Prologue
It has been a long time, how long I do not know. Not long enough for it to stop hurting, I know that much. I also know that it has been more than long enough to start feeling lonely and missing the sunlight. Running around down here, it feels sometimes as if I am the only one left in the world who remembers how it was. I have little contact with any of the other survivors, it is best that way – we learnt the hard way that the heart, above anything else it may be, is at best deceitful and at worst downright traitorous. These days, love doesn't even seem to come into it.
Maybe I should start at the beginning, but that would take a long time. Then again, I have nowhere to be until the next new moon and the lunar meeting. It has been 14 cycles since the fellowship was founded – and our numbers are not always large, and the faces not always the same. For months, possibly years I had wondered lonely amongst these systems before I found them – and found people I thought I'd lost. I cried, the first time in ages I'd dared to let go – and I cried because I knew I would have to fight again and lose everything again.
What am I on about, you ask? I can't tell you the name of the fellowship. You already know me; I'm notorious up there on the surface where your Dark lord strolls around in the light, while we rot away in the dank mustiness of London's underground. He tolerates us, I know – we would be dead if he wished it, but he wants for sport occasionally. When one of us has enough folly in us to tread near the surface, often we don't return. At least not breathing.
We retreated down here after Lord Voldemort struck down Harry Potter – with him dead and all the information he could've wished for from Percy and Cho Chang, that little whore, he destroyed us. We tried to fight back and for five long years it worked. But it became too much. I remember the final day. It is my clearest memory of the last days. Those last five years, and the months preceding them, they hurt like nothing you could ever imagine each and every time I wake up. But that last day. Nothing prepared me for it, nothing in the Five Year Fight made me strong enough for what I saw, what I did.
At five in the morning, Voldemort found our Head Quarters, after years of searching. We knew instantly that Lupin was dead – the alarms were shrilling in the air, wailing out that our secret keeper, our last line between us and what must eventually be, had been obliterated. Chaos is what I remember. My mother was sobbing in the kitchen trying to organise us all. She was white faced and shaking, but so very brave. Not once did she turn away, not once did she back down. I miss her so much – and in dreams I still see my last sight of her, fourteen hours later as I ran underground. She had bloodied arms and ripped robes and she was screaming and brandishing her wand, using curses I didn't think she'd even heard of. She died to give me the chance to live – she knew they were after me. I was the one they wanted.
The fourteen hours in between however, they were hell. White hot fear, pain and fury all happening around me. At nine that morning, our last stand took place. The remaining order was all there, the pitiful remnant of Dumbledore's defence system. There were sixty of us all told. There were hundreds of you. A sea of black crowded around us. Voldemort himself fired the first shot – he blew the front door open, and it was like a signal, you all poured in shooting curses, screaming and using crude muggle violence if you had to. If I close my eyes, I can smell the blood. I can see my friends dying in front of me – and I remember Draco snarling into Tonk's face as he held her dying in his arms to tell him where I was. He didn't see me watching in horror, didn't see my mother grab me and run like the hounds of hell were at her heels.
Yes, we ran and left everything. Our family, friend, our entire life was stolen from us in two hours by a bunch of stinking hyenas, who wanted their utopia.
So I went underground. I had to – my mother died so I could live, albeit a life with no light, no joy and little hope. I had to carve out a new life, a new way to exist in the world. I come up at night and steal from your bins. I watch you pass within feet of me and not feel it. I could kill you – and I have. Sometimes, when I come across a single Death eater who thinks they are safe, and they have their back to me, it is more than I have in me to resist the urge to kill them. But you have traced magic; you know we are down here defying you.
After months of being alone I was caught in the tunnels. At first I feared the worst and braced myself, certain I would die. But, I heard a voice. At first I had no idea what it was, remember I'd had no contact for maybe a year before this point. But that voice was the sweetest, lightest thing I've ever heard.
Hermione Granger. I should have thought really, if anyone would survive, it would be her. She wasn't alone either – there were twenty of us all told, fifteen these days. And they are fighting back, and we are beginning to worry Voldemort. We are starting a new generation down here – one that will rebalance our world. We will reclaim it and we will have revenge for what he has done.
You've caught me though, and you are demanding I tell you my story before you hand me over to Voldemort himself. I am a prized treasure; there is a golden ransom on my head.
I am his copper haired traitor, his un-seduced love. He tried to claim me for his own, and offered me the entire world if I would sit as his queen. I turned him down and ran. How I escaped, I cannot remember, for it caused a lot of harm. I loved the chosen one and he loved me back, so Voldemort stole him from me. I am the order's best assassin – I took down Bellatrix, Greyback, Lucius, Narcissa and many other key players. Draco hates me, I believe it is the only real passion he as ever felt. Now you have me, and it is your move. This may be my own personal last stand – but remember, I've killed better men than you.
You laugh at me and sweep your thick hair back. You wear it in a ponytail now, it makes you look handsome and confident, a look you never mastered at school. You grew up and filled out well, and you lost your brother as well, gained a hard edge from that which makes you dangerous.
"Oh, Ginny. I've missed your fire" you say.
The most treacherous heart is that which adored, and was never replied to. That heart was poisoned by ignorance and made arrogant by the need to be something special. Our generations Peter Pettigrew. You led Harry, my love, my shining star to that plain in which he was outnumbered and brutally murdered. You handed my dearest brother, Charlie to Lucius Malfoy. You betrayed Remus Lupin and fought against us at the last moment. A coward's heart beats within you.
I must bear in mind, the heart of Colin Creevey is unique in that it lost its passion and empathy long ago. His soul is depleted.
Colin Creevey, Voldemorts right hand man. I will tell you my story. And then we shall see what happens.
A/n: There you are, my prologue. Please please please review! There is an entire story I've written in my mind that both precedes and follows this prologue. If enough people want it written, I shall start posting it up regularly. Constructive criticism is very welcome, flames shall be used for heating as I am a student who can' t afford to pay the bills. Thankyou! Nadia xXx