Notice: 1st FanFic. Will try to uplaud new chapters once a week.

Disclaimer: Any and all things recognizable belongto the lovely miss JK Rowling, who i am not. The rest however, belongs to yours truly. Enjoy!

"But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself." ― Albert Camus

Part One: The Beginning.

If they were asked, nearly every person present at Number 12 Grimmauld place would argue that their lives were irrevocably changed on Saturday, August 14, 1995, when werewolf, and former-DADA professor, Remus Lupin slammed open the door of Order headquarters and walked in carrying what appeared to be a pile of bloody, ragged cloaks. At least until the pile of cloaks moaned quietly.

"Help. Molly? Sirius? I need help." The lycanthrope cried, carefully repositioning the bundle he carried. He yelled once more for aid, although it was hard to be heard over the prejudiced cries of the former matriarch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"Moony?" the rugged face of Sirius Black poked around the kitchen doorway. The rest of him followed as he bellowed "Oh, shut it you vile bitch!" and pointed his wand at the curtains of his mother's portrait, which immediately closed. The following silence left a ringing in the ears of those in the room. Footsteps could be heard rumbling down the steps as several adolescents sprinted down the stairwell, eager to see what the action was. Of course, all this succeeded in doing was reawakening the portrait of Mrs. Black―

"FILTH! MUDBLOODS! STAINING AND DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY―"

"I said SHUT UP!" Sirius cried as he once again brandished his wand at the portrait, which silenced directly. "Moony. What is it? What's happened?"

"Get the Order, Sirius, and call Dumbledore. Tell him to bring Poppy, and Snape."

"What? Why―"

"NOW, Sirius! You lot," he said as Sirius left to return to the kitchen, now looking at the line of children peering over the landing above him, he called, "go back upstairs, now! I'll explain when I can." He kept his head inclined toward the landing until all six heads disappeared. Only when a soft whimper escaped the bundle he held did his eyes move.

"Umm…Remus…?" He looked down, moving the cloak to reveal the battered face of a young woman.

"Sh. Seffy, I've got you. You're safe now. Don't worry."

"Hmm…" the woman sighed, and passed out.

Suddenly, footsteps could be heard coming from the kitchen, and the dignified face of Albus Dumbledore came in to view along with that of Poppy Pomfrey, Severus Snape, and Sirius Black. Molly Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks followed behind.

"Albus, she needs help. Badly. Please." Remus pleaded with his former headmaster.

"Of course, Remus. Poppy, Severus, come! Remus, we had best take her down to the kitchen." The group made its way back into the kitchen following the headmaster.

Once in the kitchen, Remus laid the woman onto the table, where Snape and Mme. Pomfrey began working to save her. He looked at Dumbledore, and began to explain.

"She's a werewolf. I found her in the woods near Malfoy Manor. I think she escaped, but she's very, very weak. My guess is she's been there for a while. Somehow, she got hold of some Wolfsbane potion, kept her wits about her, and was able to escape―"

"Impossible!" cried Severus Snape.

"I assure you―"

"Oh, I know you are telling the truth, Lupin. What is impossible is who gave this woman the potion. You see a few days before the last full moon, Narcissa Black asked me to make her a dose of Wolfsbane potion. She claimed that Greyback had turned a woman under her care, and she wanted to help the poor girl. So, I made the potion―"

"That still doesn't explain the impossibility, Snape," interrupted Sirius Black, "All that shows who the poor girl got the potion from. Um. Who is she, exactly, Remus?"

"Her name is Persephone, Padfoot."

"Well, I suppose that explains a lot. My guess is the poor woman probably lives up to her name more than she should need to."

"What do you mean, Sirius?" piped in Molly Weasley, as she smoothed the matted, black hair off of Persephone's forehead.

"Not know your muggle Greek mythology, eh, Molly?" Sirius replied with a humorless chuckle. "Persephone is the wife of Hades, Greek God of Hell. Or the Underworld, as they call it. She was kidnapped, and forced to become his wife, from what I understand."

