~Prologue~

There was a man more evil than any who had ever lived terrorizing the country. Every day more people—Muggles, witches, and wizards alike—were destroyed by his wicked followers or the evil man himself. It was a time of pure darkness and despair, and it seemed the cruel, raging war would never end.

The evil lord had followers. Some were perfectly loyal to him. Others were devoted to him beyond anything. They would do anything, anything, to give him what he wanted, and if they failed, they would accept their punishment without objection.

Wizard society had morphed into this world or turmoil, and it seemed this was the fate of the race. The evil man’s followers—Death Eaters—would stop at nothing.

It was the dark year of 1981 when my parents were sent to Azkaban. I was only a year old. Many would say it was much like Harry Potter’s story: a year old child being left in the care of other family members because her parents weren’t able to care for her.

But the stories are completely different. Harry Potter was sent to his unloving aunt and uncle, while I was welcomed by my mother’s sister and her family. Harry’s parents died, but mine were still alive. Unlike Harry, I wasn’t raised by Muggles.

But the biggest difference was the fact that Harry’s parents and my parents were on opposite sides of the Wizarding war.

My parents were Death Eaters, and not only were they in Voldemort’s select circle, but they were his most loyal servants. After committing punishment-worthy crimes, they were captured and sent to the fortress, leaving me in my aunt and uncle’s care. There I grew up with my cousin, and there I returned every summer when I wasn’t at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I never knew my parents, but I’d heard some stories about them, even though my family flat-out refused to ever tell me why they were sent to Azkaban. I knew they were in Slytherin House at Hogwarts and were entirely for the blood purity factor. That was something I never understood. I didn’t know why some people were so keen to destroy Muggles, Squibs, and Muggle-borns. Since my uncle—the one who raised me—was a Muggle-born, I always had respect for them.

My mother had two sisters and wanted me sent to the one who wasn’t a blood traitor, but her sister wouldn’t take me because she had a son of her own. I was sent to the other sister who already had a daughter but graciously took me in.

When I started school, I expected to be sorted into Slytherin House just like the rest of my family, with few exceptions such as my cousin, who was in Hufflepuff. But I was put in Gryffindor. The only person in my family that ever became a Gryffindor was my second cousin, Sirius—and he ended up being accused of mass murder.

Upon my arrival at school, I had to use an alias. The Ministry wanted to hush up my existence. That was how I grew up. Nobody knew my true identity, and it was designed so that they never would.

I hated having to be a different person. I couldn’t get close to anyone. If I did, there was the chance they would discover the truth. The Ministry said it was for my own protection, so Voldemort’s followers wouldn’t come after me. I never understood until I started school, but after being placed in Gryffindor I realized if the Death Eaters found out my true identity, they would want me gone.

But that was how it was. That was who I was. I had to accept that I was the hidden daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.