PLEASE READ THE TIMELINE FURTHER DOWN ON THE PAGE!!!
Summary: This story follows the actions and life of Athena Black, mother Sirius Black, through the first four books of the Harry Potter series. (Not riddled with flashbacks, but there are a healthy amount of them)
Rating: PG-13 for some language
Disclaimer: ok - this goes for the whole entire story - and this is the last time ur gonna see it this piece so read it good. I OWN NOTHING YOU RECOGNIZE! It's all JK Rowlings' even the plot is. . . mostly is anyway. Athena Black, however, is mine. ALL MINE. . . well except for her last name really. But her personality, scar, temper, character, etc. is MINE I claim it! I'm almost absolutely positive Dragonsbane is mine too - I could be wrong, though.
AN: now take a few deep breaths and clear your mind. This story is nothing like my normal personality this is the moodier, angst-ier side of me. Now I'm not normally a woeful person - I'm usually full of "YAY"s and "WOHOO"s and such. Anyway, moving on:
}{}{ signifies the begining of a flashback
][][ signifies the end of a flashback (sorry I forgot to mention that first time around)
READ THIS!!!
MY Timeline:
1939 - Athena born
1950 - 1957 - Athena at Hogwarts
1957 - 1962 - Athena at Drangonsbane
1963 - Sirius born
1974 - 1981 - Marauders at Hogwarts
1982 - Lily and James marry
1986 - Harry born (making him 11 in 1997 when SS came out)
1987 - Sirius arrested
So I'm totally within my bounds with the Terminator thing. ^_^ you'll see.
questions? comments? quibbles?
Plz R&R! Thank yaz! I'll most prob. reply to quibbles and stuff via e-mail, or at the end of this whole shindig.
PS: LU V YA'LL in advance for reading!!!
Ok - deep breath - clear your minds. Prologue is as follows: ____________________________________________________________________________ __________
Prologue
}{}{
As the small ship faded into the distant fog, I cried.
I cried for my boy. My heart. My whole life.
They took my son away and I am left the hollow shell of a mother.
My heart torn asunder, my tears rolling down my cheeks. Neither sensation registers in my numb mind.
My love is forever, but how long is forever when one's soul is devoured? Devoured by monsters disguised as men. Devoured by monsters that thrive on the heartbreak of the human soul.
What then lies before me? A puddle of hope splashed in and trampled by the blindness of men?
Blue eyes regard me silently. I feel their gaze on my back - full of pity and sorrow, but no regret.
No regret for their deed. No regret for him. He who was wrongly accused, and yet I could do nothing to prevent his demise.
His arrest and conviction were swift - all those who might have supported him gone, turned their backs on him and shunned him. And one - one man with the power and the majesty to overturn the sentence - stood by and spoke against my beloved.
"He was their secret keeper," he had said, "He alone knew where they were and he alone had the knowledge to betray them."
Lies. It was all lies. I neither knew nor fathomed a guess as to what the real truth was. I only knew that my son, my sweet Sirius, was innocent.
And so they sentenced him. Shipped him off to Azkaban to go mad and rot. What is a mother to do? I am no detective. I have no power over the ministry. I am but one woman who knows the truth in her heart.
My child is lost to me. My heart and soul gone with him. What do I have left in this world? Why continue? Why press on?
Because he would expect no less of me.
][][
Every year for the past decade on November first, a woman came to the same rock at the same point on the same coast and stared at the ever present mist obscuring the horizon. From noon until dusk she kept vigil, as if waiting for something to happen. She might have been an attractive woman in her prime. Even now, at fifty-odd years of age, she had a certain aura about her that made her stand out. It was not physical beauty, for her tanned skin was weathered, though not to the point of being able to be compared to leather, and a long, pink scar stretched from the corner of her left eye straight back into her hairline. Her left eye was a milky expanse of blindness, her sight lost in the same fight that gave her the scar. Her right eye, though, was a piercing blue-black, years of auror experience making her able to see what others could not. Her thick black hair was heavily streaked with silver, a tell-tale sign of having seen too many horrors in one life. No, it was not physical beauty, it was something else. Something about the confident way she carried herself gave her an almost regal quality. Her gait was measured and purposeful as she made her way across the rocky jetty to the huge boulder about twenty feet into the sea.
None of the wizards who discreetly guarded the shore had ever talked to her. Regardless, they knew exactly who she was. Athena Black had been one of them, an auror, and then a trainer of their best. She had lost the use of her left eye early on in her years as an auror at the age of twenty seven. Rather than let such a talented woman go, the ministry hired her to train others. She worked alongside the legend, Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, and turned many capable aurors out onto the field to do battle with the forces of evil. Twenty years later, just after her son had been arrested and sent to Azkaban, she faded from the forefront of the wizarding world, only to be pushed back to the top by obligation. A broken woman, she suffered quietly, wallowing in her sorrow and guilt. Guilt for leaving her son to rot in that hell-hole, guilt for not trying harder to keep him from that fate,
"Guilt for not doing a damn thing," she muttered darkly to herself as she stared into the mist. She knew exactly what the rest of the world thought of her - the rest of the world that gave a damn, anyway. Beaten, broken, defeated - all terms they used to describe her, all would receive the same response, "To hell with ye." The Scottish brogue of her parents still surfaced every once in a while, when she was extremely agitated, even though she had lived the last fifty years of her life in England. Contrary to popular opinion, she only wallowed in guilt sparingly, unintentionally forcing it to the back of her mind until it consistently spilled over on the first of November - and spent the rest of her time carrying on with her life the best she could.
She tried not to dwell on him, and had valiantly tried to move on. Each year she said she wasn't going to do this to herself. It never happened. She always came back. It was torture - a kind of self-inflicted torture that always ended the same way. The same day playing over and over in her mind each time she returned.
