that babies are carried by storks.”
Wells nods as he frowns, probably still trying to figure out where jazz fits in all this. “What’s your point?”
“My point,” she says, looking at the two purebloods like they’re insane, “is that I don’t get why Clarke marrying Lexa would preserve Lexa’s legacy. Clarke can’t get pregnant with Lexa’s baby. Wait… can you?”
“No,” Clarke says, all amusement she may have felt otherwise is wiped out like every time Lexa’s name comes up in a conversation. “That’s not how magic unions work. When wizards say an union will preserve their legacy, they don't mean through their children. When two magic people marry in an uniting ceremony, they're uniting their magic. When… if Lexa and I unite, our magic will come together as one. I’ll have hers and she'll have mine.”
“Whoa,” Raven whistles. She's known she's a witch for two years, but discovering new things about the wizarding world is not something she's used to, not yet. “Okay. Wow, shit. Anyway… what’s so important about Lexa’s legacy that needs to be preserved so badly? Why don't you two get to decide who you want to unite with?”
“Lexa’s a nightblood,” Wells answers before Clarke can open her mouth and start cursing back and forth.
“Listen, muggleborn here, okay?” Raven says, pointing to herself with a roll of her eyes. “Care to explain what a nightblood is?”
“A nightblood is the child of two dark wizards that have united together, meaning their dark magic blends and their legacy is dark magic. You know about the Azgeda war, right?” Raven nods, because duh, everyone knows about it. It’s the last great war of the magic world, some dare to say that even darker than Lord Voldemort’s times. “The Ice Queen forced her followers to unite among themselves. From the ones who had children came thirteen nightbloods. Thirteen children whose magic was purely dark. But when the war ended, they were killed. They are all believed to be an atrocity, dark creatures can't bring anything good. So they killed them all. Except Lexa.”
“Hold on, not only are you telling me that Lexa is a dark witch, but also that she is the last one of her kind?” Raven frowns. She doesn't know Lexa that much, but she's been sharing a few classes with her for the last two years. This was the last thing she would have expected from her. Actually, Lexa’s quite nice. Sure, she's kind of serious and never speaks more than necessary, but from that to being a dark witch…
“A nightblood is not a dark wizard,” Clarke shakes her head. Her eyes focus on anything other than the other two, avoiding eye contact as she always does when she thinks about Lexa’s fate. “Lexa is the essence of dark magic itself. The rumours are true: she can speak parsel, she is not affected in the same way by the unforgivable courses, she…”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Raven is smart, really. She was placed in Ravenclaw for a reason, no pun intended. But this is a bit too much for her, she's got a lot of new information to assimilate. “If all that you're saying is true, shouldn't she be in Azkaban or something? I mean, she sounds kind of dangerous.”
“Dark magic does not mean evil magic,” Clarke responds with an icy voice. “Lexa's magic is dark. She’s not evil.”
Raven raises one of her eyebrows and looks at Clarke with incredulous eyes, “Are you actually defending her? Whoa, never would I have thought I’d see the day.”
“I'm not,” Clarke retorts, no discussions allowed in her voice. “Believe me, there are plenty of reasons why I hate Lexa. But she's not evil.”
“Which bring us to the other question I can't believe I have to ask,” Raven says. “If you hate her so much, why are you two in an arranged marriage. I can't believe how wizards are so behind from muggles in some ways. Arranged marriage, really? That's like… ancient in almost every culture in the muggle world.”
“It’s not a common thing in the wizarding world, actually. And the few cases that still present have a clause of annulation if any of the parts of the union wishes to call it off,” Wells sighs tiredly, giving Clarke a side glance. “But Clarke and Lexa’s union is a bit more… complicated than that.”
At this point, Raven merely raises an eyebrow. She's done asking questions. She would never stop if she had it within herself.
“It's not a random thing,” Wells continues, and Raven notices as Clarke’s grip on her quill tightens. “Normally, the parents choose their children’s partner, whom they will marry if they grow up and wish to. Clarke and Lexa, they-”
“There's this bullshit prophecy,” Clarke cuts him. “Some crazy ass wizard got drunk one day and spat out of their ass that Lexa and I had to unite. So here we are, year 2044 and we still rely on fucking Adivination.”
“Clarke, that's not quite how it works. You're right, Adivination can be bullshit sometimes, but prophecies aren't.” Wells sighs when she doesn't listen to a single thing he's saying and starts collecting her things.
“Wait, what does the prophecy say?”
Clarke spits a dry humourless laugh, “That's the best part, you know. Apparently, there's some prophecy going around about me, and I'm not even allowed to hear it.”
“So you don't know what the prophecy is about? Then how is everyone so sure it's about you and Lexa?”
“Look, Raven, I'm sorry. I know you mean well but I really, really don't want to talk about this,” Clarke gets up from her chair and grabs her bag. “I have an essay to write before going to bed. I'll see you two tomorrow in class.”
