The Dark Lord told a story, a story which had rarely seen the light of day.
Once upon time, there lived an orphan boy in a grey orphanage. From the day his mother had died giving birth to him, the matron had determined there was something different about him and sought to stamp out this difference. He was always given the worst chores, punished the harshest when he did something wrong. The other children caught onto this, tormenting him, excluding him.
Then, one day, the orphan boy discovered he was special. And he began fighting back against his tormentors.
He realized that the weak could sense the strong among them, would always seek to drag the strong down to their level. So, he determined, he would not let them. Soon, none of the orphans dared to come near him. Even the matron left him alone.
When the boy was eleven, a strange man came to visit and confirmed what the boy knew about himself; he was special. But the old man did not seem to think that special-ness, that power was a good thing, believed the boy was misusing it. Luckily, it was not up to the old man whether or not the boy was let into the school to learn how to use his powers.
So the orphan began his schooling. He was a favorite with all his other teachers, though he began as something of an outsider. Though his classmates had more power than the other orphans, they did not seem to fully use it for fear of what the weak masses would do. Still, the boy loved his new school and wanted nothing more than to stay there.
This desire was increased tenfold when the weak masses began to war against each other all over the world. The summer of the boy's third year, the weak muggles had begun to rain down balls of fire in the city where the orphanage was located. The building was damaged, but the boy had managed to set enough spells around his own room that he survived, even as several other orphans did not. This displeased the old man who had taken him to school, and he was threatened with expulsion. But why should the weak dictate when and where the powerful use their powers, especially in defense?
Two things came of that awful summer where the sky was on fire: One, the boy became determined to find the beast of legend that had been bred to protect Wizards from the muggle army and Two, he found out he was not truly an orphan. His father was still alive.
His father had left his mother upon finding out about her power, the same day he found out she was carrying his son. The man, who had no power of his own but came from a wealthy family, had been content to leave his son in an orphanage, content to allow his son to be blown apart by bombs raining from the sky. This man-this weak man-had been the cause of so much suffering in the boy's life, and when the boy confronted him, wishing desperately to get out of the terrible place he had grown up, the man rejected him.
And so, on the ashes of his father, the boy took the first step to building a future where he would never be on the brink of death again. For he had learned-it was only in himself that he could find his salvation. And in himself, he would find the path to change the world so that the weak never held down the strong again.
"Tomorrow," Lord Voldemort promised Evanna, who was sitting in front of him, wide-eyed, "tomorrow you will learn the lesson."
Evanna had constant dreams that night.
She watched as two groups met each other on a hill. On one side were painted warriors, marching up the hill in a writhing mass. On the other side was a much smaller group of women in white robes with purple eyes. Evanna nearly leapt between the two, wanting to protect the women she instinctively knew were her kin.
"What do you want, aigne?" the leader of the painted tribe hissed.
"Peace, cousin," a purple eyed woman said. "We do not come to harm you."
"Are we supposed to just believe that?"
A woman snarled at the accusation, but the leader of the purple-eyed merely held up a hand.
"You know as well as I that this island is in danger," the woman said. "We must come together."
The man hesitated, then opened his mouth to speak.
The scene changed.
There was a girl with wild hair who's fire had all but sputtered out. She was crying, sobbing, a harsh keening sound that bubbled its way out of her throat. She looked up just as a boy-a young man really with dark hair and eyes like chips of glass-stepped toward her.
"Have you come to gloat?" she demanded, tears still streaming down her face, her hands forming fists in the grass beside her. "What? What do you want to say? Humiliate me even more?"
The young man held out his hand. She took it hesitantly.
"Never cry for them," he hissed as he lifted her to her feet.
The scene changed again.
Two men stood opposite each other in a grand chamber of stone, wands drawn for battle. One was utterly golden, the other dark, yet their eyes. Their eyes were the same. As their spells collided, an older man with the same eyes screamed, a blast of power emanating from him. When the blast faded, somehow, both of the brothers were still there, but the father had vanished.
It changed.
This time a boy, about her age, who looked similar to the man in one of the previous dreams. It was the middle of the night as he sat bolt upright in the bed, silent tears streaming down his face as the world exploded outside his window. He clutched a wand in one hand as the entire building shook around him, but there was nothing he could possibly do to stop the constant barrage of explosions.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
Evanna was unsure if the boy had said the words out loud or if he was just thinking them. She screamed as the room exploded around her.
