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What had I done to deserve such a life? I thought I had it all by being a wizard. I had grown up in a foster family ever since I was very little since my parents decided to abandon me. My foster parents were the most loving parents a girl could ever have. They accepted me for what I was when I had gotten my Hogwarts letter when I had turned eleven. As a family, we discovered the world of magic.
I had been ecstatic and nervous when going to Hogwarts. I'd be away from my foster parents for a long time with the exception of holidays. My luck seemed to take a rather nasty turn when I got into a Hogwarts House that was considered to be the worst of the four: Slytherin. That's mainly where all the Dark wizards and witches were bred.
I was nothing like the Slytherins in my House. I wasn't snarky; I was just a quiet girl who wanted nothing more than to get through one day at a time without getting into trouble. For the most part, I did.
There were a few Slytherins in my first year that I got along with, as well as a few from other Houses. But for the most part, a lot of people from all four Houses gave me the oddest looks, like I was some man-eating animal or something. Ever since my first year, I had no idea why they looked at me that way.
Not until recently did I finally understand why.
This year was my fifth at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Let me tell you, it's anything but fun. We'd gotten a new tyrant in this school, worse than my Head of House, Professor Snape. Dolores Umbridge, but most students called her the hag in pink, or some variation. She came to Hogwarts with an iron fist, and boy, was she waving it around.
But she had nothing to do with why students still looked at me oddly. After all, how many students could say that their parents were Death Eaters convicted of torturing Aurors to permanent insanity? Not many, except for me.
I found this out not too long ago, when news of a massive high-security prisoner breakout in Azkaban—the wizard prison—happened. Ten were busted out, one of them my mother. My foster parents were kept up-to-date in the Wizarding World despite being Muggles. When they saw the news in the Daily Prophet, they wrote to me, telling me it was time that I knew what they suspected to be the truth.
It made sense why others would look at me that way. I sadly resembled her too much that I was just a younger version of her, only I was still sane. She wasn't. Her name: Bellatrix Lestrange. I wasn't given her last name to ensure I never had a rough time at Hogwarts.
So much for that.
I had taken my foster parents' last name, Castile. For the first fifteen years of my life, to all I was known as Renée Castile, a shy Slytherin pure-blood. Now I knew people were labeling me as Renée Lestrange, daughter of an Azkaban prison escapee.
I shut myself off from everybody because nobody ever wanted to come across me, not even my friends. It was like I was some contagious disease.
