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Run. That's all you could do now. Your thoughts were racing as the information you were just told sunk into your mind. You were HIS heir. The most feared man in the Wizarding World is your father. The question is why weren't you told this sooner? Why arent they telling you this? Suddenly you stopped running at the thought of the next question.

Why does this seem all too familiar? Why don't you remember your childhood? You couldnt deal with these questions any longer. You decided that it was time to ask these questions to the one person that could answer them and it just so happened that you stopped right in front of the statues that guard the staircase to his office, Dumbledore.

"Sugar Quills," as soon as the password left your lips, the statues for the second time that day, moved out of the way revealing the secret staircase that ascended to his office. You wasted no time in climbing the stairs. When you reached the top, you didn't even bother knocking on the door; you simply walked in.
"Aw! Ms. Smith, right on time. Please have a seat," Dumbledore gestured to the chair that sat in front of his desk, yet you didn't move a muscle. You just looked around the room. In one corner stood your 'oh so loving' parents while in another corner stood a man that you recognized not just from school, but from somewhere else. The only reason you knew who this man is was because he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher during your fourth year. Mad-eye Moody looked right back at you as you continued to stand in the frame of the doorway. He glared with his one good eye while the other rolled around in his head like it was possessed.
"Please Ms. Smith, have a seat," once again Dumbledore gestured for you to sit, and this time you did what he asked. You broke the stare that you and Moody were sharing, and walked over to the chair that was offered to you. You slid down into it and crossed your arms over your chest. You noticed movement in the corner of your eye in the direction where your parents were located. 

"Why are they here?" You asked pointing to your parents. You sensed that something was going on. Dumbledore believed that you might have had something to do with Kelli's murder. By the look in Moody's eye, he was thinking the same thing. Your parents on the other hand, were a different story. Your father looked like he could kill you right on the spot, while your mother looked like she was looking at the Dark Lord himself. Yet they still shared a common expression.....fear. You got pleasure from the look that lingered in their eyes. It made you feel powerful. Now you understood why Malfoy bullied his fellow students; just so he could experience this exact feeling.
"We are worried about you sweetheart," your mother answered the questioned that you had asked Dumbledore in a shaky voice. 

"Your fellow classmates are worried about you too, Ms. Smith. Ms. Granger and the others have brought it to my attention of the change in your physical appearance and behavior." You were getting annoyed with this conversation already. How dare they go behind you back to Dumbledore and report to him about you.
"I'm fine," you said blankly.

"You're not fine Aurora, you're sick. We can help you if you let us." At the sound of that phrase leaving the lips of your father, an image of a little girl with long black hair sitting in a chair wearing a white hospital gown flashed in your mind. She looked so miserable, so lonely, so.....much like YOU. It finally dawned on you what Kelli meant when she said 'they've done it before'.

"We just want to help you sweetheart. Let us help..." but she never got the finish her plea before you snapped. The thought of them putting you back into a hospital, hiding you away from the world again was not going to happen. How dare they think that you would agree to that kind of torture!

"I SAID THAT I AM FINE!" At that moment, your voice echoed around Dumbledore's office, making everything that was made of glass or was fragile, exploded. Everyone in the room, excluding you, covered themselves so that they wouldn't get cut from the flying glass. You, however, didn't shield yourself. Instead you let the glass fall on you like it was snow falling from the sky. Once the remaining glass fell to the floor, they all looked to you. The scraps of glass had left cuts all over your face, but that's not why they were looking at you. You hadn't moved a muscle since you screamed. You felt a burning sensation run through your arm again, but it was stronger than the previous time. You were breathing heavily and you felt your skin grow cold. This was the same feeling you went through before you killed Kelli. If you didn't leave this room soon, you were literally going to kill someone in this room. Not that you didn't want to, you were merely protecting yourself. You quickly stood from the chair, so fast you knocked it over. You then focused your gaze on Dumbledore, and in the eerie voice like you heard in your head the night before, you spoke.

"I won't go back to the hospital. I won't go through that again. You, Moody, and my parents didn't help me. You just wanted to contain me like I was some kind of disease." Everyone's faces went pale as you said this.

"How do you know about that?" You heard Moody ask but you didn't answer him. Instead, you simply walked to the door and walked out.

As you walked through the corridors to the Gryffindor common room, you began to think. You now knew certain things about your past. The question was now, what are you going to do about it? It bothered you that Dumbledore knew all about you and your capabilities, yet he set a simple girl like Kelli to watch you. He must have known that you would change sooner or later, but why risk the lives of innocent people? Truthfully you didn't care why. All that mattered now is what were you going to do with the power that was growing inside of you. The anger and hate that Harry and his whore Ginny have created; lingering inside you was only fueling the flame of destruction. Your reoccurring dream now made all the more of sense to you, your physical appearance, your attitude, the voice in your head. You were transforming, the same way Tom Riddle did when he was your age. Dumbledore is afraid; as he should be. History of the Dark Lord was repeating itself, in YOU.

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