Summary: This story follows the actions and life of Athena Black, mother Sirius Black, through the first four books of the Harry Potter series. (Not riddled with flashbacks, but there are a healthy amount of them)
Rating: PG-13 for some language
Disclaimer: ok - this goes for the whole entire story - and this is the last time ur gonna see it this piece so read it good. I OWN NOTHING YOU RECOGNIZE! It's all JK Rowlings' even the plot is. . . mostly is anyway. Athena Black, however, is mine. ALL MINE. . . well except for her last name really. But her personality, scar, temper, character, etc. is MINE I claim it! I'm almost absolutely positive Dragonsbane is mine too - I could be wrong, though.
AN: now take a few deep breaths and clear your mind. This story is nothing like my normal personality this is the moodier, angst-ier side of me. Now I'm not normally a woeful person - I'm usually full of "YAY"s and "WOHOO"s and such. Anyway, moving on:
}{}{ signifies the begining of a flashback
][][ signifies the end of a flashback (sorry I forgot to mention that first time around)
READ THIS!!!
MY Timeline:
1939 - Athena born
1950 - 1957 - Athena at Hogwarts
1957 - 1962 - Athena at Drangonsbane
1963 - Sirius born
1974 - 1981 - Marauders at Hogwarts
1982 - Lily and James marry
1986 - Harry born (making him 11 in 1997 when SS came out)
1987 - Sirius arrested
So I'm totally within my bounds with the Terminator thing. ^_^ you'll see.
questions? comments? quibbles?
Plz R&R! Thank yaz! I'll most prob. reply to quibbles and stuff via e-mail, or at the end of this whole shindig.
PS: LU V YA'LL in advance for reading!!!
Ok - deep breath - clear your minds. Prologue is as follows: ____________________________________________________________________________ __________
Prologue
}{}{
As the small ship faded into the distant fog, I cried.
I cried for my boy. My heart. My whole life.
They took my son away and I am left the hollow shell of a mother.
My heart torn asunder, my tears rolling down my cheeks. Neither sensation registers in my numb mind.
My love is forever, but how long is forever when one's soul is devoured? Devoured by monsters disguised as men. Devoured by monsters that thrive on the heartbreak of the human soul.
What then lies before me? A puddle of hope splashed in and trampled by the blindness of men?
Blue eyes regard me silently. I feel their gaze on my back - full of pity and sorrow, but no regret.
No regret for their deed. No regret for him. He who was wrongly accused, and yet I could do nothing to prevent his demise.
His arrest and conviction were swift - all those who might have supported him gone, turned their backs on him and shunned him. And one - one man with the power and the majesty to overturn the sentence - stood by and spoke against my beloved.
"He was their secret keeper," he had said, "He alone knew where they were and he alone had the knowledge to betray them."
Lies. It was all lies. I neither knew nor fathomed a guess as to what the real truth was. I only knew that my son, my sweet Sirius, was innocent.
And so they sentenced him. Shipped him off to Azkaban to go mad and rot. What is a mother to do? I am no detective. I have no power over the ministry. I am but one woman who knows the truth in her heart.
My child is lost to me. My heart and soul gone with him. What do I have left in this world? Why continue? Why press on?
Because he would expect no less of me.
][][
Every year for the past decade on November first, a woman came to the same rock at the same point on the same coast and stared at the ever present mist obscuring the horizon. From noon until dusk she kept vigil, as if waiting for something to happen. She might have been an attractive woman in her prime. Even now, at fifty-odd years of age, she had a certain aura about her that made her stand out. It was not physical beauty, for her tanned skin was weathered, though not to the point of being able to be compared to leather, and a long, pink scar stretched from the corner of her left eye straight back into her hairline. Her left eye was a milky expanse of blindness, her sight lost in the same fight that gave her the scar. Her right eye, though, was a piercing blue-black, years of auror experience making her able to see what others could not. Her thick black hair was heavily streaked with silver, a tell-tale sign of having seen too many horrors in one life. No, it was not physical beauty, it was something else. Something about the confident way she carried herself gave her an almost regal quality. Her gait was measured and purposeful as she made her way across the rocky jetty to the huge boulder about twenty feet into the sea.
None of the wizards who discreetly guarded the shore had ever talked to her. Regardless, they knew exactly who she was. Athena Black had been one of them, an auror, and then a trainer of their best. She had lost the use of her left eye early on in her years as an auror at the age of twenty seven. Rather than let such a talented woman go, the ministry hired her to train others. She worked alongside the legend, Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, and turned many capable aurors out onto the field to do battle with the forces of evil. Twenty years later, just after her son had been arrested and sent to Azkaban, she faded from the forefront of the wizarding world, only to be pushed back to the top by obligation. A broken woman, she suffered quietly, wallowing in her sorrow and guilt. Guilt for leaving her son to rot in that hell-hole, guilt for not trying harder to keep him from that fate,
"Guilt for not doing a damn thing," she muttered darkly to herself as she stared into the mist. She knew exactly what the rest of the world thought of her - the rest of the world that gave a damn, anyway. Beaten, broken, defeated - all terms they used to describe her, all would receive the same response, "To hell with ye." The Scottish brogue of her parents still surfaced every once in a while, when she was extremely agitated, even though she had lived the last fifty years of her life in England. Contrary to popular opinion, she only wallowed in guilt sparingly, unintentionally forcing it to the back of her mind until it consistently spilled over on the first of November - and spent the rest of her time carrying on with her life the best she could.
She tried not to dwell on him, and had valiantly tried to move on. Each year she said she wasn't going to do this to herself. It never happened. She always came back. It was torture - a kind of self-inflicted torture that always ended the same way. The same day playing over and over in her mind each time she returned.