Beatrice Lestrange has always been an outsider in her own story. Born into one of the darkest families in the wizarding world, she grew up under the looming shadow of her infamous mother Bellatrix Lestrange.
Despite this, Beatrice is nothing like th...
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The train to Hogwarts had always felt like a second home, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, the distant chatter of students, and the ever-present sense of possibility in the air. Beatrice Lestrange walked through the train with an elegant stride, her head held high, her Hufflepuff scarf loosely draped around her neck. Her ginger hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the occasional glance from passing students who, despite their polite smiles, couldn't help but whisper her name as she passed.
It was a name that carried weight. Lestrange. The daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, the mad witch imprisoned in Azkaban for unspeakable crimes, and yet here was Beatrice, seemingly the antithesis of everything her mother stood for. Unlike Bellatrix, Beatrice moved through the world with a quiet grace, always maintaining her composure, even when she felt the weight of the past pressing down on her. She had become accustomed to the whispers, the fleeting glances, and the unasked questions. She bore it all with an unwavering resolve.
Her friends had teased her once, calling her "the most graceful badger Hogwarts has ever seen." But Beatrice knew it wasn't just grace she carried; it was survival. Walking through the train, she scanned the compartments, her sharp eyes searching for an empty seat or a familiar face. The truth was, no matter how much she loved her house, there was always that faint distance, that invisible barrier between her and the others. The weight of her family's legacy wasn't something she could shake off, no matter how much she wanted to.
As she continued her walk down the narrow corridors of the train, Beatrice passed compartments filled with laughter and animated conversations. She caught glimpses of students talking excitedly about their summers, their heads bent close as they exchanged stories of new spells they had learned or places they had visited. She wished, for a brief moment, that her life had been so simple, just another student, looking forward to another year of school. But her summers were always a delicate dance, spent mostly at Malfoy Manor, navigating the tense air of the family that had raised her.
In those moments, when Lucius Malfoy's stern eyes rested on her, and Narcissa's cool politeness seemed just a shade too thin, Beatrice had felt it, the subtle pressure, the reminder that she was a Lestrange, and eventually, the family would expect her to step into the role that her bloodline demanded. But for now, Hogwarts was a reprieve. A place where she could be something else, if only for a few months each year.
Pausing outside a compartment, Beatrice hesitated. She heard the familiar sound of laughter, and her lips curved slightly. It was her friends. Pushing the door open, she was greeted with smiles and a chorus of welcomes.
Justin Finch-Fletchley was the first to leap up and greet her with a hug, his excitement evident. As Beatrice embraced him, she immediately noticed how much he had grown over the summer. He now towered over her by more than two heads, and his once boyish features had started to mature, with the beginnings of a sharper jawline and broader shoulders.
Despite still wearing his casual Muggle clothes, there was no denying that Justin was beginning to look more like a young man than the boy she had last seen.
