𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. | Harry Potter.

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Y/n Marvea Riddle, a girl forged in the fires of an orphanage, had spent almost half her life amidst the humdrum routine of a muggle existence since the age of six. She still remembered someone who sent her to the orphanage, it was a tall woman, with long and thick curly hair, she couldn't really describe her face.

Her days were filled with the dull drone of muggle lessons that held no spark for her, lessons that felt as stale as last week's bread.

The other kids, her age and even older, all kept their distance from her. They whispered behind their hands, their stares lingering on her with a discomfort she couldn't quite grasp.

No one, not a single soul, ever wanted to adopt her. Maybe they feel something, some dark flicker within her that chilled their bones. Even without knowing the truth, even Y/n herself didn't fully understand it. It was like a hidden aura, a whispering presence that made others sense her true nature – the echo of a power she hadn't yet learned to control.

Y/n was born in December 30th, 1980.

She was a captivating beauty, a legacy of her father. Like Tom Riddle in his youth, who's considered as extremely handsome and he could charm any people. Y/n was a vision of striking dark hair and piercing (H/c) eyes. Even her personality mirrored her father's, the Tom Riddle before the darkness consumed him.

Y/n was reserved, collected, and introverted, with a sharp tongue that only rarely found its way out of its cage. But her mind was a whirlwind of thought, sharp and powerful. She was a silent observer, always listening, her mouth remaining closed until the moment called for it, when she would speak with an unnerving composure, her words cutting through the thickest fog of confusion.

Love and affection were foreign concepts, whispered tales in a language she didn't understand. She kept her own affections bottled tight, never allowing them to bloom. She was kind, giving, but her heart, a closed book, refused to reveal its secrets.

Sometimes, words were unnecessary. Her presence alone, was enough to communicate, to command attention, to leave others stunned and awed.

Sometimes, a voice would also randomly appear and speak inside her head.

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The swing creaked gently, carrying Y/n back and forth in a slow sway. It was her usual spot, wearing her usual annie dress. She watched the other kids, a gaggle of them playing tag without her, their shouts and laughter echoing through the orphanage courtyard.

She'd tried joining in before, but it always ended the same way. They'd stop, then look at her with that strange, pitying gaze, and then wander off to play something else. The game would be over is she joined. It would be just her, alone, playing make-believe with herself again. It was safer to stay here, in her own little world.

"Hello there." a gentle voice drifted towards her. It was Sister Margaret, her wrinkled face framed by her starched black habit.

Y/n turned her head, looking up at her who's smiling down at her.

"Fancy joining the others for a bit?" Sister Margaret asked, standing next to her swing.

Y/n shook her head, her gaze returning to the distant children. "It's alright." she mumbled, her voice a mere whisper.

"Why not?" Sister Margaret inquired, her eyes filled with concern.

Y/n shrugged, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "It's awkward." She was used to being left out. Honestly, it hardly bothered her anymore.