Moraea Riddle.
She is anything but the normal girl she keeps the act of being, especially not with the secrets that come with her last name. The daughter of the Dark Lord is just as cruel and cold as what was once believed to be the portrayal of ev...
"Merlin's beard, Rae, what happened?" Daphne Greengrass inquired with a certain edge to her voice. Moraea looked up from her lying position, and just barely saw Daphne's features, she was blinded by the useless infirmary lights, brighter than her future.
Those past few weeks, Daphne had been the only person to visit Riddle. Not that she had a problem with it, it just made her guilt deepen. Harry Potter told his friends everything. They supported each other. And Moraea did not envy them. She did not need anyone. There was merely this awful feeling she wanted to get rid off, because she knew Daphne deserved better.
Why Dumbledore still wanted the Riddle name to be confidential was beyond her. Yes, the only thing that frightened Moraea was her secrets being spilt. Yet, after everything, she realized it was far better for everything to come to an end now instead of living in constant fear.
No one knew of the danger of Tom Riddle, and Dumbledore was an idiot for this. The power he holds is exceptional. If he were, for example, to make every single detail about the villain known, it would automatically make him less terrifying, wouldn't it? Why were the only people except herself who knew about this Dumbledore and his small Gryffindor cult?
Putting that aside, Moraea stood up straighter in the bed and told Daphne everything. She felt something resembling fear in doing so. But it's okay. She was okay. Because this one act of rebellion was enough proof to herself that she didn't belong to Dumbledore. She wasn't controlled by him. Not like Harry Potter and his friends were, anyway.
Harry Potter. He almost got them killed, and now he's the one everyone is worshiping.
Daphne looked deep into her friend's eyes as she croaked, "Don't you trust me?"
Inexplicably, the incessant throb in Moraea's heart came in even stronger than before, telling her to apologize for hurting her best friend's feelings. It might or might not stop after it. "I should have told you," she despised the weakness evident in her voice. The shame. She begged herself to apologize, she tried.
But no words were uttered.
Suddenly, it was too hot in the room. A million different memories kept attacking Moraea's well kept walls she had spent so much time on building around herself. The shame. It dug up the past and threw it in her face. It reminded her of all the people she had failed. Of all the times she had failed. Including now.
She didn't look the blonde in the eyes as she spoke.
"I understand, Rae. You didn't want to overshare, or whatever, and that's fine. I just, I thought when the entire school is at stake you'd think it's better to have some help and do something about it, instead of just wishing to receive all the glory to yourself. You could've at least told me that you also speak Parseltongue. For Merlin's sake, you lied straight to my face about it."
To be honest, Moraea felt a little confused about her last statement, but wasn't in a position to say anything about it. Daphne was right. She had informed Moraea of almost everything about herself. Daphne was the eldest child of Florian and Adorabella Greengrass. They were pure-blood. She had a younger sister, Astoria Greengrass, a Hufflepuff, who apparently constantly babbled about Muggles and her fascination with them.
"Sorry." Moraea finally managed to say, alas it sounded more like an insult than an actual apology.
"I'm sorry too."
Daphne Greengrass left.
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They had emerged victorious from their battle with Slytherin's monster, yet Moraea only felt defeat.
The rest of the final term passed in a haze of bright infirmary lights. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled (turns out, Lockhart really was a fraud) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.
Everyone was excited for this year's house cup winner. They were all enjoying the last feast. All except Riddle. She was nudging at her food.
"Everything alright, Riddle?" Came a hesitant voice from the person sitting opposite her on the green decorated table. It was no other than Malfoy's. Moraea pursed her lips, a slight furrow between her brows as she turned to stare pointedly at Draco.
"What do you care?" There was an icy coldness in her voice.
Draco flinched. She was angry. Why, when she had fortuitously lost everyone, was the only person she had left Draco Malfoy?
"I don't." He was quick to clarify, "I have just... never seen you so..." The boy gulped. At the blatant stare Moraea was giving him, he didn't dare finish the sentence.
"So what, Draco?" She asked with an even tone, challenging him.
At his response, or rather - the lack of one, Riddle smirked. She nearly laughed thinking the entire school was so easily frightened by this boy.
Alas, her smirk soon faded as she made eye contact with Daphne Greengrass, who quickly turned away.
Riddle had an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. Breathe, keep breathing. I can't do this alone. She squeezed the gemstone of her necklace, only reminder left of her once friendship.
She wasn't listening when Dumbledore announced this year's winner; Slytherin.
Yet, he quickly silenced their loud cheering with a strong look of dislike.
He proceeded to award Gryffindor with 200 more points, coming from 4th to 1st place.
Slytherin didn't win.
And why was that? Because an old man held an inexplicable grudge against the green house. Moraea clenched her jaw. None of the things she did were for any fame of some sort. But that didn't mean she enjoyed being put to the side like that. Disregarded. No, she has as much of a role as Potter in this small battle, if not more. Nevertheless, she definitely did more than his friends, who weren't even there. It was all just unfair, and it quickened Moraea's breathing to a fast and shallow state. Despite her best efforts, she balled her fists, the knuckles of her hands whitening.
Moraea didn't care about the house cup in the slightest, so she couldn't explain why she felt this unknown to her, revolting feeling as she looked at the red table.
Everyone was cheering. Cheering, for Gryffindor, for the Golden Trio.
Moraea wondered where she messed up. Her eyes met the emerald ones of Harry Potter. After a few seconds, he looked away, as if nothing had happened.
