There was once upon a time a boy who survived the darkest ordeal, an attack on his house by the Dark Lord himself.
Subsequently, he was known as the boy who lived. Orphaned as an infant and left with his muggle aunt and uncle, at the tender age of eleven, he was invited to attend Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In his first year, he fought off the Dark Lord in a weakened state. In his second, he dealt with a cursed diary. In his third, he freed his wrongly convicted godfather from imprisonment by the Ministry. In his fourth year, he was forced into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which culminated in the return of the Dark Lord. In his fifth, he fought the lies of the Dark Lord and his followers and tutored his fellow students in defence against the dark arts.
And now, he was in his sixth year of study.
But this is not his story, this is mine.
My name is Ebony Ravenway. I am 1,67m tall, my wand is birch with a phoenix feather core, my patronus is an owl. I inherited my mother’s icy blue eyes, her sheet white skin, her dark hair and her spirit. I’m seventeen, and in my seventh year at Hogwarts.
But beneath that, I harbour a dark curse.
During the break of my sixth year, in our home in Sheffield, my family was attacked. I was the only survivor, and my attacker had elected to turn me into the very same monster as he;
Now, I walk the halls of Hogwarts, cautious, always exercising restraint, while the students around me wonder if or when I’ll finally kill one of them.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Albus Dumbledore, has fought on my behalf. Were it up to the Ministry Of Magic, I’d have been dealt with by the Aurors.
Luckily for me, Dumbledore has never been one to back down against an unjust request from the Ministry.
This story begins in the first week of my seventh year.
I was walking through the halls of Hogwarts, enjoying the rain outside, thankful for the horrid English weather. I was not particularly popular, or well liked. Even before I’d turned, I had a bad attitude and a disdain for most folks. Most of them I regarded as beneath me if I was being entirely honest.
Passers-by stared, and I tried my best to ignore them. I didn’t really want to attract attention to myself. I just wanted to get through my final year in peace.
“If it isn’t that vampire tart the headmaster let in!” shouted a voice. I looked up. And there he was, Draco Malfoy, a rich little twit with a large ego and a small mind.
“Shouldn’t you be crying to your father right now, Malfoy, or does that come after the pathetic grandstanding?” I asked.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I have to share the grounds with you. At the very least they should leash the animals around here.” he said.
“I am slow to anger, Malfoy, but if you insist on being my breakfast, I’ll gladly pop you like a grape and leave what’s left to Filch. Maybe you and Peeves can bond over being the least liked ghouls in the school.”
“Come on lads, I don’t need to listen to another word this snippy corpse has to say. Who knows, maybe the clouds will part and we’ll get to see a witch get burnt.”
“If it takes death to be rid of you, I’d gladly take the stake now.”
“Don’t give me ideas, mudblood sucker.” He smiled.
That last bit? It rubbed me the wrong way. Now I had him under my skin, and I hated every second of it. I stood quietly as Draco and his friends laughed and left, having had the last word.
I spent the rest of the day fantasizing about pulling his limbs off one by one.