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 Great Hall froze in stunned silence. It was as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room. Every pair of eyes turned to Harry, who looked completely bewildered, and then shifted to Beatrice.
Beatrice's fork clattered onto her plate. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment before it slammed against her ribcage. Surely she'd misheard. Her name couldn't possibly have been called.
— What...—she began, her voice barely a whisper.
Justin, sitting beside her, looked just as stunned. — Bea, did he just say...? —
— Beatrice Lestrange? — Hannah finished, her tone a mix of disbelief and awe.
Beatrice's head snapped toward Mattheo at the Slytherin table. His eyes were locked on hers, his usual calm veneer cracking just enough to show the shock beneath.
Harry stood hesitantly, looking around as if seeking permission. Beatrice, on the other hand, remained frozen in her seat, rooted by a mixture of confusion and dread.
— Miss Lestrange? — Dumbledore's voice cut through the murmur of the hall, gentle yet firm. — Please join Mr. Potter at the front.—
The weight of a thousand gazes bore down on her, and Beatrice finally rose on shaky legs, her mind racing. She felt the curious, suspicious stares of students from every house as she walked toward the front, her steps faltering.
— Go, Bea,— Leanne whispered, giving her an encouraging nudge.
As she approached, she heard the whispers grow louder, snippets of conversation reaching her ears.
— Three Hogwarts champions?—
— Is that even allowed?—
— Lestrange? She's related to them, isn't she? —
Beatrice clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking.
When she reached the front, she saw Harry looking just as lost as she felt. He gave her a small, apologetic smile, as if to say, I don't understand this either.
— Thank you, Miss Lestrange, — Dumbledore said, his eyes briefly scanning her face. She couldn't read his expression, but there was no anger, only a measured calm. — Please follow Mr. Potter to the chamber where the other champions are waiting. —
She nodded numbly, following Harry as murmurs and hushed arguments filled the hall behind her.
As they exited the Great Hall, she couldn't help but glance back at her brother. His expression was unreadable now, but his knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the table.
Once they reached the chamber, Harry turned to her, his voice quiet but strained. — I swear, I didn't put my name in the Goblet. Did you...? —
— Do I look like I want to be here? — Beatrice shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. — Sorry. I just...I don't understand what's happening.—
