Chapter 1: Eye of the Needle
The Cave by the sea, July 31st 1979
A story always has a beginning and an end. My story was set, perhaps, when I was born. It also could have been set by my parents. Or by the choices I made. Nevertheless, it led me here. To my end.
At least, I assume this is it, as I'm lying on the ground, face against the cold stone, suffering the effects of a torturous poison and facing an army of dead corpses. I don't feel anything, except when I try to move. Then it hurts like buggery.
Perhaps I should've sent Kreacher to get help, instead of ordering the elf to go straight back to Grimmauld Place, but, then again…who would help me? A Death Eater? None of the Dark Lord's followers, I'm sure, considering that I have betrayed him. My parents might, but then we'd eventually all have targets on our backs.
I'm better off alone. I always have been.
As for betraying my old master; in the end, I only joined the Dark Lord's cause and his forces because of my family. It was expected of me, as the heir to my House. Yes, I might have shared some of his beliefs at first, might've even wanted to prove myself, but it all changed soon after my initiation. After I received my first assignments. Still, I did what was asked from me, in order to keep my family safe, and because…I didn't want to disappoint my parents. You know how it goes, I'm sure.
I have an older brother, Sirius, who I now realise, was lucky to get away. Get away from the expectation, and the fate that was set upon us the moment our parents chose our paths for us. I didn't always think like that. In fact I somewhat loathed my brother for befriending Blood traitors, Muggleborns and Half-breeds, and how he preferred their company over our family.
But opinions and beliefs can change. A turning point for me was when the Dark Lord came to me, requesting an elf. Naturally, I informed him that Kreacher, my elf, could help him with anything and everything he demanded.
So…That was quite the misjudgement from my part. One I still regret of making. Because of me, Kreacher ended up suffering. Because of me, its trust in wizards and witches wavered. But, due to the whole incident, I learned something valuable about the Dark Lord. I learned his secret. I have wondered, before, if it is true. If he had succeeded. The Dark Lord has spoken about his invincibleness, his ability to perform such kinds of magic that some lesser beings can only dream about – someone was bound to find out.
Sure, I myself have played with the thought. What would it feel like to be immortal? I suppose I will never find out. I hiss out a moan as I turn to lie on my back and slowly stand up, my body shuddering from pain and exhaustion.
I'm in the middle of an island, the hiding place of his secret. I turn around, and they are everywhere, the dead corpses. Surfacing from the lake, crawling up the sharp rocks, towards me.
Surrounding me.
This isn't quite the way I imagined my end would happen. This has to be counted as some sort of brainless Gryffindor bravery, right? But…is it, if no one will know? Well, except the Dark Lord, perhaps, if he decides to visit this place.
I left him a note, you see; promising to destroy him and his little secret. A note that was a bit on the obnoxious side, if you ask me, but nothing he doesn't deserve. My only hope is that Kreacher will be able to destroy the Horcrux so that the Dark Lord will finally face his demise.
I take in a deep breath and stand tall. Perhaps this way I might be able to salvage at least a tiny bit of my family's honour, to make our House noble again. Perhaps by my sacrifice – I roll my eyes at my thoughts – I can change the future.
Grimmauld Place, July 31st 1995
I'm heading towards the library, where I suspect Hermione is situated and in a middle of engulfing one of the large and stained tomes from Sirius's family's collection. It's my fifteenth birthday, and everyone else is still in the kitchen, eating cake and discussing my hearing, which is going to take place in a couple of weeks.
We've gone it through several times already, and it seems like I cannot even enjoy the wonderful chocolate cake Molly Weasley has baked without having to hear about the bothersome topic. I swear if I have to listen someone reassure me one more time, I might just explode.
To explain my situation a bit; I was attacked by Dementors two days ago, and immediately afterwards the Ministry decided to suspend me from Hogwarts and threatened destroy my wand because I had performed a Patronus charm in front of my cousin, Dudley – and saving both of us from the horrible creatures. But no, no one in the Ministry seems to take an interest in that small detail. Only because of Dumbledore, I was allowed to keep my wand, as he had apparently swooped in and managed to lessen the verdict so that the Ministry gave me a hearing instead.
After the incident with the Dementors, the Order – which I've recently learned is a secret society, founded by Dumbledore during the first war – decided to pull me out from the Dursleys and bring me to their Headquarters.
Even though I couldn't have been happier to leave the Dursleys, I can't help but feel a bit…let down. I've been in Surrey the whole summer – near starvation, might I add – and no one thought it would be necessary to let me know anything. Every letter I received, from Hermione, from Ron, and from Sirius – they all said the same thing; be careful and don't do anything rash. I wonder if the Order had even picked me up without the bloody Dementors…
After I came here, to the Order's Headquarters – which is surprisingly my godfather's childhood home, Grimmauld Place – Ron and Hermione explained to me that they wanted to tell me everything in their letters, but they couldn't. Apparently, Dumbledore had made them swear not to tell me anything.
Why, I wonder? Why doesn't Dumbledore trust me? Haven't I proven myself enough during the past years?
It is unfair that the others can enjoy a party, the rest of their summer, and plan the next school-year, while all I can do, is wait. Wait and see if they'll kick me out from the school, and from the magical world. The mere thought makes me nauseous; that after all this time, I would have to give up everything that makes me…me, and return to the Dursleys, to be subdued to their will once more.
