A/N: This will be a slow-burn, and other side pairings will be announced as they emerge. This will be a darker fic, and will diverge from Canon here and there after the end of Goblet of Fire.

o.o.O.o.o

"I won't let you take her away from me!"

Tracey woke up, hearing shouts from the living room. She crept to her bedroom door, easing the handle open to hear what was going on.

"She is my daughter, and I will not leave her here to be raised in this sty by a whore."

"You weren't complaining when you were the one paying to fuck me."

There was a sound of flesh striking flesh, a crash, and then a strangled scream. Tracey scrambled back from the door as she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The door was thrown open and she tried to scramble under her bed but the tall man just scooped her up. She struggled, but he was just so strong. A wave hit her suddenly, and she fell asleep, unable to help it.

Tracey sat up in bed, heart pounding against her ribcage. She'd only been five when her father had taken her away. She didn't remember much about her mother, but that memory just wouldn't go away. She'd never had the courage to ask her father about it, especially because the entire subject of her mother was forbidden. If anyone asked about it when they were out, he would merely say that she was dead. Even as a young child, Tracey had known that her father had killed her mother that night.

Tracey got dressed and headed down for breakfast. She entered the room, seeing her father sitting at the table, reading the Daily Prophet like he did every morning. As she approached her place, her heart began to hammer inside her chest. There was a letter sitting beside her plate. She never got any letters, and given that today was her birthday, it could be a very important letter. She sat down on her chair and cautiously reached for it. Her father lowered his paper, as she looked at it.

Ms. Tracey Davis

The Rose Suite

Yaxley Manor

Abbots Ripton, Huntingdonshire

It was written in brilliant green ink, and she flipped it over to see the Hogwarts Crest set into the thick red wax. She opened it and rabidly devoured her letter. She was going to Hogwarts and she'd be a real witch. She looked up at her father, and for the first time that she could remember, there was a proud smile on his face.

"Do I really get to go to Hogwarts, father?" she asked.

"Of course you must go to Hogwarts. You're my daughter and there's no better school of magic in the British Isles." He smiled. "We'll take a trip to Diagon Alley today, for your birthday. Now, eat your breakfast, it's going to be a very busy day." He picked his paper back up and left her to grin madly over her letter.

Tracey wanted to bounce around and shout her joy, but she knew better than to act in such a manner around her father. He was very strict about how a young witch was supposed to behave, particularly his daughter. She stroked her letter one more time before obediently having her breakfast. Maybe she would finally be able to make her father proud of her. No matter what it took, she knew that she'd find a way. Somehow.

o.o.O.o.o

Her birthday was spent almost entirely in Diagon Alley, and it was amazing. Her father had taken her to all the stores, smiling and indulging her in anything she wanted. He'd insisted on getting her a custom trunk, telling her the standard trunks were rubbish that would be lucky to last through her school years. The custom trunk was covered in glossy black dragon hide with silver fittings. Her initials were inscribed on the ends and the lid in elegant script, and the inside was lined with lavender silk. She loved purple and all its different shades.

They'd gone to order her school robes and at the very end of the day, when she didn't think things could get any better, her father stopped in the middle of the street and looked down at her.

"Well, there's only one more place to go. It's time to go and get your wand," he said and led her across the street to a rather dusty looking shop. He gestured her inside and stood back as she greeted the wizened old man who'd run it for as long as anyone could remember.

"What is your name, my dear?" The old man came around the counter.

"Tracey Davis, sir," she said, eyes a little wide as she took the man in. His pale blue eyes seemed to look right through her, and raised the hair on the back on her neck.

"Hmmmm, quite curious," he said softly and then straightened. "It seems only yesterday that your father was in here buying his first wand, still excellent for charms work I trust?" he flicked his gaze to Yaxely by the door.

"As ever." Corban smiled.

"Good good, well…we should see if we can find just the right wand for you. Of course the wand chooses the witch, but let's see if we can't help it find you mmm?" He grinned at the girl who nodded enthusiastically.

Tracey was quivering with excitement as the old shop keeper returned with a dark blue wand box, opening it and offering her the wand inside. The wand was jet black and lay quietly on a pillow of white satin. As she slipped her fingers under the handle she felt something intense surge up her arm and pool deep in her stomach. She picked it up and gave it an experimental flick and purple sparks showered down around her. She smiled brightly and saw the shop keeper looked equally pleased.

"I believe we have your match, right off. Ebony, 11 inches, with a core of dragon heartstring. A hidden talent for Transfigurations perhaps…or even dueling. Regardless, I do believe we can expect great things from you, Miss Davis," he said.

"Thank you, sir," Tracey said and admired her beautiful wand as her father paid Ollivander at the counter. They left the shop together and her father wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He'd never been one to give hugs, or show any public affection for her. It was a little scary if she was honest.

"I'm very proud of you, Tracey. I know you won't disappoint me once you're at school," he said and Tracey could read the unspoken threat in those words. She would work very hard to be the daughter he wanted her to be. No matter what it took.