Rolling Dice

Dear Nathaniel,

If you find yourself reading this letter, it means that what I have grown to fear and suspect has been materialised.

I will begin with telling you a story. Eleven years ago, I found myself being courted by a man named Eric Whickam. Our relationship, to me, was not one of love: as a young, strong headed girl, my idea about love was that it is not temporary. When I see my first love, I thought, it would be clear to me at first sight and my instincts would lead me to my true and infinite partner. This was not the case, however, with young Eric. There was just no spark, and alas, it was only a one-sided passion.

I did not, and could not return the love that this narrow-minded, arrogant man showed me, but his intentions of marrying me were clear. Instincts, which served me well in the end, drove me not to go through with it. I broke things off and later fell in love with your father, and he was exactly the true and infinite partner that I always dreamed of. Obviously, if a man like Eric did not get his way, he would come up with other unreasonable assumptions as to why things didn't go the way he planned them to. He accused me of marrying into your father's family for their wealth, and grew bitter toward all of us.

Well into my marriage, I thought Eric had finally forgotten about the incident. But a few weeks ago, I started getting mysterious threats from an unknown source and the first person I thought of was Eric. The letters I receive threatened revenge, revenge to a degree I do not know. The most recent threat, that confirmed my suspicion, was: "I know you and that bastard had a son. Beware."

I am writing this letter with unbearable anxiety to warn you to be careful, and to warn you that mine and your father's end might be near. I hope this provides some sort of explanation, if what I fear ever becomes real. If you are lucky enough to escape the wrath of this dreadful man, take care of your sister who is yet to be born, and remember that the love my father and I have for you is never-ending and pure.

Your loving mother,

Anneliese Robertson

PROLOGUE

Two months after Anne set down her pen, she and James Robertson were celebrating the birth of a new addition to their family and the birthday of their son Nate when there was a knock on the door. Anne went to answer the door. Her son, in the dining room, heard a gasp and his mother's voice calling his father. Curiosity made him run to the door himself, only to find his parents lying in an increasingly large pool of blood.

CHAPTER ONE

In a cold graveyard in London, a boy with a dark mop of curls could be seen holding back the tears brimming his brown eyes as he sat down in front of two grey tombstones. It was his nineteenth birthday, and this was how he spent it every morning for the past few years. The pain was always worse on his birthday. He gently laid soft pink roses between the two grey slabs, and got up and brushed away his tears. He decided that driving to the city to his favourite cafe would help him to clear his mind and breathe. As he drove, he thought of how much he missed his parents and of the last birthday he remembered when he was with them. He remembered how happy he was that day, never knowing the horrors that would await his family in a few minutes. Snapping back into reality he turned into the La Baguette cafe. He was right, sitting in this familiar place did ease his mind a little, but apparently he was still out of it because as he walked out, he slammed into someone. He looked up, slightly irritated, to a pair of bright green eyes - eyes that looked startlingly like his mother's. A fresh wave of pain punched him in the stomach. The person he bumped into didn't look very happy either - her books were all over the floor. He bent down to help her pick them up and couldn't help but chuckle when his eyes rested on a well-worn copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows". At this, the girl's piercing eyes looked up to inspect him with curiosity.

"So you're familiar with J.K. Rowling's masterpiece, then?" she asked.

" 'Familiar' with it would be a bit of an understatement," he smiled. His interest increased - did he just come across a fellow Potterhead?