A/N: This is an A/U story that is not for HP fans as much as the fans of HP characters. I am going to be changing a lot to favor my specific favorite characters, and I do not know much about the canonical time period in which I am writing. This will largely be to explore how IC I can keep everyone in new and drastic situations and environments. This takes place during the sixth movie, is A/U, and has nothing to do with the original plot of the story. My tribute to the darker characters of Rowling's series.
The sheets of sloppily folded parchment were found in the old wooden desk long after the adventure had ended. The shack had been burned by blasts of magic in the final battle that took place on that fateful night, but somehow the desk – and the parchments – had survived without a scratch. The words written on the yellowed paper were faint and spidery. Dates of years gone by marked the upper corners – a diary? A journal of some kind? What the words said confirmed this theory, as well as the name scrawled at the bottom of each entry:
I am not Harry Potter. That is a very large part of this whole thing. If I had been Potter, there would have been people rushing to fulfill my every need, to protect me at wandpoint from the shadows that haunted me. Poor Potter – lost his family. I wish I had lost mine. I would have been better off. Poor Potter – locked in a wardrobe or a cupboard or some such place. I've been locked in. It does not matter the size of the room of confinement. Poor Potter – the arch enemy of He Who Must Not Be Named. It is even more terrible to be his friend, his sworn ally, his slave. If he wished, Potter could spit in the Dark Lord's eye. I must kiss his feet and not wash my mouth afterwards because they watch me. These words are treachery. If they are discovered, I will die. I will probably die anyway.