Rest of Summary: Maddy and Harry are thrown together as they battle her father to the death. When Maddy's moment of truth arrives, she will prove once and for all where her heart truly lies...

I smoothed my short, pleated gray skirt and sat in the chair across from Hermione Granger's, and folded my hands together, tapping my foot impatiently on the floor.

I stood up, and began to wander aimlessly along the room, when I spotted a dowdy-looking hat. I stepped closer to it, cocking my head to the side for a better view.

"New at Hogwarts, aye?"

I jumped and spun around. "Who said that?" I called, my voice echoing. "Hello?"

"I did," the same voice responded. I turned back around and glared up at the hat, drawing my wand warily. I pointed it up at him, in between his eyes.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy," the hat shouted, scooting back on its shelf. "I'm just the Sorting Hat. Relax."

I stuffed my wand back into my pocket, glaring at it. "I wasn't going to hex you or something," I snapped at it, turning my back on it and slipping back into my seat, flushing.

Just then, the door opened, and in strode Hermione Granger herself, in simple black robes, her hair twisted into a bun. "Hello, Miss—" she glanced down to check her clipboard— "Johnson. How nice to meet you," she continued, with a smile, looking very professional.

I stood up, smoothing my skirt—nervous habit—and shook her hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, too," I replied politely. I released her hand and twisted my own together. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine. And you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you."

Pleasantries out of the way—thank God, I'd never been a small talker—she leaned forward over the desk. "Well, I was very impressed by your résumé," she informed me.

"Thank you."

"So. Why do you want to teach at Hogwarts?" she asked, folding her hands together and placing the on top of her mahogany desk.

I breathed a sigh. I'd prepared for this. I could do this. "That's easy. I have a special connection to this place. Although I never went to school here, it is world-renowned school, and I think that..." I was babbling. It was another one of my nervous habits, and it was particularly annoying. I slowed my words, took a deep breath, and decided to stop beating around the bush. Leaning forward to look her in the eye, I added, "There's something that you should know about my past."

She cocked her head to the side, curious. "Yes? And that is?"

I braced myself for her reaction—and for how I would react to telling this story. I never had told anyone before. I had never felt the need to explain myself to anyone. But if she was to be my employer, I felt she, at least, had a right to know.

"My surname used to be Riddle," I told her nervously. "As in… Tom Riddle. Voldemort? I'm… his daughter. Biologically, anyway."

Her mouth dropped open—a natural reaction. But then she shut it, and, looking shaken but business-like, she leaned forward on her desk. "Voldemort… had a daughter?" she breathed, as the portraits on the walls began murmuring amongst themselves, dicussign this new tidbit of information. The volume increased gradually, until Hermione held up and hand, and they all fell silent at once.

I nodded. "Not many people know this. Actually, only about five living people know." I grimaced at her. "I don't consider him to be my real father—he was never much of one anyway. I just thought you should know. In case it was a… deal-breaker? I know many people are uncomfortable with it—understandably, of course. I don't exactly relish in it either."

She sat up straight. "Do you have any connection to him at all?"

"No, not other than biologically," I replied, my throat going very dry. I knew all about Hermione. She was a good judge of character, so I had heard. She was extremely intelligent, and reasonable, practical, and usually kind. However, I also knew that she had been through a lot on my father's account, like many other people.

She stood up, looking more than slightly shaken, and obvisouly ready to end the interview. "Very well. I'll speak with you soon, Miss Riddle." She held out her hand for a final shake, and I felt dread swell up inside of me. I hoped to God she wouldn't consult with any other teachers.

Biting my lip nervously, I stood up, grasped her hand firmly, and walked with her to the door.

Way to fuck it all upbefore it even begins, Maddy, I scolded myself. Way. To fucking. Go.

. . .

As I walked down the hall, my black stiletto heels clicked on the stone floor, I wrapped my black sweater around me, shivering into it.

"… us tickets for the World Cup, mate," someone was saying, a man's voice. Their footteps were approaching me quickly from behind. If I didn't move quickly, they would spot me. "Six tickets. One for Hermione, one for me, one for Ginny, and one for Dean. One for you, too, of course, mate. You could bring someone, if you want."

"No," the man's companion replied after a moment.

