Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, any of the characters, plots, quotes, spells, wands, houses, gates, alcoholic drinks, (etc.) created by the wonderful J.K Rowling. I do however own the characters that were not created in the Harry Potter Series, and I also own the plot to this particular story. No money is being made from this.
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These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume
Romeo and Juliet; Act 2 Scene 6
Prologue
If you could be so grateful and please remind me again why I am doing this? I doubt that you would know; you're only some pathetic person that has sadly crossed paths with this godforsaken tale of woe. I wonder why I am even making the effort to tell such a story. Who am I after all? I am no one; in fact I'd rather be watching paint dry right now that tell such a tragedy. But I have begun now and there is no going back, is there? I didn't think so. Besides, you have not come to read my discomforts about this story. You have come to read the tale of a girl who was the heir to a throne no witch or wizard would want to sit on, unless he or she was crazy enough like the girl's predecessor and actually chose to set him self upon thy throne of which I speak of. And if you are confused by now, well then, I cannot blame you as I was very confused once I had first heard this rumour; or is it? Ha, well let's skip the boring parts shall we by just going over a few of the more important facts about this young girl.
She was born in a house; well, it was barely a house. It was a shack on a cliff on a windy wet night in the middle of nowhere. She was put into an enchanted sleep after fourteen years of her life, as her mother and her friends were about embark on a dangerous quest, which could involve the young girl's mother being killed. So, to protect their daughter, her mother put the fourteen year old into a deep, death like slumber that prevented aging and death. The girl was as pale as snow; there was no colour in her beautiful face. She was laid to rest with a piece of her father upon a chain around her neck, beneath that house on that windy cliff.
Her name was Persephone Black, no one special really. She could have been anyone's child, as the Black's were a very large and noble pure blood family. But she was only part Black. As she was a Black, of course she was moved quickly from that dark cold chamber to the warm comforts of the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, as the Lady Narcissa Malfoy was a Black before her marriage to Lucius, and was very willing to take Persephone in. The girl had a purpose, a purpose that only few people of. She would awaken when the time was right.
Now I hope you have heard enough of this to put you off and read something a little more exciting and perhaps better too; the tale of Harry Potter for instance, as it is the story with the happy ending that never really happened. Now I vow to you this very second, that I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.