Everything around me was pitch black.
The only thing grounding me—proof that I hadn't died yet—was the agonizing throb radiating from my ankle. Every pulse of pain crawled up my spine, sharp and merciless. It was broken. Badly.
I wasn't in my body anymore.
I had transmigrated into someone else.
Cold stone pressed against my back. Damp air clung to my skin. The metallic scent of blood and mildew filled my lungs as understanding settled like a coffin lid.
A dungeon.
Her memories slammed into me without warning.
Not gently. Not gradually.
They whipped through my mind—fragmented screams, cold laughter, curses whispered like lullabies. A childhood drenched in cruelty.
She had been born to Bellatrix Lestrange, daughter of he who must not be named.
Delphi.
Conceived after the night Voldemort fell at Godric's Hollow. After the Boy Who Lived survived.
From the moment of her birth, she had been fatherless—left behind as nothing more than a reminder of failure. At the mercy of a mother who mistook sadism for love.
People whispered that being Voldemort's only living heir must have granted her influence. Protection. Power.
What a joke.
Delphi had been born a Squib.
Magicless.
A stain on Voldemort's legacy.
A disappointment so great it had earned her chains instead of a name.
The violent clang of iron gates snapping open ripped me back to the present.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow. Heavy.
Someone was finally here.
Light exploded into the cell.
I hissed and squeezed my eyes shut as white agony seared my vision. My retinas burned after days—no, weeks—of darkness.
A rough hand seized my ankle.
I screamed.
Pain detonated through my leg as I was dragged across the stone like refuse, skin scraping, bones grinding.
"Shut up, you wench," a man snarled. "Filthy Squib."
His voice was thick. Cruel. Amused.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, forcing the sound back down my throat. My eyes stayed shut—half from the light, half from fear.
Wood pressed against my jaw.
A wand.
He tilted my face upward with it.
"Let's see how long you scream this time," he said softly, almost fondly. "I enjoy the quiet after."
Then, louder—gleeful—
"Crucio."
The world shattered.
Pain consumed everything.
Fire tore through my nerves, my muscles spasming violently as if my body were being ripped apart from the inside. My back arched. A sound—inhuman—ripped from my throat as my lungs forgot how to breathe.
Red.
Only red.
The guard's laughter echoed distantly, warped and monstrous, as the curse coursed through me like lightning, slamming into my diaphragm again and again.
When it finally stopped, I collapsed.
My body was limp. Useless.
Sweat drenched my hair, plastering it to my skull. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.
I lay there gasping.
And in that moment—broken, humiliated, shaking—I made a vow.
I will erase you.
Your name. Your bloodline. Every trace of you.
The man laughed again.
And then—
A translucent blue window flickered into existence before my eyes.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
[Welcome, User.]
I froze.
[Primary Objective: Survival]
[Tutorial Task Generated]
Task 001:
✔ Withstand an Unforgivable Curse.
Status: COMPLETED
Reward Granted:
✦ Magic Core — UNLOCKED
✦ Wand Compatibility — TEMPORARY (Borrowed Focus)
The window vanished.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Magic…?
Wasn't I a Squib?
The guard was still laughing, his wand pressed lazily against my jaw, unaware that everything had just changed.
One wrong move and he'd kill me.
I had to act now.
He was big. Heavy. The cell was narrow.
He couldn't move fast.
My pulse roared in my ears.
Do it.
I surged upward in one desperate motion, twisting away from the wand and lunging for his arm.
My teeth sank into flesh.
Hard.
The crunch was sickening.
A high-pitched scream ripped from the man as his wand clattered against the marble floor.
He staggered back, clutching his bleeding hand.
I dropped instantly, fingers closing around the wand.
It was warm.
Alive.
This was my first spell.
Easy. Simple. Muscle memory.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The words tore out of me.
Magic surged.
The guard stiffened mid-step, eyes wide with shock as his body locked completely before crashing face-first onto the floor.
Silence.
My chest heaved.
It worked.
I did magic.
The cell gate stood open.
Freedom.
I ran—
And immediately fell flat on my face.
White pain shot through my ankle as my body hit the stone.
I bit back a scream.
Stupid.
You can't run like this.
Then—
A sharp pulse.
The air hummed.
A deep, echoing alarm blared through the dungeon.
Red runes flared to life along the cell walls.
My breath hitched.
I turned slowly.
My elbow—my stupid elbow—was sticking out past the threshold.
The wards.
I had triggered them.
"How could I be so stupid…" she muttered hoarsely as the alarms continued to scream.
There was no time to hesitate.
