Chapter 1
Prologue
The child of shadow and betrayal,
Born as the sixth month dies,
Shall bring the serpent’s reign to an end.
No chain of darkness can bind her;
She will rise against the master and shatter his dominion
Chapter 1
It was an unusual day—though the wind still blew, the sun still remained hidden, and the world still moved as if nothing had changed. But this was something else, something you can feel in your bones. I would hope for something good; however, growing up taught me a lot of things, and expecting good things was not one of them.
My fingers trace the lines of my star necklace, and I stop. Normally, it’s a quiet strength—something steady in the chaos. But today, it feels heavier. I remember the day he pressed it into my hand, grinning like he was giving me a treasure. For when it gets dark, he’d said. Back then, I believed it could keep the shadows at bay. But today, it only reminds me of what I’ve lost.
I was six when I first met him. We had weekly dinners with the Blacks. I normally wasn’t allowed to attend until that one Tuesday. I don’t know what I did to make my parents think I was worth bringing with them, but suddenly I was—until I wasn’t anymore.
The House of Black was much like our own: massive and stifling, its shadows swallowing the light. It felt like the walls themselves were watching me, waiting for me to falter. My heart raced as I walked beside my parents, each step heavy with the fear of getting it wrong.
Walking into that dining room, with Lavinia sneering in my ear and Septimius waiting for the smallest mistake, was harder than I expected. My siblings never needed much of a reason to enjoy my failures. The speech I received from my father, Magnus, beforehand made it no better: You are to be silent. You will not embarrass this family. If you so much as step out of line, you will regret it.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive wine and burning wood from the fireplace. The adults sat at one end of the long table, speaking in low voices, while the children were gathered at the other. That’s when I noticed him—Sirius Black.
At home, eavesdropping was dangerous. But when I did, sometimes I heard his name. Wasted potential, they said.
He was only a few months older than me, but there was something wild in his grey eyes, like a storm brewing. His messy hair and wrinkled robes made him look like he had no care for the rules of this world—like he was always on the edge of breaking them. I found myself drawn to him, but it made me uneasy, like I was staring too long into something dangerous.
I was seated opposite him, a little further down from his younger brother, Regulus, though the two hardly acknowledged each other. They were like two sides of the same coin: Regulus sat straight-backed, obedient, every bit the heir their mother wanted Sirius to be. He, however, fidgeted. His fingers drummed against the table, his foot tapped against the marble floor, his back slumped. If it were me in his place, my father would have hexed me before I moved my pinky the wrong way.
“You’re new,” Sirius said suddenly, tilting his head. His voice wasn’t unkind—rather, curious.
I hesitated before nodding. “Penelope,” I said quietly.
Sirius’ eyes brightened like he had just figured something out. “Oh, you’re the one they never bring.”
I glanced toward my parents, too absorbed with their blood-maniac talk to notice.
“Is it bad?” Sirius asked, his voice dropping. I stared at him, uncertain if this was some kind of test. He leaned in just slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Your family… are they really like they say?”
My heart pounded. I wasn’t sure if this was a trick—another way to get me punished, to see where my loyalties lay.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I told him sternly.
He just blinked and looked at me for a long time. I ignored him.
“Mine are too,” Sirius said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
The words settled between us, heavier than anything else in the room. He said it so easily, so plainly—like he wasn’t afraid. Like admitting it wouldn’t cost him. I had spent my whole life hiding, silencing myself, swallowing my pain before anyone could notice it. But he just… said it.
I didn’t know what to say. But for the first time, I felt like maybe I wasn’t the only one who didn’t fit in.
“Do you like treacle tart?” Sirius asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the stiff murmurs of the adults’ conversation.
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. Hesitantly, I nodded, barely moving my head.
Sirius grinned. “Good. It’s the only decent thing we get at these dinners.”
He stabbed his fork into a potato, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Everything else tastes like old books and disappointment.”
I tried to hold back a laugh, but my shoulders trembled with a silent giggle.
His grin widened. He was clearly pleased with himself.
“See? You do laugh. Thought you might be one of those creepy, silent ones like Regulus.”
