The grief of the daughter of Sirius Black

Prologue

Amara Black is what they called me.

But I prefer Amara.

Not Black as my last name, just Amara. 

But they only knew me as Sirius Black's daughter.

Which I envied.

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My mother died when I was a baby. No doubt of that. She was cursed on a love potion my biological father gave her, making me unable to love.

Love was a silly word for me to use, because I didn't believe in it.

Of course I didn't believe in it, I was raised as a curse for goodness sakes!

Which was another fatal flaw I developed,

Loosing sanity.

I was put in many families when I was little, many giving up on me through my terrors on flickering lights every so often.

They thought I was some sort of witch.

Which I was.

It wasn't like I wasn't use to being given up on, I was always the second choice to them. I felt alone. No comfort.

Until a guy named Sirius Black adopted me when I was 8.

Before he went to Azkaban.

He was probably the most caring person I've ever met in my lifetime. He introduced me to Hogwarts, where witches and wizards perform magic with their wands. The place where people like me went to.

I enjoyed it.

But it didn't go uphill from there.

I was put in Slytherin. My step-father went to Azkaban, and I had to deal with grief for a long time. My sobs were quiet. I didn't say anything, as that Harry Potter boy got all the attention.

Nobody listened to me, they just put pity in me.

But I knew they didn't care.

They cared about the chosen one.

That's where my hatred on the famous Harry Potter started.