The Lonely Heir
Chapter one: The Lonely Heir
The sun had barely risen over the bleak expanse of the Lestrange Manor when Joa received her Hogwarts letter. The manor, perched on a jagged cliff overlooking a restless sea, was a relic of an ancient past- cold, desolate, and imposing. The walls of the manor, with their dark, oppressive stones, seemed to absorb any warmth or light that dared to enter. The corridors were long and shadowy, filled with echoes of the past and whispers that made the hairs on the back of Joa's neck stand on end.
The morning air was crisp and biting as Joa, barely eleven years old and standing no taller than the heavy wooden furniture that filled the manor, padded silently down the cold stone stairs. Her bare feet made no sound on the flagstones, a skill she had honed from years of trying to go unnoticed listening into the house-elves. She was a wiry girl, with a presence that was at once both unassuming and unnervingly intense for the barely five foot tall girl. Her wild, jet-black curls tumbled down her back, unkempt and untamed, a stark contrast to her pale, alabaster skin. Her features, high cheekbones, a narrow, angular nose, and a thin-lipped, enigmatic smile, were a cruel echo of her mother’s, a haunting resemblance that filled her few relatives with dread on the rare occasion they visited.
Joa Lestrange had never known warmth or comfort in this place. The manor was as much a prison to her as it had been to her ancestors, a place where she had been left to fend for herself, raised by house-elves and distant relatives who visited only out of obligation. She was a child who had grown up with shadows as her only companions and dark magic as her only guide. She knew every corner of the manor, every hidden passage, every secret room, but it was not a place of adventure or joy. It was a fortress of solitude, one that had shaped her into the person she was becoming.
As a child, Joa had wandered the halls of Lestrange Manor, feeling the oppressive weight of its history. The manor was filled with relics of the Dark Arts, remnants of a time when her family’s name had been feared and revered. The house-elves, old and decrepit, were the only company she had, and even they were more like shadows than living beings. They spoke little, moved silently, and seemed to vanish whenever Joa tried to engage with them. Over time, she stopped trying.
The family library, once a grand collection of forbidden knowledge, had become her sanctuary. Joa spent countless hours there, her small fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes, her mind absorbing the dark secrets they held. She was particularly drawn to books on magic, especially the darker, more dangerous forms of it. She had no formal training, no one to guide her, but the books provided her with a kind of education- a dangerous, piecemeal education that would have horrified any responsible adult. She had read every book she could find in the manor’s dusty, forgotten library, devouring them with a hunger that nothing else could satisfy. Her curiosity about magic was insatiable, a trait that often bordered on dangerous.
It was in this library that Joa had first encountered the spell that would change her life forever. She had been seven years old, a curious child with too much time and too little supervision. The spell had been in a book with a cracked spine and faded lettering, one that had likely not been touched in decades. It promised power, control over the very forces of life and death, but it came with a warning- one that Joa, in her youthful naivety, had ignored.
The spell had required a focus, something to channel the magic through, and in her desperation, Joa had used her own body. The result had been catastrophic. The magic had lashed out at her, uncontrolled and wild, searing her right eye with dark flames. The pain had been unbearable, and the house-elves had found her hours later, unconscious and with half of her face burnt and disfigured. They had nursed her back to health, managing to cure the burns, but the damage was done. Her right eye was gone, the socket a grotesque reminder of her folly. The once vibrant orb was now a cavernous void surrounded by raw, torn flesh. The skin around the socket was a mottled mix of dark red and charred black, frayed and uneven. Despite the horrific injury, her right eye remained hauntingly intact in pristine condition, as if mocking the ruinous state of its counterpart.
But the injury had not deterred Joa. If anything, it had hardened her resolve. She continued to experiment with magic, but she became more cautious, more methodical. She read more, learned more, but she never attempted that particular spell again. The memory of the pain, and the sight of her ruined eye in the mirror, kept her from making the same mistake twice.
As she grew older, Joa’s isolation deepened. The distant relatives who occasionally visited the manor regarded her with a mixture of pity and fear. They saw in her the shadow of her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, and that was enough to make them keep their distance. They would bring her gifts- books, clothes, sometimes sweets- but they never stayed long, and their conversations with her were always brief and uncomfortable. Joa learned to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself around them as she learnt they didn’t particularly care for her beyond a very strained sense of obligation to make sure she was still alive. She spoke little to them, and when she did, her words were measured and precise. She had no friends, no confidants, and she became accustomed to the solitude. She had the library, and she had her magic, and for the most part, that was enough.
