A Changed Lestrange (1-2) (under editing)

18: The Polyjuice Potion

Another moody day in Azkaban. A derange Bellatrix Lestrange lay in her cell, as Dementors floated out, sucking the life out of their prisoners. 

Bellatrix was by no means a good person - in fact, she was one of Voldemort's biggest followers and believers. Almost his right-hand woman. 

She would almost give in sometimes, being locked in her cell, if not for one thing - her son.

It had been 13 years since Ashton Lord Voldemort Lestrange had been born. Bellatrix never had the pleasure of raising her own child as she was whisked away to Azkaban.

He was just two years old when she and Rodolphus Lestrange, along with many more, were given lifetime imprisonment for the torture and incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

She had no memories of her child - she had no idea what he even looked like, what his voice sounded like. The only thing she knew was that he was out there, somewhere - hopefully in Hogwarts as a Slytherin - and that she was going to escape, one day, and find her son.

***

It was the first day of the Christmas holidays, and Ashton had no intention of trying to prove he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin.

After the attack on Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, Ashton found himself being called into Dumbledore's office. He could almost feel expulsion and the snapping of his wand coming. 

To his surprise, however, Dumbledore did not think whatsoever it was him who Petrified the pair.

When he returned to the common room, he saw Harry, Ron and Hermione waiting for him - but he really didn't feel like telling them anything. So, not stopping, he simply said:

"He doesn't think it's me." and went back into his dormitory.

If people didn't curse his existence already - or at least the ones who weren't related to Death Eaters - they did now.

The rare occasions where he did walk in the corridors, people would intentionally and evidently mutter, point and jeer at him as he walked by.

But none of this really mattered to him. He hated the majority of people in Hogwarts, and soon found there were only a select few who would actually have his back when the time came.

Eventually he gave in to the temptation to get out of bed and go back the common room.

"What day is it?" he mumbled to himself.

December 16. Also known as his birthday.

"Bet nobody's bloody remembered," he laughed self-deprecatingly as he made his way down the stairs and into the common room - and, to his surprise, there were three people standing in front of him with presents in their hands.

"Happy birthday, Ashton!" said Harry and Hermione in unison, but Ron seemingly forgot what he was supposed to say.

"Oh, er, yeah! Happy birthday, Ashton."

"Wow, you actually remembered." he said, in shock.

"'Course we did," said Ron victoriously.

"We?" said Hermione, an eyebrow raised. "You completely forgot. Harry and I had to remind you."

"Well, I remembered, didn't I?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." huffed Hermione, handing Ashton his present.

He got one or two sweets from some children back at the orphanage - Ron had gotten him a large box of Bertie Botts Beans, and Harry had given him a self-inking quill.