The End of Misery
I am currently ninety-seven years old. My beloved Angelina has been gone seventy years. It tears me apart that she died at my hands. And little Jack... But it won't be much longer before I join them. Why it has been so much longer that I have been cursed to live I do not know. Most werewolves don't live beyond fifty to sixty years. I've outlived that by at least forty years. Still, I've gotten ahead of myself again.
Margaret took responsibility for me till He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took her life, two years ago. Or ordered it done by one of his followers, the death-eaters. They had approached me the previous spring and offered me freedom. As if that's what I wanted. They offered me the ability to transform without shackles or restraint. I refused and they warned me that to do so would mean death. What a blessing to me! Unfortunately, it would come to Margaret. They knew to kill me was a reward. So they took the closest and dearest person to me.
The whole thing started on my ninetieth birthday. When one reaches eighty, their name is published in the Daily Prophet. The same thing happens on their ninetieth and every five years thereafter. Margaret had secretly planned a birthday party for me. She had long since succeeded in removing the spells and wards that prevented anyone but family from visiting me. My son was quite a talented wizard. Spite and hatred intensified these measures he took. I knew that Margaret had succeeded when the lad with the paper round rapped on my door one afternoon looking for subscriptions. I was overjoyed. He showed a lot of nerve as Margaret describes my house looking a lot like a Haunted House. When she heard about the lad with the papers, Margaret shouted in joy and started dancing right there in my garden. It was indeed a happy day. That was the day she hatched the plan for my surprise birthday party. Since the majority of my house was closed up and unused, this wasn't too difficult. She simply set up in areas that I didn't use.
When I awakened on my Ninetieth I had no idea that anything was going on, my first clue was that Margaret was making me breakfast. I came into the kitchen and there she was, looking so much like her mother it was painful to see. She was radiantly happy and it was infectious. Soon I knew something was up. About ten o'clock she threw open the doors to the Parlour and announced: "Happy Birthday Poppa!" There were people I hadn't seen in over sixty years. But the greatest joy was the young fellow waiting in the back.
When Ptometomy (toe-met-oh-me) died he and his wives had six children. They never forgot me and my darling Angelina. In fact, I heard that the Centaurs had erected a memorial for both of us when they heard of Angelina's death. Ptoris (tore-riss) the alpha mare actually testified at my trial. There hadn't been a centaur as a witness in a trial in recorded memory. It made quite a stir in the press, I can tell you. The current alpha mare is the granddaughter of Impecca. Her son was the fellow who introduced himself to me that day. I cried like a baby when I held hands with a centaur descended from my dear friend. It was like seeing his grandsire as he was a spitting image of Ptometomy. Firenze took up residence with the herd in the forbidden forest on the grounds of Hogwarts. It has truly been a comfort in my old age that we've been allowed several visits since.
One unfortunate consequence of that party was the attention of a cub reporter at the Daily Prophet. The woman has given me no peace since that day. Her scarlet claws and almost unnaturally curled hair disgust me almost as much as her smug, self-satisfied arrogance. In fact, there are days when I wish that Margaret had not succeeded in removing my son's barriers from the house. It was this reporter's slanderous and inflammatory articles that prompted the Dark Lord's interest in me.
The first servant of He-who-must-not-be-named, who called on me, was the son of my grandniece. She had disgraced herself by marrying a Muggle. In my family that wasn't a problem. With the Princes it was a disaster. She was ostracised from her family. Oh well, what can one expect from that lot? After all, without exception they were sorted into Slytherin. It's a side of the family we didn't discuss. But I'm digressing again. Sorry, it's a failing of the elderly.
Now where was I? Oh yes, the young visitor. He was a tallish, sallow skinned young man. His hair was straight, black, shoulder-length and unfortunately as oily as his mannerisms. Parting in the centre and sweeping back, it fell on either side of his face like curtains. He spent the better part of an hour trying to ingratiate himself to me, till I called an end to it. I finally demanded he tell me the real reason for his visit. It was obvious that he wanted something. The question was what? When he did come to the point I almost threw him off the property. If he wasn't a relative I would have. Our parting was barely civil. Nevertheless it was obvious that he would be back again.
The second time he called on me he was accompanied by friends. I have never liked the Lestranges or the Blacks. Both families are blighters of the lowest calibre. I don't care how much money they've got. With his choice of companions, he got no further than the last time. Our parting wasn't even civil. In fact, I did throw them off the property that time. That's when they delivered their threat. I laughed it off thinking they would do me a favour by killing me. But it wasn't me they had in mind.
At the end of August I made a trip to Hogwarts to visit a friend. When I was leaving, the divination teacher sought me out. He was a noted seer and had a word for me. His word was tragedy. The man was vague and mysterious as much as he was lacking in details. I shrugged it off and went home. Upon arrival, I saw the strangest phenomena I had ever laid eyes upon. It was a constellation of stars in the shape of a skull with a snake proceeding out of its mouth. The really odd part was that it seemed to be hanging directly over the house. I didn't understand the significance of what I was later told is the Dark Mark. Immediately upon entering the house I did. My darling Margaret lay dead in the entry hall of my home. And so you see, by defying the Dark Lord twice, it cost me my dearest Margaret.
My family had insulated me from Grindelwald in the forties. This time I had the privilege of the full experience. Dispatching an owl to the Ministry without contacting my family first turned out to be a major mistake. Fortunately, my grandson Dearborn was the Assistant Director of the Department of Magical Games And Sports. When the owl’s letter was delivered Dearborn heard about it. My grandson arrived just after the Aurors. He was able to stand between myself and the overzealous Aurors who were determined to pin the murder of his mother on me. He pointed out that his mother had no marks on her body. Dearborn further pointed out the cycle of the moon in such a sarcastic manner as to suggest the Auror's stupidity. They took Margaret back to the ministry to examine more closely. I was confined to my property again.
From that day forward Dearborn took responsibility for me. A good lad with a big heart, he just didn't have a lot of time for 'Gramps.' His job demanded a lot of his time. He also seemed to be involved with something on the side that consumed most of the remainder of his time. In fact, there were several instances where I had been seen to on my cycles by someone who was not family. A singular experience. For the first time in many decades, I had to insist that my arms and legs be shackled and the door locked. It's an odd experience protecting someone from oneself.
It was determined that Margaret died from one of the Unforgivable Curses. Pardon me please for not mentioning the foul thing here. They released me from house arrest as this curse can't be executed without a wand, which I hadn't possessed in seventy years. I was required to register as an Undesirable Noticeably Dangerous Extemporised Restricted Magical Being In Guardianship or UNDER BEING. The Ministry required that I register and report any trips or movements. They watched me closer than ever before. Margaret's funeral and burial were close by. She was buried next to her mother and brother. Now I had three places to visit and leave flowers. The problems I had doing business in Diagon Alley got even worse.