The long, polished mahogany dining table at Number 12 Grimmauld Place glistened under the low-hanging chandelier, casting an eerie golden hue across the cold silverware and colder expressions. The Black family dinners were rarely about food, and never about love.
The war is finally over â silence has fallen where noise and darkness ruled for too long. But for you, Mattheo, Theodore, and Lorenzo, peace does not feel simple or safe straight away. You are only twelve years old, while the three boys are already seventeen â young men in their own right, though still carrying the weight of everything they followed, believed, and fought for. All four of you carried the Dark Mark; all four of you were raised to serve⌠and now, all four of you are without leaders, without homes, and without anywhere else left to go.
Your beginning lies in a quiet, unspoken secret: you are the younger halfâsister to both Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Years before you were born, a brief, complicated affair between Lucius Malfoy and Mrs Granger created a bond no one wanted to nameâbut one that shaped every day of your life.
Down below Malfoy Manor, the air is thick, cold, and smells of old stone and iron. They come exactly as ordered â two lines of boys, sent together to stand watch and ensure nothing disturbs the prisoner held behind the heavy barred door.
Inside the cold, stoneâwalled building where everything felt grey and hard, there were two children who stood apart â exactly alike in every way that mattered. She was only four, quiet and watchful, her eyes holding the same sharp, knowing look that Tom Riddle had. She moved like him, spoke only when necessary like him, and learned to read expressions before words â just like him. To everyone else, she said nothing and trusted nothing⌠except him. Tom was the only person in the whole world she believed in; if he sat beside her, she felt safe. If he told her to stay close, she never strayed an inch.
You are the youngest Weasley, exactly one year younger than Ginny, and from the very beginning you stand apart from everyone else in the family. While the rest are known for fiery red hair, loud voices, and chaotic warmth, your hair is a striking lighter, softer shade of gingerâalmost glowing honeyâredâand it frames features described by everyone who sees you as nothing short of breathtakingly beautiful. Unlike your siblingsâwho are cheerful, boisterous, and unpolishedâyou move with natural, effortless elegance and poise that looks as though it was born into you rather than learned. You are also secretly exceptionally powerful, with a sharp, controlled style of magic that sets you even further apart.
When the curse broke over Godricâs Hollow and the Dark Lord fell, word spread fast: two children had lived â Harry and me, his twin sister. Both marked by the same lightningâbolt scar; both wrapped in the same ancient protection; both spoken of everywhere as the miracle survivors who defeated evil before they could even walk.
Marvolo is seventeen, Tom sixteen, and Mattheo fifteen â three brothers, powerful, proud, and wellâknown within the wizarding circles where they move. They know they share the same extraordinary lineage; they know their father is Lord Voldemort. What they do not know⌠is that they have a sister.
When the Durmstrang ship cuts through the mist onto the Black Lake and Viktor Krum steps into the Great Hall, every eye follows him â including mine. But unlike everyone crowding close or calling his name, I stay back, content simply to observe from where I belong. For weeks, months even, we never speak once â not a greeting, not a question, nothing at all.
Hidden behind polite faces and perfect manners lies your group chat â chaotic, sharpâwitted, and completely unfiltered. Between you, Draco, Theodore, Blaise, Matteo, and the rest, every message ranges from dry sarcasm and inside jokes, to dramatic rants about lessons or rivals, and quiet plans made only between trusted allies. Itâs where pretence drops away: cold composure turns into teasing banter, silent observations get typed out at length, and no one judges anyone else â because here, you arenât just students⌠youâre the ones who always have each otherâs backs.
For as long as you could remember, it had always been the same: you were the youngest â three whole years behind everyone else â yet without a doubt, the sharpest, quickestâthinking, and cleverest among them. While Mattheo, Draco, Theodore, Lorenzo, and Blaise were older, taller, and first to experience everything, they naturally turned straight to you whenever logic, strategy, or deep understanding was needed. You were their quiet genius, the one who saw further, solved faster, and never missed a detail⌠even though you walked three steps behind them in age.
Mattheo Riddle runs the quiet trade in the shadows â the one everyone whispers about but no one dares interfere with. Cold, sharpâedged, and untouchable; he holds exactly what you need to get through the days without falling apart.
