Life went on. Lessons continued to be taught. Time continued. He, however, didn’t. He had nothing to live for, nothing at all. Eleven long, painful years passed; start of term came, and with it, a student about whom his feelings were, and ever would be, confused. When the boy had sat on the stool to be sorted, he had seen that he was a carbon copy of his father, right down to the annoyingly messy hair. As the child had sat down in his seat and looked up at the staff table, he had been surprised to see her eyes staring into his, for the eyes did not simply resemble hers, they were hers and he’d felt the pieces of his heart tremble as he’d remembered her. Those eyes that he thought he’d never see again had stared at him the same way hers had the day they had met. They had reflected a sense of curiosity and fear, and he hadn’t quite known what to make of it. On one hand, he was exactly like his father, on the other, he had his mother’s eyes. His first thought had been that he hated him. He was sure to be exactly what his father was, proud and cocky.
As the year went on, he felt that his suspicions were confirmed; the boy was exactly like his father, right down to his lack of respect for those above him. He was perhaps the most irksome student he had ever met. He could see nothing of his mother in him besides her eyes; the boy was his father through and through, and he did not like it one bit. This child was supposed to be his comfort now that she was gone? It felt more like rubbing salt into a wound, as it simply reminded him of whom she had chosen, and what that man had done to him.
However, as much as he hated the child, he couldn’t bear to watch him die. As his broom had started bucking, he had seen her eyes widening in fear. The child had to live, he had to. Her eyes had to live on, and she’d never have forgiven him if her child had died on his watch. He had known it was a jinx, he had had his suspicions as to who was doing it, thanks to the advice of his superior. He had been told to keep an eye on that the idiot Defence Against the Dark Arts, but he’d never thought that he’d try and kill the child. He was meddlesome and too nosey for his own good, but there was no need to kill him. To his great relief, the boy didn’t die that day, and he swore from that day on to keep him safe.
Two years went by. The boy had met Voldemort two more times, kept him from returning, and lived to tell the tale twice now, but the return of the betrayer, the other person besides himself that was responsible for her death could only mean that his life was in danger once more. He wanted to catch him more than anyone could ever imagine. It wasn’t because he wanted to save the boy, no the boy was safe as is, nor was it mere petty revenge for the tormenting he had received at his hand. It was because if there was one other person who was responsible for her death, it was him.
Somehow, the betrayer had made it in, not once, but twice. He blamed it on the employment of the betrayer’s best friend. Werewolves were not to be trusted; he was certainly letting the betrayer in. No one believed this accusation. He was desperate to get his hands on the betrayer. He needed to, if only to possibly piece together a part of his heart.
He had almost lost the boy that night; the boy would have died had he not, by some miracle, produced that Patronus. The betrayer had escaped, and he had been told that it had not been him at all, but rather a man who had been thought dead. Still unbelieving, he had continued into the summer as miserable as ever, especially with the upcoming events.
The appearance of the Dark Mark had been the first sign that something had been about to happen. Concerned for what may happen, he had gone into September with a wary eye. With all the extra people around, he had felt that the boy’s life may have been in danger, especially with the arrival of an ex-Death Eater.
His suspicions had been further confirmed when the boy’s name had come out of the Cup... He had watched as his Dark Mark had darkened, growing stronger with each passing day. He had had his doubts. He honestly had not thought that it had been the ex-Death Eater - he had betrayed too many of the Death Eaters for them to trust him. He had been sure that when the Dark Lord had returned he’d be one of the first dead.
Somehow, the boy had got through. He didn’t know how, but he was grateful he had. Knowing that the boy would be safe for at least the next few months had been a relief. He had had enough to worry about, especially with the ex-Death Eater running after him, inquiring things he did not know. He had noticed that the boy had begun to watch him especially carefully. He had known that the boy had never had much faith in him, but something in his eyes had reminded him of how her eyes had looked when she had suspected him. The boy must know something, he had thought, and he had hated him for it.
June had come with no issues surrounding the boy. Though his Dark Mark had continued to grow darker, there had been no whisper of what may be happening, if anything at all. That had changed that night. The boy had returned from the task with the body of his classmate. He had watched as he had been taken to the castle by the man who was there to help protect the students. As he looked up, he had seen the headmaster beckon for him and the old witch to follow. The boy had been taken, not by the man they had thought, but by a Death Eater in disguise, a Death Eater that, until then, everyone had thought was dead.
Through all this, the boy had had just one thing he had to say: “He’s back”. Something he had already known, as he had felt the once familiar burn on his left arm.
Upon being given the orders to do what needed to be done, he had gone to the Dark Lord, ready to resume his role of spy to the Order. That summer had not been an easy one. While the leaders of the Wizarding world had ignored his return, both the Order and the Death Eaters worked to bring up armies. A war had been coming, and he had known it.
However difficult his jobs were, he had persevered, for he owed it to her, not only keep her son safe, but to reinstate the world that she had died for. He had played the double agent, serving the Dark Lord while leaking information to the people who had been trying to return the world back to where it had once been. Not only had he had to play the darkest wizard of the age, but he had had to endure the insufferable know-it-all, the clan of red heads, the great dog of a man who had made his life horrible as a child, and the man who he had respected beyond all things, but who incidentally had held his very heart and soul in his hands.
That school year had proved to be just as difficult. The boy had been in his Fifth Year, and he had been experiencing things that no person should ever have to endure. The lack of Ministry support had allowed the Dark Lord to gain recruits at an alarming rate. Furthermore, the addition of that toad to the teaching staff had made any type of action very difficult.
When the boy had experienced the connection at Christmas, he had had a feeling that it would somehow result in another menial task for him. He had been right. He had been given the unfortunate job of teaching the boy to shield his mind. The boy was absolutely terrible at shielding his mind. He was simply too much of a Gryffindor in nature, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He had thought that the boy didn’t want the connection to end. He supposed the boy had felt special having that direct link to the Dark Lord. Not only that, but the boy had dared to question his loyalties. It had been moments like these when the boy had had an incredible resemblance to his father, not just in looks. The boy had soon looked where he shouldn’t have looked, seen what he shouldn’t have seen. He had dismissed the boy, telling him his lessons were done.
Had the headmaster been happy with this decision? Absolutely not, but he had trusted his judgement. The wise wizard had always trusted him. Soon, the Headmaster had left, however, only to be replaced with that toad. Slowly, but surely, every Order member had been forced into leaving the school. Perhaps that’s why the boy had been so stupid as to break into the toad’s office. Perhaps he had felt that all the Order members were gone. He supposed it would be quite easy for the boy to forget that he was an Order member, as he had always been undeniably horrid to him.
There were some days when he couldn’t believe the stupidity of the boy. He had been warned that the Dark Lord might start using this connection, yet his heroism complex had come into play again, and he recklessly risked the lives of five other students, lives that he could not save. By the end of the night, there had been no doubt in the wizarding world that the Dark Lord was back.