Violent Deception by

AN: A new one everybody! Dedicated to hannahmeh/always_jamesandlily ! Everyone check her stories (after reading this, of course)

xox xox

Prologue

The name's Violent Faithe. Girl? Witch? Or the Death Eater's greatest weapon?

My first year at Hogwarts passed normally. I was the quiet girl in our giggly Gryffindor dormitory. I used to watch as the nerd-extraordinaire - Hermione Granger - would sneak off to run amok with the red-haired wonder - Ron Weasley, and The Boy Who Does Everything Right And Needs His Name Spelt In Capital Letters - Harry Potter. In case anyone is confused, I am probably the only Gryffindor you will ever meet who hates Harry Potter with a passion. Suck it up, people.

I sat through Second Year watching sadly as poor Ginny Weasley poured her soul out into that vile diary. I would wait in the common room until she'd come in crying, clutching that stupid book to her chest, and comfort the poor first-year until she could stand up again. What? Any relation of Ron Weasley needs a hug. I hear Potter spends holidays with them.

Okay, I have a so far unexplained vendetta against the skinny Potter kid.

It started in our third year. The year Sirius Black, my father, escaped from Azkaban. I waited for him to come and find me. My mother always said he would, one day. I spent every night outside, waiting for him to try and get inside the castle. Of course, I had heard the rumours that he had been saying 'he's as Hogwarts, he's at Hogwarts'. But I thought they were just rumours. I thought Black was finally coming to find me - his long lost daughter. But I was wrong. I stood beside that stupid lake every night for a year (how horribly Notebook-ish of me?). I would have done better to throw myself in. And in the end, it was Potter he wanted. His oh-so-special godson. Did the man even know he had a daughter? Did he care?

And so the Potter feud started. And everyone on Potter's side was just as bad in my deranged grey eyes. Of course, that set me against the majority of the wizarding world. Great.

Fourth Year was a favourite of mine. I got to watch as Potter was bashed around by a giant fire-breathing dragon, almost drown in the very Lake I had knelt beside and screamed at for my father, and stumble anxiously through what was said to be the most mind-throwing task of all - The Maze. Brilliant, all of it. And then the whole year was ruined when the Dark Lord just had to return. Of course, it was sad about the Diggory kid. And my arm, with its ugly tattoo, used to itch every night that I ignored its call. But then, after I thought about it, I figured that the mental stress Potter was under now, due to the Rise of Voldemort, was a good thing.

Fifth Year was another normal one. I laughed at the pathetic-ness of Dumbledore's Army - the vigilante group run by Potter. And then Harry Potter had to run to save Black in the Department of Mysteries. And effectively have my father murdered by my psycho 'aunt' Bellatrix. So, everyone thought I was bitter and twisted before my father's death? Well, after this new shocking emotional blow, I was mentally unstable. Of course, someone had to notice my bizarre mood swings and generally volatile disposition. And it just had to be the living saint - no, not Potter. Close, though - Albus Dumbledore. Go ahead, Avada me now.

Through my educational years, I had called myself Violent Faithe, using my mother's maiden name. So Dumbledore had been pretty surprised to find me bawling my eyes out over the death of the murderer, Sirius Black. The wrinkly old guy called me up to his office for a cup of tea. I didn't tell him a single thing.

Not that I had grown up in the House of Lestrange - Bellatrix being my mother's bestest, bestest buddy.

Not how when I was three, my mother officially handed me over to The Dark Lord. I was declared his rightful property. Creepy, much? Yeah, the sad thing was that the sacrificial child act didn't make her his number one agent. I know! The woman gave him her firstborn kid! What more could he want? Bottom line is: Voldemort makes a shitty Rumplestiltskin baby snatcher.

I didn't tell him how I had the Dark Mark branded into the skin of my left forearm at the age of seven.

I didn't tell him about the shock I caused when I got landed in Gryffindor (yeah, that was a shock!).

No, I didn't tell Albus Dumbledore much. But I always wonder just how much he's guessed about me.

And this is my Sixth Year at Hogwarts. Exciting. A whole year to hate Potter for what he'd done to me. And he still doesn't know who I am. Excellent. I like my prey unsuspecting.

So here I am, Violent Faithe-Black, hating Potter and fearing an almost-certain war with my past. Oh, and Voldemort. He was coming for the after-party.

~xox~