I let out a gasp, and my hand traveled involuntarily to the silver locket that always hung around my neck. I knew that voice. There was nothing I wouldn't have done, just to hear that voice speak to me one more time. Whether it was screaming or whispering, it didn't matter. I would have sacrificed my life—or even someone else's—to hear him utter one goddamn word to me.

"Remember what happened the last time we went to the World Cup? The last time England hosted it?" he was continuing, unaware of my presence, as they approached. I let myself bask in the sound of his voice, drinking it in like an alcoholic having his last beer before rehab.

Only when they were just around the corner did I realize that he couldn't find me. Couldn't know I was here. Couldn't even know I was alive.

I spun around. I need a place to hide, where I can still listen to their conversation. And before the thought was even fully formed, a large door with a brass handle appeared. out of nowhere. Without giving it a thought, I grabbed the door, yanked it open, and dashed inside, just as they rounded the corner. It was like a cell, made out of cold, gray stone with nothing inside of it. Well, except for me. I pressed my ear against the door and listened intently.

"England's hosting the World Cup, for the first time in—"

"Five years. Yeah. I know, Ron, I remember."

Ron. That must have been Ronald Weasley, his best friend. As I processed this, aching to hear more, the footsteps halted right otuside of the door.

"Someone's here," he breathed, barely audible.

"Who?" Ron asked, just as quiet.

My heart sank. Game over. He was going to see me. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. After two whole years…

Don't let him find me. Please. He cannot find me. But he was going to. I knew it. What would his reaction be? I wondered. Would he shout? Laugh, cry, grin? It was impossible to tell. he had been so unprediactable, even when we first met. I knew him inside out, like the back of my hand. But now... after two years... I had no clue as to how he would react, what he would do, how he would feel... it was amazing, how time could change something.

"The Room of Requirement," he murmured, and I felt his hand against the wall, pounding on it as if trying to break in. "I need to find whoever is in there. I need to find whoever is in there."

"Nothing," Ron announced. I cowered against the wall of the tiny, empty room.

"Okay, okay… I need to find whoever is hiding in here."

I kept waiting for the door to open. For him to barge in and shout at me and tell me to get out of his home, his school, the place where he lived and taught and ate and drank and slept.

But nothing happened.

"Nothing! Goddammit!" His temper started to kick in. "Who the hell—?" He cut himself off, and one second later, whispered, "No." Half a second later, "No. It—it can't be."

"Harry? What is it?" I heard Ron draw his wand from under his robes. "What's going on?"

"N—nothing. Just… I just—nothing." There was dead silence out in the hallway. You could have heard a pin drop. I was sure my thudding heart would give me away.

"Harry? We've got classes to teach," Ron reminded him quietly, clapping him on the shoulder. "C'mon, mate. We're going to be late."

"Uh... you go ahead," he told Ron. "I'll be right there. Tell my class I'll be a bit late, okay?"

Ron agreed with a, "Sure, mate," and departed. Harry waited until his footsteps stopped echoing up and down the hallway before, until he was sure that he, Ron, was gone, before leaning into the wall, taking a breath, and whispering, "Madeleine?

My breath caught in my throat. My name. He'd actually, actually said my name. How I'd longed to hear hm say that again. When he said my name, as opposed to when my father did, it sounded like the most beautiful word in the world. It gave me shivers. Except he had never called me Madeleine before. It had always been Maddy, Mads, Mad… never Madeleine.

And then, as if I had willed it to happen, he whispered, "Maddy? Are you there?"

Yes. Yes. Yes, I'm here! Come and find me. Come into the room. Please.

I remained frozen on the cold, hard, stone floor, unable to move, unable to breathe, trying to communicate via thoughts with him.

But after a good five minutes of mentally screaming at him to open the fucking door and come in and find me, I heard him murmur, "You're hallucinating now. Move the fuck on, Harry Potter." I heard him stand up and begin walking away. Only a couple feet away, I heard him stop and murmur,

"Goodbye, Maddy."

I sat on the floor about ten more minutes before finally standing, getting out of the tiny room, and sinking down to the floor

"Goodbye, Harry."

. . .

In Miss Granger's office again, I glanced at the Sorting Hat. Memories flowed through me. Suddenly, I was six years old again, in my tower with Bella, in my first grown-up dress, smiling into the mirror.

