This is going to be a story (hopefully a rather long story) about the young death eaters from the first wizard's war. I wanted to get an idea as to how Voldemort first gained his army of death eaters and what would make such young students turn to his side. If you think about it Regulus Black had only just graduated 'high school' when he gave his life to the cause. This will be a story starring my own main characters but featuring Regulus Black, Severus Snape, and various other death eaters as his friends. It may be slow going but will get more serious as the characters age in a similar way to the real Harry Potter books. The updating may be slow going but I have no intentions to stop writing, as I have all seven years planned out.


I am going to be horrible about revisions I'm afraid. I have combined some of the chapters together so that there is a more even flow in the story, each chapter being around 3,000 to 3,500 words. I am still writing this, as well as my other story, but I have a lot of things going on in my life so I have little time to write for fun. The updates may come quicker when I return to school, as I'll be forced to sit at the computer writing for longer lengths of time. This can be my outlet for procrastination.

I do not own Harry Potter or make any profit in any way from this work. The letter received from Hogwarts was taken straight from the Sorcerer's Stone. I own my origional characters, though, and hopefully you'll like them as much as the origional ones.


Hogwarts is a magical place where only the most talented of students go. If you aren't invited don't be let down, it is only a peculiar sort that attends the school. The sort with magic.

Logan Piers was not sure whether he would be going to school that year. Well rather what school he would be going to that year. His mother was a witch, you see, although not a very good one. She took too much time tipping back the bottle and not enough time brewing up the bottle to be good at what she did. Ms. Piers ran a tiny apothecary at the edge of an even tinier village. Not many people came by but when they did they usually bought her love potions. She could concoct a lovely enchanted first date for a small sum even if she couldn't follow through with a second evening of the like for a customer. Her magic was only so strong. Yet it provided enough gold combined along with their vegetable garden that mother and son had survived, if not prospered, through the years.

Logan's father had been absent since he could remember, only a faint whisper of pipe tobacco and muddy denim lingering in his mind. He had been a muggle and upon learning of Miss Yvetta Piers' proclivities he had left to go wander a world more suited to his rational. There were times when Logan wondered whether or not his father had really loved the two them or if his mother had merely brewed him into submission. It was a fleeting thought; Yvetta Piers could only ever stir up one night of bliss for a man and woman.

So Logan's father had no magic and his mother was talent-less and Logan had yet to show a shred of magical inclination in all his eleven years. He felt he was doomed to leave his mother to her cottage and garden and wander as aimlessly as his father. That was until a cloudy Monday morning in mid summer with the winds kicking up the dandelion puffs all over the lawn.

"Hello Mrs. Rosewittiker, may I get you your usual rheumatism serum," said Logan to the woman with the flowered cowl on her dress who had just rung through the cracked door.

"You are such the good boy to mind your mother's shop for her, dearie. My son's children would never do such a thing, not that he would either for that matter, but they are always wasting time playing those arcade games of theirs. They should be out in the sun like you dear boy. Oh yes, don't think I didn't see you walking up Cobber Street yesterday with mud caked on your trousers yet again young man. But a dirty boy is a boy who's staying out of bigger trouble I'll say," said Mrs. Rosewittiker touching all the bottled herbs and unguents along the wall. Her hands were always busy and she had dropped her fair share of bottles in the shop over the years.

"Mother made this one especially for you," Logan said trying to get her away from the breakables. "She added the lavender because she knows you like the sent."

"Lovely, just lovely dearie. Oh my heavens!" cried Mrs. Rosewittiker.

"An owl?" said Logan to himself as he couldn't be heard over Mrs. Rosewittiker's wailings.

An owl indeed. It had flown in through the open door and rushed towards the counter. A large gold letter fell from it's talons and bounced from the till to the floor where it stayed until Mrs. Rosewittiker was calmed and the owl gone. The poor thing had been fazed by Mrs. Rosewittiker's purse as she attempted to beat it upside the head.

"Foul creatures, they'll give you rabies they will," said Mrs. Rosewittiker in parting. She'd have a tale for her bridge partners later that week.

Only when she'd left Logan had dusted the envelope off and given it a better look.

It was an ordinary letter although it was made of a golden heavy parchment rather than the stark white envelopes that muggles favored. It was addressed specifically to him and not his mother. Logan's heart began to pulse harder in his chest at this fact. He was used to receiving mail at the cottage for his mother but never for himself. Could this be…?

A drop of sealing wax told him everything his heart had desired to hear. That deep purple wax was crossed with four incongruous animals and the letter H. It made Logan suck in his breathe as he slide his finger under the lip of the sealed letter, slowly, so as not to get cut. Awaiting him within the envelope was two pages of a spidery script in emerald green:

Hogwarts School

of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dr. Mr. Piers,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted

at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed

a list of all the necessary books and equipment

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later

than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall.

