I was only months old, yet my fate was already sealed.
Daughter of the Dark Lord.Heiress of Slytherin.Princess of a future empire drenched in shadows.
Even if I wanted another path… there was no escape.
I could feel the magic in my veins — ancient, pure, commanding. It pulsed with every heartbeat, whispering that I was born to rule, not obey. And Voldemort… Father… ensured that whisper grew louder every day.
Each potion bottle that touched my lips tasted sweet — too sweet. Not natural. Behind that sugary flavor lurked loyalty enhancers, dark affinity boosters, assertive and ambition amplifiers. Everything designed to shape me into the perfect weapon. The perfect heir.
The perfect villain.
And honestly… I was starting to like the idea.
Why be a forgotten hero when I could be a feared queen?Why be at the mercy of destiny when I could bend it to my will?
Father visited me often. Not as a warlord, but as a man who believed he finally found someone worthy of his legacy. His red eyes softened — just a little — whenever they landed on me.
"My beautiful serpent," he would whisper as he held me. "You will surpass even me."
Compliments like that are dangerous. They make ambition bloom like a poisonous flower.
I was praised for every accidental burst of magic: floating toys, crackling sparks, a curse flaring from my fingertips before I could even speak. Dark magic responded to me eagerly — like it recognized its future queen.
And I didn't hate it.
Quite the opposite.
I adored the way the Death Eaters bowed when Father carried me into the room. The way they whispered "Lady Slytherin" under their breath. The fear and respect — even for a baby — was intoxicating.
This power… it feels right.
I may have been reincarnated as an infant girl, but my mind was sharp. I was already making decisions no child should ever face:
I will help Voldemort win.I will reshape the world.I will become the most powerful witch in history.
Not Lily Potter's protection.Not Dumbledore's manipulations.Not the so-called Chosen One.Nothing would stand in my way.
Once the potions fully settled, once my magical core matured, once Father taught me everything he knew…
I would be unstoppable.
A soft chuckle echoed in my crib one night as Father stroked my pale hair.
"You will become perfection," he murmured. "Cold. Beautiful. Unbreakable."
His voice was cruel — but the hand that held mine was gentle.
And deep down, a chilling truth settled:
I wanted to be his daughter.I wanted to be feared.I wanted to be adored.
I would bloom into darkness, and the world would kneel.
Because monsters don't always hide under beds.
Sometimes, they sleep in royal cribs.