AN: Three Perspectives from characters that have been met. I decided to only do this with characters that have been introduced.

POV: The Noble Raven

Her time at Hogwarts was not what she was expecting. From the revelation of the Girl-Who Lived having a hidden twin, to the so-called Savior of Magical Britian being sent to the House that is considered to be as Evil as its most infamous members. Not true of course, but the people will believe whatever they wish. but even those two shocking reveals were not what had caught her attention so. No, that privilege was taken by the fact that the Prodigal Son of Potter was capable of Healing. Nobody was quite sure about how he had learnt the art, but his response to the questions posed by Granger was damning. She did not know what he experienced in his time away from his family, but it must have been something truly horrendous if his body felt the need to channel Healing magic without the proper knowledge, as well often enough that he was able to call upon that same magic at will.

But whatever the truth about the situation is, whether he is as the rumors say The Dark Lord turned Baby turned Teen, an abused teen that needed to learn to heal himself to survive, or simply a prodigy in the arts of recovery, he still presented her with an opportunity. Healers, regardless of skill or experience, were rare and costly. Many times, people didn't bother going to see one unless their very life was at stake. While those suffering from spell damage and curses could be healed easier thanks to only needing to reverse the cause of the malady, to heal wounds, to enforce recovery upon the body, that was an arduous task that often takes teams of Healers to preform, using advanced Rituals, Ancient Runes, and Potent Draughts. To simply wave one's wand and chant a spell like it was any other charm was something thought only capable of the Legends, such as the demigod Asclepius, or the more recent St. Mungos. That Harry Potter, a boy no one had heard of, was capable of such a feat without any formal education in the use of Magic, spoke volumes about his potential. And granted her Hope, hope for her mother, hope for her sister, and hope for herself.

As she gently removed the enchanted bindings wrapped around her torso, she couldn't stop the jolt of pain that travelled throughout her entire body, and once again cursed her Ancestor for his Idiocy, and the ruin he placed upon his descendants. As she looked into the mirror that her room came with, she winced at the sight she saw. Disheveled, matted hair that was losing its luster, pale sickly skin that was almost translucent, and a frailness that left her fearful of any sudden injury.

Her family was cursed, they had been for centuries now, and would continue to be unless someone could find a way to heal them of the sickness they suffered, then to break the curse that lay underneath. A curse of blood, one that heated it from within, slowly, and painfully sapping any strength from their body and eventually leaving them fragile, frail husks of themselves that could only await death. While the curse only affected the some of the females of her family, those who were affected usually never passed the age of thirty, only lasting long enough to give birth to another and pass the curse onto them. Her mother was considered lucky in that regard, having been affected by one of the mildest cases seen. She had been healthy enough to produce two daughters and still held on for many years, but it couldn't last forever and now she is bedridden, and it wasn't expected that she would last long enough to see her graduate. Her sister on the other hand has experienced one of the worst cases seen, already having her body start degrading and weakening in a way that should not be happening for at least another decade. It was unknown whether she would ever gain her O.W.L.s.

As for herself, she was considered normal as far as her family was concerned, expected to be able to live long enough to continue the family line in some vain hope that they may finally be free of this. It was unlikely though that anyone would ever actually end their curse, for in order to do so one needed first to be a great healer, capable of purging the sickness from her blood, and then they must be knowledgeable in curse breaking and attempt to destroy the curse that resides within their hearts without killing them in the process. Many have tried, and none have been successful, usually resulting in the end of that generation of Greengrass. But now there was hope. If Harry Potter truly were capable of such advanced healing like those of ages past, then maybe he could figure out a way to heal them, and free her family from the suffering that held them captive.

Tracy, wonderful Tracy, her constant companion since their childhood, understood her need, and agreed that this might be her best bet. She would go and make friends with the mysterious Potter, while Tracy would be in the background, finding information and building connections that would help them to sway the boy to their assistance. Because, as much as it galled her, Tracy was the more sociable one, the one that people made friends with and got along with everyone. When she was younger, she had felt jealous of her friend in the ease she navigated social situations, always knowing just the right thing to say, unlike her who could only keep a cool mask in place to stop the panic that such situations left her in. She could not understand people, always wondering about some hidden motive or secret desire driving their actions and felt fear whenever she had to speak to others. She had since grown out of such things, for the most part, and had gotten over her jealousy of her best friend, which was why she had Tracy doing what she was doing, acting support for her mission.

