Authour's Note: Hello all! I am back, after ... a long time, yes I know, don't shoot ! I just want to thank all of my readers for being suppourtive of me as I took time off to start re-writing this, and to deal with a few personal issues. I've found out I find a lot of solace in writing, so it really helped me through when i thought I had no where left to turn. I would especially like to thank rhmac12 for pushing me to finish this chapter! and ykickamoocow111 for sharing her expertise about the series with me.

This chapter is dedicated to rhmac12 for pushing and pushing me to finish it. Sorry for the long way love, I hope you like it!

(IMPORTANT:) One more thing, I know that you guys may think that this is going to be the same as the last one, and that you don't have to review, PLEASE DO NOT THINK THAT. There will be significant differences in this version, then the last, and I really do believe that it flows better. One of the reasons that I wanted to re-write this story, is because I wanted all of my readers and supporters to read something that flowed, and sounded a lot better then he last one. Again, thank you all so much, you guys mean the world to me!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

* This story is Rated M for later chapters, and the re-written version

First Daughter

Chapter 1: The Story of Tom Riddle

"Just one more time then? Please mum?" Hermione Granger pleaded.

"Hermione." Olivia Granger said with a sigh, "I think I've told you this story enough times for one night. I reckon it's time for you to get some sleep ..."

"Please mum," Hermione said not giving up her pleas, "just once more?"

"Hermione," Mrs. Granger said slowly, trying to stay patient with her daughter, "it's time for bed love. You were supposed to be asleep by now, and I have to go downstairs to wait for your father." She glanced absently at her antique wristwatch, "he should be home any moment now!" She chirped, trying to keep her voice bright.

Hermione shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "Dad is never home this early anymore;" she said "he's been late coming home for the past few weeks. He always comes home after I'm already asleep."

Olivia Granger's stomach lurched painfully at Hermione's daughter's words.

Hermione Granger was observant, smart, and strangely perceptive for someone of only eight years of age. Of course she had noticed her father's absence had been increasing over the last couple of weeks. She noticed but payed little attention to the extra money and spoils they had been receiving. She did, however, care that her father was no longer there to tuck her in, or to kiss her goodnight, or to spend extra time with her during the day.

"I'm sure one more time won't do any harm," she said with a soft smile.

"Thank you mum!" Hermione said happily, making herself comfortable, and awaiting the beginning of her favourite story.

Mrs. Granger cleared her throat and began the story.

"There was once a young, seemingly normal boy," she began, "he was living in an orphanage on the outskirts of London. His father had abandoned the family shortly after his mother became pregnant because he found out an unpleasant fact about her. His mother died shortly after he was born. However, just before she died, she was able to give him a name: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom after his father, Marvolo after his grand-father. As time went by, and the boy grew older, all of the other children at the orphanage began to think he was odd and strange. None of them would go near him if they could help it. They all thought he was strange because he seemed to have the ability to communicate with snakes with no hand gestures, and he could make strange things happen with little or no explanation. Everyone thought he was a freak. He was never adopted. Even the people who were supposed to be caring for him grew to be afraid of him-"

"But he wasn't a freak." Hermione but in a matter of fact tone, "he was a-"

"Yes Hermione," Mrs. Granger said with amused eyes. "I know he wasn't a normal boy, and I know what he was. Now, I'll continue on telling the story, shall I?"

Hermione nodded eagerly.

