"𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙮"
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Cassiopeia Lestrange thought she could escape her family's dark legacy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in her second year, Tom Riddle's diar...
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"Do not let the things that have hurt you turn you into a person you are not."
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August 12th, 1993
Jupiter jolted awake in the dark, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her dark hair damp with sweat. She lay still, gripping the sheets as she struggled to slow her heartbeat. It had felt like a nightmare—but she knew better. It was a memory. Not her own, not rightfully. Tom Riddle's thoughts and secrets had wormed their way into her mind ever since that night in the Chamber of Secrets. His memories now clung to her, etched deep within her mind like a curse she couldn't shake. She didn't try to explain it anymore; she simply endured.
Wiping her tear-filled eyes, she turned her gaze to the dim light filtering in through the curtains. The dull rays of morning sunlight seeped mockingly into her room, as if taunting her for sleeping the days away in desperate pursuit of a brief escape. She knew it was pointless. Every night was the same torment, and every morning came with the knowledge that she was still trapped within the walls of the Lestrange Estate. Hogwarts felt like an unreachable sanctuary, and she counted down the days until she could go back—where maybe, just maybe, her mind could find some reprieve from the relentless hauntings of her dreams.
Her eyes wandered to the shadowy, dust-laden corner of her room where her large trunk lay untouched. It hadn't been moved since the day she'd hauled it up the grand staircase on the first day of summer. The thought of unpacking it made her stomach turn. She remembered the last time she had—a small, innocuous-looking diary had fallen out, its cover whispering promises of power she now knew too well.
"JUPITER!"
The sharp call tore through her thoughts, shattering the silence. Her body reacted before her mind had time to catch up; her feet moved on their own as she slipped from bed and made her way down the cold, winding marble staircase. Her fingers brushed the icy railing, sending a frigid shock through her that matched the dread crawling up her spine. Bellatrix Lestrange didn't like to be kept waiting.
"Sit," Bellatrix commanded, motioning to the empty chair beside her at the long, mahogany dining table. Jupiter obeyed, lowering herself gracefully into the seat. She kept her gaze firmly on the polished wood in front of her, avoiding her mother's piercing stare. "Do you know where your father is?"
"No, ma'am," Jupiter replied, her voice steady as she sat with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in her lap.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Bellatrix's voice was laced with a twisted sort of mirth, and Jupiter could feel her mother's bloodshot gaze fixed on her. A familiar, sickening intuition coiled in her stomach—she was wrong. She knew she was wrong. The feeling gnawed at her, its certainty undeniable.
