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 day to return to Hogwarts had finally arrived, and Bea had been up since seven in the morning. She had been ready for hours, but sleep had been out of the question after the nightmare that jolted her awake.
This one had been different, no graveyard, no Cedric. This time, it was him. Voldemort. Standing in what she recognized as Malfoy Manor. His voice was cold, commanding, wrapping around her like an unshakable force. And she had done it. She had raised her wand. She had spoken the words. She had killed someone.
The sickening feeling of it still clung to her skin, like a second layer she couldn't wash off. She could hear the echo of his voice, the way he had made her do it, as if her body had not been her own. The way she had watched them fall.
Bea exhaled sharply, gripping the counter as she forced the memory down.
She was standing in the kitchen now, flipping pancakes for herself and Hermione. She had no desire to play housemaid for the entire household, if the others wanted breakfast, they could make it themselves. She wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone except Hermione.
The house was mostly quiet, the soft hum of early morning filling the space. Everyone else was still asleep, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.
She didn't want to tell Hermione. Didn't want to admit that, in some twisted way, it had felt real. That she could still feel the ghost of the wand in her hand, the warmth of magic crackling through her fingertips, the emptiness that followed.
She clenched her jaw and flipped another pancake, watching as it landed perfectly in the pan. Focus. Control. Those were the only things keeping her together right now.
— You're up early, — Sirius said, his voice still rough with sleep.
Bea shrugged, focusing on the food. — Couldn't sleep.—
Sirius sighed as he leaned against the counter, watching her carefully. — Nightmare? —
Bea didn't answer right away. Instead, she flipped the last pancake on one of the plates in front of her.
— Was it about the graveyard? — he asked gently.
She shook her head. — No. —
Sirius' brows furrowed. He pulled out a chair and sat down, motioning for her to do the same. Bea hesitated before finally sitting across from him.
— I saw him — she admitted, voice quiet. — Voldemort. I think he was at Malfoy Manor. He...— She swallowed. — He made me do something. Made me...— She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her temples. — It felt real. I don't know why I keep having these dreams.—
Sirius was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his dark hair.
— I don't know why either, — he admitted. — But I do know one thing, he gets in your head only if you let him. — His voice was firm, serious. — You're not him, Bea. And you never will be. —
