Tom Marvolo Riddle paced back and forth in his late father's dining room. He was furious. But, then again, he was always angry. Angry because people always talked about him. Every single day, out of fear. How could they not? Afterall, he was the most notorious dark wizard known to this day. The strange thing was, they didn't know they were talking about him. For he was known to them by a different name, you see, and that name was 'Lord Voldemort'. (Or, has he had recently found out, 'He Who Must Not Be Named', since the people were so afraid of him they dared not to speak his name) Very few knew his real name, and even fewer knew that rearranging the letters in 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' spelt out 'I am Lord Voldemort'. But gossip was the least of his problems. In the master bedroom upstairs lay a pureblood witch, who was, much to Tom's disappointment, still alive. In her arms was a child. A baby girl. His daughter. What on earth was he going to do with her? This had been a terrible idea; great in theory, but terrible in reality. Letting out an angry scream, he pointed his wand towards the window. Without even having to say a word, green sparks shot out of the end, shattering the window into a thousand tiny pieces. Glass shards scattered around him, and he, heaving, crunched his way through them and up the stairs. He had figured out how to solve his problem.
One spell and several cries later, Lord Voldemort was sat at the dining room table, writing. His daughter was wrapped up in a soft blanket and lying in a basket on the table front of him, still crying. She hadn't stopped since Voldemort had fired the killing curse Aveda Kadavra at her mother, and his patience was wearing thin. An idea had sprung to the great mind of Tom Riddle. He could give this child away, to the one person he knew would have no choice but to look after it. Albus Dumbledore. He signed the letter simply with 'You Know Who'. At this point, the child let out an even louder scream. Sighing, there was only one thing he knew he could do to shut this infernal thing up. He pulled his wand out of his robe and stood over her, a malicious glint in his eye. Not appreciating human contact, the girl screamed impossibly louder as she was picked up. He pointed the want at her chest and said, "Imperio." A small blue glow emitted from the tip of the wand, her eyes grew wide and the cyring continued. Slowly, Voldemort raised a finger to his lips, whispering: "Shhhh." She fell silent instantly and he placed her back in the basket. He sat down himself, and growled in great annoyance as he thought back to the night he agreed to this idiotic plan.
*Flashback*
"A child?" He asked, completely taken aback. What kind of nonesense was this woman, whom he thought to be his most trusted adivsor, suggesting? It was preposterous. The woman simply grinned wider and stood up.
"Precisely that, my lord. Someone to carry on your family. A pureblood son who shall, if you are to ever meet your end, (though I dare not think such a day will ever come), continue your way of ruling." Voldemort thought long and hard. Bellatrix had moved and stood behind, placing her hands on his shoulders. She bent down and started whispering into his ears. "Think about it. You shall be starting a family that will never be forgotten. Just the name of it shall strike fear into the very souls of those unfortunate enough to hear it." Smiling triumphantly, Bellatrix stood upright and backed away, believing she had won him over. Indeed she had.
"If I had... A child, then he could have, everything. Power. Fame..." Voldemort's voice trailed off as he imagined the future of his ruling as Minister of Magic, a miniature him by his side ready to take his place when the time was right. "Alright, Bellatrix. That is what we shall do. But who is to be the mother?"
"W-well, my lord, I would gladly offer myself to b-" She was cut off by a rather annoyed tone,
"Don't be stupid, Bella!" He all but shouted at her. "You are of too much importance to be lumbered by this mediocre task. We need someone whose life, shall we say, does not matter." Saddened, Bellatrix merely nodded.
And so the search for a suitable pureblood witch began, and ended with a 'volunteer' called Cornelia Kensington.
*End flashback*
Picking up the slient child, he closed his eyes and apparated. Since apparation directly into the grounds was impossible, he arrived at the foot of the lake before it, briefly remembering his arrival in his first year as a student there. The full moon hung high, a quiet howling of werewolves could be heard in the far distance. The boats were already assembled in place for the arrival of the new first years on September 1st, which was only a couple of days away. With his cloack around him, Voldemort stepped onto one of the boats and made his way towards the castle. His daughter was still making no sound. Finally on the other side of the lake, he made his way to the castle doors, keeping to the shadows. He saw the light in the north tower flicker, and sped his pace. At the doors, he placed the girl down on the door step.
