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?


2. Found

A small shiver was sent down my spine as a small breath of wind washed over me. I quickly checked my watch; it was past 11, although who knew what the date was. I had been running for days...  Where was I? In some graveyard somewhere obviously. I stumbled over to what seemed to be the exit, a sign hung on the gate that barred the entrance. “Godric’s Hollow, Graveyard,” I read slowly, tracing the outline of the lettering with my fingertips. I felt like the name should have meant something to me but I shrugged away the feeling. I hurriedly left the graveyard, entering the small village of ‘Godric’s Hollow’. I headed towards the war memorial, which seemed to be the centre of the village. As I neared, its form changed, from a bleak war memorial its shape shifted until it depicted something else entirely. A man and a woman stood, holding a small child, only about 1 year old. There was something very sorrowful about the statue although I had no idea what it meant.
I wandered past it slowly, glancing back over my shoulder and gazing in wonder as it changed back to the war memorial. I meandered through the village, taking in the sights when a peculiar cottage caught my eye. I walked towards it slowly, half expecting it to disappear. A wild hedge grew in front of shoulder high wild grass, scattered with rubble. Most of the cottage was standing, but covered in dark ivy, apart from the right corner of the top floor. It looked as if it had been blown apart from the inside, throwing the shattered wall out onto the garden below. The wreck of a house must once have been just like the others surrounding it. I gently rested a hand on the gate, before withdrawing quickly in shock. A sign had risen from the ground in front of me, almost invisible amongst the tall weeds around it. With an impatient hand I ripped some of the grass out of the way, desperate to see what it said. Delicate gold hand writing was engraved into the wood... “On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.” Surrounding the neat lettering, people had carved and written messages into the post. Names, initials and dates were all there amongst longer messages: “Good luck Harry, wherever you are...” “If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you!” “Long live Harry Potter!” I stared confusedly at the messages, obviously words of inspiration. But who was this Harry Potter and why had his (I’m assuming) parents died here, in an obviously horrific accident. This must be some stupid joke, there’s no such thing as wizards, and what the hell are Muggles.

I turned away and almost walked straight into a man who I hadn’t realised was standing behind me. I let out a small shriek of surprise; the man looked at me quizzically. “Sorry I didn’t see you there,” He murmured softly. I looked down quickly hoping he wasn’t one of the men looking for me. “Wait...” He whispered sharply, grabbing my wrist. I tried to escape his grasp but he was too strong. I looked up at him; bright green eyes stared at me, framed by round glasses. A small lightening shaped scar peeped out of a fringe of messy black hair. “Let. Me. Go!” I cried, trying to tug my arm out of his hand. He just held on tighter, pulling a stick out of his pocket and pointing it into my face. A small but bright light appeared at the end of it, blinding me temporarily. “No it can’t be...”

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