“My Father used to say; only fools wear their heart proudly on their sleeves…”

Decades after his father death and years after the Paradise was built, he still found himself saying this to a crowd of eager blackheads and redheads: his children, grandchildren, even later, his great-grandchildren. Smiling to those little chirps of “What was he like?” “What did he say?” “Was he like you at all?”, He would find himself going back along those decades, or centuries now, to those years when his life was like a silent bomb, ready to explode to a million sad little fragments any minute. So small that it will cease to exist. Yes, those troubled years. But that’s all over now. Those children, they won’t realise how lucky they are. They have a family. A loving family. Unlike father and I. They were born free of those tangible evils looming over him and his father like a gigantic phantom, refusing to go away. To those who are older, he taught them Light and Dark, Evil and Goodness, how to steer away from evil, both tangible and abstract. Once, one of his sons had said:

“You don’t find evil in a Paradise do you Papa? Paradise is the essence of what is pure and good!”

He told him, and every other child that came into the world to him, he told all of them firmly that whenever there is goodness, there is always evil. Abstract, luring, like the Snake in that perfect paradise-Eden. He told them how the boundary between Light and Dark, or Evil and Goodness is blurred where they meet, as all poles meet somewhere; how you should never go to the extremes of Light, as drawing a line between good and evil is so hard. The line thins and blurs, and you get lured to Dark on your mission for Light. Like I did, nearly. He told them stories, darker, truer than the ones he told the younger children.

“My sister, Aeolia, taught me the difference between tangible and abstract evil. Of the later, I was barely one second away once. It was surprising at that time, for I was supposed to be the perfect example of both abstract and tangible goodness. I turned out, in those troubled years, to be nearly neither. Aeolia rescued me from that fate…” Yes, his sister. How odd the word still sounds on his tongue, almost alien.

Well, who knew it would be like this? Not Remus, not Dumbledore, not Sirius or anyone, nor me, nor father. It was just another piece of Fate’s lustrous imagination.

“Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“CEDRIC!”

The monstrous face of Lord Voldemort was twisted into a sinister sneer as he turned to face the trembling boy tied to a gravestone.

“You see, Harry, no one can escape my clutches. Not even you. Know in your heart and soul, that this boy’s death is on your head.”

“NO!!”

The scene swirled and changed from the glooms of the grey church yard to the oppressing darkness that seems so familiar to him. A dark corridor, one he has walked upon for hundreds of times in his dreams, loomed up in front again. Subconsciously, his feet carried him to a large circular chamber. Stood in the middle of the bare room was a dais, upon it, the dancing Veil stood mocking as ever he remembered, rustling with the whispers of the voices of the Dead.

A jet of red light.

Sirius falling gracefully into the Veil and beyond.

Voldemort’s face sneering at him.

“Don’t you understand Harry? None of them would have died if not for you. Who told Cedric to take the cup with you? Who was Sirius in the Veil Room for? Why aren’t your parents here?”

“It’s all my fault.”

“Of course Harry, and I’m sure they blame you with heir every breath.”

“Yes, I’m to blame.”

The sun had barely peeked through the open curtains of a window in an immaculately cared for house. A boy stood there already, dressed and fully awake, watching the struggling sun with dull emerald eyes. He glanced at his watch, and sighed.

6:30 Am. Well, Happy Birthday to me.

In 30 minutes’ time, a certain bony, horse lipped woman will screech upstairs at him, to make breakfast. 30 minutes to go. Better make good use of it then. He thought. Half an hour to finish my Potions essay, and let’s hope Snape’s gonna give it at least an E, if not O, I’ve spent half of my brain cells on it! Yes, this normal looking boy in this normal looking house is indeed the most abnormal human being there can ever be, Harry Potter, the “Boy-who-bloody-Lived”, as it is in his words. His quill scratched softly on a sheet of yellow parchment. He’ll be starting sixth year in a week, and is already wondering what Voldemort have in store for him this year. Suddenly, a muffled grunt is heard from across the landing, Harry tensed in fear, thinking that his Uncle might have woken up early, rare as that might be. But no, it doesn’t seem so. Letting out a sigh, Harry Potter carried on with his essay, nearly finished. He scratched his chin, brow furrowed in deep concentration. It was not surprising when he jumped two inches into the air when a mighty bellow seemed to explode directly beside his ear, and a large purple hand snatched away his Potions Essay. Soon sounds of tearing parchment reached his ears, and then he was showered by bits of his now non-existent essay. Only one thought went through his mind as Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him down the stairs for his daily morning beat, yelling obscenities. And that was:

Busted. Snape’s sooo gonna skin me.

Half an hour later – 7:20am.