Deputy Headmistress

Young Logan Piers had gripped the pages for so hard and so long that they had become crumpled and damp under his sweaty hands.

"I have magic," he whispered.

"I HAVE MAGIC!"


Yvetta Piers had not been as ecstatic as her son upon receiving the letter. Aside from a sly smile her only reaction had been a rather thoughtless comment.

"So you aren't broken then," she'd said.

While Logan had shared the same sentiment as his mother he didn't like hearing it come from her lips. His enthusiasm waned even more when he learned how much it was going to cost just to go to school.

"I don't have any of the books left from my day; threw them all out when I moved in with your father. You can't have my cauldron either, I'll need that to make a living for us while your off. Dragon hide," she remarked. The list irritated her severely. "Why can't they just make due with hinky puck gloves? They're just as good!"

Logan worried over the money until it gave him stomach pains. His mother would always insist that he never worry over money troubles as it was the business of adults not children but it bothered him none-the-less. He stayed awake nights fearing that they wouldn't have enough money to get by and he wouldn't be able to attend the prestigious school.

"It's decided," his mother announced one morning over a breakfast of hot cinnamon oats.

"What's decided?" Logan asked.

"You're uncle is going to take you shopping for your supplies. He was down right shocked when I told him you'd been accepted into the school. Said he didn't believe me. Might have even contacted some of his higher up connections to see if it was true, the prat. He doesn't believe that magic carries very well when you breed outside the pure lines. Well, we showed him alright," said his mother.

Logan had never met his uncle or any close relative for that matter. His mother had ostracized herself by her choice in life partners, a venture that had not paid off in her favor. The young wizard began wondering what his relative would be like. Would he have the same dark hair that Logan and his mother shared? Would he have bright eyes like Logan or the dead grey ones his mother owned? Logan wondered if his uncle favored Sheppard's pie.

It was a stiff knock at the door that alerted Logan of his uncle's arrival that Thursday afternoon. Hyperion Piers had come promptly at 12 o'clock, exactly as he'd promised. His appearance was turning his sister into a nervous, unbearable wreck for she hadn't seen her brother in almost eleven years. Logan avoided his mother all day due to her foul mood, though he himself was full of anticipation over meeting his uncle. He felt the culmination of all the tension of the week come to a climax as he opened the door.

Hyperion Piers did not look a bit like his young nephew had envisioned him. He was a large man with a barrel of a chest and a belly as round as a drum. "I don't have a six pack," Hyperion would say jovially, "I carry around my own keg."

Logan's uncle was tall as well. He was taller than his sister by over a foot and dwarfed his young nephew who would never grow to be very tall. Beyond Hyperion's stature was his abrasive personality. He had been raised off fine veal, eaten from a silver spoon well past his childhood, and was now the prosperous owner of a wizarding company which provided top quality compost for the herbalist on a budget. So despite the fact that Hyperion Piers dealt in dung he always thought of himself as the most important man in the room. It was this sort of elitist attitude that made him unbearable to most people. Hyperion chose to dress impeccably in dark clothing that was never out of style and cropped his dark hair close to the root. Logan believed him to be intimidating and weirdly approachable and that was exactly how Hyperion Piers wished to come across to people.

"You must be Yvetta's lad," were the first words Hyperion ever said to his nephew.

"Yes, that I am," he answered. The two shook hands.

"Well then stand still. Let me get a good look at you. Hmm, on the scrawny side but fixable. We'll put some meat on your bones, my boy. You're hair is too long. Where on earth does your mother get it cut? Yvetta you're maltreating this boy," Uncle Hyperion called into the house.

"I do very well by him Hyperion. He's whole and well, and he's a better boy than you were at his age. Not that it's any of your business. It's been long overdue that you should take an interest my son," Yvetta said.

"Aren't you going to invite me in to your lovely home?" Uncle Hyperion asked smugly.

"Since when have you ever waited for an invite before coming in? Thinks he owns the world," said Yvetta Piers to no one in particular. She called Logan over and smoothed his already perfect hair for him.

"Now you be good for your uncle today, not that he deserves it, and make sure he doesn't just buy the cheapest robes you can find. He's a right spendthrift when it comes to himself but not to others, the greedy twat," his mother said, and with that she gave him a quick hug and a kiss and shoved him out the door.

"I've borrowed a car from a college of mine," Hyperion Piers told his nephew as he ushered him from the doorstep.

His uncle must have borrowed a driver as well because they sat together in the backseat of the large black car and watched as the village disappeared behind them. Logan found himself unable to start a conversation as he was a rather shy lad, a trait he fortunately did not share with his uncle.

