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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Days had passed, and the first task was looming ever closer. Beatrice could feel the tension growing in the air, but it wasn't just the impending challenge that had her on edge—it was the Daily Prophet article.
Rita Skeeter had finally published her piece, and it was worse than Beatrice had feared. It painted her as a dark, scheming witch, hinting at sinister intentions and making salacious claims about her family. The article had practically dripped with innuendo, suggesting that Beatrice was participating in the tournament to finish what her mother and father had started: chaos and destruction. There was even a particularly ridiculous claim that she was plotting to eliminate Harry and Cedric to secure victory for herself.
The first time she'd seen someone reading the article, a group of Ravenclaws snickering as they pointed at her name, she'd pulled out her wand, whispered a charm, and watched their copies burst into flames. She didn't even stop to look at their shocked faces before walking away.
It became a pattern after that. Anytime she saw someone with a Daily Prophet in their hands, she didn't bother with explanations or apologies. She simply burned the offending paper to ashes and moved on.
— Bea, you can't keep setting fire to people's things, — Theo said, half-exasperated, half-amused, after watching her incinerate yet another copy in the Great Hall.
— Why not? — she replied sharply, her tone daring him to challenge her.
— It's not exactly subtle, — he pointed out, glancing at the stunned second-year whose paper she'd just destroyed.
— I'm not interested in being subtle, — she snapped. — If they want to read lies, they can do it somewhere I can't see. —
Even Hannah had tried to talk her down. — Bea, you can't let her get to you, — she'd said gently after catching her in the middle of torching yet another article.
— She didn't just go after me, — Beatrice replied, her voice tight. — She dragged my family into it. My brother, Hannah. She basically called me a Death Eater-in-training.—
Hannah's face softened, but she didn't have a response for that.
Beatrice carried the weight of the article's accusations with her everywhere. Every glance in the hallways felt heavier, every whisper sharper. But she refused to let anyone see how much it hurt. If they wanted a show, she'd give them one—fire and all.
But what weighed most heavily on Beatrice's mind was the looming first task. She had barely managed to hold in her panic when Harry had pulled her and Cedric aside to reveal what they'd be facing: dragons.
Dragons.
How in Merlin's name was she supposed to fight a dragon? She wasn't exactly thrilled that Harry had been the one to tell them, but she couldn't deny she was grateful for the warning. Not that it helped much. She still had no idea what she was going to do.
