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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Bea spent her entire Sunday afternoon huddled in Professor Sprout's cozy office with Hannah, Susan, and Leanne, poring over the proposal for reinstating the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. The air was thick with the scent of fresh soil and chamomile tea, which did little to ease Bea's growing nerves.
— We need to make it as Umbridge-friendly as possible,— Professor Sprout had said, her kind face lined with worry. — Focus on how it fosters teamwork, discipline, and school spirit. She can't argue with those values.—
Bea groaned as she meticulously rephrased every sentence for the tenth time. — Do you think she's capable of appreciating teamwork? Or spirit, for that matter?—
Susan smirked. — Only if the spirit is pink and sings her praises.—
Leanne snorted, and even Professor Sprout hid a smile behind her teacup.
By the time they finished, the proposal was as polished as they could manage. Bea added a cover note signed by Professor Sprout, detailing the importance of Quidditch for the students' morale and development. Bea smoothed her uniform meticulously, ensuring every detail was perfect.
— You look like you're about to sit for your N.E.W.T.s,— Hannah teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Bea shot her a mock glare. — I might prefer that over this.—
With the parchment clutched tightly in her hands, Bea headed toward Umbridge's office, her polished shoes clicking against the stone floor. Hannah walked beside her, practically bouncing with nervous energy.
— I don't know why I'm here — Hannah whispered, though she didn't stop walking. — You're the captain. You're supposed to handle this.—
Bea arched a brow at her. — Because I need you to stop me from hexing her if she says something unbearable. That's your job.—
— Great,— Hannah muttered, rolling her eyes. — Designated mood regulator. Love that for me.—
As they reached the corridor leading to Umbridge's office, the oppressive silence seemed to amplify the faint click-click of their footsteps. Bea slowed down, her confidence wavering for the first time.
— Hey,— Hannah said softly, nudging her. — You've got this. You're Beatrice Lestrange, smart, determined, and ridiculously stubborn. She can't say no to you.—
Bea smiled at her friend's unwavering optimism, taking a steadying breath. — Thanks, Hannah.—
They stopped in front of the door, which bore a frilly sign that read Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Bea made a face at it.
— Ready? — Hannah asked.
— As I'll ever be, — Bea replied, raising her fist to knock.
A saccharine voice called from within. — Come in.—
