The Shadow of Your Heart [HP]

1. Malfoy Manor

"I fought for her, Bella, you know that!"

"You didn't fight hard enough, Narcissa! She never should have been given to that — that blood traitor bitch!"

"Lucius was just out of Azkaban, and no one would trust us with your child. I'm sorry, Bella, but we did everything we could."

"Well, it wasn't enough!"

A door slammed, and Marisa groaned, burying her face in her pillow. Her mother and her aunt had been constantly fighting about her, and it was driving her up the wall. Merlin only knew how her Uncle Lucius or cousin Draco were handling the tension between the two women. She could only be grateful that the Dark Lord was out of the manor for a while — he surely wouldn't tolerate their arguing for long.

With a long sigh, she flung her blankets off and sat up. More and more, she was doubting her decision to run from her Aunt Andromeda's house to see her mother. Andromeda had raised her, ever since her mother and stepfather had been sent to Azkaban. And she had forbidden Marisa from seeing Bellatrix. But how could she listen to that? This was her mother she was speaking of — how could she give up the chance to see her so easily?

So early that summer, Marisa had run to her Aunt Narcissa, another member of her family she had been forbidden to see. She knew perfectly well that the Malfoys were Death Eaters, and were her best chance of seeing her mother and father. Of course, she had been right. The Death Eaters who had been broken out of Azkaban were at Malfoy Manor, and she had been welcomed with open arms.

But her mother had been badly affected by Azkaban. That was no surprise. The Dementors would cause even the most stable witches and wizards to lose their minds — and Bellatrix had never been stable, or so she understood. But somehow, Marisa hadn't expected it to be so hard to watch. The healer said that she would get better the longer she was free, and Marisa only hoped it was true. Until then, she would just have to deal.

She had made her bed when she ran away. Now she would have to lie in it.

The sixteen-year-old girl got out of bed and got ready for her day, glad for the quiet. Brushing her wavy black hair, she took a moment to contemplate her appearance. Ever since her mother had come back into her life, she had noticed how much they looked alike. And how much they didn't, how much of her father was in her.

She had seen a picture of Tom Riddle as a boy, and she could see him in her blue eyes, in the shape of her face. It was a wonder that Dumbledore had never said anything to her about her heritage, or even her name. She was no true Lestrange, that was for certain. Not by blood. But Rabastan and Rodolphus were both very kind to her.

Looking at the clock, she cursed. Marisa was going to be late for breakfast, and her father was meant to return today. She hadn't yet met him since his return, and she wanted to make a good impression on him. After all, he was the Dark Lord.

Dressed in simple dark robes and black leather boots, Marisa left the guest bedroom that had been given to her and made her way down the stairs to the salon where breakfast was served. Malfoy Manor was much larger than the modest house she had grown up in, and it was taking some getting used to. Another thing for her mother to curse her aunt about. According to Bellatrix, Marisa should have been raised in wealth.

Marisa herself didn't mind. Andromeda and Ted were comfortable enough, and she hadn't lacked in anything but the pureblood bias her mother thought she should have been taught.

She had picked up enough of that in Slytherin.

Her Uncle Lucius was waiting at the breakfast table, as was Draco. The two cousins had never been friends, exactly, Marisa being a year above him. But they were in the same house, and knew each other well enough to be comfortable.

She took her seat at the table, every bit the polite daughter of a pureblood house ought to be. Andromeda had been raised a Black, after all, and she had seen that the proper social graces were passed down to her niece.

"Good morning Uncle, Draco," she said politely, pouring herself coffee. "Is Aunt Narcissa joining us today?"

Lucius peered at her from over The Daily Prophet.

"I'm not sure. No doubt you heard the argument this morning," he said.

"The whole manor heard the argument this morning," Draco muttered over his cup of tea.

Marisa winced a little.

"I am sorry. I've tried telling mother that my upbringing was more than acceptable — after all, I think I've turned out all right. But she won't listen to reason."

Draco snorted, and Marisa shot him a glare. Obviously, he didn't think she had turned out all right at all. She kicked him under the table, and he winced.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid your mother won't be listening to reason from anyone but the Dark Lord anytime soon," Lucius said in a resigned tone. "We will all just have to be patient, won't we, Draco?"

"Yes, father."

Breakfast was served without Narcissa showing up, and Marisa felt rather bad for her aunt. All of the accusations must be getting to her.

"Would you like to go flying with me this morning? I need to train for the quidditch team this year," Draco offered politely when breakfast was finished.

Marisa was no quidditch player, but she was a fair flyer, and agreed easily. She could use some time to take her mind off things. Her own broom was a Comet 260, not quite as nice as Draco's Nimbus 2001, but a good broom nevertheless. The two cousins headed out on the extensive grounds, and spend the morning racing and chasing after a golden snitch.

They landed, laughing and exhilarated from their morning, when a house elf appeared suddenly.

"Miss Lestrange has been summoned," he squeaked. "Master Dark Lord has returned, he has."

Draco and Marisa sobered immediately.

"Will you put my broom away for me?" she asked, handing it to Draco and straightening her robes. "I need to see my father."

Draco looked rather pale, and nodded hastily.

"Sure. Good luck," he said quietly, and Marisa followed the house elf, nervously running her fingers through her hair as she went. This was the last thing she wanted, to be mussed from flying when she saw her father for the first time. But there was nothing to be done about it.

The house elf lead her to her uncle's study, then disappeared with a pop. Marisa took a deep breath, her back straight, and knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the voice of the Dark Lord, and she opened it, suddenly not sure what to do. Should she kneel, like a Death Eater? Bow? Curtsy? Or simply stand there, awkwardly?

But her father took the choice from her. As soon as she entered the room, he swept forward and took her into his arms.

"My beloved daughter," he crooned, stroking her back. "Taken from me for so long."

Slowly, Marisa relaxed into his embrace, returning it.

"Father," she breathed, "I've been waiting for you."