“Now you listen to me clearly brat, we, that is to say, Your Aunt Petunia, Dudders, and me, we are going to Dudders’ school for a special meeting. We won’t be back till tomorrow. During our absence, you’ll be sure to make NO noise from your freaking mouth, take NO food from the fridge for your unworthy stomach, TOUCH NOTHING in the house with your dirty claws, and DO NOT let anyone notice that any creature breathed in this house. I will not have my neighbours noticing ANY freakishness from MY house. Understand?”

“Yes Sir.” Came the mute reply.

“I’m sure you do you ungrateful selfish freak of nature.” The large beefy man glanced warningly at the corner of a certain cupboard. “If you don’t, well, we’ll see when we get back. You just might no be going back to that stupid out stinky school of yours with that idiot so called Head teacher of yours.”

Harry felt anger shooting through his blood, how dare he insult Hogwarts and Dumbledore! But he fought the urge to fight. Think of Hedwig. Don’t react, for Hedwig.

The front doors slammed in the distance, he didn’t notice it. He is not going to let go of this one chance to send Hedwig away to safety. He ran full pelt into his room, ignoring a rapidly swelling bruise on the side of his cheek. He reached the hidden floorboard and seized a special unlocking hairpin, given to him by Fred on the way back, and ran back down again. You see, the Dursleys weren’t as idiot as they may look. In fear of being attacked by “that mutated excuse of a man”-namely Alastor Moody, the minute Harry stepped into the house, Hedwig has been snatched from him, and locked into a cupboard by Uncle Vernon. But at least Uncle Vernon was feeding her, if very irregularly. He somehow also managed to catch all the owls which delivered letters to Harry, and forced Harry to write lovely pleasant replies to his friends whilst under death threat of him and Hedwig. He hasn’t been able to send any letters of plea to Ron or Hermione, not even the Order when his Uncle continuously abused him mentally and physically.

The Dursley’s mood hasn’t been great. Dudley’s been reported by the school as having an unbearable personality, and in the summer holidays, was accused of several theft, even drug dealing. And as usual, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia aren’t going to blame Dudley for all these, for how could their “sweet Diddikins” do anything so horrid? Must be the evil Harry Potter, so Harry was beaten, starved, and degraded to a personal slave of the Dursley household. Nothing unusual then.

Ignoring all of Uncle Vernon’s threats of not taking any food from the fridge, Harry, took vegetables and bread out, and fed Hedwig to her heart’s content. She looked a dismay, but to Harry’s surprise, she wasn’t one bit annoyed with him. She seemed to know exactly what has been going on, and nibbled his hand in a way that said: “Never mind, at least I’m alive, I forgive you.” Stroking her feathers gently, Harry walked upstairs back to his room, planning on what who to write a plea to.

Unfortunately for Ronald Weasley, he was the only person in the house when a frantic Hedwig showed up by his window. After reading Harry’s short but devastating letter, he decided to contact the Order at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. After poking his head through the fire and calling out its destination, Ron discovered that perhaps he has chosen the wrong time to call. Severus Snape was sat peacefully at the table, complete with a sheet of greasy hair and a long protruding hooked nose. He was munching a piece of toast whilst reading the Daily Prophet. Ron nearly choked on a mouthful of ash and flame when the dreaded Potions Master looked at the fireplace and glared at his head as if it was the most disgusting object on earth.

“Well, well, well, Mr Weasley. What brings your brainless head here.”

“Ah! Sn-Professor Snape, sir. Um…is anyone here?” Ron nearly cursed himself when he caught himself saying Snape, nearly.

“I believe I am a person Mr Weasley. I assumed your mush of a brain might have worked out this much at least 5 years ago.” He said lazily, enjoying the effect of every word on the red head. “Now I suggest you that you till me the reason for your unwanted presence here, or I can think of numerous ways to make sure that you never venture here again.”

Ronal Weasley shivered at the words, and quickly produced a parchment for him, whilst saying as fast as he can:

“I…I think Harry’s ran away from home, I think the Order should know. You could tell…er…Professor Dumbledore so that he can make sure Harry’s ok.”

To his surprise, Snape acted quickly, by writing a letter to Dumbledore and sending off with it, Harry’s note as well. Then, he returned to the head still sitting in the fire:

“There’s nothing you can do now. Go home and wait for further instructions. If your head stays there any longer, I may be lured into poking it with a pair of fire tongs.” He saw with satisfaction as the head immediately disappeared with a faint pop.

“Remus, we have bad news.”

This was all Dumbledore said as he saw the werewolf walk into his office. This is still the same old Dumbledore, with the same twinkle in his eyes, though perhaps in a lesser degree of brilliance and intensity, with a worried glint in them. The younger man sensed the source of Dumbledore’s worry at once, it is not hard. Since Voldemort’s return, the only bad news worth mentioning privately between Dumbledore and Lupin was…

“It’s Harry isn’t it? Is there something wrong?” Worry is definitely shown in Lupin’s voice and eyes. The boy’s gone through enough bloody misery already without new ones adding on! He thought forcefully to himself.

