prologue — breathe in, breathe out
November 13th, 1976.

      DARKNESS LINGERS EVERYWHERE in the Faron Manor, any rays of sunshine, the slightest glimmer of hope were mercilessly snuffed out in the narrow hallways. Tucked away in the furthest corner of the manor lies Maurice Beasley's bedroom, a forlornly flame in the middle of a harsh snowstorm. The flame however never stood a chance, from the beginning it was always destined to be extinguished.

      One way or another.

      He felt his heartbeat pulse rapidly in his throat and no matter how slow his chest rose and fell, it was to no avail. His heartbeat seemed to only speed up, if that was even possible. On the wall opposite from the door was a window that gave him a splendid view of the grounds, most importantly of the stars. He lifted his chin up, examining the flecks of light in the night sky, hoping the sight might calm his quick heartbeat.

      It had only been thirty-six hours since Tom Riddle and his loyal followers began to dwell among the same four walls Maurice calls home, and Ethel Faron— his grandmother absolutely adored the attention she got from the other death eaters. To her sleeping under the same roof as the Dark Lord was the greatest honour in the entire world. That was until he decided the manor no longer served him any purpose, then it was just a matter of time for one of his many followers to open their door for him.

      Maurice was lost in his own thoughts he didn't even hear the loud shriek coming from the doorway "Dear, how many bloody times have I told you to keep that. . ." Ethel gritted her teeth, almost as if she was about to say the most foul word to exist. "illness hidden!" She slammed the creaky door behind her before any passing eyes could witness the, according to her, monstrosity.

      The warmth from his skin started radiating and the life in his eyes shined once more as he gently descended down to the floor. "But nan I'm in my own bedroom—" He pleaded before realizing he had raised his voice at his grandmother. The next thing he felt was a sharp sting across his face as he fell down to the floor cupping his pulsing cheek with his hand, tears swelling in his eyes.

      Ethel hunkered down before him. "I thought you had learned your lesson the last time I caught you in that state, darling." She warned him, reaching her hand out to push a loose strand of hair out of his face, he instinctively closed his eyes shut and lowered his head down to his shoulders in an attempt to shrink down. "Very good." A thin smile crept up on her face.

      "I'm sorry, it will not happen again, I promise" He kept his gaze focused on the wooden planks, looking anywhere in the room really, afraid to make eye contact with the woman towering in front of him. Her cold gaze alone sent shivers down his spine and made the hairs on his arm stand on ends.

      To say that Maurice hated life in the Faron Manor was the understatement of the decade, century even. Many many years ago, before Maurice was born. Ethel and Sebastien would use any excuse to throw a lavish ball or host dinner parties. Of course, only pure blood witches and wizards would ever get invitations. It was all to keep their influence and standing within the pure blood community.

      But now, the house is but a mere shell full of whispers from a lifetime ago.

      The only thing keeping Maurice fighting was the family who lived down the road, The Potters. They have welcomed him time and time again with open arms into their home. Specifically, James Potter, Maurice wouldn't even know where to begin describing the love the two boys shared. Ever since they were young lads, the two were practically attached at the hip.

      "I will be expecting you downstairs shortly," She ordered standing up from the floor. "Oh, and I do hope you have not forgotten our little talk. I expect you to do as you were told, Maurice." She gently closed the door behind her, leaving her only grandson on the floor a complete mess, wiping away any stray tears with the back of his hand.

      Breathe in, breathe out he reminded himself as he walked down the empty hallway, his cheek still felt as if his skin were on fire. The faint sound of people having mundane conversations emanated from the dining hall. He could feel it again in his throat, his heartbeat, it grew louder in his ears with every step he took. Maurice briefly thought about it, turning around and running out the front door to never look back. Knowing he would be one of them by the end of the day made him sick to his stomach.

      But instead he kept placing one foot in front of the other until he was in the dining hall with the guests Ethel had invited. One particular person, Maurice was not quite sure if he was human or not, stood by the corner alone. Even though the room was candlelit his eyes were glowing a vibrant shade of yellow but he convinced himself his eyes were just playing cruel tricks on him.

      "He has requested our presence in the library." Ethel's voice was barely above a whisper." He nodded and greeted some guests as he followed in her step. She quietly knocked on the door waiting for a response, but did not get one. There he was standing by the fireplace flipping through the pages of a dusty old book. The Dark Lord himself, Tom Riddle.

      "My lord." Ethel bowed her head. Maurice was sure his face had gone completely pale and the palms of his hands were practically dripping with sweat.

      "Ah, come in Maurice my sweet boy, join me." He calmly spoke without acknowledging Ethel's presence at all, as if she was nothing but a house elf. Maurice was not sure what terrified him more, his grandmother or the Dark Lord himself. . . it was a toss up. "Your grandmother has told me so much about you, I am truly pleased with your generosity." He briefly paused before he continued. "She even told me you wanted to take the mark, is that so?"

      "He does, my lord." Ethel spoke out before he could form a sentence.

      "Do not speak unless you are spoken to,"He calmly spoke, directing his gaze towards Ethel, before he turned on his heels to face Maurice. "Speak," he commanded.

      Maurice wanted to say no a thousand times, but his own tongue betrayed him when he spoke. "I do, my lord." Without saying a single word he gestured to the empty sofa by the fireplace that gave off embers here and there. Maurice did as he was instructed.

