Lestrange

Just, Charlie

What most people forget is that karma can be a complete and utter bitch when it comes to decisions made during a war. One decision and a very large bottle of red wine led to a rather sizable mistake, as many would put it. A child born to the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange. Unwanted, but a new death eater loyal to the dark lord from birth was impossible to pass up, but raising a child while terrorizing the wizarding world wasn't exactly easy.

The young girl, promptly named Charlie, was passed from one faction of Death Eaters to another, with the occasional visit to her relatives, the Malfoys. She harbored a profound disdain for them all since her birth. Thus, when presented with the opportunity, she fled and successfully established contact with the headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute, aspiring to distance herself as much as possible from her family.

Durmstrang responded swiftly to Charlie's letter. No questions. No Ministry interference. Just a name, a date, and a meeting point. She was waiting in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, hidden in her too-thin cloak, when a woman appeared. She didn't come loudly, no fanfare, no thundering boots, no barking orders. Just a soft crunch of snow and the faint scent of juniper.

Selene Borovkov stepped into view like something from a fairy tale left too long in the dark.

She wore a long coat the color of ashen roses, lined with silver-threaded fur that glimmered faintly when it caught the light. Her sleeves were embroidered with protective runes in curling, ancient script, and a velvet sash cinched her waist with a carved wooden clasp shaped like a phoenix. A fur-trimmed hood rested against her shoulders, but her braid was left uncovered, a thick, white-blonde rope, pinned with tiny charms shaped like stars and snowflakes.

But it was her eyes Charlie noticed first. Not stern. Not judging. Warm.

"Charlie?" she called softly, her accent lilting, each syllable like warm tea on a cold morning.

She didn't answer. She didn't move. Her wand was clutched tight in her hand, half-buried in her sleeve. She'd expected someone harder. Colder. Like the rest of the world that had wanted to use her.

Selene crouched slightly, lowering herself to eye level. "I've come to escort you to Durmstrang."

There was no demand. No command. Just an invitation. Charlie didn't trust her. Not yet. But when she didn't pull away when Selene extended a gloved hand, the woman didn't smile in triumph or relief. Just something softer. Sadder.

The journey north began in silence.

They traveled by enchanted sleigh, pulled by a spectral black elk whose hooves left no prints on the snow. Selene sat beside Charlie, her presence neither intrusive nor distant. She offered her a thick woolen blanket, but when Charlie hesitated, Selene only said, "You're shivering."

They passed through snowfields that seemed untouched by time, into the ancient forests of the far North, where the trees twisted toward the sky like ancient pillars. Charlie caught glimpses of runes carved into bark, strange lights flitting between branches. The deeper they went, the quieter the world became, until the only sound was the sleigh's smooth glide and the occasional jingle of bronze charms tied to Selene's coat.

When they reached the woods' edge, Selene stepped down and offered Charlie her hand again.

"We walk from here."

Charlie didn't ask why. She only followed.

Their boots crunched through the snow, winding through paths invisible to the untrained eye. Eventually, they reached two ancient trees, gnarled and blackened, their twisted trunks locked in an eternal struggle. Selene passed between them first, murmuring an incantation under her breath.