"Oh, how horrible…" Molly shuddered as she looked down on Persephone, and tut-tutted about the younger woman.

Just over fifteen minutes later, Mme. Pomfrey looked up from her charge and announced, "She'll live, and I'm sure she has quite the story to tell us," she waved her wand at the unconscious woman and cried, "Ennervate!"

Persephone opened her midnight-blue eyes, and looked around.

Part 2: Waking Up.

She heard voices. Talking. Arguing, by the sound of it, she thought. This didn't scare her though. Persephone was used to anger, and arguments. Hearing loud voices wasn't cause to become frightened. No, Persephone knew all too well, it was the forced, icy calm. That was what inspired fear in the young woman. They aren't arguing anymore, she thought. Although they do say my name an awful lot. Suddenly, Persephone felt a great warmth flood her, and she opened her eyes.

Several pairs of eyes met hers, and Persephone visibly flinched. This did not go unnoticed.

"Alright, back up. Don't scare her. She's a bit skittish―"

"Remus?" Persephone called, not recognizing the scratchy, muted croak to be her own voice. She looked around at the crumbling, dilapidated, kitchen, taking in every detail. Soon her eyes met the dark brown eyes of Remus Lupin. "Remus, where am I?"

Remus stepped closer, and took Persephone's hand, "You're at headquarters, Seffy. For the Order of the Phoenix."

"I―What?"

"The Order, Seffy." He sighed, "The point is that your safe."

"Well, of course she is safe," replied Professor Dumbledore, "What we need to know now, is why she needed to be brought here―"

"I told you, she―"

"Maybe I should rephrase, Remus. We need to know what happened before you discovered Miss Persephone. Alright?" Remus nodded.

"You want to know who I am."

"Yes."

"I am afraid to tell you… no, let me finish." She added as Remus looked about to interrupt, "You see, I am afraid that once you know who and what I am, you may kill me."

"We do not care that you suffer lycanthropy, my dear" replied Mrs. Weasley, "why, we would be quite the hypocrites if we did because of―"

"―Mooney's furry little problem, of course." Interrupted Sirius Black, grinning at the scowl he was rewarded with by the Weasley matron.

"Mooney…? Oh! You mean Remus…No; it's not that I am a werewolf. No, it's something much darker. I am afraid, however, that I will have to tall my story anyway. Erm..." She said, glancing at the ceiling, "if there are anymore of you, you may want to bring them here. I only want to tell the story once."

Part 3: A Woeful Tale

Sitting in a plush, warm chair wrapped in blankets, with a cup of hot chamomile tea on the tale beside her, Persephone looked at each person sitting before her. She quickly met the emerald eyes of the skinny, black-haired boy sitting before her. She looked at him the longest, before her eyes became glazed, and it was obvious she was no longer in the room with them, but somewhere far, far away. A world away. Persephone began her tale.

"All my life, I have lived in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. The day I escaped was only the fourth time I have ever seen real sunlight.―" Ginny gasped. "―I do not remember much about my mother, I really only know my… father," she ground out the word with derision, as if it were something dirty, "I do however, know her name, and I know that she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and that she is dead. Her name was Leticia Prewitt―"

"―No!" cried Molly Weasley, "No, no, no! Not my sister! My baby sister! Aah!"

"Your sister? My mother was your sister?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said thickly," She was nearly a decade younger than me, she's been missing for at least―"

"―since 1971," Molly nodded, "I was born on July 31, two years later. My mother died before I was two years old. For the most part, I was taken care of by the house elves, although my father consented to check up on me a few times. Always… pleasant, he was. My FATHER. Made sure to give me lots of gifts, he did. Oh yes, he―"

"―so sorry, to interrupt, my dear… but who is your father, could you tell us about him?" said Professor Dumbledore.

"Of course, I apologize; I guess I started rambling…" Persephone took a sip of tea, her hand shaking, "oh yes, my father. He was an orphan, you see. Quite boy. A little strange. But then again, aren't we all. Oh yes. My father was very strange." She said the last bit in parsletongue, everyone gasped audibly. Harry replied―

"You're a parslemouth?"