"Goodbye, child." He whispered, there was no feeling in his voice. Nothing to make seem like he was sad about this decision; no remorse or regret. He took the envelope from under his cloak and placed it on her, before knocking raspily on the door and make a fleeting escape.
Minerva McGonagall, the transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, was walking through the great hall on her way towards the headmasters office when the knock on the front door was heard. She pulled out her wand and unlocked the front doors. Still armed, she cautiously looked out the open doors. There was no one there. Muttering about 'idiot nuisances', she turned around and was about to close the door behind her when the crying started. Alarmed, she whirled back around and stood, gawping, at the crying baby on the floor. How had she not noticed the poor little soul before? But, more importantly, what on earth was it doing here? She stooped down and carefully picked the baby up, cradling it in her arms. "Shhh, hush now little girl, you're safe." She cooed. It was then she noticed the enveloped. Picking it up, she turned it over and realised it was addressed to Albus Dumbledore. Confused, she carried both towards his office.
"Sherbert Lemon." McGonagall said the password to the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, her voice rather peculiar. He moved aside at once, allowing her to enter. Professor Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore was sat at his desk, chewing on, coincidently, a sherbert lemon sweet he had aqcuired from the muggle sweetshop in Dufftown.
"Good evening, Professor McGonagall-" He began, before his eyes spied the child she held. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity as she sat down before him, placing the child on the table. "Would it be terribly rude of me to ask bluntly, but why do you have this child?" His eyes scanned the child, he could make no assumptions to the answer of the question.
"I was hoping you could answer that, Dumbledore. Here," She passed him the note. "She was left just outside the front door with the envelope, it's addressed to you." Albus gingerly took the envelope from her hand and turned it over. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, yet he couldn't remember where he'd seen it before. He opened it and started reading.
Dear Albus,
I have made a terrible mistake, and I truly believe you should be the one to fix it. This girl is, much to your unfortunate, my daughter. I can not possibly have her around me! I have far more matters of importance to value than the upbringing of this child. I regret, however, that I can not find it in me to end her life like I did her mothers. Take care of her for me; raise her as your own. I do not believe she will ever be of need to me, but if I am proven wrong and she is, then I undoubtedly shall come and wrench her from your grasp.
- You Know Who.
Several emotions ran through his mind as he read the letter - shock, anger, disbelief, resentment, but overall, pity. Pity for both child and father; but aswell joy, as the sender of this letter was right about one thing; Dumbledore could fix this. He could do this one thing right, give this child the love filled life it deserved. Resentment, for how could such a man do something? But the asnwer was quickly found; this man was no man. He had no heart. Just a stone mechanical organ pumping blood around the body. No feelings whatsoever.
"Well?" McGonagall whispered, "What does it say?" Dumledore read the note aloud, thoroughly shocking Minerva.
"Albus!" Minerva McGonnagoll exclaimed after he'd finished, "Surely you can not be agreeing to this?" She was sat rigid, pale as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, a look of horror upon her face. The only thing stopping her from leaping up slapping some sense into this man was the desk between the two of them.
"This ch-child is a-a threat! To us all! You can not possibly bel-" He cut her off, his voice stern.
"I have made my decision, Minerva. She may be of blood relation to him, but I am sure, that given the right environment with a close watchful eye kept on her, she will develope into a fine young witch indeed." McGonagall nodded; she wasn't completely happy with this, but what choice did she have? She had to put faith in him and his choice.
"Very well. And who are you appointing as the role of parents for this child? I'd imagine you yourself are far too busy for this." A smile spread across Albus Dumbledore's face, a mischevious glint in his eye; just as if he was a young boy again. He knew the perfect father for this child.