The Whispering of the Wind (A Harry Potter Fanfiction)

It's Our Mother's and Father's

I guess the best way to tell you about me is to start from the beginning. Not as far back as my ancestors. No, that would take a lot of time and a lot of research. I'm just going to tell you about my parents.

I suppose I shall tell you about my father first. My father was known by many names. The better son, the man with the snake on his arm, and the most recoginisable, Regulus Arcturus Black. You probably didn't know he had a daughter. Or even children at all. Well, he had three children, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll just tell you about his titles, starting with the better son.

You think you know everything about how he got this title? Well, you don't. You only know this story from the other son's point of view, but right now that point of view doesn't matter. This one does. The one from the better son's point of view. Let's proceed, shall we?

His older brother was always a big disappointment to his family. I'm not using that word for accuracy, but for its general-ness. Any way, that statement was a very well known fact. And his parents decided that since one of their sons went wrong, then they would do anything in their power to prevent that from happening to the other. And it worked. Little Regulus grew up to be the perfect son. The son that fit into the Black family like a missing puzzle piece. Then, one day, he took it to far. That was how he became the man with the snake on his arm.

He didn't realize that it was too far until he got tortured for the first time. Poor little pampered, sheltered, cocky Slytherin boy pushed straight from the kiddie pool to the shark tank just because of his parents. This situation sounds familiar, right? It reminds you of someone who may or may not be called Draco Malfoy. Yeah, their stories are similar enough, but they are NOT the same.

Back to the man with the snake on his arm. After that first time, he already wanted to get out, but he knew that the only way to get out was by death. He wasn't ready for that. At least, not yet. Then he met my mother.

I suppose it is the right time to tell you about my mother.

Everywhere she went, my mother always stuck oout. Whether it was because the black streak that marred her perfect straith blonde hair, or the almost glowing purple eyes that brightened her face. She never chose to look like that. She was born they way, and no one could change it. Not even her.

My mother never fit in. Everyone always looked at her because of something that she couldn't control. This situation also sounds familiar, right? It reminded me of a dear friend of mine, Harry Potter. Not anymore. That right there was where all the similarities stopped.

My mother looked strange because of the divine blood in her veins, but that is a story for another time. Or maybe never. I might decide not to tell you. Anyway, she was technically a pureblood. No one needs to know that little piece of information above, do they? I don't think so.

My mother was a sick woman. Shed been looked at by the beat healers around the wworld, and when they had no conclusion, she turned to muggle doctors, with the same results. her time was running out and she knew it, bit she wanted a family so badly. Nothing was looking up for her, and the best thing at the moment was to give up. So she did. She was focusing more on surviving rather than living. Just an empty shell with a drive. Until she met my father.

Before I tell you about that, I feel like I'm forgetting something important. Yes. My mother's name. Her name is Alaine Caprice Beliveau. Sorry about bad memory. Now onto the meeting.

Believe it or not, they mmet in Diagon Alley. During a Death Eater raid. He was doing what he was told, ransacking a shop and harassing its inhabitants. That shop was the exact same shop that she was getting potions for her sickness. I don't want to be cliché, but when he first saw her, everything clicked. And, since he didn't have much time, he decided to act.