"Bella."

"Yes, Princess?"

"Tell me about the Sorting Hat again." I turned to her, smiling my innocent child's smile up at her beautiful face. "I want to know. What's it like?"

She laughed at my eagerness. Having never been to school, I had sort of an obsession with Hogwarts. "Sweetheart, Hogwarts is overrated. You have a better education here than you would there", she would tell me, as she always did.

"I don't care," I replied determinedly. "Tell me about the Sorting Hat!"

"Okay, okay." She hoisted me up onto her knee, as she had millions of times before. "When you're a first year, you're excited and nervous, all at the same time. You can't wait for your first year at Hogwarts, and for all the years after that. They call names in alpabetical order, by last name."

"I would be almost last!" I chirped, bouncing on her lap.

"Yes, you would, silly," she laughed, pinching my cheeks. "There's a raggedy old Hat that will sing you a marvelous song about your years at hogwarts, and all the different Houses that there are. It desn't look very signifigant, but it is. Finally, when he's done, they put the hat on your head, and sit you down on a stool. The hat speaks to you. After careful consideration—"

"It puts you in a House!"

"Right. I was in Slytherin. So was your father."

"And my mommy?" I questioned, always eager to know more about her. From since I could talk I'd wanted to know about her—her favorite color, her favorite food, how she and my dad met…. Everything.

Bella paused. She didn't like the topic of my mother. Even then, I was very perceptive. I could tell she avoided the subject as often as possible. "Well… your mom and dad… they didn't meet at Hogwarts."

"But surely he knew her House!" At that age, how was I supposed to figure out that I had been the by product of a one night stand?

Bella paused, not saying anything, just watching my all too eager eyes. At the time, I hadn't known how she had despised my mother. How she had waited, breathlessly, for the moment I would be born and my mother would be gone, disposed of, useless, worth nothing more than a stupid, dirty Muggle to my father.

"Bella? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Gryffindor, I think, Princess. She was a Gryffindor, sweetheart." Of course, she personally had known everything about my mother since they were children.

"What would I be, Bella?"

She hugged me, took me off her knee, and set me down on the floor with a smile. "Oh, sweetheart, only the Hat can decide."

Frowning, I crossed my arms across my chest, harrumphed at her, and turned my back. "Then make me a Sorting Hat!" I cried excitedly. "Come on! Please? Please? Pleeease? It'll be fun, Bella! I promise! Pretty please, Bella?"

She sighed and laughed, pinching my left cheek gently. "Okay."

A few days later, she came up to my room with a worn brown witch's hat. She had me sit on a tall stool—never mind that I was only six—and placed the hat on my head. I was positively wriggling with excitement, barely able to stay on the stool. After a moment, Bella cried, "Slytherin!" loudly.

I was officially a Slytherin. Just like my daddy. I couldn't have been more thrilled.

Snorting a bitter laugh, I turned away from that stupid old Hat I had been oh-so-obsessed with as a child.

I sat down in the chair designated for me, and after only a few moments, Hermione Granger entered. She smiled stiffly at me, as if her opinion of me had changed considerably since I had confessed my family tree to her.

"So," she began, sitting down at her desk. "I was wondering about your mother?"

"Right. Yes. My mother." I paused. This had always been a bit of a sensitive spot with me. "Well. Um. I… never met her. She… she was murdered by Voldemort, the day that I was born. He didn't need her anymore," I stated bitterly. "Never mind that I might have."

She looked sympathetic but continued on. "Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?" she offered. "Any type of drink at all?"

I let out a laugh. "You could have just asked me to take some Veritasiam, Miss Granger, I wouldn't have objected."

Having been caught, Hermione blushed a bright, flaming red. She looked down at the small vial in her fist, and then at the tray of refreshments in front of her with an abashed gaze. "I apologize, but you do understand—"

"I understand," I cut in, my respect for her dwindling slightly. I held out my hand impatiently for the vial of the most powerful truth potion in the world. "I'll take it. I have no issue with that. I have nothing to hide." I met her eyes defiantly, and hesitantly she handed the vial to me. Without so much as a breath, I uncorked the bottle and chugged it. "Ask me anything."

She folded her hands together, swallowing nervously. "Are you working with Lord Voldemort?"