"I'm afraid I didn't properly introduce myself, I am Hyperion Hephaestius Piers. From the Piers clan quite obviously," he chuckled. "I own Mandrake's Choice which is a fertilizer company of the finest class. Now I don't know much about dirt but then you don't need to know much about dirt to sell it. You need good business skills and connections, and it doesn't hurt to have a couple acres of land in South America for premium mulch."

"Fascinating," Logan managed.

"Well, my boy, I don't have any sons of my own so if you don't plan on going into your mothers business," he chuckled a second time, "you might choose to give the real family business a one two. Hard work is the most satisfying work to be found, yet the time will come soon when I'll wish to reap the benefits rather than the drudgery. I do hope you'll consider joining us when you're through with school."

Although he was not that old Logan was certain that collecting dung was not what he wanted to do with his life. He nodded anyway, to his uncle's pleasure.

"That's the spirit I like to see, my boy, but look we've arrived already! Out we go now," said Hyperion.

The two stepped out into the street and walked into a rather shabby little pub. It was called The Leaky Cauldron and from it Logan and his uncle grabbed a chicken sandwich each because Uncle Hyperion stated that he himself was "a tad bit peckish".

Their journey from there on became the most wondrous of Logan's short life. The boy had never been to Diagon Alley or any real wizarding village because his mother was such a shut in. He did enjoy getting packages from owls and other winged beasts carrying assorted ingredients for the apothecary, but it in no way compared to the street filled with shop after shop of magical supplies. There were crowded shops smashed tightly one after the other along Diagon Alley. Customers in robes of every shade of color imaginable bustled in and out of the shops, although black seemed to be the most popular color. Logan felt out of place in his button up shirt and trousers.

"Let's begin with your school robes as that will take the longest. Do you have your list with you?" his uncle asked.

"Yes, right here."

"Good, good. It's been years since I've had to go school shopping and I'm bit excited to tell you the truth. I always did like the smell of fresh parchment and new leather."

Logan changed his mind about the excitements of school shopping thirty minutes in. He did not like standing ramrod straight while the woman from the tailors took all his measurements. She tutted and rebuffed him for being so thin while Uncle Hyperion shouted at her to let the robes out a bit.

"I'll make sure he grows into them!" he'd told the girl.

The experience was made better when Logan's uncle let him pick out a silver cloak clasp that looked just like a snake. Uncle Hyperion was proving to be much less frugal with his money than his mother had anticipated. They left the shop and went to a crowded bookshop all a flurry with activity.

"We need Hexes and their Counterparts by Symmetrius Higgins and Things Not To Do With Your Wand by Dennis Coffrey," shouted Logan through the din.

"Those will be for your Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Is there an assistant to be found in this bloody store?" his uncle finally said to the staff as his temper reached its peak.

They collected all ten books on the list including: One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore, Mastering Potions: Lvl. 1 by Belladonna Wont, and A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch.

"You should enjoy Transfiguration class, my boy. It was my favorite subject although I was a fair hand at Potions too," said Uncle Hyperion looking fondly at the books.

After being jostled and tossed from shop after shop Logan was pleased to find himself at his favorite store of the day. It was called Pot Watcher's Emporium and held every potions ingredient known to the wizarding world all shoved into one tiny space. Uncle Hyperion did not favor the shop because his large belly continually knocked herbs from their overflowing shelves every time he turned about. He excused himself and left his young ward there with a sack of gold while he stepped out for "a bit of air".

Logan was drawn to the more unusual of the shop's items. He knew how to spot nettle sprigs and milk thistle and horse chestnut twigs without plaques or nametags. It was the things he had never seen before that roused his curiosity. There was a delicately bottled tincture of sorrow on a shelf too high for Logan to reach held in a beautiful glass phial, and acromantula eyes blinking wildly in a jar behind the counter. The shopkeeper noticed the boy's interest and brought out a large bleeding parcel from the backroom. Some of the blood splattered Logan's robes as the clerk dropped the heavy bundle onto the table.

"Fresh chupacabra, imported directly from Peru," said the shopkeeper as he began manhandling the package open. "Blood's a great substitute for vampire in any healing potions. Only eight galleons a pint, just for you lad."

"Thank you sir but I've only come for school supplies," said Logan quickly. He hurried out as fast as he could and joined his uncle in the street.

"Only your wand left I see," said his uncle.

The two drew up to a narrow store with gilded gold letters peeling in the sunlight. They read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Just upon entering a woman and her blonde headed child exited through the door. Logan wondered if she'd be a classmate of his that year.

"Yet another new customer it seems," said a serene voice upon their entrance.

Mr. Ollivander the store owner was putting away rejected wands from the previous customers. With a flip of his own wand the boxes tidied themselves and flew off to their designated shelves.

