Lucy Riddle and the Boy Who Lived

Voldemort

Chapter Forty-Seven

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were held captive by Voldemort. He had tied the three and threw them into a temporary prison. The only person he allowed to be free was Lucy Riddle, his daughter. He had a firm grip on her arm, though it was light. She was thrashing about, trying to pry his filthy fingers off of her.

"Why would you do this?" she screamed. "What do you get out of this?"

Voldemort shook his head, laughing lightly. There were some things people would never understand. "This is my way of grieving." He dragged her into a room. Panic rose into her chest. He was going to kill her right there, right then.

"You left me for this? Mum wrote in a letter that you would love me. You would take care of me. She had so much faith in you — for you to care for me when she couldn't — but you failed her." She hoped to keep him talking and distracted.

"You don't know Meredith." His hideous face paled. "You don't know her."

"And she didn't know you."

To her surprise, a sob left his lips. Voldemort was crying, tears running down his face like rain a stormy night. He loved her, and he loved Lucy. She was his only child, one who reminded him of the love of his life, Meredith Donavon. "Lucy, I love you and your mother. I love you both so much."

"Do you really?" she asked. Her chest tightened. The back of her eyes stung with unshed tears, and her throat clenched. Her nose burned.

"Of course I do. I've been watching over you everyday for as long as you've lived. I had Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Dolohov watch over you, didn't I? They were my most-trusted Death-Eaters. I would never give you to someone I didn't trust.

"I bought you that Firebolt. Everything you have — I gave. Though not personally, I made sure the three had enough money to clothe you, feed you, and provide you with what you need. During the time you only received hand-me-downs, I was nothing. I had no form, no body. There was no way for me to give the money you needed.

"But I'm here now, and I'm ready to take you back. I'm ready to be the father you and Meredith want and need. I would never hurt you, so don't ever think that. Harry Potter will destroy me, so you need to choose now. Do you want to come with me, or watch me die?"

"You're not going to die —"

"Lucy, I'm destined to. I've heard the prophecy, and I welcome Death. If it means my daughter leaves me, then yes, I accept it. I refuse to endure any more pain from losing the two loves of my life."

"What have you heard?"

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord knows not . . .  and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . the ones with the powers to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . ." he recited. "I've found out. I know I'm the one to die."

"But," Lucy said, "you don't have to. There was a second prophecy. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and ht eDark Lord will have his first child safely locked . . . but the one with the power to help the Dark Lord will be friends with the child, for the child has the knowledge of ending the war completely . . . without the need to vanquish the Dark Lord."

"You were part of that prophecy." Voldemort couldn't believe his ears. He needn't to be vanquished — his daughter will help him. She's the child. "You're going to save me."

Lucy breathed, "Yes, I guess I am."

Voldemort pulled her into his arms. Lucy was limp in his chest. His slit of a nose let out breaths of air onto her hair. His red, snake-like eyes closed, and he tightened his hold on his little girl.

He had imagined doing this. Except, she was crying about a boy breaking her heart, and he was holding her, Meredith cradling her baby girl's head. Tom Riddle imagined a family of his own who would love him. He would love his baby girl more than his mother loved him, and he would never leave her.

But things change. People change. Still, he dreamed about doing that. He would try and be there for his daughter. Lucy Donavon had her mother's face, her father's eyes. He cracked a smile; he would do anything for her.

Tom Riddle released her from his grip, keeping her at arms length. "You look so much like your mother with my eyes."

She smiled. "I know."

Tom felt something painful pinch his insides. He groaned, falling to the ground. Never had he thought it would hurt as much as this. He wheezed, clutching his stomach.

Lucy was so confused and scared. She didn't know what was going on. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to still him so she could examine any injuries that he might have. "What's going on?"

He gritted his teeth, curling his body into a ball. His eyes were clenched shut, perspiration running down his forehead. It hurt to even breath. He wondered if this was what his victims would've endured if he had never used the Killing Curse on them, if this was how the Cruciatus Curse was like.

He let out an inhuman scream. Tom rolled onto his knees, heaving. All the breath left his lungs again as the same painful pinch hurt him again. Lucy couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. There weren't any visible injuries she could find. What if it was happening inside of him? "What's wrong?" she repeated.

He gave her a small smile. "I'm putting my soul back together. Never try this at home."