I wanted to be angry that she was even suggesting that. I opened my mouth to retort, but all the came out was, "No." And then I felt my face from the inside out—it was slack. My eyes seemed glassy. I tried to keep my mouth shut when she asked,

"Why are you teaching here?"

"I've always wanted to be a teacher," I responded, and the words were coming out without my permission. I didn't want her to know this. This was private. "I never got to go to school. As a child, I had sort of an obsession with Hogwarts. I always wanted to be a student. Since I didn't get that opppurtinity, I decided that I would teach."

She was nodded, taking in everything, jotting in down on a notebook. It infuriated me. I just wanted the fucking job. I didn't want—didn't need—Hermione Granger knowing about my past, my childhood. It's none of your fucking business! I tried to shout at her. Nothing came out.

She nodded before continuing, "And why didn't you go to school here?"

"I grew up at the Malfoy Manor. With Bella, Draco, Cissy, and Lucius. My father, too, when he came back from wherever the hell he was as I was growing up. I lived in my very own tower. I had a maid—Sarah—who is my best friend now. She was there for me. All the time."

Stop talking! I screamed at myself. Now. Right. Now. I didn't. The words kept coming.

"I was never allowed outside—no exceptions. Not even for school."

"That seems harsh," she noted.

That wasn't a question. I didn't have to respond to that, I reminded myself. Relieved, I sat back in my chair and didn't say a word. Frustrated, Hermione narrowed her eyes at me.

"How did you feel about that?" Hermione asked, like some sort of fucking therapist.

Screw you. "That's personal," I blurted out, and her eyes widened before the potion forced me to answer. The words seemed to push against my lips, and I couldn't hold them in. "I resented it. I couldn't stand it. I loved him—or I thought I did. He was, after all, the only family I had left. I hated it. And it made me hate him."

"You wouldn't have hated him otherwise?" she pressed.

"I don't know, okay?" I snapped. "I don't know. I began to get angry with him—fight with him, fight back against all his fucked-up, unfair rules. That didn't end well. It was no use if I got angry. I wasn't any different than one of his Death Eaters to him."

"Didn't end well? What does that mean?" she asked, her tone going dark. She already knew the answer. That, I as sure of. She was wanted to hear me say it. The little bitch.

Don't tell her. Don't tell her, I begged myself. She doesn't need to know. It's none of her fucking business, Maddy.

But the words burst unwillingly out of my mouth. "He tortured me. The Cruciatous Curse. The 'Dark Princess' was supposed to be seen and not heard," I said, bitterness seeping into my voice.

"Dark Princess?"

"What they called me," I informed her.

The Veritasiam was starting wear off, I noted with relief. Thank God. I felt my face lose its slackness, the color in my eyes start to return. Hermione, however, had noticed too. Hurriedly, she blurted out, "What is your relationship to Harry Potter, Madeleine?"

I was shocked beyond words. It was almost impossible to not slap her perfect, pretty face. "What?" I breathed.

"To your father, Harry was his archenemy. He tried, again and again, to kill him." Her face darkened.

Harry. Harry. My Harry. As if I would try to kill him. As if I considered him my enemy. Is that what she was suggesting? I could hardly tell. My mind was spinning, my heart was pounding. I couldn't hear her words. I couldn't see her. I rolled my hands into fists. Although the Veritasiam only gave a certain amount of time, Hermione had a good two minutes left to get me to crack and answer her intrusive questions. I didn't care. I wouldn't sit here adn be treated like a criminal for something I had no goddamn control over.

Reaching for my bag, blind with anger, I snatched it from the floor under my chair, lurched up out of my seat, and asked the question that was sure to lose me my dream job forever.

"Why the fuck don't you ask Harry himself?"

And with that, I wrenched open her office door and stormed out of the building.

Furious, wounded, seething, I marched down the hallway and out fo the gate. The second I was out of the door, I broke into a sprint, the wind biting at my face, stinging it, tears pricking at my eyes. Screw it. Screw Hogwarts, screw the job, screw Hermione goddamn Granger, screw my father. Screw life in general. Screw Bella and her stories about how wonderful Hogwarts had been. Screw Vertasiam and whoever fucking invented it. Screw dreaming and loving and laughing and everything that was good in the world, I fumed.