And she was back, back on that hill with standing stones and the horrid wind and the three women and the powerful man.
"Why do you show me this?" she demanded, no longer charmed by the ancients' interference with her subconscious. "What do you want with me?"
"You are about to take the path of hatred and vengeance Evanna-" the man said. Evanna cut him off.
"I am about to take a path to save myself!" she hissed, stomping her foot. "I will make myself stronger, just like my father did."
"No, you will only make yourself weaker, child!"
"What do you know of it?" Evanna demanded
"Why do you think that basilisk exists under your school, girl?" the crone said in a blank voice. "If not a desperate bid for vengeance under the guise of protection?"
"So you would have me do nothing?" she demanded of the figures before her. "What right do you have to tell me what I should and should not do?"
"You are meant to bridge the gap, child," the mother said. "The world was never meant to be so segmented-lion and snake, witch and wizard, muggle and magical. We are meant to learn and grow from one another-"
"There is nothing left to learn from him," she seethed. "He's given me more than enough of his lessons."
The man yanked her by her shoulders. "Don't you see, girl? One kill, one time of you giving into vengeance-it is dangerous for my blood. One time will become another and another and all of a sudden, death will be meaningless to you. It happened to me, to my sons, to your father-yes, even him. Once upon a time, he might have done some good for this world, but now his name and mine will forever be marred with hatred and prejudice!"
"Don't speak against my father!" she growled.
"It's not too late for you, Evanna," he said. "It is not too late to keep your soul whole."
Evanna nearly opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, the whole world began to shake and crumble around her. Within moments, the man and the three woman were torn away.
She woke to her birth mother peering into her face. She jumped back.
"You were dreaming," she said simply.
Evanna blinked at her.
"Your grandmother also had such dreams-your grandfather refused to acknowledge them, fearing their power," Bellatrix shrugged. "But the women of our line have always been more powerful than the men."
Evanna frowned. "Then why did you throw me away when you saw I was a girl?"
Bellatrix stilled, her dark eyes flicking all over Evanna's face.
"The Dark Lord was gone," she said finally. "You were a reminder that after all we had been through-all the dreams dreamt-were gone in a flash. Besides, I wanted to find him, bring him back-you really think I could have gotten a single one of those bastards to follow me with an infant girl on my hip?"
Evanna pursed her lips. "So you left me to Lucius."
"I left you to Narcissa."
"You know things do not work that way."
But they should. The Dark Lord will help me ensure it.
"I had thought Lucius had more honor than to deny our lord the way he did," Bellatrix snarled. "He should have taken his punishment in Azkaban like the rest of us did. I had no idea the Aurors would be stupid enough to let him go."
"But they were. Or at least they were greedy enough to," she said.
"They were," Bellatrix nodded. "I should have guessed as much."
Evanna found herself surprised at the sincerity in her birth mother's voice. It was as though Azkaban had burnt through the usual posturing that every Pureblood aristocrat had born into them and left an honest zealot in its wake. Evanna was not sure what to make of that knowledge.
Instead of pressing her mother further, Evanna just swallowed. "Are you ready to follow through father's plan? It-it won't be easy, especially so soon after… well, you know."
Evanna had only had one encounter with the dementors on the train to Hogwarts her first year, and one was enough. She could not imagine what fourteen years with them could do to a person. Indeed, her birth mother had shadows in her eyes.
"I am always ready to serve my lord, in whatever way he desires," she said, eyes flashing. "Now, get dressed. You need to look the part of Dark Princess today."
Indeed, she had procured an outfit for Evanna somewhat similar to her own, and not at all something Narcissa would have put her in. The bodice was almost more like armor than a dress, all in a red so dark it was almost black. She had also given Evanna a robe with a deep hood and tightly laced sleeves and a built in wand holster. It was an outfit worthy of a royal assassin. Evanna tried to ignore the queasiness in her stomach at the thought.
When she stepped out from behind her changing screen, Evanna looked at herself in the mirror, Bellatrix coming up behind her.
"I don't look too… Gryffindor-ish, do I?" she asked.
Bellatrix laughed, a strange sound, harsh and bark-like as she placed the circlet Evanna's father had given her. It unsettled Evanna, more than anything else since she had been home.
"I would not worry about that, Evanna," she said. "You look like a Princess ready for war. And today, you will become just that."