My eyes darted toward him down the table, eating without a sound. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flickered briefly toward Sirius, narrowing slightly.
“Is he really that creepy?” I asked softly.
Sirius sighed dramatically. “You have no idea. He actually enjoys this.” He waved a hand around the room, indicating the dim candlelight, the hushed conversations. “He listens to everything they say. He wants to be like them.”
Wanting to belong was natural, wasn’t it? I had spent my whole life trying and failing. I had been told, over and over again, that I was a disgrace to the Lestrange name. That I wasn’t enough. That I would never be enough.
My fingers curled into my lap, gripping the fabric of my too-tight dress. “And you don’t?” I whispered.
Sirius made a face like I had just suggested he eat dragon dung. “No way. If I have to sit through one more speech about ‘pure-blood supremacy,’ I think I’ll throw myself out the window.”
I gasped at his words, half in shock, half in something dangerously close to amusement. He was reckless. He was rude. And he didn’t care. I had never met anyone like him.
“Penelope,” my father’s voice snapped like a whip, making me stiffen. “Sit up straight.”
I obeyed instantly, hands flattening against my lap, heartbeat thudding dully in my chest. I braced myself for Sirius to lose interest—for him to turn away now that I had been reminded of my place.
But when I risked a glance, he was still watching me. Still grinning. And then, as if to mock my father’s command, he slumped further into his chair, arms crossed, smug as a kneazle in the sun.
I bit my lip, trying to smother the feeling, but the ghost of a smile still slipped through.
A knock on my door, and just like that, the memory fades. My fingers are still curled around the necklace, the silver cool against my palm. I exhale slowly, forcing my grip to loosen.
That night had been the beginning—of what, I hadn’t known at the time. Just a boy with a reckless grin, before we understood that no matter how much you try to hold on to something good, it always slips through your fingers.
I walk the short path to my door, each step shaking off the lingering ghosts of the past. The floor is cold beneath my feet, the wood creaking softly. I turn the handle and pull the door open.
Behind it stands Lila, one of our house-elves—one who has always shown me kindness. She was never harsh like the others. Instead, she would sneak me extra blankets in the winter, press a warm cup of tea into my hands when no one was looking, and whisper soft reassurances when the nights grew too long.
“Good morning, miss,” she says, her large eyes carrying the softness I’ve come to expect from her. She holds out a sealed envelope, her small hands trembling slightly. “A letter for you.”
I stare at the envelope in Lila’s hands, my breath catches in my throat. The parchment is thick, the seal unmistakable—a wax crest pressed into deep crimson.
My fingers twitch at my sides, but I don’t reach for it. I already know what it says. I’ve first seen it when Lavinia and Septimius got theirs. After that, I saw it again and again, each time they resent my letter, refusing to accept that it would never reach me. A letter sent to every fifteen-year-old witch and wizard, an invitation to the school of witchcraft and wizardry.
And now, here it is once more, arriving just two days before the train is set to leave. I should have expected that sooner or later Lila would bring it to me instead of my father.
It changes nothing. The decision has already been made. But still, a small part of me is grateful to Lila for trying.
She shifts nervously, holding it out a little further, as if she believes that I might take it.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I force out a laugh—sharp, hollow. “There’s no point in reading it,” I say. “We both know I’m not going.”
Lila’s ears droop. “Miss—”
“Just throw it away.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. Lila doesn’t move. She lingers in the doorway, clutching the letter like she can change what we both know is fact.
I swallow hard, the ache in my chest twisting into something sharp. This isn’t the first time I’ve been left behind.
Pre-school started at twelve. It wasn’t Hogwarts—not even close—but it would have meant a little freedom. A chance to see Sirius again. Even if the classes bored us to death with talk of maths and history, we would have been together. That was all that mattered.
I tried not to hope. Tried not to imagine what it would be like to sit in a classroom with him, away from our families, away from expectations. But when the day arrived and I watched my parents escort the twins to the fireplace, leaving me behind without a second glance, the truth settled in my bones like ice.