"Yes. Hm… Have you guessed who my father is yet?"

"No… um, at least" he sighed, and returned to English. "No, it can't be."

"Oh, but it is. Oh yes. You see Harry Potter; the man to whom you refer, the man who raped my mother―" Molly cringed, and yelped; "―who murdered her with Avada Kedavra in front of my face when I was five years old. The man whose blood runs through my veins. My Father is the same man who killed your mother and your father! My father gave you your scar! You've guessed it!" she laughs maniacally, "My father is none other than Lord Voldemort!" She took a large gulp of tea, and looked at the shocked faces before her.

"That is not the worst part, Harry. You see, not only does the blood of Lord Voldemort run through my veins, but a piece of his souls rests in me as well. You see Harry. You are not the only one to live. Have you not wondered what happened to Voldemort to make him resemble a snake, so? I lived, Harry. I lived! Look," she moved her hand and pulled her shirt down, showing the area just over her heart, "I have a scar as well. You see, the potion my father used to revive himself in your fourth year is the same he used when I destroyed him."

"But, the sorcerer's stone, he went after it. Why?"

"Some magic, Harry, especially dark magic, is extremely painful. The spell Voldemort used to return make the Cruciatus Curse look like petting kittens. The stone would have restored him, without the pain."

"How do we know to trust you?"

"I thought you would ask that. I'd think you a fool if you didn't. I mentioned my father giving my many gifts, earlier, did I not?" Harry nodded. "Shall I show you these gifts? There are many, I assure you. The most recent is this―" Persephone stood, turned around and lifted the back of her shirt. Many puckered, red whip lashes could be seen. "These were from my last unsuccessful escape attempt. The earliest is this," she pointed to the angry red, crescent moon at the junction of her neck and shoulder. "The bite that made me a werewolf. I have many more scars, probably more than Remus, even. You see, you can trust me because of what my father is. Let me tell you a story.

"When I was five years old, I was allowed to walk in the garden at Malfoy Manor. Never unsupervised of course, I was accompanied by a house elf. There is a small grove of walnut trees in the northernmost part of the Malfoy gardens. One day, when Dessy and I―Dessy is the name of the house elf―we were walking through the gardens, and I ran up toward the grove. There was a bird lying on the grass just before the first tree. He was hurt," she said with a thick voice, her eyes starting to fill, "his wing broken. I picked him up as gingerly as I could, and he let out this little twitter, the most pitiful sound I had ever heard," her voice broke on the last word.

"It was almost as if he knew, he knew, he wouldn't live much longer. And I began to cry, I said 'don't worry little birdie. Sh. I've got you―" tears were beginning to trickle down her face, and she roughly wiped them off the end of her nose, and cheeks. "I began to walk back toward the house, slowly; I didn't want to hurt the bird more. It was a goldfinch, I think. Such a pretty shade of yellow on the underside of his wings, I thought.

"My father was more lenient with me then; I suppose he disliked harming children. He grew up in an orphanage, so it isn't too difficult a concept to grasp. I walked inside the house, and into the drawing room. There were men in the room wearing long, black cloaks. They were sitting around a table. I remembered then why my father had allowed me to go outside that day. It was a meeting.

'You mustn't interrupt,' he said, 'or there would be dire consequences.' His eyes glinted as he said those two words, 'dire consequences,' like he half-wanted me to mess up. To err in some way―I always like that word, err, it is so amusing to say," she quipped, with a brittle smile, visibly trying to pull herself together, out of the past. She was trying to separate the past from the present. The nightmare, from what now seemed too much like a dream. She was afraid if she closed her eyes, and then reopened them, she would be back in the basement. Naked, from the transformation. And alone. Always alone.

"I tried to back out of the room quickly, and silently, but he saw me. He smiled, I remember. Actually smiled. I can still feel how the chills went up my spine with that smile. He asked 'what are you doing, Persephone? Why are you here? Did I not tell you that you mustn't interrupt?' He stood, and walked towards me―glided really, it was to snake-like for a walk―he saw the bird in my hand, 'what have you got, my Persephone?' he asked, sneering at the pitiful creature shuddering in my five-year-old hand.

