Prologue

"I knew him, once... many years ago.

...there is no redemption for me."

Past

Flames dancing in the night, intense, stifling, warmth in the air, on her cheeks, in her eyes... Every night, the same dream.

This night she didn't dream. At last, it's coming true.

Dusk slowly fell over the forest, wrapping it in mystic silence. It was a place of old incantations, where magic was born, ground her ancestors had walked hunderds of years ago. Thyra looked up to the castle in the distance, a sight behind which sky burned in blood-red color. She breathed in the scent of old wood, incense and forest freshness that felt in the air; then slowly knelt, feeling dry, earthy ground between her fingers.

Blurry visage of skinny, pale silhouette could be grasped through the thick smoke, heavy with essence of magical herbs and burning wood. The face wasn't recognizable until he approached her, with despair evident on his ashy, tired face. ''I'm asking you for the last time," the man said in a hoarse voice. ''Don't.''

Thyra shook her head, lacing fingers together with his. She gently caressed his cheek, ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair, the way a mother would when soothing a child's fear, hoping that he could grasp the intensity of devotion she felt for him at that moment. Endearment, fondness, but never love.

"It will be fine."

With these words, Thyra turned her back to him, and never looked back. Walking down to the place chosen long before she was born, once again she breathed in deeply, taking in all the quiet strength of this haven of her dreams with it. With a swift wave of her wand, almost singing in language of the Gods the incantation she'd always known, but never understood – Thyra smiled.

She did understand now.

Present

"I knew him, once… many years ago."

The room was lit only by faint candle flame that flickered with every spoken word. Despite this, she could see that familiar face very clearly. Though time had etched deep wrinkles on its skin and faded the auburn color of the man's hair, behind the shadow of age, piercing blue eyes that carefully observed her were as lively as they had been so many years ago.

"If you want to help me," he said quietly, "You have to tell me everything you know. Have it in your mind how important it is. The more I find out about Tom Riddle's past, the better I understand it, the greater are chances of weakening him. And for you, it might, perhaps, mean redemption."

There wasn't a trace of joy behind her laughter. "And I will be forgiven? For everything I've done? You know so little, Dumbledore.'' Thyra's mouth tightened beneath the shadow of a hood that hid her face. ''I neither want nor hope for that. There is no redemption for me.''

The silence hung for several moments. "…but I will tell you everything. From beginning to end. That is the least I can do…for myself. Nothing can ever be a revenge strong enough for what he'd been doing to me...for years."

Driven by the feeling that overwhelmed her, she pulled down her hood, and revealed face mutilated by a scar that stretched from her left eye down to the chin, twisting her lips into a permament grimace. The years did not treat her kindly, leaving once youthfully glowing, sweet-smelling skin pale and wrinkled, half-hidden beyond dark hair, but Dumbledore knew her, as she knew him.

"It's my doing," her gnarled forefinger pointed at the scar, answering to question reflected on his face. "This is only a meaningless, tiny part of a story." It brought her pleasure to see her words disrupt the calmness of Dumbledore's expression, even for a moment.

"I'm ready to hear your story," he said, "And to not judge you, no matter what I learn. Speak freely.''

A bitter smile twisted Thyra's lips. "Had that ever been important to me, we wouldn't be here now."

She took a deep breath, and not being able to resist the urge, grabbed the so far untouched glass of wine stood on the table in front of her, and drank bottoms up, letting distant memories relive, sharpen up, and overwhelm her.

"It all began," for a moment, a trace of whilom wit felt in her voice, "when I was born."