Dark Reflections

Chapter One: Maia Christine Knight, She-Who-Is-Very-Cynical

I have decided to keep a notebook, to which my deepest secrets and the events of my day are spread out on white lined paper. A notebook. Not parchment. Writing on those blasted rolls is bad enough for classes every day; I don't need them for this. This thing has a charm on it to prevent anyone other than myself from reading it, so ha! I won't be blackmailed.

Why do I care about this?

Simple. I am a Slytherin. I live with other Slytherins.

I hope you're seeing the connection here.

If not, then you are incredibly stupid.

My full name is Maia Christine Knight. It should be Maia Christine Riddle, but I was given my mother's maiden name. 'Riddle' is too much of a sign that I'm connected to the Dark Lord Voldemort himself.

How am I connected?

Simple. I'm his daughter.

Yes, I am the spawn of a homicidal, insane maniac striving for domination of the free world and trying to achieve immortality.

Can you feel my pride?

...Sarcasm must be very hard to get across on paper. Note to self: must work on that.

No one really knows about this since my existence has been kept secret for reasons I really don't know. Make sure the Slytherin line continues to endure? Maybe. I'm certainly not talking. I have an education to pursue and bragging that I'm Voldemort's daughter isn't exactly the smart thing to do.

Yes, I say and write his name. Though he prefers that I call him either 'Dad' or 'Father'. He likes me, for some odd reason. I don't know why. I'm cynical and I 'have a mouth'. When I demonstrate such traits, he just laughs or gives me this warning look. I'm not sure whether other parents have similar looks since Dad doesn't exactly have a normal face.

Anyway, my mother was Gloria Knight. She was a Ravenclaw here many years ago. I really don't remember her. She died when I was only one, after all. I've seen pictures of her though. And heard stories. She had perfect long gold blonde hair, baby blue eyes, a pert nose, and rather slight figure. I won't go into the stories about her. They aren't actually stories, I've just noticed the older men that Bradley is friends with give each other this "knowing" look when they find out I'm her daughter.

I hope you can understand what I'm implying.

She wasn't the studious type (checked her in the Hogwarts records, she barely passed every class). But apparently, was very popular with everyone. Especially with guys, apparently. A pureblood, with enough money to squander on getting custom-made Hogwarts robes specially made for her.

Moving on. From what I had gleaned from Bradley - which wasn't much - the whole reason I exist is because my mother wanted to save her hide instead of dying a noble death fighting against the madman that is my father.

Oh the joy.

I was born in April nine months later. The celebration of my birth consisted of the mass murder of three muggle towns and the crew of a tugboat.

Yes, a tugboat.

Sometimes, I think to myself: why not a cruise ship, you cheap asses?!

It's a really random thought, I know.

Back to my mother. A few months before my father's "downfall" at the hands of one Harry Potter, my mother was discovered writing letters to an old school friend of hers. You see, she was confined to this huge house in Wales. Dad automatically assumed that she was passing on information to the Light side.

I'm reminded painfully of those Star Wars movies that Bradley is obsessed with.

The truth was that she was inviting the guy over for a "friendly" visit. How do I know this? I read the letters. I was subsequently disgusted.

I know I get off tangent a lot. This is a fault of mine that you, the inanimate notebook, must up with.

Tough luck for you.

And I won't even go into the fact that I'm treating you as if you were alive. I could just say that Dad rubbed off on me.

Ha.

The house in Wales was near the coast. Actually, very close to the coast. There was a fifty-foot high cliff just about twenty feet from the house. At the bottom: jagged rocks like you wouldn't believe. I know because I live there. And Bradley always had to drag me away from looking over the edge.

I was a curious child.

Dad gave her a choice. I don't see how it was much of a choice. Both would lead to her demise. She could either die painlessly in a duel by Avada Kedavra...

...Or she could jump of the cliff.

Needless to say, it was a long drop.

Ravenclaw intelligence at its peak?

Then, Dad went and got himself disembodied by Harry Potter on Halloween that year.

I didn't care much then. I was only one at the time and I doubt he would have taken me trick-or-treating, anyway. Though if he did, I bet people would compliment the "realism" of his "costume".

So, that is how I never knew my mother and father when I was growing up. By the way, I do not look a thing like my dear deceased mother. According to Bradley and confirmed by my father, I take after his side. More specifically, I am practically a clone of his mother, my grandmother. I have unremarkable dark brown hair (grown a little past my shoulders) that has the tendency to curl when wet and frizz in hot weather. My eyes are light brown. I've been told that they look amber in some lights, but I think that those who told me such were just brownnosing. I'm at a decent height at 5'4. And I'm probably only going to grow another inch before I reach my adult height (Celesta Arsenys-Riddle, my grandmother, was 5'5).

The sad thing is, I'm even more...voluptuous (it sounds wrong even as I write it) than even my mother was when she was an adult. Though I did mention she had a very slight figure.