But there were moments when the loneliness became too much, when the silence of the manor pressed down on her like a weight. In those moments, Joa would find herself wandering the halls, her footsteps echoing in the empty spaces. She would visit the room that had once belonged to her mother, a room that had been sealed off after Bellatrix’s arrest. The door was heavy and creaked loudly when opened, the air inside stale from years of disuse.
The room was just as Bellatrix had left it, untouched and preserved like a mausoleum. The bed was neatly made, the wardrobe filled with dark, elegant robes. A vanity table sat by the window, its surface covered in a thick layer of dust. Joa would sit at the vanity, her eye tracing the outline of her reflection in the cracked mirror. She looked so much like her mother- too much, some would say. But the resemblance was only skin-deep. Joa knew she was different, that she could never be the same as the woman who had terrorised the wizarding world. She could never live up to that legacy of cruelty.
Still, there was a part of her that longed to know more about Bellatrix, to understand the woman who had given her life. The house-elves spoke of her in hushed tones, their voices tinged with fear and reverence. They told stories of her exploits, of the terror she had wrought in the name of Lord Voldemort. But these stories only served to deepen the mystery, to paint Bellatrix as a figure of almost mythic proportions.
Joa had never known her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, save for the stories- terrible, terrifying stories-whispered in hushed tones by the house-elves when they thought she wasn’t listening. Bellatrix, the infamous Death Eater, had been imprisoned in Azkaban when Joa was just an infant, leaving her to grow up in this cold, remote manor. The legacy of her mother’s deeds hung over her like a shroud, shaping the way everyone around her treated her, shaping the way she saw herself.
Joa had on many occasions asked the house-elves about her father, the creatures had merely shaken their heads and refused to speak on the matter. It was as if her father did not exist, as if he had been erased from the very fabric of her life. Joa had stopped asking after a few times, accepting that she would never know the truth.
Joa entered the small, dimly lit kitchen, where a single house-elf she’d nicknamed ‘Grumpy’, old and decrepit, was stirring a pot of porridge over the fire. The elf’s ears twitched as she entered, but it didn’t look up, continuing its task with the same robotic precision it had used for decades.
“Miss Joa,” the elf croaked, its voice raspy from disuse. “Your breakfast is nearly ready.”
Joa said nothing, simply nodding as she took her place at the small, worn table. The chair creaked under her slight weight as she sat, her violet eye- the only eye she had left- staring blankly at the empty space in front of her. Her right eye socket was a grotesque canvas of horror, a reminder of the day she had experimented with magic she was too young to understand. The skin around the socket was a mottled mix of dark red and charred black, frayed and uneven, but her left eye remained intact, gleaming with a sharp, unsettling intelligence.
The elf placed a bowl of porridge in front of her, and Joa ate in silence, her mind elsewhere. She had been waiting for this day for as long as she could remember- the day when she would finally receive her letter from Hogwarts, the day when she could leave this wretched place behind. She had known from a young age that she was different, that she possessed a raw, untamed magical power that frightened even the house-elves. She had always known that she would one day be called to Hogwarts, the school where witches and wizards were trained, where she would finally be able to learn how to control and harness her power. She already wanted to begin experimenting with spells, to create her own incantations, pushing the boundaries of what was possible. But she needed a wand- oh, how she needed a wand! Without one, her magic was wild and unpredictable, often backfiring with disastrous consequences.
As she finished her breakfast, a faint scratching sound caught her attention. She looked up, her heart pounding in her chest. Could it be?
The scratching grew louder, more insistent, and Joa quickly pushed her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor. She ran to the small, grimy window, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the dark shape of an owl outside, its talons gripping the edge of the window ledge. The owl’s eyes, large and unblinking, stared at her with an intensity that matched her own.
Joa fumbled with the latch, her hands trembling with anticipation. The window creaked open, and the owl swooped in, landing gracefully on the table. It held a letter in its beak, the envelope thick and heavy, with a wax seal that bore the emblem of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Joa’s heart raced as she reached out with trembling fingers to take the letter. The owl, its task complete, gave a low hoot and flew back out the window, disappearing into the pale morning light. Joa stood frozen for a moment, the letter clutched tightly in her hand, hardly daring to believe it was real.
