Author's Note: Hey, guys! I'm so glad to be writing again now that school's out and I hope ya'll are enjoying yourselves. =]] I've had the idea for this story in my head for a while, but hadn't had a chance to actually put pen to paper (metaphorically speaking. ;]]). I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoyed Malicious Toad! =]] Please read && review. The more reviews, the quicker new chapters will be posted! =D

Disclaimer: I do not now, nor will I ever, own the Harry Potter series or any of it's characters. Danika Riddle, however, is of my own creation.

Chapter 1

My name is Danika Riddle.

Sixteen years ago I was abandoned on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor. Anyone else would have left me to die, but Narcissa was the one who answered the door that night and seeing my tiny body shivering in the cold despite the blanket carefully wrapped around me, she took pity on me. The young woman scooped me up into her arms, and brought me into her home. She fed me, bathed me, and forged a place for me to sleep out of some pillows and a small pile of blankets.

The elves told me this story often, saying I was lucky to even be alive. They said that when Master Lucius found out that his soft-hearted wife had brought a strange child into his home when they already had an infant son of their own to feed, he demanded she get rid of me; send me to live at the orphanage where I belonged. But she pleaded with him, claiming that no one would take me, and it was too late at night to contact anyone.

"Then leave it to die!" He exclaimed, frustrated.

"Lucius, please! You know I could never do such a thing." Narcissa begged.

The man took a deep, calming breath. "Then what do you suppose we do with it?" He demanded.

"Let her stay here," She said, mind racing for an adequate solution. "with the house elves. Let them raise her. And when she's old enough, she'll work."

Lucius's eyes were hard as ice as they scanned the woman's face. He turned on his heels, stopping for just a moment. "She can stay..." Before continuing on into his study.

Narcissa smiled triumphantly to herself.

"Pixie!" She called to the head house-elf.

A moment later a little wrinkled and pointy eared creature emerged from the kitchen. "Yes, mistress?"

Mrs. Malfoy retrieved me from resting place and handed my sleeping body gently over to the elf. "Take this child to your living quarters. Raise her and teach her well."

For eleven years I lived and worked with the elves in Malfoy Manor. I watched quietly in the background as the Malfoy's son aged and as the family grew farther apart.

We were nearly the same age, Draco and I, though he was slightly older. I remember envying him as a young child, seeing him get whatever he wanted. But as I got older I realized that no matter how many material possessions he had, he was much more miserable that I had ever been. I had something he did not; a family who cared about me. True, my family was not tradition, but it was my family and it didn't matter to me.

There is only one instance, I can recall, where he ever acknowledged my existence.

It was late in the evening, the summer I turned ten. I sat with my legs tucked underneath my torn hand-made dress – a gift from Pixie, my main house-elf caretaker -, a hand clutched to my tear

streaked cheek and sobbing quietly in the garden behind the mansion. Though I was unaware, Draco was watching from just inside the sliding glass door. He slipped soundless out into the warm night air, and stood over my sulking figure.

"You, servant girl." I turned with a start at the sound of his voice and quickly stood, bowing my head partly in respect and partly to hide the stinging mark on my face.

"Yes, Master Draco?" I sniffed.

The little boy drew closer and I instinctively stepped back, but he reached his outstretched hand to my chin, lifting it gently to meet his piercing gaze. I couldn't help but stare back at those enticing and unnaturally gray eyes. He wiped away a tear with a careful thumb. "Why do you cry?" He inquired in his upper class dialect.

"It's nothing, Master Draco." I shrugged out of his grasp.

This motion had apparently exposed the pink hand print in the pale moonlight, for he leaned closer, examining it before asking, "Did Father do this to you?"

I shrugged slightly, gripping at the tattered edges of my dress. "Master Malfoy didn't mean to hurt me... I deserved it, really... I should have known better... I owe my life to Master Malfoy."

Draco seemed to be studying my expression as I spoke, hanging on my every word.

"Wait here." He demanded once I had finished speaking, and ran towards the house. A few

moments later he was back, a bag of ice in his hands. He pressed it lightly to my swollen cheek. "Mother always puts ice on it when Father hits me." He smiled warmly at me. "What's your name?"

"Danika." I replied. "My name's Danika"

Soon after that first meeting I had an unexpected visitor.

One morning while I was collecting the dishes from breakfast, I overheard a conversation with Master Malfoy in his study. I didn't recognize the other man's voice, though I remember it clearly.

"But, my lord," Master Malfoy's tone sounded imploring. "She's nothing more than servant girl."

"Perhaps," Said they other voice. "But she has the potential to be great, Lucius! Are you forgetting that I, myself, was an orphaned child?"

"Of course not, my lord." My elder master sounded apologetic, and for a reason I could not understand, frightened.

The other man seemed to have noticed me just then, for his gaze met mine from where I stood just behind the cracked door of the study, wringing my hands in my tattered apron. I gasped and jumped back, quickly occupying myself with cleaning the table in front of me. A moment later, Master Malfoy stepped out into the dining room. I flinched, expecting him to punish me for eavesdropping, but instead he offered and outstretched hand and announced that I had a visitor in the next room.

I stared, astonished at the man's palm, before hesitantly entering the large study. I had never before been allowed in this room, it was off-limits to all but the most trusted elves. There were books everywhere, stacked neatly on shelves that covered the entirety of the walls. A desk sat in the center of the study, two antique-like chairs facing it. A young man, by the looks of it no older than his late twenties, was sat in one of those antique chair, smiling warmly down at me.

"Hello, my dear Danika." He greeted me, and I watched him curiously. "My name is Tom Riddle"