A/N: OMJ, hiiiii guysssss. I know it's so soon after my last post, but I'd feel bad posting this on its own, so I'm giving it to you, now. It's a really short chapter and the very last one of the "first book", so I hope you like it.

The next book will contain a lot of new characters and a whole new set of challenges that need to be overcame. These new characters that will be alienating will make up the total "six" I have planned, like how Ginny, Neville and Luna are apart of the original six.

I really hope you liked this first part and seriously, let me know ehst you think!

@Rawal4sky, I'm so glad you are loving the story! Who's your favorite character so far? Do you like how I'm writing the canon characters? Let me know!

Anyway! Finally, onto the chapter!


(Henry POV)

"Happy birthday…" my mouth felt dry as the words croaked from my lips, my dark green eyes facing the starry sky outside my window as I spoke.

I was all alone, locked in a room somewhere deep inside Malfoy Manor, without anyone beside me but a little black diary that had been left in the desk drawer. Tom was really nice, but we didn't seem to find each other all that interesting, especially because I didn't tell him much. In fact, I hadn't said much to anyone since arriving here. Not to the elves that brought my food, not to my cousin— whenever they let me see him and yeah, I was surprised he was even still alive, but I supposed they were using him as bait or torturing him or something.

The point was, I refused to really speak to anyone, especially to my father.

Yes, Lord Voldemort was my birth father.

I hadn't been given the whole story, only just what they needed me to know, but apparently, I had been created, not as an heir, or a child to be raised and loved or anything like that, but I was simply another means to one of the Dark Lord's many ends.

I was born to be his vessel.

While ensuring that he would live eternally, Lord Voldemort had also made himself a vessel in case of losing his birth body and I was supposed to have been raised to be that vessel. They'd taken my mother right out from under everyone's nose and she'd been forcibly made to carry me, with no consent required. No man had ever loved her. Not Lord Voldemort, certainly not Sam's father and not even those who'd never looked for her or who hadn't cared enough about her to even try to find her.

It was said that for now, he was going to use the bones of his dead father, until they could raise me up like a pig for slaughter. Of course he didn't want to stay in his 'filthy muggle fathers' body forever. He needed a young, healthy, strong, and intact body. He needed a 'beautiful face', the strong body of a leader, not of something terrifying to look at, though from what I'd seen, he was settling into the temporary body of his muggle father just fine. It would take loads of time and dark magic to forcibly remove my soul to make room for his own, especially when the spell typically required true consent as a key ingredient and I was never going to willingly give that, though it wouldn't keep him from trying. After all, with the sorcerer's stone, he had ages.

As I sat there and reflected on my birthday and what it meant, a shiver raced up my spine, followed by a surge of anger. All these years felt like such a lie. I knew that my parents— Zander and Rose, had no idea about my true origins, but I couldn't help the hurt and betrayal I was feeling.

My mother had been so young when she was taken— just eighteen years old, and though I doubted whether or not Lord Voldemort could love, one thing was certain.

He was a man.

A human man.

With human needs.

Physical needs that I'd learned about in my fifth year of Primary school. Needs that had resulted in the mind controlling of my mother and her subsequent impregnation. At some point though, after she'd had me, she'd managed to break free from the imperious Curse and run away, where she went back home to her small village.

There, she'd met Sam's father, who was a very uneducated and unintelligent drunk that beat up my mother and this is where the orphanage had been wrong. My mother had not died in childbirth, but after Sam's birth and just before Lord Voldemort fell, my mother was found and murdered and I, having been hidden, was left to deal with my father, who lost custody of me very soon after my mother was murdered.

I watched the stars twinkle from my window and setting my palm to the cool glass, I let out a deep breath. I'd been here for two months and all the stress and loneliness was finally beginning to get to me. Especially when I had all day, every day to ponder my past, my upbringing, my life, my heritage and who I really was as a person, as a descendent of Salazar Slytherin. I had many choices ahead of me and though I was still young, I had to make some big decisions immediately.

With everything though, the only decision I felt good about was the one that filled my mind this very moment.

My story wasn't a pretty one and I most certainly didn't want it to be my story.

But it was.

And though I'd always thought that if I found where I came from, I wouldn't care.

I very much cared.

And I wanted retribution.


A/N: Welp, there it issss! Let me know what you think!