Voldemort's Soft Spot.

Prologue

I have read so many amazing stories on Voldemort's daughter. I was inspired to write my own. :) I hope you like it. Vote and comment!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own the material in this story it belongs to J.K. Rowling. This is strictly just my version of what she originally did :)

NEW AUTHORS NOTE AS OF APRIL 12, 2015: I have been editing this book, just the Sorcerer's stone part, I haven't been able to do any more than that, I just noticed that my old writing was pretty horrid haha. Anyway, I hope the new edits are to your liking!

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Prologue

POV: Clara Wilson

I stared at the man that I used to love with a mix of fascination and revulsion. Voldemort certainly knew how to get people to fear him.

I stood in the shadows against a back wall in a regal living room, away from most of the death eaters, who laughed and jeered down at a bloody man shivering on the floor. I avoided staring down at the bloody mass, instead I looked towards something far more horrifying. I stared, as though in a trance at the man that used to mean so much of me. His arm muscles flexed as he whipped his wand, causing the man to scream louder. His red, snakelike eyes shone with mirth, a smirk was fighting for dominance on his mouth. With every verbal syllable that elegantly sprang from his mouth, the man on the floor twitched in a horrifying way, his limbs splaying in ways that they surely shouldn't.

I watched him as he tortured yet another poor victim. One who was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"Please! Please! Spare me, Please!" The man pleaded. He writhed around in his own blood, and I fought back tears, trying my hardest to not meet the poor mans eyes as he looked for any sign of help from anyone.

When I was younger, and braver, and maybe even stupider, I would not have hesitated and would have thrown my body over top of this man. Shielding him and standing up for him. Not now. I'm broken. I'm nothing. I'm a shell of what I once was. I had to learn how to survive. I learned that bravery means nothing around these people. They prey on those with bravery, hope, and happiness.... I learned quickly to not be noticed, to embrace cowardice, to keep my head down, and to keep quiet. That is how I must live to survive. I am fighting for more than just my own life.

"Crucio!" Voldemort whispered fervently "You have lasted much longer than the last one."

"Please! I'll do anything, I swear! Just please... stop!" the man convulsing on the floor screamed out in agony. His face had a mixture of tears, blood, and drool on it. 

As I stared at Voldemort, I was painfully aware of the lack of warmth that I had used to feel when I looked at him. My heart no longer pounded in my chest. I no longer got goosebumps from his kisses. I no longer smiled when he walked into the room. I only get goosebumps of fear now, and an unending desire to be as far away from his as I could possibly be.

I used to be in love with Voldemort. For the most part, I don't know why I had loved him.  To this day I cannot explain it.

When I first met him, for whatever reason, I found his determination and self confidence attractive. The charisma he held, the elegant and soothing way he spoke. I was like a moth to a flame. The fact that I was the only one that seemed to be able to hold his attention without him raising his wand against me was an added bonus. Not even his most loyal death eaters could escape his curses. This moth got to close to the fire, and now I'm burning. Stuck in a painful situation that I cannot escape.

You may wonder how I could have loved a man that resembles a snake, and did nothing but destroy everything he could get his hands on. I can't answer that either. At one time, he was very handsome. Gorgeous chocolate locks, Bottomless brown eyes, high masculine cheekbones, a clear pale complexion...he was an Adonis, a masterpiece that would have left the artists of old in tears. Over time he began to change. With every murder, every victim, his looks mirrored his heart. It was gradual enough to where I didn't run for my life. His once beautiful brown orbs were now cold. They are the one thing I haven't gotten used to... his cold dark eyes. They always make me shudder, they always held pure evil and relentless fury.