Sweet but Deadly

Prolouge

Amara Lilliane Potter, the only daughter of James Potter and Lily Potter nee' Evans. She was left an Orphan long ago, when she found herself on her magic-hating aunt's doorstep. Her aunt was the height of cruelty; beating Amara, starving Amara. Amara was shunned by her relatives for being, as they put it, a 'filthy disgraceful freak'.

But don't think she doesn't remember why she is forced to live in the miniature hell-hole. Amara was blessed with a photographic memory, which some would consider a curse, while others a gift; for Amara however, it was a blessing in disguise. She remembered everything, what she smelt, what she heard, what she saw. She remembered every moment of every day in every year. She knew why she was here and why she was forced to succumb to the Dursleys' awful orders. She knew who the two men behind the reason for her awful childhood were and she hated them both.

One was an old man who believed everything and everyone to be below him. He believed all lives lost and all pain endured was for what he wanted to be 'The Greater Good'. He proclaimed himself as the light lord acting like a beacon of strength for the wizarding world. This wizard called himself Albus Dumbledore. Amara hated everything about the man, at least from what she remembered. She remembered his awful twinkling, blue eyes with his absolutely horrible grandfather facade. She remembered his ugly magical aura and his atrocious manipulating mouth. After all, he was the indirect reason her parents were dead. 

Lord Voldemort in her eyes was nothing short of a monster. He carelessly spilled magical blood in the gallons for his own selfish purposes. He wanted muggles, muggle- borns and half-bloods killed alike. He only spared the purest of the pure or in other words purebloods, not just any purebloods, but purebloods with power and influence ready to bend to the will of the monster they called their lord. However, she still respected Voldemort more than she did Dumbledore. At least Voldemort knew he was evil. At least he did not try to hide behind a stupid mask, at least he was willing to get his own hands dirty than do it behind the backs of the trusting wizarding world.

Amara knew better than to become ones sacrificial lamb, she knew better than to lower herself to kiss the hem of ones robes. She knew better, than to be a weak little slave running around trying to mold herself to be accepted. No, she was Amara Lilliane Potter, she was a leader, a conqueror if she must. She opened her eyes with new found determination. Her green orbs soaked with tears yet glowing with power.

Unbeknownst to her, outside of number 4 Privet Drive, a storm raged; giving birth to the shadows who she would soon call her friends. A storm unlike any other thundered as if in sync with Amara's emotions. That night she made it known to everything, to everyone, wherever they were, at the depths of the deepest oceans or the edges of the material world, to the Dragons in hell to the angels in heaven, she made it known to every single creature, just how powerful the new daughter of magic really was. Albeit unknown to the young Amara Potter still locked in the Cupboard Under the Stairs, in Number 4 Privet Drive.