“Yes, and no.” The Headmaster replied with a grave air. “About Harry, but not directly him. It seems that Professor Trelawney’s talents are not so worn away as I had thought they were.” Dumbledore said with a bemused tone, but immediately looked more serious: “We’ve got a new prophecy, and frankly, I don’t like it.”

“That old fraud? You’re not telling me that you are actually going to believe the spooks she comes out with are you?” An obvious sneer and slight amusement can be heard in Lupin’s tone as he said these words.

“True, Sybil has got a reputation as, well, using your words, as an ‘old fraud’. But she has twice before made a truthful prophecy, and that is no small weight. I assure you, once I’ve shown you the scene, you will think again.”

With that, Dumbledore prodded his temples with his wand, and as he raised his hand, a single silvery thread formed between the tip of is wand and his temple, then, fell elegantly into a stone basin-the Pensieve. Gently, the old Headmaster twirled the silvery content, and a pearly figure came rising out of the Pensieve. A creature with eyes hugely magnified by spectacles, her many bangles chinking and echoing in the silent room. Then, she spoke. Not with the ethereal and syrupy voice that is the trademark of Sybil Trelawney, but with a harsh jagged tone. She said:

“The Last War approaches. And so does the Last Weapon. A Weapon that will be the Hope or the Doom of both worlds. A double-edged blade, a double tipped wand, She brings power here.

Upon his 16th birth, shared by two, to our world she will come, mortal, yet divine. Of Light, yet of Dark. She will cross the channel from the other world, and be the Weapon to destroy One, if wielded by the other, double-edged as they are.

She is the Hope of The Boy Who Lived; She is the Hope of the Dark Lord. And she will be the Doom of both.

On the right day, the right time, at the right place, with the right atmosphere, the Bridge of Crossing will be open to her. Only one chance we all have, she is free to choose. A double-edged blade, a double tipped wand, he is too free to choose.

The Last War approaches. As does the Last Weapon…”

Then the figure faded into mist, into nothingness. And Remus Lupin could only gape.

“Merlin…” after what seemed like an eternity, Remus Lupin breathed out. “Merlin!!” He said again with an added force. “Why does it always have to be Harry? Bloody Merlin Dumbledore! The Prophecy said that The Weapon will be the Doom of Both for Merlin’s sake!! We will have to lose Harry no matter what?”

“…”

“Dumbledore…is there no hope at all for Harry?” Lupin whipped around and leaned in to gaze at Dumbledore, desperation in his eyes.

“…”

“Damn Albus. Answer me!” Lupin shook the older man’s shoulder roughly, and sank into nearest chair, his face pale.

“Remus. She will be the Doom of both, and we will try to make her the Hope for Harry only. Remus, do you care about Harry?”

Dumbledore calmly asked the question, gazing into the young man sat in front of him; Dumbledore can understand why he would be so desperate. He has lost the 3 best, and perhaps the only, friends he have. Sirius returned to him after 13 years of loneliness, only to be taken away again. Lupin’s only got Harry left, and now Harry will be taken away as well. No man will be able to handle this calmly.

“Dumbledore, Harry is like my son, my life!”

“Then you will have to let him choose. We are all free to choose Remus. Harry must know. You must tell him.”

“Tell…tell him?” faltering under Dumbledore’s intent gaze, Lupin’s lips formed a defiant “no.”

“Remus, we must. You know how Harry hates being kept in the dark, dealt with like a child. He is not a child any more Remus. He has proved many times that he can take care of his own actions, and take the responsibility of their consequences. Remus, treating him like a child, keeping him in the dark will only hurt him more.” Dropping his intent gaze on the younger man, Dumbledore stood up and gravely strode to the window, and sighed softly. In two quick strides, Remus joined the Headmaster by the window, looking down, he saw endless white, a world of snow.

Harry.

It’s so unfair.

He has never known parents, never had friends before Hogwarts, and never had a normal childhood, which was the one thing he truly longed for. Now, he is deprived of a future, destined to save the world and…go. Disappear. D…no, I will not say the word. Maybe if I don’t say it, it will never be true.

Fate is so cruel. To Harry, to me. WHY? Take everything that I had ever loved from me. Destroy my normal life, kill my two best friends, and corrupt the other. It is all because of Fate, Fate brought Voldemort. Fate brought Doom…brought Her…

“Remus, our utmost concern now is to figure out exactly when she will come, and how, and who she is. Which means you and I will have to work pretty hard to solve this cryptic prophecy. Do you have any ideas?” sitting back down behind his table, Dumbledore peered at Remus through his half-moon spectacles.

Remus Lupin sat stiffly in his chair, and pondered the mystery. He always liked puzzles and cryptic messages, just not when they say clearly that a loved one is going to die. He found he could not concentrate at all, and shook his head at Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded, and sighed.

