ruins ; harry potter [1]

one ; the order

Diana Riddle left St. Mungo's Ward the next day. The walls there had become her only home, years and years of familiarity cemented into her bones. Dressed in Muggle clothes, she awaited quietly the arrival of Albus Dumbledore. Her identity was a secret, but the nurses still gazed at her with apprehensive hesitancy and the doctors still stared at her with reluctance. They had never known her as Voldemort's daughter, but anyone could see the power lurking behind her eyes.

She clutched a small pack of the few clothes she owned, her wand tucked inside.

She remembered the day she bought it. And she remembered that the day after, her parents were murdered and she had been framed for it. She hadn't seen her wand for years until now. When she got to the hospital all those years ago, they took her necklace away, too.

Now, she secured the necklace around her neck the moment it was handed to her, and the comfortable familiarity of life before the hospital eased her mind. She had worn this necklace every day for as long as she could remember until she got to St. Mungo's, yet she never knew the origin of the peculiar golden globe that hung loosely around her neck.

She was ready with all of her things, dressed in faded muggle jeans and a black t-shirt in a small waiting room just outside of the ward as she sat patiently and utterly unaffected for Dumbledore. He was to pick her up at noon sharp, and he didn't disappoint.

The moment the old clock on the wall chimed twelve, Dumbledore walked swiftly into the room, a serene smile on his face and his fingers laced behind his back. 

"Ah, Miss Riddle, good to see you again."

She unconsciously glanced around the room, making sure no one heard him use her real name, and returned her eyes to the old man and gracefully stood up.

"Where is this 'headquarters' you spoke of?" she asked, and he chuckled. The room was cold, and she really wished she owned a sweatshirt.

"Not far," he waved, glancing at the clock. "Once we get to the lobby, we shall Apparate."

They wordlessly flowed out of the door, down halls and steps and occasionally walking into an orderly, who eyed the girl suspiciously. Dumbledore either didn't notice or didn't mind the strange looks from the staff, and he kept walking, humming a cheery tune to himself.

They reached the lobby, and he held out his arm for her to grab. "Apparating can be very disorienting the first time. Are you ready?"

"Should be no trouble," she insisted, taking his arm in one hand and getting a better grip of her pack with the other. He nodded once and turned on his heel, and they were sucked into a suffocating black tube for a few moments until they landed firmly and gracefully on pavement.

She was completely unaffected, not even wobbling slightly on impact or nausea from the travel. Dumbledore eyed her impressively for a moment before starting forward toward a line of homes. She observed the numbers, and took notice of the fact that number eleven was directly next to number thirteen.

Dumbledore put one hand on her shoulder and waved his other hand. The ground started rumbling and shaking, and 12 Grimmauld Place stretched into place, seemingly not disturbing or affecting anyone other than Dumbledore and Diana. In fact, no one seemed to even see what they were seeing, or feel the ground shaking. After a minute, it was fully formed, and there stood the completely intact home. Dumbledore walked toward it, up the few stairs to the front door. The closer Diana got, the stronger the magic around the building got. She could feel the energy pulsing, pounding in her veins and she could hear the dull hum of it, nearly loud enough that she thought it could deafen her. She felt the urge to cover her ears.