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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Voldemort turned slowly, his movements deliberate, his snake-like face twisting into an expression of cruel anticipation.
His scarlet eyes locked onto Harry's, and with a flick of his wand, he bellowed:
"Crucio!"
Harry screamed in agony, his body writhing in unbearable pain.
— No! Stop this! — Beatrice yelled, thrashing against the cold stone that restrained her. Her heart felt like it might shatter as she watched Harry suffer.
Every instinct screamed at her to protect him, to fight, to do something.
Voldemort smirked, his amusement evident as he lowered his wand.
— Enough, — he said coolly, as though Harry's torment was nothing more than a trivial demonstration. He turned to Wormtail. — Untie him Wormtail, and give him back his wand. —
Wormtail, trembling and nursing his mutilated hand, hurried to obey. The ropes binding Harry fell away, and his wand was thrust into his hand.
— Now, Harry, — Voldemort said, his tone almost conversational. — Let us prove to everyone here that your survival was nothing more than a fluke. A quirk of fate. A mistake. —
Beatrice's mind raced. She knew Voldemort's plan, he wanted to humiliate Harry, to break him before finishing him. But she wasn't going to let that happen. She couldn't.
As Wormtail retreated and the Death Eaters formed a ring around the two, their attention solely on Harry, Beatrice took a deep breath. Her hands tightened into fists as she focused every ounce of her willpower. She had studied wandless magic and she was good at it if she tried really hard.
Think, Beatrice, she told herself, her heart pounding. You're not powerless. You can do this.
Her eyes darted around the graveyard, calculating. If she could free herself without drawing attention, she might be able to launch a surprise attack with Harry. Voldemort was overconfident, and his Death Eaters were too enthralled by the impending duel to notice her.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the chaos around her. The cool night air bit at her skin, but she focused only on the energy coursing through her body. She visualized the bonds holding her, the heavy stone pressing against her wrists and ankles. She imagined the power flowing from her core, through her limbs, and into the restraints.
The first jolt of magic made her gasp.
The second loosened the pressure on her left wrist. Her heartbeat quickened.
Harry stood a few feet away, wand raised, his face pale but resolute.
Beatrice gritted her teeth, focusing harder. Her left wrist came free, then her right. She winced as she shifted her weight, the stone scraping against her ankles.
