Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own anything associated with the Harry Potter franchise. All rights are reserved to J.K Rowling and Warner Bros.

A/N: Well, here we are! The sequel has finally come, a little earlier than expected, but hey! I figured why not. To all of those who are new to me, this is a sequel to "A Dangerous Game" and while it's not necessary to have read that story to enjoy this one, it is highly recommended. Well I hope you guys like it, I had awesome readers last time and I really hope you guys enjoy this one. The timeline is a little messed up if you compare the two stories…but I'm hoping you guys will forgive me and I'll get around to fixing it eventually. She should have been born in April of 1958, but as it currently is, so is born in 1953. So I have a five year difference which is getting fixed. So please don't yell at me about that, I am already fully aware of the problem! God I am so bad at this! Oh and the whole story will NOT be told in first person. I just thought it was a really cool way to start the story. The prologue is really short and the first chapter(s) won't be coming out until a little bit later, but I hope you'll forgive me!

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Prologue

Time period: 1973

For the first 11 years of my life, my name was Elea. Elea, I discovered at a very young age, means "foreign; the other". I guess it was a fitting name.

I am unwanted. I have known that since I was old enough to speak. The people who reside in the same house I'm supposed to call a home do not approve of me. They call me family and yet have no proof that I am of any relation to them at all.

I'm told that when I was about a year old, I appeared on the doorstep of the house my supposed mother used to live at. How I got there is a mystery.

I was abandoned on some stranger's house with nothing to remind me of my past: no note, no letter, nothing save the small black cat that was found with me. It didn't do me very much good though. It disappeared once I was taken to my new house. The people who were living there at the time had been friends of my supposed mother and believed me to be her daughter. They took me to this house in which I now stay and for the second time in my short life, I was abandoned with strangers yet again. I'm only grateful I was too young to realize what was happening.

The family who I live with now treats me well, I cannot argue that. However, I am still discontent. Treating me well means: feeding me, clothing me and giving me a place to stay. It does not include attention or affection and certainly not love. I was a quiet child. And I've always been a very powerful witch. That only added to the discomfort I felt when I was around my supposed grandparents.

When I was younger, it was easier to talk to them. They would always keep their distance from me, but sometimes, just sometimes we almost bonded. But before we could realize our feelings, they would pull away with a strange, haunted look in their eyes. I was not part of the family. I was a stranger. An outcast. Someone to be wary of.

Someone to be afraid of.

I didn't have any friends. And I certainly didn't want any. I didn't play dolls nor did I have pets when I was little. I played with my magic, and I read books: dark books like the dark magic I found myself strangely attracted to.

When I was 11, a wizard came asking for me. I was to go to his school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

If I had thought that life would have been any different after learning that I was to attend a boarding school, I was sorely mistaken. My life didn't change at all.

I didn't like the school that much. The only thing that made it tolerable was being away from home, if you could call it that. I was, naturally, put into Slytherin where there were throngs of people as passionate about the dark arts as I.

Almost as passionate.

I almost bordered obsessed.

Most everyone had friends though, friends and family. And though people hung around me, they were not really my friends. I had nothing. I had no one. The dark arts and magic were my friends. They were my only companions. I needed no one else.

I wanted no one else.

And when I was 11, the wizard Dumbledore, who brought me to Hogwarts, informed me that my real name was Adara. And that I was in fact the daughter of Serena Haesley: the woman they had thought of all along. But by that time, that name meant nothing to me. It was just a name, and I was too deep into my dark fantasies that hearing some name uttered from an old man's mouth couldn't change my stubborn opinion.

I had given up hope long ago. I have no mother. And I have no father. My only family is power. That is all I need.

I am the daughter of darkness.