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 next week was rough for Bea.
With the Slytherin match coming up that weekend, she had the team practicing at every possible moment, early mornings before classes, late afternoons until curfew. She wasn't taking any chances. Bea wasn't about to let Hufflepuff get caught off guard.
But if the relentless Quidditch schedule wasn't exhausting enough, things with Hermione were... still unsettled.
Their Valentine's Day argument hadn't been explosive, no yelling, no dramatic exits, but it left something lingering between them. Bea was still mad that Hermione didn't seem to understand why she couldn't talk about the graveyard, and Hermione wasn't mad exactly, but definitely annoyed that Bea refused to open up about it at all. And instead of addressing it, neither of them talked.
It was stupid. And childish. And driving Bea insane.
But she wasn't going to be the first to break.
Then, The Quibbler arrived at breakfast.
Harry's interview was everywhere, students whispering, copies of the magazine spread across the Great Hall, everyone either reading it or talking about it. Bea barely glanced at the cover before she knew.
It was bad.
And, of course, her name was in it.
People weren't just whispering about Harry anymore, they were whispering about her. Some were bold enough to ask her directly why she hadn't spoken up too, why she was staying silent.
Bea could feel the pressure building, tightening in her chest like a weight she couldn't shake off.
Luckily, she had her friends.
Hannah, Leanne, Susan, and Justin were on high alert, shooting glares at anyone who even looked like they were about to say something to Bea. More than once, she felt a sharp kick under the table as a warning to whoever was getting too close.
Hannah, spoon in hand, narrowed her eyes at a nosy Ravenclaw. — Keep staring, and I'll hex you into next week. —
Susan casually cracked her knuckles. — I'd listen to her. She's insane. —
Leanne sighed dramatically. — Merlin, people are so nosy. Let her eat in peace. —
Justin just rolled his eyes, muttering, — Idiots. — before flipping to the Quidditch section of the paper, as if the rest of the article didn't exist.
Bea stayed quiet, pretending like none of it mattered. Like her name being printed in black and white for the whole school to read wasn't digging into her ribs like a knife.
But it did.
Later that day Beatrice walked briskly through the dimly lit hallway, her fingers curled tightly around her wand inside her robe. The whispers and stares from earlier at breakfast still lingered in her mind, the weight of The Quibbler's article pressing against her ribs like a heavy stone. She just wanted to get to her next class in peace, to ignore all of it.
