Prologue
When I was 12, I woke up on my bed in the middle of the Black Lake. A group of seventh years spent an hour of their night to levitate my bed. They spelled it so that the top of it would stay just above the water, ensuring that I wouldn't wake before morning. It took Headmistress Fawcett to help me. I remember just sitting on my bed, completely emotionless. I remember seeing my cousins, just laughing at me. As if it was completely hilarious that it had happened to me. I bet you if this had happened to Rose or James, no one would be laughing. Instead, they would have their wands out, hexing whoever did it.
It wasn't the first time I realized I was different. I mean, I am in Slytherin. That in itself is different, but at least I have Al with me on that.
I mean, first of all, I have dark brown hair. And not like James and Albus either. They don't count cause they look like Harry Potter. I don't look like anybody. Even my older sister, Molly, has bright red hair that rivals our dad. I also have dark green eyes, which I guess is pretty cool. I'm all tall and willowy, too. That can be nice, except when I'm towering over cute tiny Rose. My jaw is too squared, and I'm no porcelain doll. My skin is too olive, my nose too narrow. I don't look like a Weasley.
I just have to get used to being different, and I have. I never wanted to be, though. I wanted to be a Gryffindor.
I wanted to be like Aunt Hermione, smart and kind. I wanted to be like Uncle Harry, brave and strong. I wanted to be like Uncle Ron, funny and determined. I wanted to be like my dad, hardworking and caring. I wanted to be a Gryffindor. Let's just say I didn't end up like them. As soon as the hat brushed the top of my head I was in Slytherin. My ambition did do me no favors.
Right away, all the differences I noticed in me were clear to everyone else. I earned glares and pranks, but no one did anything to Albus. I would have resented him if he didn't of take me in. He became my best friend. And for that, I will be forever grateful.
When I got home for the summer, the way my dad looked at me changed. Almost with pity. He knew how much I wanted to be a Gryffindor. But, despite what everyone thought, he didn't disown me. No, he sat me down, brushed the hair from my face, and hugged me. He told me that he rejected my family once and he was going to do it again. None of the others know this, not Molly not Rose not James. No one.
My dad told me I'm not some kind of bad egg, but I'm beginning to doubt that. You see, it all began with a silver mask making its way onto my doorstep.
"Honor is a fool's prize. Glory is of no use to the dead."