Blood Soaked and Honour Bound

by Kiaring

A trip into T.M. Riddle's heir's memories, written down in diaries. Implied Femslash. Please Read and Review.

Blood Soaked and Honor Bound,

A Harry Potter Fanfiction, by Kiaring

Blood Soaked and Honor Bound:

Or,

The Diary of Anna Virginia Riddle

FOREWORD, by HARRY JAMES POTTER:

These writings are a compilation of diary entries, from which have been chosen the most significant ones, written by the quill of Anna Riddle, Daughter or Tom Marvolo Riddle, the wizard known as Lord Voldemort. After her tragic demise, three years ago, they were kept by my daughter, Helen Potter, whom Anna shared a strange (and somewhat trouble) but close relationship. It was by the will of my family that they were allowed to be published. We all (and Helen in special) would like the magical community as a whole to see a different Anna Riddle from the one that is usually studied in classrooms. A person in constant turmoil, with tragic incidents on all of her life, starting from her very birth. Apart from my daughter's friend, she is the daughter of a person most loved to me, Virginia Weasley. The second goal of this book is to clean the memory of Virginia, or Ginny, as we liked to call her. What she did... I have no words to describe. Most think of it as terrible, worthy of a follower of the Dark. But much like the ones who were driven mad by Voldemort and his supporters, Ginny collapsed under heavy burdens. It is not the intent of this book to wipe her name clean of blame, for what she did can never be forgotten. But justice must be made to the memory of the wonderful person she was before she changed.

Another good friend of me and my wife's, barely mentioned in this book, but still important to the story in general is Ron Weasley. May his soul rest in peace, along with Virginia's, and all who died in this war that has haunted us for nearly fifteen years. Above all, this book seeks to thank Anna Riddle, for putting na end to all of this, with the use of her own life, so that other generations of wizards, witches, Elves, Centaurs, Goblins, and all other kind of magical creatures could live free of Voldemort's touch, that cursed all life.

Although they are not mentioned as much, many other heroes have perished in this war. But my very special thanks goes to the one and only Albus Dumbledore, last bastion of light when Voldemort ruled absolute.

Furthermore, it is a very touching read, I might say, especially after the accident that changed Riddle's life, in her early twenties.

I hope you all have a good read

HARRY POTTER

To Anna, from Helen.

[Editor's Note: The editing of the diaries took some time to complete, since there are (especially in the later entries) many crossed words, stained pieces of parchment, and so on. The editing process has been guided by me, Helen Potter, with good help from the Weasley family, and my mother. I was chosen for this job due to my closeness to Anna. Any comments between brackets should be considered author's notes. Thank you, and good read. PS: Anna labeled her entries, and sometimes committed spelling mistakes, or invented words. All has been edited as close as possible to the original.]

Sep. 1st, my Fifth Year.

About Family Traits:

A Quill scratches the paper. I laugh. Or rather, I giggle, just off the train. It is so very amusing, the way I inspect, with the corner of my eye, their looks, upon my own. They think I am funny. They think I write poems. Undesirable. I giggle again. In the end, my life at this school comes down to whether the circumstances are amusing. Or not. But I know things. I know, from the few sane things my insane mother ever told me. Giggling again, I retreat to the room, scribbling madly into the paper, scratching, or rather tearing it, as follows: "I, the Dark Lady, hereby state that all wizards or witches of tainted blood should be lined up, and killed, starting with the Potter lineage."

I giggle insanely. Insanely as ever, I mean. A family trait. He did it. She did it, after what happened. She may not have noticed. Potter may have saved her. But in the end, made it all much, much more amusing. To watch the events play just as my father would have enjoyed. And they did. And she bore me. And I killed her, and I killed him, but I couldn't. He still lies somewhere, in a state of semi-existance he has experienced time and again. No rat to save him this time, though. Giggling turns into mad roars of laughter. People say I look mad when I laugh. It's not true. I look mad all of the time. I am mad, or so they made me. She threw me into curses, made me writhe with pain just to cuddle me later, and tell me how much she loved me. And when I killed her, out of pure boredom (another trait, and more giggling) I was found, alone, and cared for. I ended up at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, many years now, under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore, and now receiving Potter's very daughter. A thing for which I feel a perverse love. Wanting to hug but crush at the same time. Father would have laughed. She is pretty, she is. And so I am, say most boys. Also, of course, most boys know not what I am. I don't really know what I am. Or perhaps I should stop joking. I know perfectly well what I am. I'm just dissimulate enough to keep it from everyone, including myself. But I still scratch the parchment, with an assortment of quills, varying from my wand to the knife she gave me on my last birthday. There's her name on it, and I swear the knife will smile the day I bury it into her neck. Or perhaps the back of it. Back-stabbing good old friends brings me happiness. Pity I wont get to see her look of surprise when it happens. But the again, of surprise, there will be none. She hasn't written her name on it for no reason. She knows very well what kind of use it will have. But in time. For now, I lie in a bed, next to hers, covered with red sheets, and a lion. Father would have laughed. Sometimes, I trick myself into saying it's good I ended up here. Makes it easier to kill her, doesn't it? Sometimes, my look wanders to an image of a certain redheaded woman, who bore me, and I wonder if these red sheets aren't something of a family trait.