So, I don't want to hear a word about Hogwarts, since all I can think of, is losing it. Losing my home. I'm anxious about the hearing, about Dumbledore, about everything, and there's nothing I can do about anything.
I spot Hermione, one of my best friends, curled in an armchair near the fireplace, a dusty and ancient looking book tucked on her lap. "Hey, Mione," I mutter as I plop down next to her on the sofa. "Couldn't handle another round of cake?"
Hermione grunts absently and marks the page before she looks up from the timeworn book and studies my features. Her eyes sweep over my messy, tangled, jet black hair. She's evidently restraining herself from running her fingers through it in order to make it smoother. A sympathetic smile lifts her lips as she gazes into my eyes.
"Well, you know how I think about speculating. So, I decided to come here instead and take a look at the books if I could find something useful for the hearing," she says with a small shrug.
Did I say that I really, like, love her? No, not like that. Like friendship. She's my best friend.
She has these brilliant, brown eyes that shine with compassion and earnestness. Okay, she can be a right authoritarian bitch when she wants to, but usually that kind of behaviour is directed towards Ron. Almost always. And speaking of Ron, I'm suspecting there's more to them than just their clashing personalities. But I reckon time will tell.
Hermione nudges her head towards a stack of books on the small table next to us. "Most of them contain at least some bits of information regarding underage magic and wizarding trials," She says and frowns slightly as she glances at the book on her lap. "Didn't exactly find anything useful in here, and I'm actually quite astonished that something like this can be found from the Order's Headquarters, as some of the topics are rather…atrocious," she says dryly, tucking her legs under her.
I give her a small grin. She's always been like that. A bookworm. While I'm not as studious as Hermione, I'm still grateful that she is. Her craving for knowledge has saved us more than once in some tricky situations in our past.
"Oh? What's it about?" I ask, only mildly interested, and she knows that, but I'm still asking because I'm a good friend.
She clears her throat. "It's something about ancient rituals and descriptions to fulfil one's destiny and regain honour. Along with a bunch of rubbish regarding pureness and glory. Undoubtedly relating to the pureness of one's blood…" She concludes bitterly.
Hermione's a Muggleborn witch, and while that doesn't bother me at all – since, hell, I didn't even know I was a wizard until Hagrid came barging into that shack and told me – some people are bothered. Bloodpurists, we call them. Hermione might even be in a spotlight more than the other Muggleborns, because of me…The Boy Who Lived. I groan inwardly. It sounds so bloody stupid. Whoever invented that, has to be banging their head right now.
So, as I was saying, Hermione has enemies. In school, it's a lot tamer, since Dumbledore runs the school and doesn't approve bullying. Although, that doesn't stop Malfoy and his stupid Slytherin cronies from trying.
"Well, I'm not surprised after Sirius told me about his family. Did you know they were loyal supporters of Voldemort?" I ask grimly. "Sirius mentioned his brother was a Death Eater…" I mutter, my thoughts lingering in our discussion earlier that day, when Sirius showed me the tapestry of House Black, and told me bits and pieces about his depraved family.
"Oh? No, I didn't know, but I assumed as much…" Hermione says, her voice trailing off as she returns back to her book. "Listen to this," she says after a short silence, an incredulous look taking over her face. "'By sacrifice will it be provoked, by our words will it be fulfilled.' She recites from the book. "These people are deranged…Sacrificing the 'impure' to earn honour…" She mutters and turns a page.
I hum in agreement. "Toujours Pur," I say quietly. Hermione turns towards me with a quizzical brow.
"Oh, just something Sirius said to me. The family motto, apparently…" I explain, feeling quite a bit disoriented.
Hermione nods slowly. There's a short silence, during which she sets the book on top of a small pile on the table, which I assume are the discarded books.
"I should go…Ron's probably wondering where I am…I promised to help him with his summer homework," She says and brushes her jeans lightly to remove the dust that came from the books.
I happen to know that the only homework Ron has left is Charms, and that he's not exactly rubbish at it. I arch a brow at her. "That so?" I ask, and give her a sly grin. "That the only reason you're helping him?"
Hermione gives me a startled look. "W-What? Of – of course it is. I mean, why else would I, um…help him?" Hermione stammers.
Oh, this is too good. I snigger and sprawl over the sofa as she stands up, blushing furiously and scowling at me.
"Okay then." I say innocently and try to school my expression, although she sees the knowing look in my eyes.
"Good night, Harry." She says tightly and walks towards the library door.
"Night, Mione," I reply lightly, and let out a small snort when the door closes with a small bang.
They are both quite obvious, Ron and Hermione. But as I said, time will tell. I sigh and lie against the small pillow that is nestled at the end of the sofa.
I wake up with a jolt, and realise I must have dozed off for some time. It's dark, clearly late, and everyone else is probably turned in for the night, as the house seems to be eerily quiet.
Too quiet. My scalp prickles, and I have a feeling that something's not right.
I stand up and slowly pull my wand from the back pocket of my jeans. I blink in the dark, vast room, and try to gauge the situation. It feels like…like there's someone else in the room with me.
My heart starts to pound in my ears, and then I hear a shuffling sound behind me. I turn around swiftly, my wand at the ready.
A man is standing there, in a very dishevelled state. His face and neck sport several cuts and bruises, and I'm quite sure he's dripping water as well. His arms are crossed over his chest, a look of bewilderment edged on his face.
"What the fuck are you doing in here, Potter?" he grits out, and I gape at him.
He knows who I am, but I have no bloody idea who he is.