A/N: Similar to my Hunger Games piece, I picked a minor male character and gave them a daughter. This is a little drabble set right before the Goblet of Fire. It deals with Igor's paranoia.
Disclaimer: This is a fan-work and I am not getting any compensation for it. All things belonging to the Harry Potter fandom belong to their respectful owners.
"Roza! Roza! Come here," he shouted, my father. He was frightening, my father. It was not his stature that made everyone afraid of him. No, it was his appearance, the ever present unctuously cheerful smile that never reached his cold eyes. He was once a servant of the Dark Lord, he was once a lover of my mother, and he once loved me, his daughter. But I am no longer his favorite as I had been, no, I'm his servant now.
"Father," I gave him a small curtsey, my red dress flowing about my ankles. I looked nothing like him, except my black hair. I looked like my mother completely: peach skin, small nose, high cheeks, wide forehead, full lips, bright, green eyes, small stature. Everything I was, was hers first. And I almost hated it. I didn't hate my mother, no. I hated what I reminded me of her. Every time I looked in a mirror, she stared back at me. So many mirrors had to be broken.
"I need you to do something for me, love." He wrapped me in his arms, they were comforting; cold. In his office, even with the huge hearth – the only fire that was kept going year around in the castle, unlike the others that were just used for magical purposes – that took up an entire wall, I was so cold in his clutch. But I loved it, the chill. I reminded me who I really was, Igor Karkaroff's daughter, not Vera's daughter. He was the one I loved the most, my beloved father, but he was also the one I despised the most. He treated me like nothing, and I loved him so well. I was a very good daughter, and I made sure he knew that, else I was going to be killed by him, just like my mother was. She was not a good mother, or a good wife, and so she got what she deserved: death.
"Anything, Father," I replied almost begged for, wholeheartedly. I lived to please my father.
"Please, show me your forearm." I pulled up my sleeve, exposing my bare skin. I didn't have the Dark Mark, not like him, but I did have my loyalty imprinted into my skin. "Vystaviť svoje tajomstvá." Expose your secrets. My arm glowed red as he put his wand to it and then an outline of a two-headed eagle appeared, Durmstrang's coat of arms, and then underneath of it was a crow, my father's symbol. "Good girl." He pulled my sleeve down and kissed my forehead, hugging me once more. I was still his. Something he was not sure of as of late.
"Headmaster," we were interrupted. I turned to snarl at Viktor Krum, who disturbed one of the only moments my father showed me love. He bowed deeply and then acknowledged me, "Miss." He held out a note for my father to read, which he took, and then Krum left us.
"Love, will you come with us to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament?" He did not care either way if I went or not. I was told by his blank expression and hollow tone. I nodded, wanting only to please my father, trying to surpass Krum the best I could. "Good, we leave in a week. Get ready. For now, I must attend to our celebrity, Viktor." And he left me alone, despising once more.