Fan Fiction (Shorts)

She’s Not My Daughter

(Play this before you start reading. Courtesy of Dummeh.)

It was dark and cold. The quiet, dry, lifeless cells, that hid the faces of the many unstable inmates did not make him feel any better. It was a mistake insulting a ministry personnel, but he was the one. He was the one that put his family to shame. That man slept with his wife and bore that disgusting child, the child who did not deserve his name.

She was not his daughter. Why he constantly believed she was never his own was because she was just too stupid. If Ogden tried to protect his daughter, they probably had relation.

Where he got the insane idea, that Ogden was his daughter’s real father, merely fascinated his messed up mind. It was funny though, because at one moment, he felt like laughing at his ridiculous accusations, and at another, he felt like crying. He often blamed his emotional turmoil on the presence of his daughter. And despite trying to disown her at any given reason, he knew she was his.

She was his daughter, there was no doubt, but he still hated her and it was more than her falling in love with a muggle named Tom Riddle. Every time the Dementors came to suck the life out of him, he would be reminded of why his hatred was so overpowering. The only happiness he had would be destroyed and crushed with the rising memory of her death. His beautiful, elegant, Emily’s death.

She was his. She was beautiful. He missed the way she kissed him and the way her eyes would sparkle every time she smiled. Oh, she was a beauty. Her long gold hair, and her dark brown eyes against her pale complexion, were imprinted so vividly in his mind that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he could never do so.

Now with the presence of Dementors, it was harder to push her from the tip of his mind. Once they came close enough, he would remember the day.

It was October 24th, 1907. Emily was in labour, but she was early. Their daughter was not to be born till the middle of December, and when Emily screamed the news, he rushed to the nearby town, searching for a midwife. When he finally found one, he ran back to their little cottage, shouting at the midwife to hurry up all along the way.

It was supposed to be a happy day. They were about to have their first daughter and Emily was looking forward to the day where she could hold her baby girl in her arms. But the moment their daughter was born, Emily became too weak. She bled too much and before she could lay her eyes on her child, she died.

Days after her death, he would lock himself in his room, leaving the crying baby to his young son. He couldn’t even go near his newborn child. She had her eyes and every time he looked at her, he felt a strong hatred towards the baby girl. And the more he reacted to his daughter, the more his son mirrored after him. It was as though he contracted a disease and his son was infected too.

The only reason why he kept the baby girl was because she looked more and more like Emily as she grew up. She had the same gold hair, and the same sparkle in her eyes. She had the sweetest smile, just like her mother. But she was not her mother, she was a murderer.

He was disgusted at her existence but he knew he had to take care of her. Emily would not have wanted him to get rid of their child.

So he bore with her. But he made sure she lived in hell. She was to do all the cleaning and cooking. He did not spare her from harsh words. And to his delight, his son followed after him. But he did not realize what a man he had become and how he was such a horrible father to his children.

But his daughter, despite being abused, physically and mentally, was still so willing to stay by his side. Just like Emily, she loved him. But his hatred was too strong to bring out any love from his heart.

To him, in his insane state, she was a monster. She was a low life squib who did not deserve his family’s name. She was not his daughter.

And yet, as he sat in his cell, hoping to die, all he could think of was her. But the breath of a Dementor left an incurable disease, and he felt more deranged as the days went by.

If only he could save his soul, he would be able to utter some words of kindness to his daughter. If only he could gather what was left of his sanity, he could maybe show her some love.

Immediately, in the rarest state of his mind, he reached for a broken chain on the floor and scraped the walls, hoping to pen a confession only he would be able to read and soon forget.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a horrible father. I love you Merope. I love you just like I love your mother. You do not deserve a father like me. I wish you could read this. I wish you could know that I’m trying. I’m trying not to be the crazy, violent man that you know. Please forgive me my child. I am a lost soul, already broken and cannot be saved.’

And then, as though a switch was flicked, the last spec of sanity left him and he began violently pounding the wall, demanding his release and cursing his daughter. Marvolo Gaunt had finally lost his mind, and what was left of his soul merely sustained him till he could find last words, written on a goodbye letter from his daughter.

(This is my 1st short fan fiction accompanied by an audio track. Let me know what you think in the comments below. I hope you enjoyed both the story and the music.)

Fan Fiction (Novel)

Chapter 6:

Joanna sat in the second floor girl’s bathroom. Tom had asked her to meet him there the day before, because apparently, no one visits this bathroom anymore. And Joanna was oblivious to the fact why.

As she sat alone, an occasional wave of sudden chills ran through her body. Joanna had a feeling something was not right, and when she heard a soft moan coming from one of the cubicles, she stood up with confirmation.

