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 room at Grimmauld Place, where Beatrice now spent most of her days, was dimly lit, its cracked wallpaper and heavy curtains giving it an air of somber secrecy. The Black family home, though large, felt suffocating at times, as though the very walls were alive with the whispers of a darker past. She had been here for days now, training relentlessly, her body aching from the constant strain and her mind heavy with everything she was learning, or being forced to confront.
This was her life now. Six hours of training every day, divided among different members of the Order of the Phoenix. Each session was grueling in its own way.
With Sirius, her uncle and now her temporary guardian, the focus was on dueling techniques and defensive spells. He had a fire in him, a determination to make her strong, though his occasional jokes and easy grin reminded her that he cared deeply for her well-being.
Bea stepped into the training room on the first floor, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Sirius was already there, spinning his wand lazily in one hand and leaning against a dusty bookshelf.
— You're late.— he teased, smirking.
— I'm two minutes early. — Bea shot back, crossing her arms.
— Two minutes later than I was expecting you. C'mon, Bea, we've got work to do.—
Sirius pushed off the shelf and squared up to her. The room felt tighter today, the air charged with anticipation. He wasted no time, flinging a Stupefy her way without warning. She barely managed to raise her wand in time to block it.
— Never let your guard down! — he barked, circling her like a predator. — Voldemort doesn't care if you're tired or distracted. He'll exploit it. Again!—
Bea was forced to duck as another curse came hurtling toward her. This time, she retaliated, firing a disarming spell that Sirius deflected with ease. He grinned.
— Better. But not good enough. —
For hours, they dueled. Sirius's teaching style was unrelenting, but there was an edge of pride in his voice whenever she landed a successful spell. At the end of the session, they both collapsed onto the worn rug, chests heaving.
— You've got talent, Bea, — he said, tossing her a water bottle. — But talent isn't enough. You've got to sharpen it, make it deadly. The next time you face him... — His voice trailed off, his face darkening. — You'll be ready.—
Remus, ever patient and kind, helped refine her precision, guiding her through jinxes and counterspells.
One day, he had set up a series of targets in the drawing room, each enchanted to move unpredictably.
— Remember.— he said, his voice calm, — it's not about speed. It's about accuracy. A single well-placed spell can be more effective than a dozen rushed ones.—