Of course, I had known I wasn’t going. But I thought… it doesn’t matter now.
Hope is a dangerous game.
So I sat alone in my room, staring out the window. No books. No lessons from tutors who would rather be anywhere else. Just silence. Just emptiness. Just me.
Thinking about Sirius.
Did he even remember me? Did he have a new best friend?
And now, three years later, it’s happening again.
I exhale slowly and meet Lila’s gaze. “You can go, thank you Lila.” I tell her, softer this time. She hesitates, eyes darting between me and the letter, but in the end, she nods.
The door closes with a quiet click.
Hogwarts.
A dream I should have stopped dreaming a long time ago.
My gaze drifts to the empty space where the letter had been, as if staring hard enough could erase the weight of it. But it’s gone now—out of sight, out of reach.
Good.
I exhale slowly and push my shoulders back. No point in standing here, wallowing.
The morning routine is the same as always: get dressed, go downstairs, sit in silence while my family pretends I don’t exist. A script I know by heart.
I run a hand over my dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, then step toward the door.
The hallway is long and narrow, making my way to the dining room feel endless. But that’s to be expected when you’re tucked away in the farthest corner of this mansion.
I pass the large windows, my gaze drifting outside. In the summer, the garden is full of color and life—vibrant blooms stretching toward the sun. Now, it’s barren and dull and lifeless.
I walk past all the familiar doors to rooms no one has entered in years before I finally reach my destination. Taking a deep breath, I step inside.
Lavinia is already seated at her usual spot at the long oak table, her arrogance practically radiating off her. Beside her sits Septimus, his posture as perfect as ever. He’s always been like that—rigid, disciplined, a model heir in our father’s eyes.
Despite the tall windows letting in the morning light, the room still feels dark, as if the house itself is aware of who lives within its walls. I take my seat across from Lavinia.
“Sleep well, sister?” she asks, that knowing smile playing on her lips. It makes my blood simmer. She has asked me this every morning since my Hogwarts letter arrived—since Magnus made it clear that I would not be going.
“Never better,” I reply smoothly, forcing a smile. “You?”
“But of course.” Her voice is light, but the smugness drips through. “Though it was a rather short night—I was up late packing, you know.”
My fingers curl into my lap. Looking at that self-satisfied smirk makes me want to hex her.
“Oh… how inconsiderate of me,” She says, tilting her head. “I forgot about that minor detail—forgive me, will you?” She blinks her long lashes at me, feigning innocence.
Before I can respond, our parents enter the room, taking their places at the head of the table.
“Good morning, Father. Good morning, Mother,” we say in unison, as we do every morning.
Father merely nods, his face unreadable. Mother doesn’t react at all. But when I catch her eye, for a fleeting second, I think I see something—guilt?
It vanishes just as quickly.
Belladonna has been distant for as long as I can remember. At some point, I learned not to expect anything else. I once asked her why she was like that. She simply said it was better if I didn’t know.
I tear my gaze away from her and focus on the breakfast that has just arrived. Eggs in every variation imaginable, bacon, an assortment of bread. I reach for the pancakes—my favorite.
As I savor the rich, familiar taste, I let Lavinia’s chatter fade into the background. She always has something to say, and, as usual, Septimius merely nods along. Our parents hardly acknowledge the conversation.
But, of course, my peace is short-lived.
“It really is such a shame,” Lavinia muses, cutting delicately into her eggs. Her voice is light, casual. “Hogwarts would have been… an experience for you, I suppose.”
My fingers tense around my fork. I force them to loosen. “An experience?”
“Yes.” She flashes an overly sweet smile. “It’s a rather big world out there, sister. And you’re stuck in this house—Forever—How tragic.”
The words slide off her tongue effortlessly, but I know the weight they’re meant to carry. Still, I don’t let them settle.
Then she tilts her head, smirking. “Sirius must have loved pre-school. I heard it was quite the adventure.”
