Disclaimer: All characters, with the exception of Leia Riddle and a few others who will be added later, belong to J.K. Rowling. The main setting (Hogwarts/Hogsmeade) is also hers.

Daughter of Darkness

Chapter 1: His Daughter

"Leia! Leia Riddle! Get down here now! You're going to be late…"

A voice calls to me from the hallway. I sit up in my bed and throw back the sheets. I rub my eyes and look around my room like I do every morning. The main color theme here is green. The trim is green; the bedclothes are green; the curtains are green; the carpet is green. This green is a deep forest green (my favorite shade). (Can you guess my favorite color yet?) The furniture and walls are the exception, being a very pretty cream color.

My room looks like it always has (ever since we moved here): a large desk against the wall opposite my queen bed, papers strewn all over it; my dresser and full length mirror next to the door of my walk-in closet; a drawing table set next to one of two windows in my room; the door to my private bathroom ajar.

I quickly scramble out of bed, rubbing my eyes. I run my fingers through my hair (a nervous habit I have yet to break), trying to remember where I have to go today. I look at the clock: nine forty-five AM. I suddenly remember that I am leaving today for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the train leaves at eleven! I wouldn't be so panicked, except that I take forever to get ready sometimes.

I don't really want to go (I am and was perfectly happy being tutored by my father and mother in the ways of magic), but my father is insisting. He needs a spy at the school to keep watch on the headmaster (Albus Dumbledore) and on Harry Potter (my father's worst enemy next to Dumbledore). I have, of course, agreed. He is family, after all, and I'm proud to be his daughter.

I run to the bathroom and snatch up my brush from the counter. I run it through my hair as I study my reflection in the mirror. I am five feet and six inches tall. My hair is a golden-brown and so straight and fine that it is very hard to get it to even wave, much less curl. It is also very thick. My eyes are a brilliant green with barely a hint of grey scattered throughout them (my father's eyes). I have a good figure, too and my skin is lightly tanned from always being in the sun.

I smile at my reflection, happy with what I see. I definitely look more like my mother, but the Riddle (my father's side of the family) traits can still be seen: the nose, the long and slender fingers, the eyes as I've mentioned. I hurry to the closet and step inside, deciding what to wear. I put on my favorite blue jeans and pick out a belt. I rummage through the many tops I have and decide on a black, tight-fitting T-shirt that has "Chaser" written on it in red with a quaffle below it. (Yep, I play Quidditch. But I'll get back to that later.) I slip on a pair of sandals and head back to the bathroom. I stare at my reflection and pick up my brush again, wondering how I should do my hair. After about five minutes of messing with it, I finally choose to let it flow around my shoulders, allowing it to catch the light so that it shines.

I move to my desk and gather up the papers and quills and books and such that are scattered everywhere (even on the floor). I toss these into my trunk, which I've placed at the foot of my bed. I pick up my journals (I have several – some of which are completely filled) gently sliding them into the black satchel my mother gave me to help carry my books during the school day.

My uniform and dress robes are already packed along with all of the supplies I was told I will need. I have also thrown in some extra clothes for the weekends (or in case I need them for any other reason - like pajamas and a sweatshirt and stuff like that for sleeping and cold weather, etc). From the bathroom, I take my make-up (which I don't normally wear), my shampoo, my brush, my toothbrush, my perfumes, etc.

By ten thirty, I'm packed and in the kitchen eating breakfast - buttered toast and orange juice. My mother walks in as I finish off the last drop of juice and looks me over, as if trying to guess at what I am thinking.

"Well?" she asks impatiently. "Are you ready to go?"

I nod and stand up, putting my dishes in the sink and hanging my satchel from my left shoulder. I take my wand from the table and mutter, "Locomoter trunk." It rises into the air and I direct it in front of the hearth. My mother holds an old flowerpot out to me. I quickly scoop some of the fine powder that rests within it into my hand and step into the empty fireplace. I look at my mom, wondering where I'm supposed to be going. She notices the look of confusion that has plastered itself to my face.

"Go to Platform 9 ¾. I'll follow with your trunk," she says.

I nod again, thinking about why my father couldn't just ask someone else to spy. As much as he keeps telling me how much like him I am, I still have trouble believing it. I mean, I have developed a liking to the dark arts, but my personality isn't exactly what gives my father his reputation. I'm too nice to ever take over for him and succeed in ruling if he gets defeated (which I doubt will happen). I'd much rather be a Death Eater than the evil overlord (though the two are very similar).

And if you haven't already guessed it, I am the daughter of the Lord Voldemort. Leia Riddle is my name, a descendant of the famous Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. My mother raised me in my parents' house. My father is currently hiding who-knows-where (even I'm not allowed to know), but I have still visited him once a week for the past seven or eight years (since I was ten) by Floo Powder to study the dark arts.

Now, as I stand amongst the soot, my clothes staying as clean as ever because of a charm I have placed on them, I throw down the Floo Powder that I took from the flowerpot, saying loud and clear, "Platform 9 ¾!" I feel the all too familiar sensation of being spun like a top, flying down an endless tunnel, passing by the entrances to many places I would never visit.

In no time at all, I land on solid ground and tumble out onto a crowded platform. My mother soon appears at my side with my trunk. She then pulls me and all of my luggage off into a corner, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking me straight in the eyes.

"Leia," she begins in a low whisper. I have to lean in very close just to hear her. "You already know what you're here for, but there are some things I'd like to reiterate. First, remember that your last name is no longer…what it is. It is Gerwin, ok? The same as your Quidditch name. Second, you are not to reveal your identity to anyone, no matter what. Not even to Malfoy's boy. His father may be trusted to keep a secret (though I would not trust him with the secret of your identity for anything), but I doubt his son is. So just know that no one at the school, nor any of the De-" She catches herself and quickly changes Death Eaters to…"Your father's employees, know who you are. Don't expect anything (good or bad) from anyone, whether they are Malfoy or Potter. They'll treat you based on what they think of you, knowing nothing of your parentage. I just want to warn you of that, though I think you have probably figured that out by this point. I just don't want you to be too surprised if you find Potter liking you and Slytherins unwilling to bow down to you. That is how your father would want it, if only because it will make your job easier." As if I want them to! "So just remember your name and tell no one anything of your ancestry or whom you're dealing with. Understand?"

"Yes, Mum," I reply, reaching for my trunk. Merlin, she doesn't know me as well as she thinks if she thinks I like all of that bowing.

"Oh, and by the way-" I glance up at the sound of my mother's voice. She picks up a large basket and unhooks the latch on the lid. "Your father asked me to give you this. He is yours to name."

I look in awe upon the magnificent snake that has risen from the basket. "So…does this mean I finally get a familiar?" I ask as I take the snake and basket from my mother and close the latch.

"Yes you do. Now run along and hurry onto the train. It will be leaving shortly."

"Yes, Mum." I give her a hug and bid her goodbye. Then, with my satchel over my shoulder, my new familiar in one hand, my trunk in the other, I walk towards the train and stand behind some younger students, trying my hardest not to shove them out of the way (they are having difficulty, it seems, in getting their trunks up and into the train). After a few minutes of waiting, I am able to clamber up behind them.