Within the stone halls and shadowed meeting chambers where the inner circle gathers, there is no distorted form or terrifying visage to fear â Lord Voldemort stands fully and strikingly human: tall, paleâskinned, sharpâfeatured, handsome in a cold, commanding way, and moving with effortless grace. His presence alone holds enough weight to silence a room instantly. And among all those who serve him, you â only sixteen years old â stand apart as his absolute favourite.
At fourteen years old, you are Theodore Nottâs younger sister â and from the outside, people say you shadow him completely⌠though you have gone further than he ever did. You picked up every habit he never touched: drinking and smoking became your main ways to cope, things you learned early inside the cold, tall walls of Nott Manor â where abuse is the only constant, and every door hides a secret you dare not speak aloud. Theodore is quiet, reserved, and serious⌠but you are something else entirely: unnervingly still, icily detached, and cold in a way that makes even older students hesitate to come too close. He does not smoke or drink; you took those things for yourself â small, sharp escapes â until they became part of how you move through the world.
At sixteen years old, you are already the brightest name in the wizarding world â Montrose Magpiesâ star Seeker, and the face that appears on the front page of The Daily Prophet week after week. Since you made your debut, crowds fill the stands just to catch a glimpse; posters of you hang in shops, dormitories and homes across Britain, and it is said there is not a single witch or wizard who does not know your name.
The room inside the Ministry is vast, cold, and filled with echoes. High, vaulted ceilings stretch above rows of carved benches, and everywhere you look there are wizards and witches â serious faces, sharp voices, robes in deep colours. Right at the centre stands Tom â only sixteen years old it is his 5th year and Harry Potteris also a 5th year and the war is just starting but Tom , yet standing tall, composed, and utterly still, exactly as he was taught. And sitting quietly right near the front, where no one thought to move you, is you â just seven years old, small and darkâeyed, watching every single thing happening.
At fourteen years old, you step from Durmstrangâs great black ship onto Hogwartsâ shores â and before you speak a single word, every eye turns toward you. There is something about the way you carry yourself, the striking perfection of your features, and the way light seems to settle differently around you, that makes people pause and stare as if caught in a spell they cannot break.
You are only five years old â small, softâspoken, and the absolute centre of your fatherâs world. You are Lord Voldemortâs little girl⌠but this is the version of him no enemy ever sees: strikingly handsome, composed, and sharpâfeatured in a way that commands admiration as much as respect, with none of the distortion or cold decay others fear. And more than anything else â he loves you completely, fiercely, and to the very edge of his soul.
The heat at Hogwarts was unlike anything anyone remembered â heavy, blazing, and relentless. Stone corridors held the warmth like an oven, classrooms were stifling, and even the shade beneath ancient trees offered barely any relief. By midâafternoon, lessons were practically forgotten; everyone moved slowly, robes slung loose or discarded, and the air shimmered visibly above the grounds.
We entered the world sideâbyâside â Harry and I â and on that night in Godricâs Hollow, the curse struck us both. While the world calls him The Boy Who Lived, I am simply his shadow: his twin, marked by the same lightningâbolt scar, left with the same empty childhood, and carrying the exact same strange, untold magic deep inside.
The marriage was sealed in silence and written in enchanted ink â an arrangement forged between two of the most feared names in wizarding history. You are granddaughter of Gellert Grindelwald, heir to his powerful, revolutionary ideals; your husband is Tom Marvolo Riddle, only son and successor to Lord Voldemort. Standing sideâbyâside at the altar, you are the union of two great shadows â one born of ambition and domination, the other once driven by a vision of rule âfor the greater good.â
From the very moment you stood before the Sorting Hat, the divide was drawn sharp and clear.SLYTHERIN! it called for you, and seconds later, GRYFFINDOR! rang out for Harry Potter-and before you had even taken your seats, you disliked each other.It was almost written in stone:the heir to one of the oldest, richest, and most powerful pureâblood lineages in existence-a house whose wealth, influence, and ancient magic outstripped even the Malfoys or the Blacks-set directly against the Boy Who Lived.You carried yourself with effortless grace and striking beauty that drew eyes effortlessly ;it was soft, flawless, and natural, never boasted about but always noticed, just like the quiet fact that your family held resources and history that placed you above nearly every other pureâblood name recorded. Neither of you ever spoke of these things openly-you didnât need to; everyone already knew.