This is my declaimer, I don't own Harry Potter. The Unknown Spy is all mine, but the story she is based off of isn't. I am ignoring the fact the Horcrux' in this story. I've finally decided to finish this story and hope that anyone who was waiting for it enjoys how I finish it off.
Whoever is reading this, I hope your life hasn't been the Hell mine has. What my name is doesn't matter, but the life I've lead may change the course of the war. Seeing as I may be dead tomorrow, I felt that I should write down my story. Some may think this inspiring, others the ramblings of the clinically insane, but this is neither. My story is just words put together to try and help another lost and black soul find the light. My story is one of murder, betrayal, and hopefully, forgiveness. I for the last twenty years have been spying on the Dark Lord. No one but Albus Dumbledore knew who and what I am, and now he's dead. My only hope, my only life line, the only reason I'm still alive, is gone. And now I must go and explain to the Order who I am, what I've done, and let them decide my fate. The only reason I'm alive is because Albus has been there to save me from myself, and if the Order refuses me… I'd rather die by my own hand, then let Voldemort keep me, torture me, kill me. But I am ahead of myself; let me start from the beginning.
I was born thirty five years ago to a nice and happy pureblood family. We were friends with muggles. And really didn't care about blood. I went to Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin, like everyone else in my family. I had fun and was pretty normal…Well, as normal as one can be when she is years above her peers in her magic ability. I was the top of my class, and there was even talk of letting me skip a few years, but I chose not to. It was my fifth year when Voldemort really came out and in to his power, it was also the year I lost my parents. I was taken in by my uncle and aunt, the MacNairs. Two days after I was taken into their home, I went before the Dark Lord and was initiated. I became a Death Eater that night, and received my first scar, the Dark Mark. I was fifteen, the youngest to ever join him. It was also the night of my first attempt at suicide. Albus found me in Moaning Murtles bathroom, sitting watching my blood flow from my wrist. Those were my second and third scars.
Sometimes I wish he hadn't found me, sometimes I'm glad he did. I told him why, I had to…He had seen the Mark. Albus gave me a choice; I could either be a slave to the Dark Lord. Obeying his every whim, lose all respect for myself, and most likely try and kill myself again. Or I could become a spy. Join the Order of the Phoenix, and aid them in the down fall of Voldemort. I choose to live, and became a spy. I spoke only with Albus, he told no one of me, and I thanked him for that always. I knew Snape was a spy, I saw him at different gatherings, but I could never tell if he was for or against the Order. After my first year of carrying the Mark, I was called to the Dark Lord. I was afraid. Had he found me out? Did he know I was spy? Was he aware that I was the reason behind the failures of the raids? Not knowing what to expect, I went with caution and sent a warning to Albus (He had become a grandfather to me. If I was killed, I didn't want him to try and find my body.) What happened when I got there was something that I never expected. It made me hated life even more.
The Dark Lord had begun to see me as a daughter. God, that night I wished Albus hadn't found me, because Voldemort made me his daughter, in Black Magic and in blood. Filia meus cruor I will forever remember those words. I was drained of my blood, yet I still lived. He put his blood into me. My soul was ripped in two, and I was given part of his. I know I screamed, I cried, I begged. I didn't want it to happen, yet I couldn't change it. I was part of him now. I never told Albus what happened. I was afraid he would stop me from doing the only thing I lived for, spying. I researched, searching for this dark spell he had used. When I did finally find it, I cried for days. There was no way to reverse the spell, I was connected to him. What pain he felt, I felt and was glad. When he felt joy, I wept. And I knew when it came time for him to die, I would die with him.
I didn't die when the Potter boy first defeated the Dark Lord. I knew that he would come back. I told Albus that he wasn't dead, but he refused to believe me. I tried to warn him that he needed to stay vigilant but he told me not to worry. Harry had saved us all. Or so everyone thought. Even the Death Eaters thought he was dead. I could feel him, I could feel his heart still beating, I could feel his soul stirring, I could feel him breathing. There was nothing I could do.
I left England, and I fallowed the pain I felt in my soul, praying that it would lead me to the man of my nightmares.
I hated the fact that I needed to find him. I searched for him everywhere, from the Alps to the Sahara. I ventured to the Americas, hoping I would have better luck looking for him there, I searched for 10 years, and I could never find him. By that time I was ready to give up, and then I heard that he had got into Hogwarts. I knew that he was weaker then he had ever been, and I began to think. If he died, I would die…Did that mean if I killed myself, that I and the world, would finally be rid of him forever? That was the second time I tried to end my life. I re-opened my old scars, prayed that no one would find me, and stop me. I don't know how long I sat there, but I my prayer was ignored, and as before Albus found me. He had finally realized that I had been right. Voldemort was still alive, and there was nothing either of us could do. I broke down that night, and finally told Albus about the cruse, how I was part of the Dark Lord, how he made me his. Albus could barely stand to look at me after that. I think he was afraid of me even, I mean, who wouldn't be? I had part of that, things, soul in me. I was turned from the person, the light that I had always been into a black mass. A disgusting vessel that was helping keep the creature alive.
That was back in Harry Potter's first year. Now it's after his 6th… It's hard for me to imagine that five years have passed since I told Albus what was really going on. I had to help the pathetic excuses for a rat Wormtail bring the Dark Lord back, I've had to act like I agree with everything that creature says, I've had to listen to Bella's insane rantings and act like I believe that muggles are beneath me. All of these things are killing me slowly. And now, the one person that kept me faith in humanity alive is dead.
I wonder about fate sometimes. Was it really planned out that I would become the thing that keeps the most hated being in the world alive, or was it an accident? Was I suppose to live those times that Albus found me, when my blood was pouring from my wrist, when my life was slipping away from me? Or was it all a mistake? Maybe I was never suppose to survive that night my parents died, or when I received the Dark Mark, or any of the other times I saw the end coming for me… Was this all a cruel joke? A mistake in life? Alas, I shall never know… All I have left is the hope that at least in person in the Order will believe me. Now is the time for me to go and find out my fate. Funny isn't it that I use that term?
Epilogue:
Tomorrow is the Final Battle. I know I will not be coming back. I'm thinking about Albus and all he did for me, and I hope to see him at least once before I am taken to Hell. I know that is where I am headed. There is no other possibility because of piece of the Dark Lord's soul that resides in me. I also remember the day I went into the Order's headquarters. How they drew their wands on me as I explained who I was. I remember how none believed me at first that is until they gave me the truth serum. Even after that some still didn't believe me.
I hope whoever reads this has a better life then me, I hope all of their dreams come to pass and they don't have to go through their own personal Hell each and every moment of each and every day. Good luck and may God bless your soul.