'Ah, a pathetic, little bird,' he added, 'now why would you bring that vermin here?' I don't believe he liked the bird, the colors, you see, goldfinches have scarlet faces, with golden yellow under the wings. Plus, birds eat garden snakes, which he would rather have had me catch. I didn't realize that point at the time. They found me of course, and spoke to me. But, for the most part, I stayed away from the snakes. They frightened me, the scales, and the hissing, I much prefer earthworms, to be honest." She smiled at this, albeit brokenly.

"I know it is a little odd, a parsletongue afraid of snakes. Anyway, I looked to my father and asked if he could fix the bird's wing, or if he'd let me fix the bird the muggle way, and nurse it back to health. He laughed at this, a cold sound. It was unnerving, my father's face, you see, was very handsome. He should have had a warm laugh. A laugh that made you join in. But he did not.

He told me that he wouldn't fix the bird. He told me we should kill it. He took his wand out of his robes, and handed it to me. Handed it to me! He leaned down and whispered the curse into my ear, telling me what to say, 'Avada Kedavra… say it, my Persephone, and he will die. Quick, and painless. Kill the bird, and I shall buy you a present. A nice tiara, would you like that?' he added. 'Surely you want to be a princess, hmm?' he said, 'all little girls want to be princesses.'

I wanted a tiara. I wanted to be a princess. And I wanted not to be scared. But I knew somehow that killing the bird was wrong. I looked at my mother, she was sitting on the floor in the corner, broken; physically, I suppose she was well enough, but her eyes―My eyes―were empty, glassy. But she shook her head at me. She told me not to kill the bird. And I didn't. I turned back to my father, and said 'no. I don't want to kill the bird, daddy. I want to fix him! I can fix him!'

He got angry then, and I flinched. Then he became very calm, eerily calm. He ripped the bird out of my hand, and took back his wand. He threw the bird on the ground, and it tittered again feebly. There was a flash of green. Then it was dead. He had killed it.

He turned his wand on me, and suddenly" ―she shuddered―"it was red, all red. I was screaming. So loud. It was so loud! I was on fire, burning. And drowning, I couldn't breathe. I was shaking. I heard someone shout, although it was hard to hear over my own screams. Then it was dark, and the pain had stopped. There was a body kneeling over me. Shielding me. My mother.

My father told her to get up, get out of the way. She refused. She whispered to me, telling me she loved me, that I was so brave, so loved. That I would survive, even without her. That she would always be there to protect me when I needed her. She knew. She knew he was going to kill her. There was a flash of green light, and she slumped on me. Dead. He laughed. And laughed. And laughed. High pitched, cold peals.

He kicked her body aside, off of me. He called her a pathetic excuse of a witch, and said she was a terrible lay, though I knew not what that meant at the time. He brandished his wand at me and yelled. There was an explosion, and he was gone. The room had imploded, and I was alone." Nearly everyone was teary-eyed at this point, and Molly was openly sobbing, leaning into her husband. But she was still listening. They all were.

"They brought him back three months later. This was after Greyback had bitten me, but I shan't go into that. It is irrelevant. The day they buried my mother was the last day I saw sunlight, until now. I have no idea why he did not kill me when he returned; perhaps he was curious as to why I defeated him. Perhaps it was because he could not touch me. But I vowed the day his minions buried my mother that I would cut the son-of-a-bitch's head of myself, and if I didn't get the chance, then I would sure as hell be the one to hand over the knife to the one to do it. You, Harry. I'm here to hand you the knife."

She looked at Molly, then. "My mother is buried in that grove of walnut trees in the northernmost part of the Malfoy gardens. The death eaters would tell you that her grave is unmarked, that only weeds grow there now. But it is indeed marked, and not by weeds. There is a thistle plant that grows over where her heart rests. The goldfinches cluster there, every year, and sing.