Family trait, if I look at my grandmother. I have long legs and curvy hips that can make me quite clumsy at times. Also I possess a larger...chest than most of the girls in my year. I often wonder to myself why I had to mature so quickly. It makes buying robes and clothing slightly more difficult than it should be for the average teenager.

Well, at least I'm not flat. But that's beside the point.

I'm not fat, but I'm not stick thin. I pride myself on keeping a reasonable figure. I don't look androgynous like those who starve themselves nor am I fat like those who eat too much. I know because of the girls in my dorm. I'll mention them later.

I live with Bradley Kincaid, a Death Eater assigned to keep an eye on my mother when she was alive and to be my own personal bodyguard. He isn't that bad. I see him much like an older brother. He even sort of looks like me. We both have dark brown hair and brown eyes. Otherwise, he's pretty normal looking, though he's dated several pureblood girls. Not many though, want to take a guy who is also caring for the daughter of the Dark Lord.

Personally, I can't blame them.

He's been caring for me ever since my mother died and Dad was put out of the picture. I can't say I was mistreated. I grew up like any respectable, but not uber-rich, pureblood girl. Though Bradley did have an obsession with a Muggle device called a television. I know about it since I take Muggle Studies. They aren't so bad. Candy, television, radio, and movies are Muggles' redeeming traits. Though I'm not too sure about people called "dentists". Unfortunately, Dad blew up the television as soon as he came to the house this summer. Which was a shame. I was watching a good show called "The Office" at the time. Through the combined persuasion of Bradley and myself, we managed to get him to repair it. No doubt hearing the Muggles voice their panic and concern over the various disappearances and murders occurring throughout the country would feed his ego.

I am a genius.

I spend most of the year at Hogwarts, though I usually leave for the holidays. I was sorted into a Slytherin and I will be going into my sixth year in September. I'm amazed that I survived this year with Umbridge and all. A real cow, that one is. I was pleased to hear what Potter and Granger did at the end of the year. All I know about it is that it involved a giant and a herd of angry centaurs. But no one suspected that I was the one who hung castanets around the Infirmary (with open windows) just for payback.

You see, the words still engraved on my hand haven't sunk in yet. For I will continue to "cause to trouble".

I am part of Slytherin house, whose head is the enigmatic (supposedly a sex god) Professor Snape. Personally, I don't see it. I think that you, as a notebook, are very lucky. You don't have to see the older girls practically throw themselves at him. It's at these times that I think he's blind. He certainly seems to have a seeing problem. Like in Potions class, when Greg Goyle causes a mini-apocalypse and is given an A.

I would see it if Greg had somehow managed to maim some Gryffindors while doing so, but it usually isn't.

I share my dorm room with three other girls: Millicent Bulstrode, Cordelia Flemming, and Pansy Parkinson. I am thankfully given space by all three of them and they attempt (key word there) not to get me annoyed. Millicent isn't that bad. She's rather quiet and is an okay student. However, I think she wants to become a professional wrestler. Where does she get the muscle, you ask? There's practically a gym in our dorm. I sometimes use the equipment myself, with her permission. Pansy is tolerable. The only thing I hold against her is her obsession with Draco Malfoy. In addition to a gym, we have a veritable shrine to the blonde aristocrat. Cordelia is one of those girls who you should never trust on any account. The entire school will eventually know anything you said to her in a matter of hours. I could do without the simpering, doll-like voice. I cringe even at the thought of it.

The boys aren't that bad. Draco Malfoy, of course, is one of them. I particularly don't like him too much. Too arrogant. Then again, I shouldn't be talking. But the clincher was last term. He practically became Umbridge's pet! Not a good thing in my book. Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle are sometimes good to talk to, though their conversations are invariably on the topic of food. They always do anything Malfoy orders them to do, which is sad in my opinion. Theodore Nott is an okay guy. You could accurately call him my best friend. Theo's on an equal academic level as I am and always knows what is going on at Hogwarts. He knew about Potter's little defense club before even Malfoy and before Marietta Edgecombe tattled. Blaise Zabini is also a nice guy. Odd though. He always says really random things. More than I do, which is amazing fact in itself.

I take the usual classes of a Hogwarts student. I do outstanding work in most of them. I checked my average and I'm on par with the know-it-all Gryffindor Hermione Granger and a great deal of Ravenclaws. Why am I not recognized? Simple. I don't want to be. Sure I know the answer, but its typical House discrimination in almost every class. The blasted teachers never call on me. I tried to get noticed in my first year, but eventually just gave up. Slytherins, evidently, aren't supposed to be academically excellent. I usually sit in the back as well, since I have a tendency to daydream. So I'm not surprised if most of the houses didn't know my name. The main thing that makes sure the teachers don't forget me is my homework. Unfortunately for the rest of the student body, my essays ruin the grading curve even more so than Granger's. Point for me!