Slowly, she turned the envelope over, her eye tracing the elegant script that spelled out her name:
Miss Joa Lestrange
Lestrange Manor
Northumberland
Her name looked strange on the parchment, almost foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. But there it was, in ink as black as the night, undeniable and real.
Joa broke the seal with a sharp tug, her heart hammering in her chest. The parchment inside was thick and creamy, the writing neat and precise:
Dear Miss Lestrange,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Joa read the letter twice, her eye lingering on the words “accepted” and “Hogwarts” as if they were a lifeline. A strange feeling welled up inside her, a mix of excitement, fear, and something else- something darker that she couldn’t quite place. She had been accepted, yes, but what did that mean for her? Would she finally belong somewhere? Or would Hogwarts be just another place where she was feared and misunderstood, a shadow cast by her mother’s legacy?
She shook her head, trying to dispel the doubt. This was her chance- her chance to escape the cold, empty halls of Lestrange Manor, to leave behind the ghosts of her past, to forge her own path. She didn’t care what the other students thought of her, or what whispers followed her. All she cared about was magic, and Hogwarts was the place where she could finally learn it, where she could finally wield the power she had always known was hers. Oh and the library there- Joa could not begin to know how many books would be there, how much knowledge there would be for her to gain.
Joa’s hand tightened around the letter as she made her way back upstairs to her small, sparsely furnished room. The air was still cold, and the shadows still loomed large, but for the first time in her life, Joa felt a spark of warmth, a flicker of something that might one day become hope.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, the springs creaking beneath her slight weight, and pulled out an old, battered trunk from under the bed. The trunk had belonged to her mother- it was one of the few things that Joa had inherited from her. The wood was dark and scratched, the metal clasps tarnished with age, but it was sturdy, and that was what mattered. Joa opened the trunk with a click, the lid swinging back to reveal a collection of old, faded robes, a few books with cracked spines, and a small, velvet-lined box that contained a wand. But the wand was not hers- she knew that much. It was her mother’s wand, the wand that had been taken from Bellatrix when she was captured and imprisoned in Azkaban. Joa had found it hidden away in the manor’s library, a relic of a past that was both feared and revered.
But Joa knew better than to touch it. The wand had a history, a dark, terrible history, and it was not hers to wield. She had tried once, out of curiosity, but the magic had recoiled from her, the wand rejecting her touch with a force that had sent her sprawling to the ground. No, this wand was not for her. She would have to wait until she could go to Diagon Alley, where she would get a wand of her own, one that would choose her, one that would resonate with her magic. She looked at the box before deciding to open it. Joa picked up the black, rusting key and put it into the lock, twisting it until it made a slight click, allowing Joa to look at her mother’s wand. The bent wood was hauntingly beautiful, its curve aptly representing the truly twisted things its owner was responsible for before it was confiscated after her arrest. Joa did not know how the wand came to return to the Lestrange manor, but she was glad to have something of her mothers here. With a soft smile she closed the lid and locked the wand away.
Instead of looking at her mother’s wand, wishing she had known her, she contented herself with the books, the ones she had already read a dozen times over, but that never failed to captivate her. She pulled out a particularly worn volume, A History of Magic , and settled back on her bed, the letter from Hogwarts clutched tightly in her other hand.
The day passed in a blur, the hours slipping away as Joa lost herself in the familiar comfort of her books. But the excitement bubbling inside her was impossible to ignore. Soon, she would be leaving this place, stepping out into a world that was both thrilling and terrifying. Soon, she would have a wand of her own, and she would no longer have to rely on the crude, makeshift spells she had been using for years.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across her room, Joa closed the book and set it aside. She stood up, her legs stiff from sitting for so long, and walked over to the small, dusty mirror that hung on the wall. She stared at her reflection, at the wild curls that framed her face, the sharp, angular features that were so much like her mother’s, and the hollow socket where her right eye should have been.
She reached up, tracing the scarred skin around the socket with a fingertip, feeling the rough, uneven texture that was a constant reminder of the dangers of magic. But there was no fear in her gaze, no hesitation. Only a cold, steely determination.
Hogwarts was waiting for her, and Joa Lestrange was ready.
But before she could leave, there were preparations to be made. The manor, for all its darkness and gloom, was still filled with hidden treasures, and Joa knew she would need to equip herself as best as she could before venturing out into the wider world for the first time. She made her way to the library, her steps quick and purposeful. The library was vast, its shelves reaching up to the ceiling, filled with books that ranged from the mundane to the dangerous. Joa had read most of them, but today, she was looking for something specific.
