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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Beatrice stormed out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang, her breath uneven and her heart pounding in her chest. The last thing she wanted was to face anyone. Not her brother, not Hermione, and definitely not Theo, who had all seen the tension rise in class. She couldn't bear their worried glances or the inevitable questions. Her steps quickened as she made her way through the crowded corridors, ignoring the whispers and the eyes that followed her.
By the time she reached the empty hallway near the Astronomy Tower, her hands were trembling. She didn't want to think about the class, about what she had seen—about the way everything seemed to spiral out of her control. The weight of it all pressed down on her like a curse she couldn't shake.
She needed someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't judge, who wouldn't pry too deep. Someone who understood her in a way no one else could. Sirius.
As soon as she was alone, Beatrice pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, her hands still shaking slightly as she began to write. The words flowed fast, a torrent of her thoughts and feelings as she confided in him everything that had happened. Every detail of the lesson, how she had felt as the tension grew unbearable. She trusted him completely—Sirius was the one person she knew would never see her as fragile, no matter what she told him.
Finishing the letter, Beatrice exhaled slowly, folding it carefully before calling for her owl. As the bird soared off into the darkening sky, she stared after it, hoping the act of sending the letter would ease some of the burden that weighed on her mind. But even then, she couldn't shake the sense that something had shifted—something she couldn't take back.
Later that evening, Beatrice found herself nestled in a corner of the library, the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating the pages of her book. The quiet solitude was a balm to her rattled nerves, and for the first time that day, she felt a small sense of calm creeping in. She let herself be absorbed by the words on the page, escaping into a world far removed from her own thoughts and the complications of her life at Hogwarts.
She was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't notice Hermione approaching until she heard the soft scrape of a chair being pulled out across from her. Beatrice glanced up, slightly startled but offering a small, tired smile. Hermione, her face filled with concern, sat down, her hands clasped nervously in her lap.
— How are you feeling? — Hermione asked gently, her eyes searching Beatrice's face for some kind of answer.
Beatrice looked down at her book, her fingers playing with the edge of the pages. — I'm fine, — she said quickly, not meeting Hermione's gaze. — Can we not talk about it? — The words came out sharper than she intended, and she winced slightly at her tone.
Hermione, ever observant, gave a small nod. — Of course. — There was a brief pause, the air between them tense for a moment before Hermione's face brightened with a new thought. — Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about something else. —
