Disclaimer: Unfortunately, the entire HP world is from J.K. Rowling's hands, not mine. However, Maureen Grey and her family do belong to me.
The Black Conspiracy
Nuwanda Darcy
Prologue
I had grown up in a very tight environment. My parents forbade me to even go outside because of the Muggles. They referred to them as disease, the foulest of the foul, and the lowest of the low. As the first son, I had an obligation to join the Death Eaters at eighteen. My father was not a Death Eater , but he insisted that I became one. He believed it would strengthen the blood ties.
"You shall," he had boomed often whenever I questioned my fate. He viewed my life as an opportunity to bring a great glory to the Black Family. Never did he once stop to ask me about what I felt. I could never opine nor could I rebel. It would often end in a very painful punishment that involved the use of a whip and of Kreacher. When I was three, my brother was born wailing his consent to be a Black. He was the ideal son for my parents; a son who never disobeyed, a son who never questioned morals. My mother doted upon him, and I uncomfortably anticipated my future at Hogwarts. My parents were sure of my House: Slytherin as my grandfather had been the head of it during his prime. I secretly preferred Gryffindor because of its courage and strength, but I chided myself into thinking the same as my parents. After all, I had no chance. I longed for their love and for their affection, but I never did enough to please them. The only companion I really had was my brother, Regealus. I loved him dearly and often wondered if he would have to face the same fate as I. He loved it, thinking of the potential. He never once questioned the immorality or the cruelness. When he did, it was too late and I never got to see him again.
My life seemed to orbit around my duty as a son for eleven long painful years until finally on that glorious September day did I leave home. It was truly the beginning of a new life. I had stood on the platform, anxiously looking around. My tall and haughty parents greeted only the "Pure blood" families and I was forced to endure long pep talks about Slytherin. However, they did arrogantly ignore a Pure Blood family of three whom I knew only as the "disgraceful Potters." My brother sniffed a few tears, unhappy to see me go. He was only eight and the baby of the family. Finally, when the train blew its whistle, did I board. My parents simply bid me farewell, but my brother gave me a big hug and a sloppy kiss. Embarrassed, I jumped on. Dragging my luggage, I searched frantically around for an empty compartment. Only when I came to the last one did I find somewhere to sit. Yet it was occupied with the "disgraceful Potters" son. My dutiful mind told me to leave and snub the boy, but I reckoned that it would cause me no harm to sit with him. After all, what had he done wrong to me? I am forever glad that I decided to sit with him or else my life might have turned out VERY differently.