Like her parents and brother before her, Lillian had been sorted into Gryffindor house. She joined Harry with a smile dancing on her face, happy to be near him again. He patted her on the back proudly, which she returned with a grin from ear to ear. However, as Lillian's eyes darted around the room a frown formed slowly.
"Where's Bridget? She was supposed to be here by now to get sorted and it's raining!" she exclaimed.
"She'll be fine," Harry consoled, laughing. "I'm sure she's a big girl."
Lillian rolled her eyes at this, the concerned look not leaving her face even when Bridget did walk in the room, soaking wet.
"You're late, Miss-" Dumbledore started before being cut off.
"I'm sorry. Can we just get this over with?" Bridget snapped, a glare in her eyes. Harry scowled, not having met one student who would be so rude as to stand up to Dumbledore. Even the Slytherins, who hated him, had never before disregarded him to his face. Who did she think she was, cutting him off like that? The only person Harry had known to do that was Umbridge, and if Bridget would anything like that old hag he was sure he didn't want her around.
The hat was placed on Bridget's head, all attention then focused on the strange new girl, even stranger than the one before her.
"Ms. Riddle, I was wondering if I'd ever get the chance to meet you," the hat drawled on as it usually did when placed on a head. Harry turned around, catching a tall, dark man slipping in through the back. His attention than drifted from the sorting and towards the stranger staring intently at Bridget.
"Hey there hat. What's up?"
"Sorting, my dear girl. Just like every year," the hat snapped, annoyed with her procrastinating.
"Please sort," the man from the back said, masking his face in the shadows.
"What are you doing here? Did my father send you?" Bridget exclaimed, noticing and recognizing the man.
"Oh no," Lillian muttered beside Harry.
"Well, of course, Ms. Riddle. He would have attended himself, but the Dark Lord does not busy himself with school events," the man drawled, smirking. Dumbledore rose, then, fire raging in his eyes. Teachers drew their wands.
"Please leave," he stated, loud and clear.
"I want to know her house," the death eater snickered.
"I can't," the sorting had declared. "There is no house that would suit her!" it yelled before falling back into hibernation until next year.
"Then I'll be gone, Dumbledore," the man in the back said, smirking. Then he was gone, quite suddenly.
Chatter broke out among the students.
Harry felt fury rage inside of him. He understood it now, though. Bridget was Voldemort's daughter and now she was residing inside Hogwarts. Hate fueled his glares, watching Bridget run out of the room.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry seethed, turning towards Lillian. She was still staring wistfully at her friend, concern written all over her features. "How could you be friends with her?"
"She's not working for him!" Lillian defended. "She really has a great heart."
"I'm with Harry," Hermione stated, frowning at Lillian. "There is nothing thicker than blood."
"She's my best friend! She's done nothing to hurt you."
"Yet," Harry muttered. "Maybe she's just a really good actress."
"Harry, please."
"We can't be friends with her. You can do whatever you want, but I'm not talking to her."
--
Ron lay in his bed, late at night, far after even Harry had fallen asleep.
He was thinking about Bridget, wondering about her. He hadn't known her for very long, but so far Lillian was right; she had done nothing to hurt him or Harry. Besides, his gut was screaming to listen to Lillian. She had been best friends with Bridget for years now, and if she trusted her, why shouldn't Ron?
Ron did, though. Ron knew she was alright, maybe not the best company, but alright. She wasn't evil like her father.
She was just…different.