“Well, I have to say that I myself have many guesses, some of them I can be sure to be correct. The date of her arrival is 31st of July, this I can be sure. It said that she arrives upon his 16th rebirth, which could be only Harry’s. It also said that the birth is shared by two, and Harry and Neville share the same birthday. Both are 16 today. I can also be sure that she is at the moment a muggle, or at least her magical powers are hidden or sealed deep within her. But who she will be, how she will come, and how she could be of use to Harry in defeating Voldemort and vice versa, I just don’t know.”

“She’ll be coming today?”

“Yes, unless I’m very much mistaken.”

Lupin paced the floor back and forth, brows fused together into one thick long angry brush stroke. Lines of worry gathered by the corner of his eyes, grey and white hairs covered his honey brown head. Age is quickly overriding Remus Lupin.

“Remus, my boy. There is no use wearing yourself out. Have you decided on what you shall say when we go to fetch Harry?” Calmly, Professor Dumbledore peered at the young man through his half-moon glasses.

“Hell Dumbledore! What? Have you phrases in stock for this? Then by all means bring them out! Merlin knows I have no words of my own to say to the poor boy. What can I say?” Stopping briefly to look at Dumbledore rather accusingly, he continued, voice dripping with sarcasm: “’By and by Harry, your birthday present this year would be the arrival of your death, there, isn’t that a lovely surprise!’” he ended with a snort.

“Sarcasm will not get you anywhere Remus; you need to be honest, and patient. I…”

A soft tap on the window revealed a handsome black eagle owl, a letter on her feet. Dumbledore stood up immediately to retrieve the letter. It was addressed to him, and it was from Severus Snape. He read the letter aloud for the benefit of Remus Lupin:

Albus:

I have disturbing news. Mr Ronald Weasley have just informed me that Mr Potter has just send him a letter via his owl, who is currently very agitated and refuses to leave the Burrow. I enclose the letter for you to read. In short, Mr Potter has run away from home. But he is not on Knightbus, that much I know. So his whereabouts cannot be identified at this moment. He will be in great danger of Death Eaters and Voldemort I fear. Act quickly.

Severus

Dumblebore, eyebrows tightly knitted, extracted the second parchment in one swift movement, and read that also:

Ron:

Look after Hedwig, feed her lots and give her a bath. I have told her not to return to me, as she will be too conspicuous. I’ve had enough Ron, too much beating, starvation, chores and humiliations. I’m running away. The Dursleys aren’t in today, that’s how I rescued Hedwig from her cells (she’s been locked in a cupboard all summer). Meanwhile I’m trying to get through to the 6 padlocks to my school things. When I’m done, I’ll catch the Knightbus to Hogwarts. Write to you when I get there.

Harry

“Well, he’s not here.” Remus stated plainly.

“Yes, it may take some time. In the meantime, some one must go to the Dursleys’ house to check if Harry’s still there. If Harry is still there, he can be escorted to Hogwarts.” Dumbledore said calmly. “We have to stay here in case he arrives, and in case She arrives. Today is 31st of July. Severus would be able to get there easily. I’ll call him.” with this, he threw some floo powder into the fireplace, and called clearly:

“Severus Snape, Number 12, Grimauld Place”

Soon Severus Snape stepped out of the fireplace. His usual silky voice greeted them:

“You called me Headmaster?”

“Yes Severus. Thank you for acting so quickly. However, we need you to go to Dursley’s, disguised of course. And if Harry’s still there, I would like you to escort him to Hogwarts. If he is not, well, use all your excellent spying skills to track him down. To find him is our utmost concern at this moment.”

“But if the Dark Lord finds him first?” He said with just a trace of concern in his voice.

“Then it will be your job to try to rescue him alive. He may be the only hope of wizarding world.” Dumbledore said gravely.

“I’ll do my…” However, Snape was not allowed to finish, as a silver vortex suddenly materialised in front of them. A girl stepped out of it, dark hairs framed her terrified face, and an emerald ring of snakes glistened on her finger. Severus Snape gaped at her, and the ring, and breathed:

“It can’t be…hers…”

When Oliver stopped outside a grand stone house, it is already dark. The moon shone brightly with silver light. It was a foggy night. He turned to Haven:

“Do you want to stay here till Church? It’ll only be 30 min, we can go together, and meet David and Miriam there. It’s too dark for you to go home alone, and too little time for me to take you home. Mum would love to see you!”

“Could I? That’ll be brilliant! I need to say hi to your mum anyway, haven’t seen her for ages!”

Together, they climbed the stony stairs and went into the House of Pilgrimme, in other words, Oliver’s home.

“Mum? I’m home!” The boy’s voice carried a long way into the echo-y hall. Haven hung up her clothes and bags with all the familiarity of one in her own house, which suggested that the Charises are frequent guests here.