###
YEAR 6 - 29th April, 2048.
There’s a wall in front of her. A thick, stone wall. Lexa wants to punch that wall. She wants to hit it with her bare fist. She knows she’ll probably break it. That only makes her want to punch it harder. A broken hand would fit well with the dark bags under her eyes.
She’s a mess. She’s never a mess, she’s focused, determined, precise. She’s been a mess since Clarke stopped talking to her nearly a whole month ago. It seems that Clarke forgot everything. The hand holding in empty halls when it was too early for any student to see them, the leaning against Lexa to do their homework together, too close to even have room to do so properly. The love… was it even love at all for Clarke?
Now that Lexa thinks about it, she knows it wasn’t. What she does not know, though, is why she is surprised about it. Yeah, there was sex, and sleeping together even when there wasn’t sex. And there were kisses that led to more sex and there were kisses that didn’t, that were just goodbye, or hello, or I missed you.
But love? There was never love. At least not on Clarke’s part, anyway. But Lexa knew that. Clarke has made it clear her whole life that she will never love her, that she doesn’t give a damn about that prophecy, that she would rather kiss a dementor than be in love with Lexa.
Lexa understands, she does. She’s a nightblood, after all. Why would Clarke ever love her? She’s unlovable. She was made out of darkness, she should be dead, like the rest of her kind. And yet, she had to be the one to be singled out to fulfill that prophecy. One which is bullshit, she reminds herself. The fact that Clarke doesn’t love her proves it: the prophecy is bullshit.
For a moment, she thought that it could be real. For a moment in which Clarke let her hold her during the night, and Lexa woke up with her mouth filled with blonde curls.
But that time passed, and now Lexa has to learn to conceal her feelings for Clarke one again, because Clarke doesn’t love her, so she can’t love Clarke, right? Of course the prophecy is bullshit. Magic cannot force you to love someone, or to be loved by someone. Magic doesn’t work that way. It simply doesn’t.
The prophecy is bullshit, and the only people who have actually heard it are either dead or lying to them, so.
She has to put herself together for once and for all. It’s past curfew, she shouldn’t be wandering around the castle, she is a prefect, she has to set some example. She’s going to return to her room and have a goodnight’s sleep. Tomorrow everything will be better.
The only light illuminating the empty halls comes from her wand. It’s not intense, she doesn’t want the portraits complaining and making her get caught. She walks fast, she doesn’t have to worry about her footsteps being heard, since she cast a noise repellent spell earlier.
Suddenly, an icy coldness shakes her body to the core. She feels petrified and it takes her a second to realise she’s not frozen. She’s just walked through a ghost.
“Excuse me, I wasn’t paying attention.” she tells the ghost. It feels stupid, the ghost is merely hovering in the spot, looking at Lexa with their transparent eyes. She doesn’t recognise this one, but that’s not uncommon in Hogwarts. There are a few well-known ghosts, but there are so many more that just come and go or never appear at all.
“Alexandria,” the ghost says. She increases her light spell to take a better look at the ghost, because maybe it is one that she actually knows. Not many ghosts are aware of the student population. It’s a woman, it appears. She’s dressed with robes, but it seems that they may be covering muggle clothes. Her hair is up in a bun, which leaves her face completely clean. Her eyes are haunted.
“How do you know my name?” Lexa asks, now certain that she doesn’t know this ghost. She’s never seen such haunted eyes.
“We don’t have time for formalities,” the ghost says. “There is something that you need to hear. Something that has only been spoken one time before.”
“What are you-”
“Listen closely, Alexandria.” The woman gets closer, she levels herself to Lexa’s height and looks at her in the eye. “Listen, for you are in danger. Dark times are coming, the shadows have kept crimes out of sight for years, and war is now closer than ever. Listen, now. Listen to every word of what I will say, for it has only been spoken one time before.” An intense cold envelops Lexa, she feels herself getting weaker as the ghost talks. Her limbs tremble, she’s about to fall to her knees, but the woman’s voice keeps her standing. It’s an echo in the dark.
“The balance of our world has been tainted. The children of darkness were the first to break the equilibrium. Their deaths did not erase past mistakes. Their deaths unbalanced the world further, but one survived. Those who killed faced their punishments, but one survived. The odds must settle know, and they will do so by their way. The way of the odds is that which not even the sacred rules can follow. The survivor must not believe themself to be the only one, for another was kept in the shadows. A child of light is born to cleanse the balance, but beware their fate, for it is written that the union of darkness and light will appease the odds, but there are two night children who survived. Choose the wrong one, and light will cease. Choose the wrong one, and ice will set the world on fire.”
Lexa’s head throbs. The question hanging on her tongue wants to slip, but her lips are sealed, and every effort she puts on opening her mouth has her knees shaking, threatening to give out.
