Tom's Riddle

What if Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange had a daughter? Would she be accepted in the wizarding world or will she be prosecuted for her parents crimes?

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1. Running

September 20th 2011

A sharp pain seared in my side, but I have to keep going. By breath hitched and I stumbled, tripping over a sunken gravestone and falling into a pile of mud and dead leaves. I was on the run. Time to start over.

Again.

The sound of footsteps startled me, running in my direction, heavy footfalls coming ever closer. A bright beam of light swept over the graveyard, I quickly crawled behind a tombstone curling up into a ball so they wouldn’t see me. I waited with baited breath, my legs slowly becoming numb. After what seemed like hours they finally gave up searching, leaving with muttered swearwords and curses under their breath. I let out a huge sigh of relief, standing up to stretch my legs, but almost falling over again as I did so.

I guess I should tell you about myself; my name is Emelie, Emelie Riddle. I have curly black hair and pale skin, everyone calls me the ghost girl. I was raised in an orphanage in London with no knowledge of my parents, or why they took me there. I was left with a letter, it said to open when I turned 11 but I didn’t. Now I’m 14 and I haven’t so much as cracked the seal, they left me and I want nothing to do with them! When I was 6, weird things started to happen when people were around me, I... I hurt people. It was an accident I swear! It was nothing too bad, just a few bruises... I could hear things, voices, not from people... from snakes...
People started to notice I was different, I was sent to a different orphanage for a fresh start when I was 8 and again when I was 10. When I was 11 I ran away, a man had come to visit the orphanage, deciding who to adopt. He looked at me, but he didn’t, he looked through me, as if I didn’t exist. I didn’t mean to do anything bad, but when I clenched my fist, his tie... it tightened. He started to suffocate, spluttering and choking, his face turning purple. I clenched my fist harder and he started turning blue, I didn’t notice but I let out a soft growl. Everyone had looked at me, at my clenched fist, my fingernails biting into my soft-skinned palm. I abruptly flattened my hand, examining the marks my long nails had made. I slowly lifted my head, everyone was looking at me, shock and realisation registering on their faces. The man looked at me in astonishment, massaging his throat with one hand and taking off his tie. A single thought had entered my mind.

Run.

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