Hermione Is Voldemort's Daughter Fanfiction Novels & Stories

I said softly and closed the bathroom door behind me. My feet carried me to the balcony. I drew out my phone and my thumbs lingered before tapping the gallery. I knew what I was searching for and I found it in seconds. The image glowed back at me—Hermione, my mother. She had the same poised expression, the same eyes that people said I got from her. The blood oath came to mind. The one she made Willow and me to swear. That none of us would love like she did. She said love was chaos, it was obsessive, and it could destroy.

He fell on the ground, pulling Seb down with him. Hermione then looked at Marcus who was now standing beside Agate. “I leave my son to your care. If anything should happen to him, you will hold full responsibility.” She glared at them, her green eyes as cold as ice, then at the boy who sat beside her son. “Flesh for flesh.” She hissed. “Blood for blood.” Sebastian felt a chill run down his spine. Hermione returned her gaze at her son. He was still slump on the ground, but when he noticed his mother’s gaze, he sat up straight and kept his chin up.

Hermione got up slowly from her seat and headed for the stairs. In she was in Ruke’s room. She needed space to process the ghastly revelation, she was so tired. First, her mother had left and now she was going to lose her mate because of some stupid reincarnation bullshit. At that moment she knew that there was going to be another war, it was coming and she wasn’t going to waste the time she had with her mate brooding. She stood up and made for the door. Her hands were inches from the doorknob when it was opened from the outside and Ruke walked in, his hair wet. “I used Raphael’s bathroom, figured you needed space.

A young beautiful girl around Olivia's age was massaging his shoulders with the same evil glint like Harry's, flashing in her eyes. She had long blonde hair and a very mature face, unlike Olivia's innocent one. She was Harry's daughter, Alicia. "Everything was set, sir." The voice on the other end said. "Don't make a mistake. Kill that bastard!" Harry growled.

"She is not a weapon. She is not a doorway. She is my daughter." "She is both," Vera breathed. "And something much, much worse." Later, beside the ashes of the fire, Vladimir returned from his guard. Emereah sat beside the flames, cradling their daughter in her arms, her eyes distant. "She spoke," she whispered to him as he sat beside her. "In prophecy. And in Morgane's voice." Vladimir's hands were fists. "How?" "I don't know. But Morgane's inside her now—some part of her. Some claw in her head."

I once again tell her to share it. She chants the spell, and the room is lit up by a bright light showing my daughter talking to someone from which point of view we see this. We hear her tell the person about her mother, about the betrayal, the fake matebond, the potion, the dark witch and her own folly. My heart feels like it’s being ripped, stomped on and stabbed by a thousand needles at the same time. Harriet holds me close, her own eyes leaking as many tears as mine.

I could feel him fighting the urge to listen to me, the urge to strike Jerome down. Clumsily, I got to my feet, staggered towards him and stopped a few inches away. “Please…don't,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper now. “They took his daughter, Daemon. He wasn’t thinking straight. He’s not the enemy here.” Daemon’s chest heaved as he stared into Jerome’s terrified eyes. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something human behind all that fury, grief, maybe. Recognition. A memory.