My fingers tightened around the wand as I aimed it downward at my ruined ankle. My voice shook—but I didn't let it break.
"Brachio Emendum."
A sharp, wet squelch echoed through the cell as bone snapped back into place.
I bit down on a scream, nails digging into my palm as white-hot pain shot up my leg. The spell wasn't perfect—far from it—but the system's power forced the damage into temporary alignment.
[Status Effect: FRACTURE — TEMPORARILY STABILIZED]
Warning: Excessive Movement Will Cause Reinjury.
I ignored it.
Dragging myself upright, I bolted through the open cell gate. The wards were screaming now—there was no point disabling them. Every second wasted was another spell headed straight for my back.
The corridor beyond stretched endlessly, gleaming white stone curling into a winding path.
"Just great," I muttered, sprinting despite the screaming protest of my ankle, wand clenched tight in my hand.
The halls were empty.
Too empty.
A thrill sparked in my chest. They didn't expect an escape.
The white stone slowly darkened, emerald veins threading through the walls until the corridor bloomed into a vast chamber. Bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling, packed with ancient tomes bound in leather and gold.
A library.
Then—
Impact.
Something solid slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs as I crashed to the floor.
"Oof—!"
Weight pressed down on me.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a sharp, offended voice snapped. "Do you have any idea what these robes are worth?"
I blinked up.
White hair spilled forward like moonlight. Pale skin. Cold, aristocratic features twisted in irritation.
A wizard.
Shit.
I rolled instinctively, wand snapping up as I scrambled back.
The boy mirrored me instantly.
Wand raised.
Balanced. Controlled.
Dangerous.
He couldn't have been more than my age—sixteen, maybe seventeen—but everything about him screamed trained.
His eyes widened when he saw my face.
Recognition struck.
Oh no.
"What do you think you're doing with that wand, Squib?" he drawled, grey eyes sharp enough to cut. "That thing doesn't belong in your hands."
"Move," I snarled, breath ragged, "and I'll spare your life, boy."
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Did you hit your head?" he asked coolly. "You can't perform magic. You're—"
I smiled.
"Who said I can't?"
I didn't even bother shouting the spell.
"Expelliarmus."
Magic snapped through the air.
The boy's wand ripped itself from his grip and skidded across the carpet, landing several feet away.
Silence crashed down between us.
His eyes flicked to the wand. Then back to me.
Shock cracked through his composure.
Before he could react, I lunged.
My foot slammed into his shin with everything I had.
He hissed sharply, folding forward, hands hitting the floor as pain stole his breath.
I pushed myself upright—
Too slow.
His hand shot out, gripping the fabric of my dress, yanking me back.
I fell hard.
My wand clattered away.
"Damn it—!"
In one swift movement, he rolled, pinning me to the floor with surprising strength. His knee pressed into my side, forearm braced against my shoulder.
I struggled—but he was stronger than he looked.
"Answer me," he said lowly, breath warm against my face. "And I might go easy on you."
Grey eyes searched mine, expecting fear.
I gave him none.
He scoffed softly. "Figures."
Then, quieter—more dangerous—
"Are you who I think you are?"
I glared, twisting beneath him, trying to free my wrist.
"Blonde hair. Green eyes," he continued, voice clinical now. "You're Delphi Tom Riddle, aren't you? Bellatrix's shame. The Dark Lord's Squib daughter."
My jaw clenched.
"Let go of me," I spat.
He smirked.
"Don't even dream of it, pumpkin," he said mockingly. "You're property. And if word gets out that you're not a Squib anymore…" His eyes glittered. "You'll be very valuable."
I bucked harder, fury burning through me.
Then—
"Draco! Where the hell have you been?" an elderly voice thundered. "There's a prisoner on the loose—wait, what—"
The boy's smirk widened.
He looked pleased.
"Dad," he interrupted smoothly, not once loosening his grip on me. "You're going to want to see this."
A man stepped into view—sharp-faced, aristocratic, cold-eyed. He leaned down, inspecting me like an object.
"This Squib," Draco continued, voice dripping with satisfaction, "can perform magic."
The man's eyes widened imperceptibly.
"The Dark Lord's daughter," Draco added softly, "is a wizard."
A pause.
Then—
"My, my," the man murmured. "That is interesting."
He straightened.
"But we'll deal with that later. She's to be summoned before the Dark Order for breaking a million rules tonight."
He turned sharply.
"Petrify her, Kraus."
A house-elf appeared with a sharp pop, snapping its fingers.
Cold washed over me.
My body locked.
My vision blurred.
The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was a pair of grey eyes—still watching me through the fog, curious rather than cruel.
And that scared me more than anything else.