This is my first story and most of the characters that belong to the great J.K Rowling do. No copyright  intended and please rate and review and send me a private message about what you think...


My name is Isabella Riddle. You may have heard of my mother, Bellatrix Lestange. I was named after her. But the only similarity between my late mother and me is my coal-black hair and grey eyes. My father is Lord Voldemort A.K.A Tom Riddle. Yes, I do have trouble socializing with people my age; because my background. Having both of my parents dead you might wonder who looked after me. I was raised in a orphanage like my father, actually the same one. I hate my mum and dad. Who wants to be a daughter of two famous dark wizards? No one I know. But anyway this is my story, hope you enjoy it.

 2nd April 1997 Wools Orphanage; the alley way

A whirl of black material and two figures appeared out of thin air and stood silently, the female with a baby holding her in disgust, the male flexing his arms under a dark cloak.
 He opened his mouth to speak and the woman drooped in to a deep curtsey and dropped the baby aside into a sad little corner.


“Master,” Whispered the Dark Lord’s most faithful lieutenant.  “This is your child. She was born yesterday but I shall put an enchantment to for her to wake up in ten year’s time. She will become the ultimate weapon.”

The Dark Lord smirked and smiled and kissed the woman lovingly.

“Bye baby.” He said to me flicking his hand in my face.  I squealed indignantly. But Bellatrix rapped her wand in my face and I immediately slept obediently spending the first ten years of my life sound-a-sleep, not aware of anything.  

My mother jabbed an invisibility charm into my arm.

After that the alley way became full of black swishing material it cleared and it was now, again empty.

 2nd July 2002 Wools Orphanage; the alley way

When I woke up I was a child trapped in a baby’s body.  I think that’s why I can remember these early memories. But I am still not ENTIRELY sure... But I didn’t know anything that was happening. I thought like a baby though.
But anyway back to the story. I yowled and yowled going red in the face.  A handsome yet rather thin boy ran over, startled by the noise.  He picked me up and cuddled me until his foster mum; Mrs Maundy called him, well, actually screamed.

“Thomas! I didn’t adopt yeh to not lift a finger.” She screeched in a cockney accent quite untruthfully. “Whassatt? Another orphan eh? My goodness… ‘Right you’re getting a reward lad!” But her lip was curling…