riddle means misery | part 1.
Summary: Y/N Riddle. Not much more has to be said. Everyone hates her. She’s evil… she has to be.
Warnings for the Series: 18+, this series is dark. Manipulation, dubcon verging on noncon, abuse of power, violence, ed mentions, death, blood,
Pairing: unknown yet x black!reader
Word Count: 4.6k
A/N I: Hopefully this goes without saying but neither me as the author or my readers condone these acts in real life. We enjoy these scenarios in fiction to explore dark thoughts or for escapism or for whatever reason. If this makes you uncomfortable then please protect yourself and do not read BUT any hate towards my readers who enjoy this story will not be tolerated. Once again, fiction is fiction and we do not condone any of this disgusting behavior in real life!!
A/N II: This is the (hopefully) final, darker version of Sunshine/Princesse de Mort. Hopefully, y’all enjoy and we reached the proper darkness of the fic. Obviously it can only be so dark since this is supposed to have a happy ending but I’m confident we will all be pleased with this.
A/N III: Vote on your guy for the future pairing. A post about the poll can be found in an answered ask posted before this post.
A little grunt escaped your mouth as you tried to grab your book that was currently floating away. It wasn’t even your book. Standing up from the table, you went to chase after it. You were all but three steps past your table when you tripped over your suddenly untied shoelaces and your hand landed conveniently on some lionfish nettles. Hissing, you sat up to pull the nettles from your now bleeding hand. The book wasn’t even in your sight by the time you picked them all out.
You could hear laughter from far away when you ran outside to catch up to your missing item. So it was a Ravenclaw messing with you this study hall period. You needed the book. You couldn’t afford a replacement. Money wasn’t something that ran abundantly. The little money in your family’s vault was frozen by The Ministry. Not that it mattered to your father. Lord Voldemort didn’t pay for anything. Most of your things, you never liked to think about where they came from and tried to get rid of them once you quickly found a decent replacement.
Everything else came from money you earned helping the house-elves at Hogwarts. You lived at the castle year-round. You had ever since you were eleven. Voldemort didn’t make his presence known— you were escorted to Platform 9 and ¾ by one of his followers with a wand and a letter in hand. Hogwarts was where he grew up. He still saw it as a place to hone magical talents and wanted you to go. He also requested— demanded— that Dumbledore keep you there. His heir wasn’t meant to get herself killed in a war.