Post by fiona on Jun 21, 2013 20:09:28 GMT -6
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #9c5f5b, bTable][tr][cs=2] fiona merope riddle. seventeen. slytherin. amanda hendrick. | |
[rs=2] | My name is Fiona, Fiona Riddle. That’s right, Riddle. If you don’t know who my father is, then you’re daft. No one knows who my mother was, and personally don‘t know much. She was a Hufflepuff though, and I’m not sure how I know that. I just do. I am ashamed to know that though. My father was so desperate to plant his seed. He needed a heir, and well technically I’m an heiress, you get the point. Yes, I am the daughter of Tom Riddle or better known as Lord Voldemort. If you’re too much of a fud to call him that, then you’d refer to him as He Who Must Not Be Named. I, well I call him dear ole Da. You’re probably wondering how I was even born, right? It’s a really confusing story, and I’m still not exactly sure how it worked out. During my father’s last moments, when his soul left his body, part of it went into a young woman who was hiding behind one of the gates. She was the nearest female who’s reproductive organs still functioned properly. He didn’t want anyone to find out right away that this had happened, for fear that someone would try to kill me. So he cast a little spell on himself to delay conception, which would occur six years, six months, and six days later. He always found that number funny, how muggles always thought it was an evil number. Ignorant, worthless, disgusting muggles. I am still in disbelief that my paternal grandmother fancied a muggle. He didn’t even love her! She had to feed him a love potion every day, vile woman! If it weren’t for Tom Riddle Senior, I’d be a pureblood. Childhood was similar to my father’s. My mother was ashamed by her immaculate conception, though she knew who the father was. The memories were there, and the larger her womb grew, the stronger the memories became. She hid it from her family, or so I think for I was given to an orphanage in Airdrie, North Lanarkshire, Scotland to be specific. Yes, it was a muggle orphanage. Please, don’t remind me. Mrs. Crowley informed me that as my mother was walking away, she was hit by a car. No one will ever know who she was I don’t think. As a child, I asked her to describe my mother quite frequenty. She had light hair, either a dark blonde or a light brown. Her eyes were interesting, green and gray at the same time, much like mine she’d say. And her face, so full of sadness. I’m not sure who gave me my first name, but on the note she left with me it read “Her middle name must be Merope, and her surname must be Riddle. One day she will find out her true identity, and the masses will run.” Mrs. Crowley, my guardian, always told me that my mother was a crazy woman who had used a lot of drugs, though I know differently. I finally received my letter at the appropriate age, and I believe it was July of 2016. They had repeatedly sent my letter to me, over and over again apparently. Finally, Head Mistress McGonagall delivered my letter to me in person. I had a feeling at that moment that she knew who I was. She seemed taken aback by the similarities I share with my father, and I believe that she sensed that. The entirety of my first year she avoided me, and then she retired at the end of the year. Smart woman. I have a lot of my father’s memories, only the one’s that were formed in great emotion. Like the day he killed the Potter’s, and the night Cedric was murdered. And the hardest memory for me to deal with, is the moment his physical body died. Because I feel what he felt in that moment, whenever I reflect on the memories. I feel everything, how everyone felt. Sometimes it’s rather suffocating, and it becomes hard for me to deal with. Enough about my father, now it’s time to talk about me. I was born in the year 2005, on the nineteenth of August. I am in my seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am the last living descendant of the House of Gaunt, though my blood isn’t as pure. And yes, that means I am also the last of the Pervell and Slytherin families. I was sorted into the Slytherin house, that much is obvious I hope. I am a parselmouth, and am a competent Legilimens. I study daily, and hope one day to be as good as my father was. No one knows that I am the daughter of Lord Voldemort. I avoid the ridicule, at least for now. It’s not that I’m not proud of who I am, for I am. I’m proud of where I came from. But it’s still my business, and no one else’s. I want my peers to get to know me for who I am, and not who my ancestry is. I’m sure there are people, seers, who know of my existence, and they’re probably thinking the same things that I am. I am not my father, nor will I ever be despite the fact that a piece of him lives on in me. |
channel. 19. long time. |