"One summer, when Tom was 11 years old, a mysterious stranger named Albus Dumbledore came to pay him a visit. Little did Tom know that Albus Dumbledore was there to deliver him the biggest news of his life: Tom Riddle was a wizard! At first, Tom didn't believe Dumbledore's claims. But, after Dumbledore had set fire to Tom's wardrobe, using nothing but his hands as proof that magic actually did exist, went on to explain that all of his strange abilities were perfectly normal – in the wizarding world that is, and that his mother had been a witch, Tom came around to believe him. As he was leaving, it occurred to Albus Dumbledore that he had hidden from Tom one crucial piece of information regarding one of the abilities he had that he had shared with Dumbledore: Even in the wizarding world, being able to communicate with snakes was not particularly normal. In fact ... only one wizard in history had been able to do just that ... In the weeks following Albus Dumbledore's visit Tom spent long hours thinking about what all he had explained to him. 'I'm not crazy.' He had thought to himself. 'That man, Albus Dumbledore ... he told me that I'm a wizard ... That means that there are others like me. Others with the same abilities ... the same skills ... Around them ... I'm not a freak.' The next 7 years of Tom's life were spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry, studying and practising his technique as a wizard. Each year was more rewarding and more challenging then the last. His summers back at the orphanage were solely dedicated to reading up on different techniques, and gathering up as much logic as he could. Tom Riddle was shaped into a fine wizard while at Hogwarts. He was top of his class each year; he was made the Head Boy in his last year of schooling, and, when he was 16, he won an award at his school for special services. But, he still wanted more. He wanted recognition, he wanted power." She said adding emphasis to the word power. "He wanted to be the most powerful wizard of all time. Following his graduation from Hogwarts, Tom Riddle got a job working in a magical shop, but, following a murder he committed to possess a rare item, he was forced to disappear. He travelled far and wide, and sank very deeply into the dark arts of magic. Very few people knew where he was. The people who didn't know where he was grew more curious and more confused as time went by. The people who did know where he was were the most evil, the worst wizards of the wizarding world; the people he had been mixing with. The people that knew where he was could only wait in patience with sly smiles. Only those few people knew what he was planning. Finally, years later, Tom Riddle had returned. But, he was different than most people remembered him. His skin was snowy white, pale, as if somebody had sucked his body clean of blood. His eyes were beady and conniving, cold, and bloodshot. Those who were in the dark about his whereabouts over the years had no idea about the dangerous magical transformations he had undergone, or the dangerous wizards he had mixed with. Many were shocked to see the state of him. Little of them dared to ask. The handsome and clever Tom Riddle from his youth was gone. He was now evil and power hungry. No longer merely seeking power people, but instead craving and positively aching for it. During his years of secrecy, he had fashioned himself a new name; one that would eventually strike fear into most of the heart's of the wizarding world: Lord Voldermort. He wanted to become the most powerful wizard in the history of magic. However, before he went on his rampage and quest for power, Riddle applied for a teaching job at the school that taught him magic – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was, however, rejected by an old teacher who was now headmaster - Albus Dumbledore. Following his rejection, Riddle began to become more and more powerful. Years came and years went, Voldermort was beginning to pick up more and more followers. Most of his followers were entranced by his power and wanted a piece of it for themselves. The others – the unlucky ones – were put under an evil curse, forcing them to be followers of Lord Voldermort whether they wanted to be or not. Luckily, there were still plenty of good wizards and witches left, ready to fight for the good side. This angered Voldermort, he wanted this to change. One day, at the very height of his power, Lord Voldermort heard of a prophecy. This prophecy stated that his downfall would eventually come from a boy named Harry Potter. He knew of the Potter family. Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter battled hard for the good side. You couldn't meet a nicer witch or wizard anywhere in England. Eventually, the threat of the prophecy became too great for Voldermort, he decided the only way to deal with the prophecy, was to kill Harry Potter, to eliminate the threat completely. And nobody lived once Lord Voldermort decided to kill them ... He went about planning for weeks, thinking of the perfect way to get rid of the young boy, and how to track him down. Months previous, the Potter family- who had also learned of the prophecy - had gone into hiding, and few people knew where they were. After some realisation, he decided that – in regards to his plan- simplicity was key. With the help of a friend who had betrayed the Potter family, Voldermort found out where the Potter's secret hideaway was. He was finally ready to carry out his plan. Harry Potter, the young boy from the prophecy, would be dead. The fateful Hallowe'en of 1981, The Dark Lord stealthily crept up to the pathway to the Potter's secret house. With the flick of his wand, and a simple spell, the door flew open with a BANG! When he swept into the house, he was surprised and amused to see James Potter waiting for him, wand outstretched, ready to duel with him and to keep him family safe. Although James Potter was a fantastic wizard, he was not a match for Lord Voldermort. With a flick of his wand, and a killing curse, James Potter was on his back, dead."

Hermione's breath in took sharply.