I'm average in Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration. History of Magic and Charms are easily my best subjects. Theo is horrible at these, but he helps in my 'average' subjects. It's a good trade off since he's good at them. I'm doing well in Muggle Studies, which isn't that bad a class. When my father blew a fuse after finding out about this, I calmly explained that I was 'getting to know the enemy'. He then just gave me this proud smile. Honestly, getting to know the enemy? Really! Though he did sort of hint for me to find out about Muggle bombs.

I, however, absolutely hate Arithmancy. I wonder why I took the damned subject in the first place. I hate math and numbers. Arithmancy is math and numbers. What in the name of bloody fiery hell was I thinking when I chose that as my elective?!

It could be that I didn't want to take easy subjects like Divination (cough*fake!*cough) or Care of Magical Creatures (animals like me too much for my liking. Though I like snakes.). Either that or I was somehow drunk.

I think it was the former.

Still, I hate taking the class. But I'm not dropping it! Oh no, too much pride there. Hate it though. Thank goodness for Blaise. He isn't the best in the subject, but he understands most of it.

My troubles began at the end of fourth year. Dad was back in a body. Did I believe Potter? Of course. I wouldn't put it past Dad. Bradley was jumping around all giddy that summer anyway. He didn't contact us though. Actually, I don't think he remembered that he even had a daughter. I was glad of this. I had no intention of getting involved. Besides, I was pissed at Umbridge (may she rot in hell) at the time.

Well, he apparently remembered me this summer. Blasted right through the door, all fire and brimstone. At the time, I was lying on the couch, alternately writing my [brilliant] History of Magic essay and watching the television. He consequently blew up the television, stood in front of me and commenced a staring contest that lasted a good ten minutes until Bradley arrived (he was taking a shower). It was a pity, for I was winning and nearly had the nearby fireplace poker in my hands.

"My Lord," he said and kneeled at my dear father's black robes, kissing its hem. I raised an eyebrow at this. You see, I hadn't connected him to 'Father' yet. It's not like there are statues or pictures of him. I just thought he was some psycho with a staring problem who was soon going to get beamed in the head by the previously mentioned poker by i.e. me.

Maybe it was lucky that Bradley interrupted. I probably would've gotten killed for doing that. I seriously doubt anyone would view that as funny. Well, maybe Dumbledore. But the old coot was off his rocker anyway.

"Kincaid," said He-Who-Should-Be-Killed-For-Blowing-Up-The-Television-While-I-Was-Watching, in a slithery voice. Remember how I hated Cordelia's voice? Yeah. High-pitched. "I suppose things have been going well?"

"Yes, my Lord. Her ladyship has been kept safe."

Me, a lady? Excuse me while I wonder how in the name of Morgaine can I be a lady.

"I see," Bradley's Lord (I was still very oblivious at the time and my mind wasn't exactly focused. I had been doing a History of Magic essay, for Pete's sake!) commented. "But the television?"

Bradley tried to stammer an excuse, but fell silent when he couldn't think of one. The guy then turned to me. "So, you are Maia..."

I was pissed. Guy comes in (ruins the door), blows up television, stares at me for ten minutes, and then acts as if he owns the place. Bradley wasn't helping by encouraging that. "Yes, I am Maia. I would say, 'so, you're...' et cetera, et cetera, as well. But, you see, I don't know you. Care to enlighten me?" I felt I could say it anyway, since I now was in full possession of the poker.

I could hear a slap from where Bradley was. He does that a lot, slapping his hand against his forehead. However, the psycho stranger just gave me this strange smile and said, "Confidence. I like that. You've done well, Kincaid." He turned back to me. "Then I will enlighten you. I happen to be your father."

I dropped the poker.

On a rat that was scuttling by.

Which consequently turned into a person.

Who was consequently kicked in a very sensitive spot by an alarmed and surprised me.

Bradley was shocked and just didn't know what to do.

My father had just laughed.

What is the world coming to?

In the end, things got sorted out. My father was going to be staying with us (yay.), as would his servant (the guy I had kicked). He wanted to 'get to know me'. I think he was just feeling guilty. Look at his father. So, now I will be subjected to father-daughter bonding. Do you feel my enthusiasm?

Also, I was asked to do something for him during the school year.

It wasn't as if I had a choice in the matter.

I was apparently supposed to seduce Harry Potter and deliver him to my father, who would then kill him.

This had slightly shocked me. I'm not one to attract any attention, much else a guy's. Second, it would be odd. He's a Gryffindor. I'm a Slytherin. The two don't mix. Also, the guy isn't exactly cute or anything. He's scrawny, short, usually morose, and has a tendency to be in extremely dangerous, suicidal situations.

Yeah. You see where I'm getting at?

I mentioned as such. I might as well be honest with my father, after all. If he has a problem with it, too bad. That's me. All he told me was that I would have to use my Slytherin cunning and that "arrangements" were going to be made for me to 'attract attention'. Also, he gave this look. I can only assume that my father was much like Potter when he was young.

Scary.

And that is what's going on now. I'll find out who will be helping me 'attract attention' soon.

I have a bad feeling about this.

Then again, I am a pessimist.

~Maia.