A/N: Not Mine
1The Chronicles: My life.
Chapter 1:
I'm wanted, my name is feared, and people no longer speak it in more than a whisper. I am a leader of my people, and therefore all those who fear my kind, though their fear is irrational, fear me by association, because my name be the same they all hear spoken when the subject of my people has been brought up. Their fear truly is irrational, but who am I to change the mob mentality, I've gone into hiding, and will not be coming out until the buzz has died down, and the excitement around my name has dissipated a bit. I'm well aware that it would be foolish to venture out into the world while there are still those who would remember me from a first hand account. That also means that I will have to wait until any of the generations alive today have mostly died out before I dare show my face, and expose my magical signature anywhere. I must wait at least a few centuries. By then I will only be a myth, a horror story to be told to misbehaving children. By then I will be able to return safely, with a bit of caution. All of us who remain, of those there a precious few, are in hiding alone. We are a people much easier to find while in groups, so for this vigil we remain, all of us, alone. My time, until the day I send a message to all my kin telling them it is safe to come out, will be spent in keeping up with my training and my knowledge. ( I have a way to keep track of the news in the world I have been forced to leave, and I have a way to gain access to all new publications /books/) I will also be writing an account of my life. My Chronicles, as I have decided to call them, and this is my introduction.
It's weird, by the age of fifteen I'd been through (and survived) more than most people had to deal with in their whole lives. I learned I was a wizard, which was cool, but then I learned that my name was known to everyone, and that they all thought I was some savior, which I was, but only by a stroke of fate and a whole lot of luck. Truly I wasn't anything special, and to have grown wizards almost groveling at my feet when I was eleven years old was quite disturbing. My first year in my new life was full of adventures and near death experiences with trolls poisons, bucking brooms, and an insane teacher who, it turned out was possessed by the man who tried to kill me when I was a baby. He tried to kill me gain, but failed. My second year went much the same as my first, in which the memory of my parents murderer was trying to get itself out of the diary it had been preserved in for almost fifty years. He failed, again, but I had come way too close to death, again, for comfort. My first year was probably my most tame year I had while attending school at the safest place in the world. Bah! Not in my books it wasn't. Anyways, in my third year I had and escaped convict out for my blood, who, incidentally was my godfather, and was innocent of the crimes I along with the rest of the world thought he'd committed. No attempts from Voldemort that year, though Wormtail did manage to get away, and I had to return to my retched relatives.
My fourth year was terrible, and made up for the lack of a death threat in my third year (other than the fact that my DADA teacher almost ripped me apart when he transformed into the werewolf that he is), I'd been forced into a tournament that I didn't want to participate in the first place, and an insider made sure I won, but me and my set and honest ways didn't think it was right and I decided to share the winnings with the other Hogwarts champion. Turns out that instead of splitting a thousand Galleons, he got a quick Avada Kedavra from the previously mentioned Wormtail, while I got a front row ticket to watch Tom Riddle come back from the dead, I dueled him too, and only just barely mad out with my life, then when I got back, the current DADA teacher tried to finish the job his master failed to do, again, I only barely made out with my life.
Fifth year sucked too I guess (anyone see a pattern, I don't see why I ever enjoyed returning to that school when all I ever got out of it was pain and false hope) we had another terrible DADA teacher, one who enjoyed belittling me and others who believed me ( the ministry refused to believe Voldemort had returned), I was getting weird dreams all year, and because I was kept in the dark about everything, I had no idea the significance of said dreams. At Christmas I had a dream about Arthur Weasley getting but by a snake, which proved to have actually happened. But at the end of the year, after the headmaster had been kicked out, and out defense group was discovered, I had another dream, this time about my godfather, my only family, being tortured by Voldemort in the place I'd been dreaming about. Me, still not knowing the significance of the Department of Mysteries, charged headlong into a trap devised by The Dark Lord. My foolhardiness got my Godfather killed. Dumbledore figured that now that I'd lost everything, it would be a good time to lay more on my plate. He told me of a prophecy, deigning that I was the only one who could defeat Voldemort.
That summer I was, again sent back to my relatives home, where I was to stay until it was deemed safe to pick me up again.
An event I must inform you, never happened.