“I don’t understand,” she manages to say, her voice barely a whisper.
“I must not reveal anything further,” the ghost says. “Remember my words, Alexandria. And know one last thing before I go: there are four heads of the story. Search in the memories of those whose mouths are sealed.”
Then, Lexa feels herself falling. Before she can hit the cold, hard ground, the world turns to black.
When she regains conscience again, the coldness has left for the better part. There’s a blanket around her body, she can feel it. And a fire somewhere in the room, burning slow and quietly. She opens her eyes and frowns, she’s in the Headmistress’ office. She’s only ever been here one time before, but the room is exactly the same as she remembers.
She can’t have been here for a long time, since the moon still shines bright and clear through the window. She catches sight of the Sorting Hat sleeping soundly on the bookshelf and she almost snorts, she would never had thought that snoring was a hat thing.
“Tell me, Alexandria,” the Headmistress’ voice startles her. Lexa thought she was alone, though she’s admittedly relieved to find Indra in the room. She can only see the woman’s back. Indra is leaning on something, some sort of stone, she seems to be deep in thought, and Lexa waits for her to continue. “Is your bed so uncomfortable that you would rather sleep in the middle of the hall?”
“I fainted,” she explains dryly, her pride swallowing out of her with her words.
“You fainted?” Indra inquiries. She turns to look at Lexa, her tired eyes now visible for the girl. She seems old, older than she probably is. Then again, all wizards do. “Shall I take you to the hospital wing?” she asks with an arched brow.
Indra always plays a game, Lexa knows that. You don’t get the title of Headmistress of Hogwarts for nothing. She wonders if she can trust her with what she’s just heard. See, there are not many people Lexa can trust. Actually, she can count them with the fingers of one hand, and she’ll have four fingers left. But Anya’s missing. Anya’s been missing for months, and even if she tried to send a letter, that’s not a safe move. Nia’s everywhere.
She’s confused, desperate, tired, and Indra looks at her patiently, like she already knows. Like she’s always known. So Lexa speaks, “Actually, Professor. Before I fainted, there was a woman. A ghost.” She searches her memory one last time, in hopes she can put a name to the woman’s face. Once again, she gets nothing. “I don’t know who she is, was. But she knew my name.”
“Many people in this school know your name, Alexandria,” the Headmistress acknowledges. “I would think after all these years, you would have come to an understanding of your indirect involvement in the magical world.”
“Yes,” Lexa says. She is aware that almost everyone knows who she is. And those who don’t, usually muggleborn first graders, don’t take long to find out. “But she told me… She told me that I was in danger, and that a war was coming. And then she started saying all these things… it felt like… as if she was reciting written words.”
She has caught Indra’s attention, it’s clear in the way the woman makes her way towards her, in long, determined strides. She sits opposite Lexa and leans her elbows on her knees. Her eyes search wildly into Lexa’s, and Lexa feels as if the Headmistress is reading her mind. Legilimency. She wonders if that’s an ability Indra posses, or if she would use it at all against Lexa.
“Tell me every word,” Indra says. “It is vital that you do not leave anything out.”
Lexa does. She tells Indra about the danger and the war again. And then she recites the same words, surprising herself as they leave her mouth. She remembers every single one of them, like they’re inked in her brain. Finally, she tells Indra about the four heads, and how she needs to find answers in memories, whatever that means.
When she’s finished, Indra moves to stare at the outside through the window. The moonlight illuminates the castle, it would be easier, Lexa thinks, to just stare at the moon, the stars, the night. To just let go, and forget she was born for this. It would be easier, she thinks.
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Lexa admits after a while. Indra has yet to say anything, and she’s losing her patience with every second that passes.
“Something that has only ever been spoken once before,” Indra repeats, almost to herself. She turns to Lexa, folding her arms behind her back. “What you just heard, Alexandria, was the prophecy that you and Miss Griffin have been told about throughout your whole lives.”
Lexa frowns, “But that can’t be. Clarke’s name was not mentioned. If that was the prophecy, how come people assume it’s about us?”
“I must admit I hadn’t heard it before,” Indra says. “Very few people have. I know your aunt is one of them, and Jacob Griffin heard it, too. Abigail Griffin, I am not sure, I would say she has not, considering certain things would not make sense if she had. But to answer your question, the prophecy was first revealed when Miss Griffin was born. ‘A child of light is born to cleanse the balance’, the Griffin family is one of the few pureblood families that has never been involved with the dark arts in any way. I would assume that is what ‘light’ makes reference to.”
“Then, I would be the darkness,” Lexa states dryly.
“Yes,” Indra nods, unfaced. “However, it appears you are not the only one for the position, as I had always thought you were.”
“What that does mean? There are more nightbloods alive?”
Indra nods. “It means,” she says, finally looking at Lexa, “that yours and Miss Griffin’s fate is not as clear as I thought it was.”