"Hyperion Piers," said the man to Logan's uncle, "Pleasure to see you again. Took us ages to find the correct wand for you…thirteen-and-a-quarter inches, made of ash, remarkably unbendable wasn't it."

Logan had a feeling that Mr. Ollivander was not asking a question. The shop owner had made Hyperion Piers grow rather silent which was a thing Logan believed to be very uncommon.

"Who do we have here? Your son?" said Mr. Ollivander turning his piercing eyes upon Logan.

"Nephew," grunted Uncle Hyperion.

"Wonderful. How kind of you to take your nephew shopping. Well then, Mr. Piers, let us get started," said Mr. Ollivander, and it was only once a magical measuring tape had appeared and began taking his measurements that Logan realized Mr. Ollivander was addressing him and not his uncle.

"Which is your wand arm? Hold it out now, very good. That's enough," said Mr. Ollivander and the measuring tape dropped to the ground at the order.

"Start with this one. Willow and unicorn hair. Eight and a half inches. Quite Pliable. Just give it a swish now. No, no, no," said Mr. Ollivander taking the wand.

Logan was not sure what whipping the wand about in the air was going to accomplish. He was never allowed to touch his mother's wand and the whole business felt rather silly to him. When Mr. Ollivander produced a new wand for him he took it without comment, that sharp gaze quieting any questions he might have.

"Spruce and dragon heartstring, ten inches exact, slightly bendy."

This one produced a shake of the head from Mr. Ollivander and nothing more. After a dozen more wands Mr. Ollivander remarked that he, Logan, may just give his uncle a run for his money.

"Shall we try something more unusual? Elder with phoenix feather. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Firm," said Mr. Ollivander. Uncle Hyperion gave a yawn as this, too, proved unsuccessful.

"You say you've never done magic before?" Mr. Ollivander questioned Logan for the second time that day.

"Not the slightest, but I do help my mom around the shop. She runs an apothecary," Logan told the shopkeeper.

"Hmm, this one is hawthorn and phoenix feather. Nine and three-quarters. Supple. Usually I wouldn't present a hawthorn wand to a late bloomer, but give it a twirl," said Mr. Ollivander.

Upon grasping the wand Logan felt something, a tingle running up his arm. He made a wide circle with the wand and out came a silvery fog obscuring the shop from him. Logan heard clapping from Mr. Ollivander and a sigh of relief from his uncle.

"Excellent, excellent. I'll wrap it right up for you but if you have any trouble bring it back at once. I'll swap it out for something less finicky. Hawthorn is known to backfire on greener wizards," said Mr. Ollivander. Logan then paid seven galleons to the man before his uncle rushed him out the door.

The sky was dark when they left the final shop and Logan was getting sleepy. The car and driver were still waiting outside of The Leaky Cauldron making Logan wonder if the driver had stayed there all day or had returned from somewhere at Uncle Hyperion's call.

"We just had ourselves a long and full day," said Uncle Hyperion who was nearly as tired as his nephew. "I have informed your mother that I would come to collect you when your classes start. I shall take you to the train station on the first of September, but be ready the night before. I have no time for dawdlers."

It was a short drive back and Uncle Hyperion had departed swiftly after receiving Logan to his mother. He'd said he had dinner waiting with the missus and Yvetta Piers had remarked that he had no missus, just who did he think he was kidding. She'd been drinking cheap fruity wine all evening and you could smell it in the air.

Logan's uncle had bid a final goodbye to his estranged sister and tipped his hat to his nephew.

"September the first," he reminded Logan before disappearing into the night.

There was ripe goat cheese to eat at dinner that night.

"I hate goat cheese," said Logan pushing the white spheres to the far side of his plate.

"You're just like your father," said his mother. She absentmindedly chewed a slice of the cheese. It went well with the wine she was drinking.

Suddenly Logan had lost his appetite for everything on his plate, not just the cheese. He rose from the table and cleared his dishes before holing himself up in his bedroom. On his quilted bedspread lay the spoils of his outing: one pair of dragonhide gloves, size small, a simple pewter cauldron, four cloaks all in black, a brass telescope, a nice set of scales for measuring ingredients and glass phials to put them in, ten books as specified by the letter, all but one of them new, and his wand. In addition he'd also been gifted a winter cloak bearing what his uncle had specified as 'real werewolf fur' along the edges. "Can never be too fashionable," he'd stated. Logan had put this item in the bottom of his trunk and had avoided touching it as much as possible.

After arranging all his possessions in his trunk Logan settled himself into bed and began to dream sweet dreams of the days to come. Magic! Logan could not wait until the 1st of September.


Thanks for reading, please review.