"Next, Voldermort moved swiftly into the nursery. There, he witnessed Lily Potter with her back to the door, trying to comfort and protect her young son. At the sight, The Dark Lord simply laughed. A chilling, high-pitched sound. He raised his arm, his wand just inches away from Lily's forehead. Lily tried begging and pleading with him. 'NO, please!' She had yelled. 'TAKE ME INSTEAD, just PLEASE leave Harry!' Lord Voldermort let out a chilling laugh. 'Stand aside silly girl and you shall not be harmed. It is not you that I am after.' But Lily would not stand aside and let Voldermort kill her son. She continued to beg and plead with the Dark Lord desperately; but it did no good. With another chilling laugh, another flick of his wand, and another killing curse, Lily Potter was on her back, dead. Finally, Voldermort focused his attentions on Harry Potter; his sole purpose of his visit to the Potter house that night. Thinking Harry's death would be as easily done as the first two were; Voldermort smirked slyly at the infant, raised his wand, and slowly repeated the same killing curse that had fatefully been used on Lily and James. The events following were indescribable and puzzling. Instead of killing the baby like Voldermort intended to do, the curse reflected. The curse hit The Dark Lord square in the chest, and he vanished, disappeared! Many witches and wizards celebrated his death quite vigorously, but still, some entertained rumours that he was not fully dead, that he was biding his time until he could fully return to destroy Harry Potter, or, he was somewhere in isolation, too weak to continue on with his quest. However, one thing was for certain, that night, Harry Potter, the young boy, had stumped Lord Voldermort and all of his follows that night. The Dark Lord – he who had killed many of the greatest witches and wizards of the day – was vanquished, destroyed, while Harry Potter survived, a forehead scar being his most severe injury. The question on the mind of almost every with and wizards mind in the years following that fateful night was: 'how did he do it?' From that night on, Harry Potter was known as The Boy Who Lived. The boy who made The Dark Lord disappear."

By the end of the story, Hermione was sitting bolt upright on her bed. Her brown eyes wide and transfixed, her lips slightly parted into a perfect O. Mrs. Granger couldn't help but laugh at her daughter's fascinated expression.

"Honestly Hermione," she chided, "you've heard this story multiple times, and every time you hear it, you're more amazed then the last time. I don't get-"

"Is it real?" Hermione cut in with a soft voice. "Witches, wizards, a school where you can go to study magic," she paused. "Is it all real?"

Mrs. Granger was quickly trying to hide the fact that her brain was whirring with worry, and her throat had suddenly gone dry.

"Hermione, when you were younger, I used to tell you stories all about mermaids, and fairies, and every other magical creature there is, and you never believed in them, never truly believed in them. You always thought they were simply just entertainment stories. What is it about – I mean, magic, well, it's not –"

"I never said I believed in it!" Hermione protested rather loudly, a red tinge colouring her face. "But- "she continued on in a softer tone, "you always used to tell me those stories out of a book. This is different; you never used to make them up. You created the Tom Riddle story yourself, didn't you?"

Mrs. Granger hesitated.

"And whenever you tell it to me," Hermione continued, "your eyes get wider, you're always more excited, more interested, more cautious, your voice has so much more passion-"

"Hermione," Mrs. Granger interrupted cautiously, "Love, I never ... well, I never created this story. Your father shared it with me a little after you were born, and even back then, he would constantly remind me that it was a story meant to be kept secret."

"But why?" Hermione cried out frustrated. "WHY is it so important? If magic isn't real, then why shouldn't you be free to write down the story properly and publish it? Why shouldn't you be free to share the story with other people?"

Mrs. Granger sighed deeply. "No more questions love," she said with a sad smile, "only sweet dreams. This isn't the right time for this conversation."

"I still don't see why," Hermione grumbled to herself as she lay down and settled herself under her light blue quilt.

Mrs. Granger leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. She inhaled slowly, eyes closed.

"Sleep tight my love," she whispered. "Please try not to dwell on the story for too long."

"Good night mum," Hermione said pointedly, ignoring her mother's request.

"I love you," Mrs. Granger whispered.

"I love you," Hermione murmured sleepily – still in the same pointed tone.

Hermione slowly closed her eyes. Mrs. Granger got up from the bed and shuffled to the door. With the light closed, she quickly opened and closed the oak door, as not to let the creek disturb her sleeping daughter.

As she trudged down the stairs to wait for her husband, Olivia Granger cursed the day she had decided to write down the story of Tom Riddle.

And, as she settled herself cross-legged onto the threadbare chesterfield, she again reminded herself that is she had not shared the story with her daughter but instead, kept it at the back of her mind like any sensible person would have; she would now not be having tiny fears and worries clouding her mind. Even worse, she would not be having tiny fears and worries clouding her instincts as a mother.

Authour's Note: I hope you guys liked this chapter! Please please review! If you read the first chapter of my first version, please compare them, and tell me which version you like better. Next update should be soon hopefully, between culminating and studying for exams, i'm pretty busy. But, I will try to update faster for you guys!

CHEERS!