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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Beatrice ran blindly through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, her heart racing, the heavy weight of humiliation pressing down on her chest. The cold stone walls seemed to close in around her as the echoes of her hurried footsteps filled the silence. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care. All she wanted was to get as far away from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom as possible.
Her mind raced, replaying the scene over and over. The sight of the boggart taking her mother's form, the sinister smile, the taunts that cut deeper than any spell ever could—it was too much. How could she have been so weak? She was Beatrice Lestrange, raised by the Malfoy's. Yet when faced with her greatest fear, she had crumbled.
A flicker of anger stirred within her as she slowed to a stop near an empty classroom. Leaning against the cold stone wall, Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. She couldn't afford to fall apart, not here, not now. But the image of Bellatrix, of her mother's dark, twisted presence, clung to her like a shadow, a reminder of the past she could never truly escape.
She didn't hear the footsteps approaching until a voice called out, low and steady, cutting through her thoughts.
—Bea, wait.—
Beatrice stiffened at the sound of her name. For a moment, she considered running again, but something in the familiar voice rooted her in place. Slowly, she turned around to find Theo standing a few feet away, his expression a mix of concern and understanding.
Beatrice forced a smirk, though her voice betrayed her exhaustion.—Come to lecture me? Or pity me?—she spat, though the bite in her words was half-hearted at best.
Theo shook his head, stepping closer but keeping enough distance to give Beatrice space.—Neither. I'm just here... because I know what it's like.—
The statement hung in the air between them, weighty and raw. Beatrice wanted to dismiss it, to push him away like she always did when things got too close. But something in Theo's voice made her pause. He didn't offer excuses or sympathy. He didn't pretend to understand everything Beatrice had been through, but there was a shared pain in his words, an unspoken bond of those haunted by their pasts.
Beatrice slumped against the wall, her defenses crumbling.—It's different for you,— she muttered, more to herself than to Theo.—You don't know what it's like... having her as a mother.—
Theo's jaw tensed, his gaze softening but steady.—No, I don't,—he said quietly.—But I know what it's like to have a father like that.—
Beatrice blinked, caught off guard by the admission. She had never heard Theo talk about his family, and now that he had, there was a heavy silence between them. He looked at her, not with pity, but with an understanding that ran deeper than she'd expected.
—It's not the same,—Theo continued, his voice low but firm,—but I know what it's like to carry that weight every day. To think you have to face it alone because no one else could understand. But you don't have to. You have Mattheo, you have your friends, you have me—
