A/N: This story takes place during Harry Potter's third year of school. This story involves death eaters, lies, werewolves, friendships and falling in love. As a quick warning, this story does involve a student/teacher relationship. I assure you, though, that it will not seem weird when you read it. The characters are suitably matched and both of age. I promise that I tried to steer clear of any awkwardness/weirdness there may be there regarding that aspect. If you're still not comfortable with that idea, I advise you to stop reading since it is a major part of my story. Other than that, it is does not directly follow the plot of what is happening in the book. This is a project I've been working on for a while, but only recently had the time to arrange things together. Also, I obviously don't know own any of the Harry Potter characters or the world of Harry Potter, which belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling. I did create my OC, Rosamund. I don't own the title, which comes from a Walt Whitman quote.
Please let me know what you think & I hope you all have a lovely day! xx
Prologue:
The room was lit by the light of candles dangling in mid-air, the flickering flames dancing. Though this was a familiar room to Rosamund Avery, it was not a comfortable one. She looked around the room, the people with their cackling smiles and malicious passion in their eyes. The head of the table was where she did her best to avoid gazing, , her heart in a loud nervous strand of beats. Voldemort sat, with his intense frigid eyes and hypnotic laughter.
"Rosamund, keep your attention on the Dark Lord." Her father whispered briskly nudging his elbow to her side. This just reminded her of how much she hated the meetings, the uncomfortable tone which made her spin into a nauseous insomnia. It was not her first death eater's meeting, but unfortunately, it was not going to be her last. "Rosamund, Marcus…." She heard a icy voice proclaim from the head of the table. It was time, but at least she would be with Marcus. Marcus Flint became Rosamund's best friend when she was only seven years old. His lips moved, almost to form a smile, but he quickly turned away. She closed her eyes, cringing and prepared herself for pain. She felt someone grab her arm and if that sting didn't crush her, what was to come did.
"Let me see," Her father said after the meeting, grabbing her arm hastily, sliding up the sleeve on her emerald sweater to reveal the Slytherin crest in jet blank ink across her pale skin. Rosamund winced in pain as his father wrapped his sharp fingernails around her wrist, "It's….perfect. You're almost there, Rose. You almost can get one like mine." He proudly patted his arm where his dark mark resided. "The Dark Lord also mentioned for you to expect missions at Hogwarts. I am so happy for you, but make sure you get ahead of Marcus, you hear me?"
Rosamund wanted to say a million things in response starting with, "Leave me the hell alone," but all that she was able to murmur was, "Yes, father." He smiled at her, but it wasn't a sincere, happy, genuine smile. It was a smile that was laced with hatred and respect for a man whose main goal in life was to murder others. They apparated to their home, decent sized from family money. She wished with all her heart that Marcus was spending the night, but she was alone. In the morning, she would be off on the Hogwarts train, but she dreaded it deeply. Of course, it would be nice to get away from her father, but if she was going to be summoned by the Voldemort, she wasn't really away from him after all. She stared at her window watching the last summer sky she would see at home, clear with lucid stars. "Goodnight," she whispered to nobody in particular as she huddled underneath her emerald comforter and blew out the candle beside her bed.