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 had been waiting for the right moment all day. She'd planned it all out in her head, how she'd bring it up casually, how she'd maybe tease Hermione a bit first, maybe pretend to be indifferent just to see her reaction. It was Valentine's Day, after all. Their first one together. She wanted to make it special.
So, after dinner, as they were heading back to the common room, she nudged Hermione gently with her shoulder, flashing a small smirk.
— So, Granger, — she started, tilting her head playfully. — Got any plans for Valentine's Day? Maybe a mystery admirer I should be worried about? —
Hermione barely spared her a glance, too busy flipping through her notebook. — Mm, no, not exactly...but I have been making progress with Rita Skeeter.—
Bea blinked. What?
— Rita...who? — she asked, half-laughing, expecting Hermione to maybe be joking. But, of course, she wasn't.
Hermione finally looked up, her eyes lighting up with determination. — Rita Skeeter! Well, I've been thinking. If we can get her to agree to an interview where Harry tells the truth, we can finally get people to listen. We can print it in The Quibbler, so the Prophet can't censor it, and...—
Bea's stomach twisted. This was not the conversation she had planned for tonight.
She forced a tight smile. — Right. That sounds... exciting?—
— It is, — Hermione insisted, completely missing the lack of enthusiasm in Bea's voice. — This is important, Bea. People need to know. They need to hear what happened...what really happened. About Harry and...you. —
Bea felt her throat close up. They need to hear about the graveyard. About Cedric. About Voldemort. About you.
No.
She refused.
She clenched her jaw, taking a slow breath before shaking her head. — Hermione, I...No. I don't want to talk about that. I don't want people talking about it. If Harry wants to, fine. But I'm not doing it.—
Hermione frowned, her expression softening. — Bea, I know it's hard, but...—
— I said no. — Bea's voice came out sharper than she intended. She looked away, jaw tight. — I don't want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. —
A heavy silence settled between them. Hermione hesitated before sighing, closing her notebook.
— Alright, — she said softly, reaching for Bea's hand. — I won't push you.—
Bea exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.
Hermione squeezed her fingers gently, offering a small smile. — But you do know that no matter what, I'll always be here, right? Even if you never want to talk about it.—
