Lestrange

Prologue

Dedicated to GalaxyKat240

     I sit in front of my father's grave, looking down at the worn leather notebook in my hands as I weigh the pros and cons of publishing this memoir in my mind. I hear footsteps crunching through the autumn leaves and turn as Harry Potter stands beside me, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ears. My hair, dark like the wings of a raven or shadows of the night. So similar to my father's. Too similar to my mother's.

     I glance up at the Boy Who Lived and smile as he places a hand on my shoulder, the shape of his famous scar – which is just visible beneath his dark bangs – matching the electricity in his stunning blue eyes. As always, his expression is hard to read, though I've gotten better at noticing the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating or how the corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly when something amuses him.

     At the moment, he stares at my father's grave, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggles to maintain his composure. Though it has been a year since my father was murdered, I remember his last moments as if he had been killed yesterday, and I know Harry can still feel my father's blood staining his hands as he'd tried in vain to save his life, a memory that will forever be engraved in my mind.

     Turning to the headstone that marks my father's grave, I run my thumb along the spine of my notebook and get to my feet, grabbing my wand: An eleven-inch specimen composed of firwood and a phoenix-feather core. A bouquet of lilies appear from thin air, and when the voices of my past accompany the flowers, I grip my wand tighter and close my eyes, even though I know I have no choice but to listen:

     "Lily? After all this time?" the late Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, asked.

     "Always," my father whispered, revealing that his love for Lily Potter – my namesake – had lasted long after her death.

     A single tear slowly slides down my cheek as Harry's hand slips into mine, our fingers entwining as I wave my wand once more, a wreath of white roses materializing at the base of the headstone James and Lily Potter share in the cemetery located at the heart of Godric's Hollow.

     After a moment, Harry asks, "Ready?"

     I hesitate a moment, then nod, taking a deep breath as Harry offers his arm in an old-fashioned gesture he knows I find adorable. We apparate the moment I take his arm, and I arch an eyebrow when I suddenly find myself standing in The Three Broomsticks.

     When I glance at Harry, he shrugs, "Thought we could use a Butterbeer."

     After ordering our drinks, I follow Harry to a booth by the window and slide in next to him, placing my notebook on the table as he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer.

     After planting a quick kiss on my cheek, he nods toward the notebook and asks, "Still working on your memoir?"

     "Finished it, actually," I reply. "Though I must admit, Hermione did a lot of the work when it came to editing."

     A smile tugs at the corner of Harry's mouth, and before I can lose my nerve, I say, "I'd like to have a second opinion before moving forward, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind reading it."

     Before he even has a chance to answer, I quickly add, "Not that Hermione isn't perfectly qualified, I'd just like a more...personal opinion, if you know what I mean. Don't get me wrong, Hermione's great, but—Bloody hell, I'm rambling on like a lunatic."

     A rare laugh quietly escapes Harry's lips as I run a hand through my hair, taking a deep breath and staring at my notebook as I try to collect my jumbled thoughts.

     After a moment, I continue, "You know I love Ron and Hermione dearly, but...You and I have been through hell and high water, Harry. You, more than anyone, know what it's like to grow up with a family who doesn't love you. With your help, I've not only learned how to carry the weight of my family's dark legacy, but how to forge my own path and make my own name to avoid being corrupted by that legacy. You've been in my shoes, and I in yours. Even though you've seen the darkest corners of my heart and mind, you've continued to love and support me. There's no one I trust more than you."

     I only turn to face Harry when he gently pulls me against his side, my head resting on his shoulder as he lightly traces his index finger over the scar that trails over my left eye and ends near the tip of my nose. He then reaches up and runs his fingers through my hair, kissing the second scar that is located above my right eye, one that was given to me by Lord Voldemort during my second year at Hogwarts and one that's identical to Harry's own lightning bolt mark.

     He lowers his lips to mine but quickly pulls away when a waiter places a pair of steins on the table, foam spilling over the sides as I hand one of the large glasses to Harry.

     "To love and trust," he says, lifting his glass.

     I raise my own mug in agreement before adding, "To a brighter future."

     Harry smiles and leans forward, quickly kissing me on the lips as he states, "One that we will build together."

     I give his hand a squeeze, taking a long swallow of my Butterbeer and nervously watching as Harry flips the notebook open to its first page, his brow furrowing as his eyes skim over the first few words:

     Outcast. Traitor. Disgrace.