Being His Daughter

Prologue

A man with a pale bald head approached a door at the end of a very long dark hallway. But it wasn't just any man. No, this was a man who could make any witch or wizard cower with just a single glance of his cold gaze. Fear radiated off of him wherever he went. This man was dangerous. His name was Tom Riddle, but was notorious to the Wizarding World as going by Voldemort. Knowing all of this information about the obviously evil man, it would be extremely shocking if one were to see a small child run up to his side, giggling happily, lacking even an ounce of fear. But that's exactly what happened...

The little girl stumbled over her own feet as she attempted to run up to Voldemort, tripping and falling face-first. Before she hit the ground, the supposed-to-be-cold-hearted villain pointed his wand at her and she rose up into the air unharmed and plopped down into his arms. Her warm brown eyes stared up at him as he cradled her in his arms.

"My dear," he cooed, stroking the little girls soft pale face. She giggled and grabbed his finger, staring at it before attempting to chew on it. A small smile spread over Voldemort's gray face.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed happily. 

His smile widened as he admired the tiny bundle in his arms that he unwilling loved. Not to mention she was the only thing he would ever love.

"Where are you going?" the little girl asked, chewing on a piece of his cloak. Even though she was a year old, she was clever, and could talk fairly well.

"Well," Voldemort started. He had full confidence that the infant could understand the words coming out of his mouth. "I'm going to do something very important. You see, there is something--more like someone—who stands in our way of ruling the Wizarding World together."

The little girl stared up at him blankly.

"Let me explain further," he pressed on. "So you see—"

"Kill?"

Voldemort stopped right in the middle of his sentence. Where the hell could she have heard that? he thought bitterly. Well she heard it, no going back. "Yes. Do you know what that means?" 

The little girl shook her head quickly. 

"Well, kill means that you make the person not live anymore. They can't talk, they can't move, they can't see or hear, or anything—they're dead."

At the word dead, the little girls eyes widened. She knew a good enough amount of information to know that being dead wasn't good. "Daddy kills?"

Voldemort stared at her for a second before he nodded his head slowly. She looked up at him with her small, pink, lips slightly parted. 

"But you see Sierra," Voldemort said quickly. "In this world, there is no good or evil, there is only power, and those too weak to see it. And we are not weak. You are not weak."

The little girl, Sierra, continued to give him a frozen stare. Before her face broke out into a grin and she clapped her hands. "Power!" she laughed. Once again, Voldemort's lips tugged upward.

A small, pale, blond-haired little boy came crawling into the hall. He looked up, noticing Sierra and Voldemort. A cheeky smirk spread across his face as Sierra shouted, "Draco!"

Voldemort let Sierra back onto the ground as the boy named Draco stood up onto his short legs. They ran towards each other and collided as Sierra tripped again, crashing into him. When Sierra looked back up at the door, where her father stood only seconds ago, he was gone with only black smoke left behind.