"Happy birthday!" trilled my mum, Marilee Deeram, as she burst through my doorway. "Peter, say hi!" Mum pulled three-year old Peter in my room.

"Ach, Mum. It's six in the morning. But thank you, anyway." I said, squinting my eyes. "Hey, Peter!"

"Heathie!" Peter giggled. I pulled him up on my bed and started playing with him.

"Where's Jack?" I asked.

"Heather…" Mum started, "Darling, I've been married to Jack for four years now. Don't you think you could call him Father? Peter does it all the time!"

"Mum. Jack is Peter's father. But he's not mine and he never will be. There's a reason my name is Heather Riddle and not Heather Deeram."

"No, no, you're right. It's just…" Mum looked out the window wistfully.

"It's just what?" When she didn't answer, I took my chance. "Speaking of my father,"

"No." said Mum forcefully.

"No, listen! I'm ten years old now, and I'm going to Hogwarts next year! Don't you think it's time for me to know who he was? Peter, stop, I want those flowers to bloom on their own!" Peter was touching the flower pot on my nightstand and was making the rosebuds bloom. Mum picked Peter up.

"Darling, why don't you go and find Daddy, hmm? He's making Heather's birthday breakfast, remember?" Mum whispered to Peter.

"Okay!" Peter toddled out the room. Afraid to spook Mum, I sat there staring, waiting for her reaction.

"Alright." She whispered.

"Yes!" I crowed.

"But you won't be happy."

"You know the story, don't you?" Mum stood up and walked to my window. She turned around, our identical blue eyes meeting. "Ten years ago?"

"You mean about Harry Potter?" Mum clenched her fists.

"Yes." Her voice was deathly quiet. "That little brat."

"Brat? But Mum, he was a hero!"

"For Mudbloods!" She whipped around. I stared back at her, my eyes wide. "Don't you understand, Heather? Who was the 'villain?'" she prompted, using air quotes.

"You-Know-Who, right?"

"Yes, yes, the Dark Lord." She was scaring me now. The way she spoke of You-Know-Who, it was as if she worshipped him.

"Ten years ago, I married him." Mum looked out the window. I stared at her. Outside, the snow was falling thick and heavy.

"Married who? Did You-Know-Who kill him?"

"No, no, no, darling. Harry Potter killed him." My mind was racing.

"Harry Potter didn't kill anyone…except You-Know-Who."

"There you are, darling. You wanted to know. Lord Voldemort is your father." I couldn't breathe. In my head, I saw the countless newspapers saying how the Ministry is taking precautions to make sure a new You-Know-Who doesn't arise, how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a terrible, terrible man, and how Harry Potter was our savior.

"Mum, no, that's not possible, no!"

"TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, HEATHER!" she screeched. "Tom Riddle. His real name. Don't you see? You're Heather Riddle."

"But the newspapers, everyone says he wasn't close to anyone! How could he have married someone, let alone have a child?"

"That's what he wanted them to think." My mother's eyes flashed. "He wanted to hide us, so they couldn't ever use us as leverage against him. But they didn't need us. They won." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Despite everything your father did, I really loved him, Heather. More than you can imagine." She blinked and wiped away the tears.

"I don't know what to say." I murmured. "I can't believe he was truly my father."

"Well. What can I say? You wanted to know, after all. Time for breakfast. Come down when you're ready." She left. I was alone with my thoughts, until she popped her head back into my room.

"And, darling, I've decided you would be better off not going to Hogwarts, with all those bullies." I rolled my eyes. "What do you think of going to Beauxbatons?"

"That's great." I said. "Just great."