You stand infront of the man you’re forced to call a father, although he hardly was one. Voldemort. Tom Riddle. He is your father.

You were an accident, yet he did not mind, infact he’d use it to his advantage. You were biologically half-blood, but due to your mother, who’d passed the day you entered this world, being a pureblood and Voldemort declaring himself pure- blooded, you were labeled a pureblood in his eyes.

You stood infront of this man, and your half brother Mattheo, older by months, yet treated like less due to his status in your father’s eyes. Mattheo and his friends stood with you, all helpless in protecting you against your father’s words.

You were to kill the chosen one. His legacy carrying on his work. Yet you weren’t like that. You loved herbology. You loved the prank store. You loved love. Yet this man, full of hate, wanted you to end the life of a fellow student. Sure you’d never been friends and sure, you’d made fun of him with Draco and Theo, but you’d never want him dead. No matter what your father said.

As your father dismisses you, he leaves the room, Nagini following him, the room feels deafening. Your gaze lands on the boys behind you, then at the portrait of your father and you on the wall, Mattheos face scratched out due to his neglect of the mission.

You try hold your tremble, but fail as you mutter out “My father.. is the worst man in the world.” Silence. A pin could drop and you’d hear it. You turn to look at everyone.

“And I am his favourite weapon.”

A single tear falls from your eye, weakness. Forbidden.