“Who’s there?” Joanna asked loudly, suppressing the urge to run.

But instead of a reply, the moaning grew louder and Joanna slowly backed towards the exit. She was about to turn and make a dash out, when she bumped into someone. Immediately, she spun around, only to find Tom standing behind her.

“Are you scared?” Tom chuckled.

“There’s something in this toilet,” Joanna quickly answered.

“Get out of here Myrtle,” Tom said as he walked pass her.

A ghostly figure of a girl came swooping out of a toilet cubicle. Her hair was tied up in two ponytails and she screamed in such a high pitch that Joanna instinctively covered her ears.

“I told you to get out you filthy mudblood!” Tom raised his voice.

The ghost stopped and choked on her cries. “Fine!” she said as she wailed into a cubicle and splashed into a toilet bowl.

“Who was that?” Joanna asked as she peered into the cubicle where the ghost disappeared into.

“Some dead mudblood,” Tom shrugged as he sat down and placed the thick book he carried around on his lap.

“Right,” Joanna said as she joined him.

They spent their entire evening break in the girl’s bathroom, with the surprising absence of the moaning ghost.

Joanna told stories of how a few of her uncles were trying to make a Horcrux and each of them had different results, all bad of course. But strangely, as their conversation left the room of dark arts, Joanna started to fear him less.

A week into secret toilet hideouts and Joanna had gotten Tom to talk about his childhood. It was her way of trying to get him to stay away from the Horcrux topic as long as possible, hoping he would forget about the idea all together.

But when Tom spoke of his younger days, he seemed to be loathing it.

“Bloody orphanage muggles thought I was sick! Got me muggle doctors and all,” Tom scoffed.

“Then who told you about magic?” Joanna asked.

“Dumbledore. He came for me one afternoon.”

“But, Dumbledore…” Joanna had noticed the way Dumbledore looked at Tom, and it wasn’t the same way most of the other Professors did.

“He doesn’t like me I assume. He’s always watching me, trying to catch me or something,” Tom finished her sentence for her.

“You’re not afraid of him are you?”

Tom didn’t answer, instead he changed the topic with a question directed to her, “Why were you expelled?”

“I set the headmaster’s office on fire.”


“He’s a muggleborn, who made us read books ONLY by muggles.” Joanna rolled her eyes at the memory.

“He said muggles were the best in arts. But he doesn’t know what he is talking about. Shakespeare and DaVinci weren’t muggles and they were famous! Yet he chose not to teach about them,” Joanna continued. “So one day, I decided to set his office on fire.”

“Was he in it?”


“How unfortunate,” Tom sighed and Joanna chuckled.

“I know, but I would be in prison if he was. I’m somewhat thankful he didn’t die,” Joanna said.

“I would break you out if you were.” Tom smiled.

“You didn’t know me then, how could you break me out?”

“That’s true. I guess it would be horrid to have your life sucked out by Dementors everyday.”

“Horrid indeed. My aunt’s in prison,” Joanna conveniently stated.

“Wicked family you have, and yet you don’t practice dark magic?”

“My mother has lost a lot. I don’t want to be another lost to her. I am after all, the only child.”

“That’s one reason I don’t have to worry about.”

Joanna went silent at the thought of how her parents would react if she had died. Even right now, her mother was constantly grieving as one after another, her brothers and sisters were suffering, disappearing and dying because of dark magic. And though it was in their family heritage to practice it, her mother never promoted it. The lost was unbearable and the only good thing that ever came out of dark magic was death.

Tom must have noticed her drift away as he asked, “You still here?”

“Sorry, I was thinking,” Joanna replied.


“About the Christmas ball.” An excuse she made.

“Are you going?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. No one has asked me yet,”

“It’s a little too early to be asked don’t you think? It’s a full month away.”

“Yes, but I don’t really have a lot of friends.” Joanna realized it was a fact the moment she said so.

Since she started in Hogwarts, the only Hufflepuff she knew by name was Annoria. The rest were just “hey”s and “hello”s. And for those who weren’t in Hufflepuff, she knew no one but Tom and Malfoy, who had suddenly became awfully nice to her.

“I”m a friend,” Tom said, and he sounded like he meant it.

“That’s nice to know.” Joanna smiled, as she deciphered his tone.

“Do you…” Tom’s voice trailed off in uncertainty.

“Do I what?”

“Do you… want to go to the Christmas Ball with me?”

Joanna was caught by surprise. She wanted to go but should she?

To be continued…

(Leave a comment below on vote on whether Joanna should accept Tom’s request and go with him to the Christmas ball!)