"Fuck you!" I bawled at the castle, wheeling around to face it. I turned and spun on my heel, sucking in my breath as I Disapparated. I threw myself down on the cliffs that overlooked the ocean, crashing against the rock, wearing it down, tearing it apart.

I was tired. I was tired of trying to fix everything, of trying to make amends for my father, for something that wasn't my fault. I was tired of not getting what I wanted, what I deserved, because of him. I was angry that I hadn't been able to go to school when I was a teenager because of Lord Voldemort, my so-called dad. I was furious that, now, when he was dead, he was still screwing up my life. I couldn't have the job I wanted, the job I had dreamed of since I was sixteen.

And I was desperately, impossibly heartbroken that the one thing I would have given anything for, the one thing I wanted more than anything, I couldn't have. All because of him.

. . .

HPOV

I watched as a figure with blonde hair raced outside of the boundaries of Hogwarts, let out a strangled cry of, "Fuck you," and Disapparated. I stared after her for at least an hour, willing her to be someone I used to know, a long, long time ago.

Two years, I reminded myself. Two years isn't such a long time.

But at this point, it felt like a lifetime.

Lying back on the thick, green grass, I flicked my wand lazily and grabbed the bottle of Firewhisky I'd Summoned. I stared up at the sky, littered with brightly shining stars. As I watched, one especially bright star flashed across the sky, and I had the strangest urge to reach up and snatch it out of the sky, away from where it belonged.

"A shooting star," I murmured to myself as it fell across the sky, and disappeared from veiw.

"Look!" she cried, her long blonde tresses cascading past her shoulders, down her back, nearly touching the ground as she leaned back and craned her neck to see the night sky. "A shooting star. I've never seen one before." She watched until she could no longer see it before laying down next to me and turning her blue-eyed gaze towards me. "You know, if you wish on a shooting star, it always comes true?"

I looked back at her beautiful face, and then up at the sky. "Is that so?"

She, too, gazed reverently up at the endless, black night. "What do you wish for?" she asked without braking her gaze.

"Well, if I told you, if wouldn't come true, now would it?" I told her, elbowing her with a grin.

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, and turned to face me once more, slapping my forearm playfully. "But that's what friends do, isn't it?" she said, her voice hused, as though she wasn't allowed to speak over a whisper when everything was this perfect. "Share secrets and dreams and wishes?"

I looked back at her. "Friends?" I asked her. "Is that what we are? Friends?"

Dropping her knees to the grass and sitting Indian style, Maddy looked away from me, up, as though if she looked hard enough, she could see into Heaven. Then she turned back to me, watching me with that blazing look of hers.

Maddy saw me. Maddy knew me. She saw past everything that I hid behind... past The-Boy-Who-Lived, past The Chosen One, past the always courageous Harry Potter... and she saw Harry. She knew me for me.

"Why don't you decide?" she replied softly. "Because I hardly know anymore."

"Maddy?" I murmured, leaning slightly towards her.

"Yes?" she breathed, trembling slightly.

I reached up and caressed her cheek softly; I leaned in and in half an instant, and our lips met. After a moment, a piece of Heaven, we pulled away. We lay back down as she melted into me, her head resting on my shoulder.

After a while, Maddy whispered drowsily, "You know, you never did answer my question. What would you wish for, Harry?"

Back in the present, I looked back up at the milky black sky, littered with stars, winking and smiling down on me. It looked as endless as my future had, so many years ago, as I lay there with Maddy. When I was with her, everything was a choice, a moment, a memory to be preserved forever. I could do anything, be anything. I could marry Maddy and forget about Lord Voldemort. I could have kids and live in a house. I could forget... forget about Ron, about Hermione, about Dumbledore. Forget about Hallows, and Horcruxes.

When I was with Maddy, I could do anything, be anything, as long as I had her by my side. My future was free and unencumbered.

But now... now I had an apartment, a job... a life I didn't want. Voldemort was gone, gone forever. My scar hadn't pained me in two years. He was finished... but in a way, so was I.

I had no dreams, no plans, no goals... no Maddy.

Her voice echoed in my head. "What would you wish for, Harry?"

"Just one thing, Maddy," I whispered up at the night above me, taking a sswig of Firewhisky as I did. "You. Only you."

That was it. Hope you liked it! Reveiw please!