“Is that you Ollie?” followed by the sweet motherly voice, a plump woman came out of the kitchen, wiping her hand on her aprons as she walked. Her face lit up as she saw Haven:

“My dear little Haven, look how you’ve grown! Come here, let Auntie Jan give you a kiss. Mwah, there dear girl. What have you been up to these months? No even coming to see me? Tut tut.” She held Haven by her hand, and took her to the kitchen, followed closely by Oliver, softly smiling to himself. He’s always been amused by his mother’s affection for his friend Haven, especially after her mum’s death. She insisted been called ‘Auntie Jan’, thought they aren’t at all related. She loves the girl, like a daughter.

“Auntie Jan, please, 4 cookies are enough! Oh, alright, 5 then. I can’t really eat all 3 chocolate muffins Auntie! Let’s save some for Ollie…” Oliver walked into the kitchen, and straight upon the scene of an exasperated girl, her arms laden with food, and his mum searching in the fridge, still. Winking to Haven, he walked forward to relieve her of the food, and jokingly said to his mum:

“Mum, I’m going to take Haven away from you, to save her from been stuffed.” He then added in a more serious tone: “I need to show her something upstairs, we’ll take the food with us. You are feeding her way too much!” without waiting for his mum’s consent, he swept up the food into his arms, and led Haven away, out of the kitchen.
“Phew! Thanks Ollie! I was just thinking of how to get away politely. I always underestimate your mum’s affection.” Haven said as they entered Olly’s room.

“Yes, you should always be on guard of how much my mum can…feed you, little girl.”

“I, am, not, LITTLE!!” Haven cried in mock rage, lunging at Ollie, tickling him mercilessly. “I, am, only, 1, year, younger, than, you! Oliver Pilgrimme!”

“Oh, oh, oh! Noooo! Don’t, tickle!” Laughing like little children, they fell on to the floor, tickling each other mercilessly. Finally Oliver grabbed hold of Haven’s hand, said: “Right, big girl, I apologise! Game over!” and sat up behind her, keeping her hand in his. Thus they stayed, in a comfortable silence that suggested an old friendship. Until, Haven said to him:

“Ollie, I discovered something in my house that I’m not sure if I wanted to know,” she turned, and looked at him with a pair of confused eyes.

“Care to share?” said the other, pinching her nose affectionately.
“Promise me that you will not judge me or mum if I tell you?” she asked anxiously.

“Of course Havenie, I won’t desert you for anything in the world!”
“I discovered who my father is…or at least, I think so.” Haven whispered in a tiny, fluttering voice.

“What? Are…are you quite sure? I mean, even your mum said she doesn’t know!” Oliver scrambled to his feet, and began to pace the floor.

“I know.” Haven collapsed in a heap on the floor, weeping into the carpets. “Oh I wished I didn’t have to so nosy as to look into that attic. I found a leaf torn out of a journal. The date was about 9 months before my birth.”

“What was in the journal?” Was Oliver’s curious reply.

“How my birth came about.” Haven brought out a piece of crumpled and yellowing paper with trembling hands. “I’m the result of a rape.”

Dumbstruck, Oliver took the paper and started reading the trembling, cramped script:

"I’m writing this down so that my little child will be able to know whom her father is. I keep calling it Her, I just get this feeling that it’s going to be a girl. I’m sure I’m pregnant. He is coming, and he is going to delete my memory, or is he going to kill me at last? I escaped for so long from them. They, the monsters with those black masks and long black cloaks.

My poor baby, she’s not legitimate, she’s the result of a monstrous and horrifying rape. Yes. I was first raped by a man who doesn’t seem to look like a man. He had horrid red eyes and black slits. The other men gathered around him, and called him “Lord”. How does he fit into the royalty I don’t know. But he raped me. After him was a man who saved me by doing so. There were a dozen more unfortunate women like me gathered in that dark, damp chamber smelling of blood. I talked to a few of them when we assembled there. All of them were highly educated I noticed, all with a cold beauty about them, excluding me and another red head who is 18 this year, and graduating from her school to marry her lover for 4 years. We shared a warm prettiness. Most of them were my age, 20ish; there were a couple of girls who looked barely 16, who said they were taken out of school. It was that fateful day when men in black cloaks and horrible white masks came for me, maniacal grins of lust evident in their eyes.

We were then lead into a vast chamber, furnished with a dozen or so lavish four poster beds in corners of the room, blood dripped from the walls and ceilings. I realised at once what these men wanted with us. Prostitution. I tried to run, but one of them aimed a thin stick at me and muttered something, a jet of red light beamed forth and I was held immobile, but fully awake. I was so shocked. I didn’t know that magic existed. The first word that came into my mind was wizards. We were told to stand in a line. I was moved by two other ladies beside me. It seemed that they wanted to choose. Two men stared straight at me. The one in the centre of the circle smiled a cruel smile with his thin red lips. The other one, one at his right, looked at me with an odd light in his obsidian eyes, then withdrew his glance the minute he saw his lord looking at me also, but not before giving me a pitying look. They were ranked it seemed. The first to chose was the red eyed man in the middle, the Lord. He chose me. I was so scared.

