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The Eldest

Chapter 1

Lord Voldemort had a problem.

Sitting on his throne, he gazed around the dark room, eyes stopping at the thick dust which had settled and the cobwebs that hung from each corner, and momentarily interrupted his thoughts with ponderings of whether a spring clean would be in order. He had been sitting there so long that even he was beginning to gather dust. But he really did have a problem that he wasn't quite sure how to solve. The past four years he had been sending a daughter to Hogwarts in hopes that they would befriend that sodding Boy-Who-Lived, lure him to his lair where he would finally be able to torture him slowly before killing him and amounting to greatness.

Except that plan wasn't going exactly to plan as many of the other plans he'd had before it.

In Harry Potter's third year, Lucinda Brazzaville Eucalyptus Riddleman had, despite her young age, deviated from her path and fallen for the modest charms of a certain Remus Lupin, and he had fallen for the dark haired beauty. Who could resist hair that fell with such straightness to the small of her back, those dark eyes with so many secrets hidden behind them, and the Good Looks Charm Voldemort had placed on the Lucinda when she was a foetus? Inevitably, Lupin had cursed her with lycanthropy when she got too close. Lucinda had also been the real reason he lost his job. Paedophilia was forbidden to Beings. Only wizards could ravage underage girls and get off scotch free. She was banished from the Wizarding World, and she had good sense not to return to her father asking for mercy. Voldemort had heard it on the grapevine that now she was of Age, Lupin had abandoned his on/off wife blood-traitor wife to be with Lucinda because, after all, she was his true love.

In Harry Potter's fourth year, Magenta Eclaire Sophie Riddleton had deviated from her path and fallen for the wooing power of Barty Crouch Jr. Even someone as dedicated and mad as he needed some sexual relief, and as a wizard Crouch was fully within his rights to seek that from an inexperienced underage girl. And besides, she was the Dark Lord's daughter, so it made for some mind-blowing fantasies. Or so Voldemort had reasoned at a later date. Magenta had helped orchestrate the Triwizard Tournament fiasco and had stood proudly by his side as he regained his full body, able to touch the Boy-Who's-A-Fucking-Pain-In-His-Arse and watching the betrayal in his eyes evident at seeing Magenta, a fellow Gryffindor with bright pink hair that had so reminded Harry of Tonks so she had inevitably trusted the transfer student, standing next to Voldemort. Of course, her father hadn't realised that Magenta had fallen for Crouch until news of his death reached them, and she died that summer of heartbreak. Voldemort had shrugged on news of her death. Potter had seen her real identity rendering her, quite frankly, bloody useless.

In Harry Potter's fifth year, Alexandria Costa Nero Riddling had found it much more difficult to infiltrate her way into the arms of Harry Potter. After Lucinda and Magenta, Harry (and Dumbledore) were growing wary of these exchange students with good looks who appeared from seemingly nowhere with this amazingly tragic backgrounds and were always Sorted into Gryffindor and just happened to be in Harry's Year. The first obstacle had been the Sorting; Alexandria, with her wavy silvery grey hair and perfect features had been Sorted into Ravenclaw. A descendant of Slytherin – in Ravenclaw! Voldemort had not been able to resist the urge of sending her an Owler. He had quite enjoyed putting on a falsetto voice, pretending to be Alexandria's distraught mother that she had been Sorted into that House. Never mind his other daughters who had been Sorted into Gryffindor. He had only later realised that doing so had not been wise. People would now think she was meant to be a Slytherin. But Alexandria was his daughter, and through Cho Chang, she had wormed herself onto Dumbledore's Army, and stolen Harry Potter's first kiss. Falling for her tragic story, the first of his daughter's had actually succeeded! That is until Harry took her home for Christmas, where she met Sirius Black. She died of heart ache that summer. Voldemort buried her in the garden next to the pet fish.

In Harry Potter's sixth year, with all the angst and grief he was feeling from losing both Sirius and Alexandria, the Boy-Who-Should-Have-Already-Fucking-Died was susceptible to Morgana Merlina Warlocksa Riddla's charm. At the beginning, she had been his favourite daughter by far. With her stunning icy blue eyes and waves of raven locks, she had gotten Sorted into Slytherin. Finally, someone unafraid to do her heritage proud! Using Potter's interest in what Malfoy Jr. was up to, she had manipulated him into falling for her, finding a way to make him see the Slytherin House as nothing more than misunderstood. It had been going oh so perfectly, with Malfoy finding a way into Hogwarts and with Potter wrapped securely round Morgana's little finger, until the two fell in love. Voldemort had gone on a killing rampage when he'd gotten the Owl from his waste-of-space daughter informing him that she and Malfoy had run away together, and he had cut off his arm and somehow grown it back without the Dark Mark so they were untraceable. Every now he would get a postcard from a Muggle resort, but there was no way he was going to Costa Brava, no matter how much he wanted to kill them both, slowly and painfully.

His plans had been ruined, and Dumbledore, the old codger, left very much alive.

So not only did Voldemort have the problem that his arch-nemesis was still twinkling away somewhere, Morgana had been his last daughter. He should have known that keeping the spawn of all those miserable wenches he fucked about two years before his demise would ultimately lead him to trouble. Everything had gone Pete Tong, and he was now at a loss of what to do.

Of course, he could just ignore the Potter Boy and focus on killing as many vile Mudbloods as he could before his time was up, and Dumbledore figured out some way of defeating him, using Potter as his sword. But Voldemort hated waiting, even more if it was for his death. He had not ruined his good looks and divided his soul into seven so that he could just die.

A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.

"What is it?" he hissed, proud at the way his voice shot across the room, leaving a dust trail behind it.

The door opened and in stepped the solution to his problems. Lord Voldemort did in fact have another daughter: Eleanor.

She had no other name but Eleanor, for she had grown despising her Muggle heritage, and refused all names that would remind her. That included any ridiculous variations of the Riddle name; she spat whenever she heard them, meaning she had never been a favourite amongst the other sisters. She was aloof and her mind brilliant, always locked up in her quarters doing something or other, often in the company of Severus Snape. Voldemort had not used her in his plans because she was too old, having recently turned twenty, but also because she was unfortunately a pure half-blood. It was a long story that neither he, or she, liked to get into.

"Father," Eleanor greeted, kneeling at his feet as she did so. She was also the only daughter he had never felt the need to torture. The others, all so rebellious, all carrying mostly the traits of their mothers that Voldemort should have never stuck his dick into.

"What is it?" he asked again, though this time softer.

"I have plan."

Voldemort leant forward, intrigued. "You do, do you?"

"Hogwarts needs a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

A/N - A little ficlet thing that popped into my head whilst looking at OC stories (including my own!). Voldemort's daughter has a tendency to always fall in love with the enemy and thwart her father's plans. It's nothing serious. Enjoy and review!