      "I was also told you possess a unique gift, she wrote it off as a disgrace to the Faron name," He paused, slowly turning on his heels to face Maurice, their eye contact never breaking. "But I see it as an asset, this, she is unaware of. I will give you the mark, but only if you wish for it, my sweet boy."

      No, no, no please.

      "I do, my lord."

      Maurice could see it, his eyes resembled those of a snake, he had heard rumors about it from other students at Hogwarts, but never really believed them. The edge of his smile slowly turned upward. "I am very pleased to hear this. May I have a moment with Maurice?"

      In the corner of his eyes, Maurice could see the smile Ethel was trying to conceal. After all this is exactly what she wanted, but for Maurice it meant living a life that would eventually land him in Azkaban or six feet under "Of course, my lord." It was not long before he was alone with the Dark Lord, he wanted to do the thing he promised Ethel he would never do again. Turn into a phantom and run, run as far as he could. Maybe the potters could give him shelter before he figured out what to do. Living in France would not be that bad, but he would have to say goodbye to James forever.

      "Your grandmother tells me you are exceptionally talented with Occlumency and Potions," The dark lord took the empty sofa right across Maurice. "It is quite rare for a sixteen year old boy to have mastered Occlumency, it is more rare to find someone with such a unique ability." He added.

      He suppressed the small smile that crept up on his face, he cleared his throat. For the first time in months, Maurice felt seen. He was only used to getting compliments from teachers, James or Sirius, it was odd being complimented on such a level. Especially by the Dark Lord himself. "Thank you, my lord. Learning Occlumency was no easy feat."

      This was true, when Maurice was fifteen Ethel forced him to sit through long and painful lessons where she would cast Legilimency on him relentlessly. One day in particular, he was failing to keep up with her and he threw up all over himself. No matter how hard he pleaded, she kept pushing him until he finally got it down. "You are going to be a great asset for our side, my sweet boy."

      "It would be an honour, my lord."

      "Very well," the Dark Lord stood up from the sofa, grabbing his wand. "Roll up your sleeve, please" He instructed. Maurice reluctantly did so, he could feel his stomach twist and turn within itself, he could vividly hear his heart pound. Run run run. No, Maurice could not possibly go through with this, he still had some sort of say, no?

      In that exact moment Maurice's body reacted before his mind could think. He truly had no idea what he was about to do. "I apologize, my lord." He mumbled under his breath as he pushed through the library, bumping into a couple of guests as he did so. Despite Ethel's protests he just kept running. Out of breath, he slouched over near a staircase that was on the opposite side of the manor.

   Just as Maurice's shallow breathing began to grow steady and even, a low voice emerged from the opposite end of the hallway. "I have had enough of your little games, Maurice." It was his grandmother walking alongside the man with yellow eyes.

   "Please, nan, don't make me do this—" Before he even got a chance to finish his sentence, to beg for mercy, the man with yellow eyes reached out to him with both hands and slammed Maurice against the wall, all in one fell swoop. His fingernails, which resembled claws more, dug into his neck, drawing small drops of blood, Maurice winced in pain squirming under the immense pressure.

   "You do not have a say in this," She demanded with her hand tightly wrapped around her wand causing her knuckles to turn pale. "I want to make that perfectly clear, darling" He desperately clawed at the arms of the man, his own legs dangled in the air. Black tinged the edges of his vision as he gasped out for air.

   "Please, I'm begging you." He spluttered.

   "There is nothing you can do Maurice, you will become a death eater." With her index finger she wiped away the single drop of blood from his neck. "I did not want to do this to you, Maurice, but you left me with no choice. Let him go."

   Maurice collapsed on the floor his entire body felt weak, numb, and he grabbed onto his neck hoping it would make the pain go away. It took so much effort for him to hold his own body up as he heard footsteps approach him. "Please." He pleaded, his voice coming out rough, jagged. Almost broken.

   He tightly shut his eyes, he knew exactly what was about to happen. Which meant there was nothing more to do but accept the fate his grandmother chose for him. "Imperio!" After that simple yet cruel word, hazy clouds formed over his eyes and everything went dark.

   He knew he was still awake, talking and moving but he had no control over his own actions. Maurice always described being under the imperius curse as being tucked away into his own mind. Ethel first casted the curse on him when he was eight years old and had no control over his condition, it is for your own good, she would say, and it eventually turned into controlling his behavior at any social gatherings they attended.

   He blinked his eyes slowly the next morning as rays of sunlight bled through his thin curtains. On the days where the imperius curse was casted on Maurice his nights would be full of dreams about his parents. Peony and Silas, who disappeared with no trace five months after he was born. It was a lovely dream. But then reality burst through, and he remembered everything after the curse was casted on him.

   The Faron Manor was accustomed to quiet mornings, normally the many house elves Ethel had working for her were scattering throughout the house cleaning or cooking. But on that gloomy day, as raindrops splattered against the windows, his screams echoed throughout the hallways. Maurice tightly squeezed his arm, the arm that was now tainted with that mark hoping it was all just a nightmare, that he was still sleeping.

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authors note, this... this is going to be a journey please buckle up 🤭🤭