He levitated me into a green and silver bed with his stick, and made me watch the other men choose and play with their victims. It was horrifying. The next to choose was a blond man at his left. He took his unfortunate woman and went to a bed, soon screams of raw terror erupted from the woman, the man had tied his victim’s arms to the bed post, and pealed off her cloths in the most primal and vicious way possible, indulging his sexual desire. He aimed his stick at her and whispered a curse into her head, a sadistic smile on his pale features as screams of pure agony erupted. Poor girl, she was still a child. I turned my head, unable to watch as she writhed and tossed on the bed, in her own scarlet blood! The next man was the dark man who looked at me first. His hooked nose was visible even under the hood. He looked around the woman, and a flinch was barely visible through his cloak and mask when he saw the red head. He picked her. The poor thing looked so scared. But he was much gentler it seemed. And she might actually have enjoyed the process. The rest had no orders. They dashed about, arguing with each other over the women, fighting with these queer little wooden sticks. My dooms man looked at me hungrily, and said in a sibilant whisper:

“You see, my right- and left-hand man enjoy their rewards for their loyal and unwavering service. Lucius, my left-hand man, particularly enjoyed the taste of youthful flesh, especially under Cruciatus. Severus, my Obsidian Blade, goes for a more gentle approach; his women might actually enjoy his administrations. Me, I’m the Lord. Bow to Lord Voldemort little muggle.”

“Never shall I bow to a scum who rapes and kill.”

“No? Perhaps pain will teach you. Crucio.”

He aimed that stick at me, and suddenly every nerve, every tissue within me is blazing with unbearable pain, I could not stand it. I cried to him:

“Stop this! I’ll do whatever you want. This is too painful!”

And I bowed to him. After that, it was all a blur. Dark, painful. I was then Severus’, but that was nothing. Strangely, I was whole and alive at the end of it all, unlike some of the other poor women. Every woman there was raped twice, except the redhead, I don’t know why. The man called Severus was told to dispose of us. Whatever that means. But I soon found out. We are going to be killed. He killed the women with a wave of his stick and a jet of bright green light. All but me and the red head. He said that we are not meant to die today. He produced two different rings, and told the red head to keep the silver one, for the child, if there is one. And gave me an emerald one, for the same reason. He said there is a chance they might be wizards. He told us that these rings would protect them. He told us to hide, and that he will take us home later after erasing our memory. They’re wizards, they’ll probably say a few spells and our memory of this event will be gone, more the better. But he’s going to adjust it, I’ll remember this as a date, and the father gave me a ring to give to his child if there is one. But my poor child won’t know her father. I don’t know her father. I hope it’s Severus, not…him…

I discovered that the red head is a witch, that there is a secret wizarding society hidden within ours. And that this is a group called the Death Eaters, who are followers of the man who raped me, Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard of all.

And Severus, he’s a strange one. Something in my brain told me that he is not really a part of this group; he didn’t enjoy it at all. He wasn’t cruel or anything. He looked like a spy. I know what a spy looks like and act like, cos my uncle is a spy for the government. I found it impossible to hate that man, even though he took me. May be in a circumstance kinder than this, I might have loved him. If he remembers me, my child, if you ever see him, tell him that for me. Tell him that I have forgiven him, tell him that I never hated him, not for one second.

The girl is crying, she said she’s getting married next month, what if she’s pregnant. What would Jamie say? Jamie is her lover I gather. I don’t think she knows Severus, I didn’t tell her that I know the name, what if they knew each other?

Severus took a long time, we were hiding for hours, and I wrote this. Oh no, I can hear footsteps. I think it’s Severus.

I love you, my little ill fated child, conceived in sin, soaked in evil’s blood. If I take this secret to my grave, I hope you will find this paper. May you grow away from evilness, may you never become like your father, whichever he is.

Your most loving mother…"

“Oh Holy Jesus.” Oliver sank back to the floor, eyes glazed.

“And this is the ring. I realised that after reading this. My mother gave the ring to me when I was 10, right before she died, saying that it’s from my dead father. Now I realised that it is not. It is from a man called Severus, the man who saved my mother’s life, and consequently, mine. I never could wear it, as it was too big for me.”