In the far corner of the library, hidden behind a row of heavy tomes, was a small, nondescript door. Joa had discovered it years ago, during one of her many explorations, and had since learned that it led to a hidden storeroom- one that contained some of the most powerful and dangerous artefacts in the Lestrange family’s possession. The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor. The air was thick with dust, and the walls were lined with shelves that held various objects- jewellery, potions, and other items of magical significance. Joa walked slowly down the corridor, her eye scanning the shelves with a practised gaze.
She stopped in front of a small, ornate box, its surface inlaid with intricate patterns of silver and gold. The box was locked, but Joa had found the key years ago, hidden in a secret compartment in her mother’s vanity. She pulled the key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock, turning it with a soft click.
The lid of the box swung open, revealing its contents: a delicate silver chain with a pendant in the shape of a serpent. The pendant was small, but it was heavy in Joa’s hand, the metal cool against her skin. She had never worn it before, though she had been tempted many times. The pendant was an heirloom, passed down through the Lestrange family for generations, and it was said to have protective properties- though what exactly it protected against was a mystery.
Joa slipped the chain around her neck, the pendant resting against her chest. She felt a strange warmth spread through her body, as if the pendant was somehow attuning itself to her. She didn’t know if the stories were true, but she felt a little safer with it on, as if it were a small shield against the unknown. Satisfied, she closed the box and continued down the corridor. At the end of the hallway was another door, this one larger and more ornate. Joa hesitated for a moment before pushing it open, stepping into a small chamber that was lit by a single, flickering torch.
The chamber was filled with more artefacts, but Joa’s attention was immediately drawn to a large, dusty tome that lay open on a pedestal in the centre of the room. The book was ancient, its pages yellowed with age, and the text was written in a language that Joa couldn’t quite decipher. But she recognized the symbols- runes that she had seen in other books, runes that were associated with powerful, ancient magic. Joa approached the book slowly, her heart beating in her chest. She had found this room years ago, but she had never dared to touch the book, fearing what might happen if she did. But now, with her Hogwarts letter in hand, she felt a new sense of confidence, a belief that she was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the page. The book seemed to hum under her touch, the runes glowing faintly in the dim light. Joa took a deep breath and began to read, the words forming in her mind as if they were being whispered directly into her ear. The text spoke of ancient spells, of rituals that could bend the very fabric of reality, of powers that were thought to be lost to time. Joa’s eye widened as she read, the implications of the words sinking in. This was no ordinary book- it was a grimoire, a collection of some of the most powerful spells in existence.
Joa’s mind raced as she continued to read until night began to fall, her thoughts jumping from one possibility to another. With this book, she could do more than just learn magic- she could master it, shape it to her will in ways that others could only dream of. But the power came with a price, a danger that was hinted at in the text but never fully explained.
Joa closed the book, her hand trembling slightly. She knew she couldn’t take it with her- not yet, at least. But she could study it, learn from it, and maybe one day, when she was ready, she could return and claim it for herself. For now, she would focus on Hogwarts, on the new life that awaited her. But the knowledge that the book existed, that such power was within her reach, filled her with a sense of purpose, a drive to succeed that she had never felt before. She left the chamber, locking the door behind her, and made her way back to her room. Joa sat down on her bed, the pendant cool against her skin, and looked out the window at the sea, the waves crashing against the rocks below.
For the first time in her life, Joa felt like she was on the brink of something extraordinary. The world was vast and filled with possibilities, and she was ready to explore it, to carve out her own place in it, to prove that she was more than just a name, more than just the daughter of a dark witch. As the moonlight filled the room, Joa Lestrange made a silent vow to herself. She would go to Hogwarts, she would learn everything she could, and she would become the greatest witch the world had ever seen. Not because of her mother’s legacy, but in spite of it.
With that thought, Joa lay back on her bed, her eye closing as she drifted off to sleep, the letter from Hogwarts still clutched tightly in her hand. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in her life, Joa felt a glimmer of hope, a spark of something that could one day become a flame and as she slept, the shadows that had always haunted her seemed to recede, just a little, leaving her in peace for the first time. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but Joa Lestrange was ready to face it, ready to embrace her destiny, whatever it might be.