Your first three years at Hogwarts were uneventful. As uneventful as being the daughter of Lord Voldermort and Bellatrix Lestrange can be.
From a very young age, you knew that your parents weren't normal people. I mean, with a mother who was convicted to Azkaban when you were just one and a father who disappeared. It was not hard to connect the dots.
Of course, as soon as you were popped out of the womb, you were left behind at Malfoy manor in the care of the same nanny that took care of your cousin, Draco. Your mother was too busy with being a Death Eater to care about a brat. Her words exactly.
And it's not like it matters anyway. The Malfoy's are good to you, even besides the fact that you are the Dark Lord's daughter. At first, they handled you with additional care. But after a while, they saw you more as a daughter than anything else. Especially aunt Cissy, who's always fussing over you.
The first time you were genuinely terrified was during the house sorting at Hogwarts. As a precaution, your last name was changed to Black, after your mother's maiden name. Having the surname of either Riddle or Lestrange was way too dangerous.
You can still remember the whispers as your name was called.
"A Black?" "I didn't know a Black her age still existed." "Could she be the daughter of the mass murderer?"
A sort of relief went through your body as you were sorted into Slytherin. There was no doubt, being the heir of Slytherin nonetheless. But still, the fear of disappointing a father that you've never met was all too great, even for an eleven-year-old.
That same year you got the first letter from your father. He wrote how proud he was of you for being sorted into Slytherin and that he expected big things from you. Thanks, dad, no pressure at all.
During your second year, you heard all kinds of weird whispers as you moved about the castle. It was then that you discovered that you could speak Parslemouth. The giant murder snake in the sewers was not as scary as many believed. Of course, as she was murdering muggle-borns, you felt guilty and tried to forbid her to do so. But the Basilisk couldn't help her nature.
After everything happened with the Chamber of Secrets, you went to Dumbledore and confessed everything, from your true parentage and being a Parslemouth. You cried while asking the headmaster to not expel you.
"My dear child", said Dumbledore calmly, producing a handkerchief out of thin air, "you have nothing to worry about. If I learned one thing throughout my long life, I've learned that parentage could mean nothing. If you let it mean nothing."
He did make you promise to give him every letter your father would send. You agreed without hesitating for a moment.
Third-year was uneventful. You stayed as far away from the Golden Trio as possible, knowing that Sirius Black was after Harry at the time. It proved difficult as they ─ especially Harry ─ were constantly around you. Even at remote parts of the castle, when you needed some time alone from all the stares and whispers, he seemed to find you.
You sniff, burying your face into your hands. Some sixth-year Gryffindor made you fall down a flight of stairs with a spell and scattered all your stuff around the ground.
Suddenly, a pair of feet appear in front of you and you jump up, raising your wand in defence. Harry Potter looks at you with wide eyes and your schoolbag in his hands.
You drop your wand and turn away, wiping away a stray tear. "What do you want, Potter?" The words come out harsh, just like you see your cousin do all the time.
The boy in question shuffles awkwardly from his left foot to his right. "Are you... are you okay? I saw what happened." He holds out your bag and you take it.
You mumble out, "thanks", and you stand awkwardly across from each other. You fumble with the straps of your bag while Harry plays with his tie.
"I don't think you're like him at all", he suddenly blurts out, making you look up at him with wide eyes. "Like your dad. Sirius Black."
You stiffen. "O-oh no! Sirius isn't my dad. I'm- we're cousins... I think."
"Oh..." Harry's face heats up, obviously embarrassed.
After that rather awkward encounter, every time someone tried to trip you over or bully you, he was there to stop it. Draco was obviously not happy about it and you begged him to not tell uncle Lucious.
And that's how we arrive at your fourth year. Or, actually less than a month before the new term.
"Hey, Bowtruckle, are you awake?" Draco waves his hand in front of your face, obviously annoyed that you didn't listen to whatever he was raging about.
You snap up and turn to look at him, raising one eyebrow in annoyance. "What?"
Draco rolls his eyes and points outside the carriage. A sigh leaves your lips as you see that you've arrived at the Quidditch World Cup finale. To be completely honest, you don't care that much for Quidditch. But Draco does, and Uncle Lucius cares for your public appearance, so you were forced to go.
Climbing out of the carriage, you stretch out your arms and breath in the fresh August air. Everywhere you look are wizards from all over the world, people flying and zooming around on brooms, flags waving proudly.
You trail behind the two Malfoy's as they strut up the steps, showing off their badges that Lucius got from the Minister proudly.
Suddenly, Lucius spots a familiar family of red-heads, a smirk forming on his face.
A sigh leaves your lips as he and Draco brag about having seats in the Minister's box. Your eyes lock with Harry's and a small smile forms on your face, raising your hand subtly to wave at him. He returns the gesture with an equally shy smile.
Draco seems to notice whatever's going on between Harry and you and he janks at your arm, pulling you behind him. "Keep your filthy blood traitor eyes away from my cousin, Potter", he spits in Harry's direction as he pulls you along.
Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you move along to the box and take place in the far-most corner of all the seats. Ignoring the looks both Draco and uncle Lucius give you, you stare at the stadium and see the Irish and Bulgarian teams flying around.
As the match continues, and the crowd gets rowdier, you grab a pair of binoculars and look around the stadium. Most people are boring. Here and there are a couple of interesting figures, but nothing more.
Aiming the binoculars higher, you spot the Weasely family with Harry Potter, Hermoine Granger, and two others. They are having fun by the looks of it.
"You're lucky I caught you flirting with Potter instead of father", hisses Draco in a whisper, making you roll your eyes while still peering out of the binoculars.
Glaring at him, you grumble back, "I wasn't... flirting."
He looks at you incredulously before clasping his hands together and fluttering his eyelashes.
You scoff and give his shoulder a shove. "Come off it, you twat."
As you and Draco squabble a bit louder than desired, uncle Lucious snaps his attention to you. He clears his throat and you immediately break apart, cowering under his hard glare. "What... did I say?", he spats.
"Do behave", you both mumble, looking down.
Uncle Lucius gives you one last look before turning back around, resuming conversation with some ministry person. Your cousin and you both share a glance before focusing back on the game.
The match ended with Ireland winning over Bulgaria by 170 to 160. But Draco and you don't get a chance to enjoy the festivities as uncle Lucius shoves you into a carriage.
"Why can't we stay?", you ask with a frown and produce the same puppy eyes that always work on your uncle.
Not this time, apparently. Lucius gives you a sharp look. "Because I am your uncle and I said so." Giving Draco a piercing look, he slams the carriage shut and sends it on its way.
Slumping down on the seat, you fold your arms over each other.
"You are only making things harder for yourself", muses Draco as he sits back, plucking an old Daily Prophet from the seat next to him.
You opt to ignore his remark and stare out of the window for the rest of the ride home.