I laugh harder now, the same manic laughter and she wakes up, asking me what is happening. I tell her to go back to bed before I am forced to murder her. She winks at me, and disapears beneath the sheets, grinning. She has a death wish, that one. My mind wanders to an image of her father, and that bloody lightning of his. She does have a death wish. Family trait. I giggle harder, my list of terrible things to do with the Potter's piling up. I;m at a particularly nice item, reading: "...and by order of the Dark Lady, the Potter's eldest daughter must not be harmed, for she is pretty..." I giggle again, softer this time, the manic glint in the corner of my eye fading at the vision of her. The list is silly, and I have written many, but it amuses me to no end. Suffering, and wickedness, and all the blood and gore described on it, simply amuses me. Family trait, from the green-silver side of family, if you catch my drift. The other day, I found myself wandering what would be a suitable symbol for my family? The discussion quickly abandoned, I found no suitable one. Some of them were quite amusing, yes, but nothing suitable. I reach out a hand to caress her long waves of hair. I know she is awake, the bloody... pretty girl. Another giggle. I must stop having these thoughts in the middle of such serious philosophical wandering in my mind. I giggle again, at the thought of "Philosophical". Always makes me laugh, more for the sound than for the meaning. And all this giggling, it's hilarious. I often behead things to prove my point, and show how evil I am. But being part of the Gryffindor quidditch team does not help matters. Another giggle. Sometimes, I think all this giggling comes from the fact that I am the heir on which father would have laughed really, really hard. From start, I am a girl. Nice... Secondly, I'm on the wrong, way wrong house. Thirdly, I am rather close to his bloody daughter! HIS daughter. Harry Potter's. Threading on the bad path, about which father would not have laughed about. Which is actually funny, since I remember him in good moods. But I know I do not dissapoint him in the least. I have goals, and, despite the fact my evil plots to destroy all mudbloods (mad giggling) always seem to spare her, his daughter, (his daughter! Just how bad is that?!) I think he would (and probably is) quite proud of him. Murdering close relatives would make him smile, I say. Family trait.

I reach out to her, and lie down next to her body, enjoying the feeling she gives me, but giving nothing in return. I reckon that's why old Dumbledore dislikes me. Even in the wrong house, playing for the Quidditch team, with my bloody foster name, Derrigan, I reckon that he still sees through it all. I reckon he finds my manic laughter more than just joke or desire to be different. He sees what it really is. And so does her, whom I love madly, and at the same time want to strangle. These are complicated feelings, that someone who enjoys others' pain and such should not feel. I enjoy a little bit more of her breathing, until she decides to show me that she is, indeed, awake. Now, she is the biggest mystery of all, for me, Potter. I reckon she really loves me, as a friend, as a sister, sometimes, even as something else. And I reckon her father told her who my mother was, who I am, and that I want to kill her. Either that, or she has found out on her own, bloody intelligent that she is.

I peck her on the cheek, and smile and goodbye. She is the prefect, and has prefect duties tomorrow. And quidditch on the afternoon. Really, I don't know how she manages it. I don't know what she would do if it weren't me! Another giggle, and I suddenly remember that her mother took more subjects in an year than some would dare to in a ruddy lifetime. Bloody mother of hers, always being so nice and understanding. A pain. I will have to kill her, anyway. Well, not really, I will enjoy doing it. Giggle, and a thought: Why do I fight? Why do I struggle to know if I enjoy Potter's wife's pain, something that should be obvious to me? I guess there is an answer to that. My mother, she was good to the end. Perverted, yes, but she was okay. I drift to sleep, not caring to loosen myself from her, and she smiles at me, knowing that we both will wake up with our backs aching. Still some noise from the Common Room in the tower. Bloody people whom I will not hesitate to kill, once I can do so, under Dumbledore's old nose. For now, sleeping should do. No more productive thoughts for today, right? No more. Sometimes, I wonder if Father will come to kill me, if I for one second enjoy being a Gryffindor, and enjoy being with her. What the bloody hell am I thinking? I already do. And he can come. I knew more forbidden lore at the age of four than he did at the height of his power. Or perhaps I'm just boasting. Mother wasn't really that good of a teacher when it came to Dark Arts. Family trait.

Helen opens her eyes, looking, half-asleep at me, who am for once enjoying to be a Gryffindor (To hell with father) and asks me what time is it, if she is already late for the ancient runes or the arithmancy, or one of her other dozen subjects (can't really make out which, since she is grumbling rather than talking) Bloody mother of hers has rubbed off on her. Or rather her worksheet. I giggle again at the funny thought, though it is not as nearly as funny as the ones in the beginning of this entry. Yes, going to sleep, I think, my mind's voice hoarse, my arm numb, with Helen resting on it. It's starting to hurt by now, and I want to hit her really bad, but I can't seem to find the strength. Besides, I am enjoying Gryffindor pride, and the kind of sisterly bond we seem to share here. Going to sleep, now, my writing is getting terrible, and Helen likes it nice when she peeks into my diary, thinking I'm not looking. Bad habit of hers. Family traits.

Anna 'riddle' Derrigan

PS: It's September, and I haven't vented out my anger for not being chosen for prefect. Bloody hell, father was head boy.

[A large scratch is found at this part, probably made with a knife]

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A/N: Hope you people like it. Next chapter won't be out until next week, but please, read and review. My first Harry Potter Fic, though I have written some other things (under other pennames, if you must know :) )

See you,

Kiaring