Prologue

It was seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts. The wizarding world had settled into a state of cautious, but relatively hopeful state of peace. It seemed to all that this time Voldemort was truly gone. Everyone had heard the story and some had even seen the body. They were all sure he was gone. And they were right, he definitely was.

The Boy Who Lived now lived a life mostly out of the public. Of course, he still appeared in the papers quite regularly, such an influential figure was he, but by and large, he led a regular life with his family. His companions did the same.

So indeed, on the 14th of August 2005, none of the famous fighters in the Second Wizarding War, cared about or noticed the birth of a baby in a small town in Scotland. The townspeople of Teigh, on the other hand, certainly did.

The first thing to cause unease amongst the villagers was the weather. Up until that point, it had been quite mild. Getting colder of course, with summer drawing to a close, but still pleasant. On the 14th however, a heavy, chilling fog rolled over the town, quite suddenly. It seemed to bring with it an inexplicable feeling of gloom. People, who'd been perfectly content the day before, fell into deep pits of melancholy. Stranger still, both the fog and the unhappiness seemed to be stronger around one particular house, No. 9 Sycamore Drive.

No. 9 did not have the greatest reputation with the rest of the drive to begin with. It was a mess, with an overgrown, dangerous looking front garden, constantly shut curtains and one seldom seen occupant who, by all accounts, was very strange indeed. In conversation, it was called "that bloody house." Now it seemed as if the residents' suspicions of it's weirdness had been confirmed.

As the night went on, the fog grew thicker and the temperature continued to drop. It got so bad, that the families living on either side of No. 9 fled their houses, completely terrified and with no idea why.

A woman's screams began echoing around the street, from the house. It sounded as if she was in real pain and a shocked passerby went to check if everything was okay. The closer she got to No. 9 however, the less she cared about what was going on inside. It felt as though her happiness was being ripped from her with every step she took towards the front door. Eventually, pale faced and faint, she abandoned her attempt and sprinted home.

The screams went on for hours until, shortly before midnight, all went quiet on Sycamore Drive. It was still icy cold, and bleak but at least there was silence. Slowly, the neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief. Peace at last.

This temporary respite was cut short by the door of the house flying open with a strangely loud bang, and a lady storming out, a small bundle in her arms.

"It lives, you bastards. You tried all you could, yet still it lives," she shrieked at no one in particular. The fog started to curl around her ankles, like small white tendrils grabbing for her. Her screaming broke down into a load cackle, and she surveyed the street, a mad glint in her eye. Neighbour's heads were hurriedly withdrawn from windows. But the crazed lady seemed to spot them because she laughed, manically.

"Oh yes Muggles. Look all you like. It will matter to you soon enough," she cackled. The few people who were still furtively watching her, could've sworn that at that point she disappeared into thin air. They never voiced this to anyone, fearing that they might be going completely insane.

Nevertheless, she did disappear somewhere. No. 9 Sycamore Drive was completely abandoned and, much to the pleasure of the rest of the people living there, it was to remain that way for eleven years.