A sharp pang twists in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, just that he was always in trouble.” She sighs wistfully, as if recalling fond memories that don’t belong to her. “Dueling in the corridors, sneaking out of class—the professors barely knew what to do with him. Quite the little troublemaker.” She sets down her fork, her smile sharpening. “I imagine he enjoyed himself greatly with his friends. Oh—wait.” Her eyes glint with amusement. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”
A quiet snicker escapes Septimius, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, I focus on my food. As I cut into my pancake, I sense eyes on me. When I glance up, my mother is watching again. For a moment, it seems as if she wants to say something, but the words never come.
Before I can dwell on it, a sharp knock echoes through the dining room. Magnus sets down his knife with a slow, deliberate movement, his expression darkening.
“What is it?”
The heavy door creaks open, and a house-elf scurries in, trembling.
“Apologies, sir, but a visitor has arrived.”
Magnus’ eyes narrow, his fingers tightening around the silverware. “A visitor?” His voice is low, dangerous.
The house-elf nods so quickly it looks painful. “Y-yes, sir. He—he insists on speaking with you. Says it’s urgent.”
Belladonna’s teacup clinks against its saucer. Lavinia lets out an annoyed sigh. “Who in Merlin’s name would come here?”
No one visits Lestrange Manor. Not unless summoned. Not unless they have business that aligns with my father’s interests. And certainly not in broad daylight.
Magnus pushes his chair back slowly, the scrape of wood against stone sharp and grating. “Send them away.”
The house-elf flinches but stands its ground. “Sir, he… he won’t leave.”
A muscle twitches in Magnus’ jaw. The air in the room shifts and I risk a glance at Belladonna. She hasn’t moved, but her grip on her teacup has tightened ever so slightly.
A shadow darkens the doorway before the elf can even scurry away. And then—a giant of a man steps into the room.
His wild mane of dark, tangled hair brushes the top of the doorframe, and his thick beard is streaked with flecks of gray. His coat—if it can even be called that—is patched together from mismatched fabrics, looking like it barely survived a battle. But it’s his presence that surprises me. The way he fills the room, not just with size but with something else, something warm.
His eyes sweep the room before settling on me.
“There yeh are,” he says, his voice rough but not unkind. “Penelope Lestrange.”
I stare at him, my pulse hammering in my throat.
“Who are you?” Magnus demands, his voice cold, cutting.
The man straightens to his full height, which seems almost impossible.
“Rubeus Hagrid,” he says, as if that alone should explain everything. Then, after a beat, “Here on business from Dumbledore.”
A silence falls over the room. A thick, heavy silence.
Dumbledore.
The name lands like a curse in this house. Magnus’ face darkens further, and Lavinia grips her fork so tightly her knuckles turn white.
Belladonna… I can’t read her expression. She’s looking at Hagrid, something flickering in her eyes, but she says nothing.
Magnus exhales through his nose, slow and measured. “Dumbledore has no business with my family.”
Hagrid crosses his arms. “Oh, but he does. See, Penelope here’s been accepted at Hogwarts. Term starts in a few days, and I’m here ter make sure she gets everythin’ she needs.”
The words slam into me like a physical blow.
Magnus rises from his chair. “She isn’t going.”
I brace myself, swallowing the lump in my throat. Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d deny it.
But Hagrid doesn’t so much as flinch. If anything, he looks amused. “Ah, see, that ain’t up ter you.”
Magnus’ eyes flash. “Everything concerning her is up to me.”
Hagrid steps forward. “Not this time.” His voice is steady, firm. “Hogwarts has a place for her, whether yeh like it or not.”
My heart pounds.
Belladonna still hasn’t moved. But when I glance at her, I see it again—that unspoken something in her eyes.
Lavinia scoffs. “Really? You think you deserve to go?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come.
Do I want to go? Yes. More than anything. But am I worthy of it? Maybe not. But that doesn’t matter, does it? They can think whatever they want. I’ll take the letter, take the chance, and I’ll figure it out when I’m finally free.
Hagrid looks at me again, waiting. “Well?”
The room is silent, the air thick with expectation.
I take a breath, steadying myself. My hands feel like they’re going to shake off my wrists.
I meet Hagrid’s eyes, and then, with all the courage I can muster, I speak.
“I want to go.”