The Black Legacy The Rise of Bellatrix's Prodigy

Shadows of the Past

Weeks passed, and Druella felt a heavy sense of frustration weighing on her as she walked through the hallways of Hogwarts. The students who had been petrified haunted her thoughts. Her concern for them grew each day, but what unsettled her more was the sense that nothing was being done about it. Dumbledore seemed eerily silent on the matter, and it left her feeling helpless. She longed to take action, yet she felt powerless in this tangled mess of rumors and fear.

When she returned to the common room, she found herself standing in front of the portrait, exhaling a tired sigh. Her face, often so carefully composed, was now clouded with the storm of her emotions. She leaned her forehead against the cold frame of the portrait, muttering the word "pureblood" under her breath in frustration.

The door creaked open, and as Druella stepped inside, her gaze immediately fell on her mother and aunt. They were waiting for her as if they had been expecting her return. Despite her best efforts to mask the sadness she felt inside, it didn't escape her mother's notice. Narcissa's sharp, perceptive eyes quickly locked onto Druella's weary expression, and the concern was evident in her voice.

"Are you okay, dear?" Narcissa asked, her tone soft but laced with a gentle curiosity. Druella wanted to ignore it, to retreat into herself, but she couldn't avoid the caring concern of her mother. Another sigh escaped her lips.

"I don't want to talk about it right now. Can we discuss it later?" Druella replied, her voice strained with the weight of her emotions as she turned to head toward the door, hoping for some time to herself.

However, Narcissa's hand reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. The touch was delicate, yet it carried a certain possessiveness that Druella had come to know all too well. Narcissa's smile was warm, but there was something dark behind it, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Come now, Druella, dear, tell us all about it," Narcissa purred, her voice taking on a sweet, sinister tone that sent a shiver down Druella's spine.

Her mother's voice joined in, huskier, filled with the same wicked amusement. "Yes, darling, do share. We're simply dying to know all the juicy details," she said, the words slipping from her lips with a teasing, almost predatory lilt.

Druella felt trapped. The intensity of their gaze was almost suffocating, the warmth of their breath mingling with hers. They weren't simply asking to know about her day; they were pushing her to reveal something more, something darker. It was clear that they were already aware of the petrified students, the whispers of Slytherin's heir, and the absurd rumors surrounding Lockhart's botched attempt at saving Harry.

Narcissa's grip tightened subtly on Druella's wrist, her nails pressing into her skin with a gentle but unmistakable force. "We know all about the petrified students, the rumors of Slytherin's heir... and Lockhart's little mishap with Harry's arm," she whispered, her voice dripping with malice. There was no escaping the way their words laced together in a web of manipulation and curiosity.

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with the same wicked light. "And we want to know more, darling. So much more."

Druella hesitated, uncertainty washing over her. The last thing she wanted was to add fuel to their already dangerous fire. But as she sat down next to her mother, the gentle pressure of Narcissa's hand on her wrist felt strangely comforting. It was like a silent command—she was supposed to be a part of whatever game they were playing, whether she liked it or not.

"Have you seen Dobby?" her mother asked, her voice light, though the glint in her eyes suggested there was more beneath the surface.

"No, I haven't," Druella lied, not wanting them to know that she had been secretly helping the house-elf deliver a message to Harry. She wasn't ready to let them in on her small act of rebellion.