Nerida Riddle, daughter of the Dark Lord - REWRITING IN PROGRESS

Nerida Riddle, daughter of the Dark Lord

Disclaimer:

All of the characters, places, spells, etc in this story belong to JK Rowling, not me. Apart from Nerida. She's mine.

Thank you for reading.

Dinner time. My least favourite time of the day. Especially after the main course, when all of the other children were allowed to walk down the table to their parents. Most of the children have quite a long walk, because most of the children have very important parents. I hated being an orphan. Miss Carrow told me I was a lucky girl to be allowed to stay here, because I was an orphan. You could see the difference between me and the other children easily. While they had blue and silver silk dress robes, I had only three robes. And only one of those three were proper dress robes. They were all in tatters, but Miss. Carrow said it didn't matter. She said that no one noticed the robes I had to wear, or the jewellery I did't have, because my hair was so long.

The other children had other things I did't have as well: broomsticks, and owls, toy cauldrons, choclate frogs, and biting teacups from Zonko's. I wanted those things, but the thing I wanted most of all was parents. A father particularly. I got most jealous when I saw Father's take their precious daughters up on their knees, and tell them a story, or give them a comforting hug, and hold them close.

But now its three years on, and I'm writing the whole story down from the start.

I was 11 when I found out who my parents were. During supper, I was sitting by myself at the end of the table while all of the other children were sitting and talking to their parents. My head snapped up when all of the diners fell silent. The Dark Lord whispered something to one of the other Death Eaters round the table. He leaned back in his chair and his eyes fell on me. I shivered. To be honest with you, he scared me a lot. The rest of the diners presumed that he wasn't going to say anything, and so continued with their conversations. The Death Eater he has whispered to, a woman, her first name I was not quite sure of, but I knew that her second name was Lestrange. That very Death Eater had got out of her chair, and was walking down the length of the table. Her eyes were only fixed on one person, and that was me. She smiled, and it was an odd smile. Slightly twisted.

It was all I could do not to run. I was scared, very scared. No real Death Eater had even looked at me before, let alone walked towards me with purpose. Miss Carrow didn't count. She stopped being a proper Death Eater, but the Dark Mark is still emblazoned on her skin. She stopped being a Death Eater after she led a failed infilitration of Hogwarts. When the Death Eater stopped walking, she always only four yards away from me. I could have screamed.

But I didn't. Instead, I acted calm as she introduced herself to me. Her name was Bellatrix Lestrange. And she was my mother.