I am a woman. I am a witch. My eyes are brown, my hair is browner. I am a daughter, a sister, a lover and a friend. I am blessed beyond comparison. I am cursed with the heaviest of all burdens. I am young. I am ancient. But before all else, I am an Unspeakable.
The Department of Mysteries owns more than my life. I have given it my very soul, poured into it every fibre of my being, my very essence. In death, as in life, some shadow of my former vibrant self may linger here, drifting its halls in silent contemplation of the wonders that lie hidden here, far beyond the dreams of man. Far greater wizards and witches than I have laid down their lives to protect its secrets and keep the world unchanged.
To have reached this far, as you must have, to be able to hear these words which I charm with care onto the door of the Chamber, you must be exceedingly worthy. It takes not only great power, but cunning, wisdom, and an inherent nobility of heart to have penetrated the mysteries so deeply. Or perhaps this is only what I tell myself, in the hope that my life’s work will not be squandered, but cherished as it was meant to, a torch for future generations, illuminating their future as it enriches their past.
The struggle against the Dark stretches back into the beginning of the wizarding history, long before the time of even Salazar. Dark Lords have come and gone, rising again, to be vanquished by the blood of heroes. Men and women were cut down in the flower of their youth, broken before they could blossom, withered so that they grew old in bitter futility. Not one but three generations had their hopes and dreams rent apart by a single Dark wizard… Lord Voldemort. No family was entirely unscathed, for like ripples in a still pool; his every action – his living presence – touched and twisted their lives. Wounds in the first generation were nursed to scar the second and third.
Their tales are collected here, sorted and deciphered, reconstructed and patched together to the best of my ability. It has been my life work, here in the Chamber of Archives, deep within the Department of Mysteries.
The First Generation:
Minerva McGonagall, the wilful woman who became Headmistress of Hogwarts but broke her heart over and over in the fight against the Dark.
Caradoc Dearborn, last of his line and a mystery worthy of this Department.
Alphard Black, the less known brother of Orion and uncle of Sirius, and the first and only friend of Tom Riddle, Alphard gave up his life rather than submit to Lord Voldemort.
Amelia and Augusta Bones, two sisters who lost family member after family member yet fought for decades against all forms of Darkness. Alexander Prewett, who loved them both, though neither looked at him twice.
Juliet Meadows, forgotten by history even more than her daughter Dorcas.
And then there was the second generation: Alice and Frank Longbottom, the most beloved of Aurors and tortured to insanity. Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who died like heroes. Dorcas Meadows, killed personally by Lord Voldemort. Andromeda Black, blasted off the family tapestry. Edgar Bones, who perished with his family.
There was even a third generation tainted by the dark; Ginny Prewett-Weasely, Susan Bones, Neville Longbottom, Draco Black-Malfoy, Nymphadora Black-Tonks
These are their stories.
Step into the Pensieve, you who dared to enter and discover for yourself if the cycle of suffering can be broken.
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