Not that it was going anywhere, as so far nobody knew anything about the boy, and the only people that spent any time with him were herself, Granger whenever she felt the need to be a pest, and his sister, usually with that follower of hers. Nobody knew where he was raised, what he liked, what he disliked, who he knew, or anything that would help her to get closer to the boy. So, she would have to continue to spend time with him then, not the worst thing considering his good looks, and deal with his teasing words and subtle smirks that did strange things to her. He could mock her now, look down upon her all he liked, but in the end, when she claims his friendship and gains his help, it will be she getting the last laugh!

POV: The Young Flower

She knew that she was being foolish, hiding out in her dorm while the others were at dinner, but she couldn't help herself. She knew she didn't have a normal childhood growing up, being completely isolated from everyone save her Parents, Uncles, and occasionally the headmaster. She knew while she was sitting in her room, sealed from the outside being looked over by specialists, others were playing in the sun or snow, forming bonds and enjoying life. While she only had books to read, the stories she told herself, and her imagination to keep herself entertained, others simply lived in a world full of possibility, seeing sights so wonderous and journeys so grand that she felt envious of them. When her mother pored over every book and tome, spell and ritual she could find in an effort to find some way to help her she felt sadness. When her father, gone away for long stretches of time, working himself to the bone, gaining money and connections in some desperate bid to help, she only wept for the time lost. When her Uncle Sirius would go out and hunt down Dark Witches and Wizards, to find any clue about her situation, she feared that one day, it would be she that he must hunt down. And when her uncle Moony watched over her, whispered kind words in her ears she felt hollow as the dark murmurs filled her head instead.

She knew that she was cursed in some way, that those around her were in constant danger by being in close proximity. Whatever spell her Grandmother Dorea cast to save her soul from the Dark Lord, whatever dark ritual was used to destroy him, had left an irreversible mark upon her. She leaked corrupted magic as easily as she breathed, feeding the darkest emotions in both her and others. While Adults were able to resist the effect, a byproduct of the magic channeled through them being more developed and thus shielded them better, children had no such ability. It was the reason that she was alone, with only letters to her cousins being the only company she received. She had never even met them until a little over two years ago, when her mother managed to find a way to keep the corruption from spilling out of her with the headmasters help, allowing her to leave her home for the first time, to interact with others of similar age. The daughters of Sirius and Remus were kind to her, helping her gain the skills to interact with others and start to live a normal life, even if only in short bursts. She was resigned to being alone, something admired from afar but never approached.

So, to hear that she had a twin brother, a missing half of herself, she was overjoyed at the thought of being together with him, to have someone that may be there for her by her side. And then to hear of his rejection of his family, to hear of the anger he held towards her parents for leaving him for her sake. She felt like a part of her was dying, and she allowed her anger, her frustration, her jealousy to grow within her, furious at a brother she had never met, for living a life outside the sealed walls of her home. Then they met. Then she learned what was done to him, the pain he felt, the torture he suffered. A part of her felt glad, glad that she did not suffer alone, that he too faced anguish growing away from her as she did growing away from him.

Being with him was soothing to her soul, like a part of her heart that had been missing was finally found and made whole. His presence calmed the darkness within her heart, quieted the whispers in her mind, and for the first time she could remember, be at peace. She grew to like, enjoy the peace he brought. Then she was under that damnable hat, and she begged and pleaded within her head to follow after him int the House of Wisdom, it rejected her wishes, ignored her voice, and instead was beguiled by another. Speaking of a cunning mind and a grand ambition the Hat placed her in a den of Serpents, alone again. But that did not stop her brother from supporting her, did not stop him from seeking her out, providing the calm only he could. She was an outcast in the house, for being a Half-Blood, for being the Girl-Who-Lived, for being Rose Potter, something her brother never cared for. He did not care for her blood, or her fame, or her name, for he shared those with her. He understood.

In her House she made an ally, another outcast, another freak of nature. They bonded over the hate of others, and became close, as she gained her first friend. Things seemed to be looking up for her, a new beginning, a fresh chapter in the story of her life. But no, for she was still cursed, still holding darkness, still black at heart. In her dreams she heard the voices grow, the whispers became shouts, the fleeting feelings becoming painful pulls. She was drowning in the evils of her own mind, and not even the waking world could provide sanctuary any longer, only her brother, a familiar presence that calmed her, one that seemed to control the darkness within her. She had grown addicted to him after such a short time and feared being away from him.