Haven showed Oliver the ring. It was made immaculately from emerald, in the form of two beautifully entwining snakes. At Oliver’s gentle urging, Haven placed the ring on her right ring finger. This time, it fitted perfectly. Suddenly, a rush of colour and a staggering power came out of the ring, and formed a silver vortex swirling wildly around Haven’s form, pulling her deeper and deeper inside its swirling web of silvery magic. Oliver scrambled to his feet and stretched his hands out to pull out his terrified friend, but the vortex is holding him back. He cried out in rage and despair as the vortex started to shrink. Haven is nearly gone now, but her heartbreaking cries of help lingered in the air. Mrs Pilgrimme appeared that moment by the door, saw what’s inside, and fainted. With a final lilting note, the vortex disappeared entirely, leaving behind a piece of long dark hair. Oliver clutched at it like a talisman of reality. Haven’s last cry of help still echoed in the room, refusing to go away. Staring into where the vortex was, he collapsed onto the floor, and said over and over again:

“No…no…no…no…”

Tears ran freely down his cheeks, but he didn’t notice it. All he can think about now is that Haven’s magically kidnapped, zapped into somewhere possibly lethal and magical, and that her father might be the most evil wizard on earth.

Severus Snape stared at this beautiful dark haired girl, lost in memories and wonder. Without thinking, he burst out:

“Greetings, lost child…you look just like your mother…”

The girl looked at him, bewildered, fear in her eyes. Then, realisation dawned in them, and she muttered:

“You are Severus. Thank you for saving my mother’s life.” Tears came to her fathomless dark eyes; it glistened and shone with an ethereal light. “You lent her 11 years, and consequently, you gave me my life. I know that if you allowed her to remember, she would have thanked you every night in her prayers.”

Dumbledore looked from one to another, perplexed and concerned. Remus is still shocked from the sudden arrival of this girl; even in the magical world, it is still shocking.

Snape held tight onto the table edge, and said, perhaps a little unsteadily:

“How do you know? And your mother is…dead?”

“Yes…she gave me your ring before she died, and I found a piece of parchment in the attic just today, and I’ve read it.” Defiance and dread came to her eyes.

“Tell me about it all…You were there when it happened. Tell me that my mother was wrong. Tell me that my father is not…” she faltered, ever so slight, only to begin anew with fresh vigour and hatred in her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t just kill all those women like you do it everyday. Didn’t you even feel the slightest bit of guilt or pain?”

Haven’s voice was soft. But in her voice, there was an intense passion gathering, a cold fury that was never heard before, it gathered like a menacing storm waiting to blow. Remus and Snape both flinched from the vehemence that was radiating out of it.

“You saw them suffer, under those…monster’s hands. My mother described it all. Wizards. Indeed. It’s all about power and control isn’t it? That man who killed a little girl was barely 16; he was greedy for control, over life. She died a gruesome death; her body broken and wasted away, her limbs broken and dead. I could almost imagine her screams”

Remus stared in open eyed horror, and glanced at Snape, who has turned an even more deathly white; his knuckles bulged unnaturally from gripping the table.

“And how the women were lined up and picked like cattle and sheep? That’s power and control too. Power to have what you desires.” Haven didn’t know what is happening to her. All the anger that she had ever felt in this life seemed to be channelled into this single argument. Her body is feverish, power radiated from her, though she did not notice it.

“My mother said you didn’t look cruel, that she didn’t believe you were one of them.” Haven spat out the word, looking at the man in front of her disgustedly. “But you are, aren’t you, evil from the core, eager for more power, more control over our daily lives. Were you really a spy? Mother thought you were. Did you know how much all the women suffered? Why do you do these things! And, why? Why did you save only two of them? Why not every women there? You are a wizard, surely you could have done something!” Haven gave a frustrated cry.

“It’s only because of the babies wasn’t it? The redhead and my mother might have carried your baby…” At this point, both Dumbledore’s and Lupin’s head snapped round to look at Snape, who waited dumbly for her, his child, to end. “That’s why you only saved them. You have the power to control life and death. You can kill someone, or save some one, just like this…” Haven snapped her fingered in front of Snape’s deathly face, who stood towering above her, but neither did her notice or care. “Did you know what she said? Did you know what my mother felt? She said she’s forgiven you.”

Severus Snape broke down into a chair nearby, and started trembling uncontrollably. He hid his face in his pale hands, and wept unseen tears.

“My child…my lost child…” he muttered brokenly into his hands.

“No.” Haven said coldly. “I might be the daughter of the most evil wizard in the world. I might be your daughter. It’s never good to presume. But I shall never forgive you. My mother has forgiven you even before she left that building. Do you know why she did that? Do you know how much you’ve touched her heart? Did you know that she said she almost loved you, and would have, if it was a kinder time?”

A jet of silver light escaped her out stretched hand, and narrowly missed Snape, and hit a lantern on the table; it smashed into a thousand little pieces. Haven suddenly blinked and collapsed into the nearest chair, all hints of anger gone. All she said was: “Oh…Did I do that?”

