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 DA meetings had finally reached the Patronus Charm, one of the most advanced and difficult spells they would ever learn.
And, for the first time, Bea felt like she was falling behind.
She had never struggled with magic before. Duels, hexes, counter-curses, everything had always come naturally to her. But this? This was different.
She had even pulled Harry aside before the lesson, embarrassed as she admitted that she had never managed to conjure a Patronus. He had been kind about it, offering encouragement and advice, but it still stung.
Because as the lesson began, she watched, frustrated, as students all around her started summoning their Patronuses.
Leanne's silver fox pranced across the floor.
Hannah's badger twirled playfully.
Even Neville had managed a wisp of a Patronus, and yet, no matter how hard she tried, Bea was getting nothing.
She clenched her jaw as she tried again. Focus. Happy memory. Cast.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Nothing.
Not a flicker, not a spark, just the hollow echo of her voice against the stone walls.
Her frustration was boiling now, and she wasn't the only one struggling. Across the room, Mattheo let out an angry groan, running a hand through his hair.
— This is bloody impossible, — he muttered.
Theo, standing beside him, looked equally frustrated, his usual calm expression replaced with a deep frown
— At least you two aren't alone, — Bea muttered, crossing her arms.
— I'd rather be alone and actually get it, — Mattheo grumbled, watching as Susan's otter Patronus zipped past them.
Bea exhaled sharply, turning back to her wand. Again. She could feel Hermione's eyes on her from across the room, watching carefully.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Nothing.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
— Bea...— Hermione's voice was soft, approaching her gently, but Bea immediately shook her head.
— Don't, — she said quickly, not wanting to hear words of comfort. She didn't deserve them. She should be able to do this.
Hermione ignored her protest and placed a hand on her arm. Firm. Gentle. Reassuring.
— You're putting too much pressure on yourself, — she murmured. — This isn't like dueling. You can't force it. You have to let the memory guide you. —
Bea swallowed hard, frustration building in her chest like wildfire.