She had sent a letter to Dumbledore, telling him of how the feelings were worse, the voices louder, and the pain greater. He summoned her after his last class of the day, desiring to speak with her and address the issue. And so she went, and explained, and he listened, and by the time he finished he seemed to have become what he was, a tired old man. She asked what was wrong with her, what the Dark Lord did to her when she was a child. She pleaded and demanded and finally, he told her, spoke of how the Dark Lord never died, that the ritual her grandmother preformed had destroyed his body, but his soul was still bound to the earth. And a piece of latched itself to her, a parasite that they could not remove. A corrupting influence on all around her that was only barely contained due to some barely understood magic that was lost with her grandmother. He told her that it was dangerous for others to be close to her in her youth, that the protection she had was faulty and incomplete. That what her mother and he had worked so hard to grant her was only a temporary measure and would not last forever.

She left then, angry, and full of self-loathing, and when she saw her brother there, she could not help but be ashamed. She needed to be away from him for a while, despite the longing she had to hold him. So here she was, beneath the covers of her bed, shivering and cold, desperately trying to stay awake and keep the nightmares at bay. To be not drown in the corruption of the Dark Lords soul. To not give into temptation. To hold out and see him again. Just for another day. Just for ... another ... day.

POV: The Weary Old Man

Never did he feel all his years as he did now. The aches of his bones, the feebleness of his flesh, the slowness of his magic. It was undeniable that he was not the man he used to be, neither in body nor in mind. After all the man he used to be would not have failed a child so, would not have so blindly trusted the words of one so bitter. He told himself that it was not his duty to check in on the boy, that he held no responsibility to him. That it was the duty of his Parents and those they trusted. But they were busy, consumed by trying all they could to save their daughter, whether by researching rare and forgotten magic, or traveling the globe making riches and connections in order to supply their efforts.

And the boy's aunt had demanded no interference from those of this world, that she would raise the boy as she saw fit and without the influence of magic. He was a fool. He believed that the best thing for the boy was to grow away from the strife of his family, unaware of the pain his parents went through, the suffering his sister experienced. To live a normal life away from the dangers of the wizarding world if only for a time. Instead, he sentenced him to be a slave, working tirelessly under the sadistic pleasure of his own flesh and blood. It was not his duty, he told himself. It was not his fault, he would plead. But it was his fault, for he had suggested Lily's sister, despite having never met her, so sure in the love of one's family, ignoring the hypocritical relationship he had with his own brother. He sent the boy away and washed his hands of the matter, focusing his efforts on helping young Miss Rose, and damning young Harry in the process.

He had reassured the boy's parents time and time again that he would be fine, to focus on their daughter as she needed them more, never actually checking if this was true. It was one f the biggest regrets he held, alongside the death of his sister, and his love of Gellert. He attempted to make it right, to take the blame off the boy's parents and onto himself, willing to accept his hatred and scorn. But what happened instead when he met the boy was something else, something that frightened him. He was so very much like Tom, he noticed. The way he spoke, how he held himself, and the knowledge of magic that he had no way of knowing. He had seen the boy's discomfort when Fawks sang, and had felt his heart sink into his chest, realizing that maybe he had missed something fifteen years ago, that maybe Rose was not the only one affected by the death of the Dark Lord. He tried his best to ward against such thoughts, to stop projecting his fears onto an innocent boy that had suffered many hardships similar to Tom. Just because they were similar did not mean that they were the same, and in fact there were differences, things that Tom would never allow. He made friends with his house, a friendly face to those that he was around, and he clearly cared for his sister. The one who hosted a piece of Tom's Soul, who felt at peace whenever he was around, and was suffering from what seemed like increased exposure to Toms presence.

No! No ... He was not Tom, merely a boy who suffered and was a comforting presence to a twin sister that had been without him for many years. He was just making connections and jumping to conclusions based on fear, not any actual proof. Simply projecting his regrets and sorrows on one who did not deserve that after how he had failed him.

But even then, in his heart, he did not believe that. He could not, for if he was wrong once more, if he allowed another Dark Lord to rise ...