Dumbledore was the quickest to recover from it all. He gestured Haven to sit down, and studied her face carefully. Haven flinched from the intensity of power that radiated from those gentle blue orbs.

“You are a wise child. Wiser than most of your age. Did life teach you that?” Dumbledore asked her softly, making her feel ashamed of her own outbursts just minutes ago.

“Yes, life taught me that. Experience and death. God taught me that.” Haven stared back at him, willing him to understand her.

“God? Oh yes, the muggle religion. I suppose you would say that Severus, and his fellow Death Eaters were playing God by taking life. And that Voldemort was playing God too?” But she never had a chance to answer. Finally, he sighed, and told the present company:

“She indeed looks a lot like Severus, in his early years.” And turning back to Haven, he said again: “But she seemed to have inherited some interesting features, from Riddle, both mentally and physically, who I presume is who she meant by saying the most evil wizard on earth, Voldemort. I don’t know how that is possible.” Looking at both Haven and Snape, he asked softly: “What does her mother look like?”

Haven opened a locket she wore around her neck, and produced a little photograph of her mother from it. She was a beautiful woman, her long, lustrous deep red hair glistened in the sun, and her dark eyes told laughter. Dumbledore silently studied it.

“Her mother was the most beautiful creature that ever lived on this earth.” Snape suddenly said with a sad reminiscing look on his face. “She had deep red hair, darker than Lily’s. Beautiful dark eyes, just like this child in front of me. She looks so much like her.”

“Yes. You can see definite red hints in her dark hair, inherited from her mother. Her eye colour can be from you, her mother, or Riddle. Her mouth and jaw shape looks identical to Riddle’s, whilst her hair hung in the exact way as you, and she has your ears and hand. Her nose seemed to be a mixture of her mother’s, and…Riddle’s. I don’t know how the genes can be combined like this. The best thing to do seemed to be a Paternity spell. And I expect that Madam Pomfrey knows the best ones.” Looking at Haven kindly, Dumbledore said:

“What is your name, my child?”

Haven found herself frightened by the blue eyes in front of her, however kind they are. She is in an alien atmosphere; she doesn’t understand what is going on. She’s surprised at her ready acceptance in magic, and she was more than surprised when that jet of silver light shot out of her hand. It felt as if a part of her has come back to her, she felt warm, happy, content, and whole. But now she’s surrounded by three wizards, one could be her father. How does she know if she can trust them? But those blue eyes are so kind and trustworthy; they can’t be the eyes of an evil person.

“Look, I don’t know where this is; I don’t know if I can trust you, what if you are one of them? I miss my home already, and my friend will be extremely worried, because I was taken away by a magical vortex, and he would have thought that it is Voldemort, my possible father, who took me. He might be thinking that I’m dead already.” She said all these in one quick breath, then immediately felt ashamed of her own words. Of course you can trust the old man. Trust your instincts. “I’m Haven…”

“You are a good girl Haven. Don’t ever trust people lightly, especially at this kind of times.” Dumbledore said gravely. “How did you hear about Voldemort? And how much does the boy know?”

Snape hissed inwardly, and flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name.

“I showed him the parchment. It’s all written there. He knows as much as I know. He always knew, and will know everything that I know. We share everything.” Haven jumped to her feet, in fear that Oliver’s memory will be wiped too, like her mother. “No matter what you do, he will still know everything. I need him to know everything!”

Dumbledore is smiling now. “My child, you have wonderful trust in that boy, we won’t be the ones who takes them away…”

Snape however, has been tense for a while now. His head snapped up at the word parchment, and immediately got to his feet after Dumbledore finished: “Show me the parchment.”

Haven was frightened by his cold voice, silkily dangerous. Evil…you are evil to the core. Her own words rang in her mind. He might be your father. He loves your mother. Unconsciously, she handed over a crunched up parchment. Snape read it warily. At the end, he had tears in his eyes as memories came vivid in his mind.

“I don’t remember the part about the red head. When I tried to think about it, I met a block. Must be a memory spell I cast on myself. It must have been really bad.” Snape muttered to himself. Suddenly his eyes widened, he scanned the bottom of the parchment again, and breathed out fragmented words: “Jamie? James…red head…no…it can’t be…Potter!?”

Dumbledore silently took the parchment from him, and left him standing there, dazed. He scanned the words quickly, a frown gradually appearing on his face. When he reached the bottom of the parchment, his brows fused together like one thick brush stroke. Dumbledore stood to his feet with surprising agility, and motioned a still stunned Remus Lupin to him.

“Remus, I’m trusting you now with the task of finding Harry. It is essential that we find him, as quick as possible. Go well, child.”

Without a word, he left the office. Dumbledore then fixed his eyes firmly, but kindly onto Severus Snape, and gazed at him wryly:

“You might have just gained two children, Severus.”