Violence Becomes Her
Chapter 1: Violence Becomes Her
-Bellatrix-
1 July 1980
This was it, her defining moment. This is what she was born to do- that was what her mother had reminded her about for the entirety of her childhood. This is the fate she had worked so hard to avoid yet could never outrun. She is to be a mother.
She cannot believe that she allowed this to happen- then again when the Dark Lord commands it there is very little that one can do to disobey. She never wanted to be a mother, but the idea has strangely grown on her, she would leave a piece of herself in the world, something that belonged to her and her alone. This child would not be Rudolphus’, this child would be hers, she allowed this parasite to grow within her womb for nine months, she is the one battling in the birthing bed to bring this child into the world.
Her husband had done the least amount of work therefore he deserved the least amount of credit. This child, her child, would inherit two of the scarce 28 houses, she was the future of their houses. Sirius was imprisoned, leaving the house of Black to the eldest Black daughter- Bellatrix, and as eldest Rudolpus inherits the house of Lestrange, this would be their only child, that they would be sure of.
“Come on Bella, you’re almost done, just one more push,” her sister was begging her again- she seems to be getting quite good at that. Narcissa was the one that everyone knew would one day be a mother, not her. She seemed to take to it so easily, her son would be loved, if not by Lucius, then certainly by her.
As she cradles him to her chest, Bellatrix could see it, complete devotion. Her sister was always able to love far too easily. There was a beating heart in her chest- not stone, not ice, warmth and love made its home there and Bellatrix had never envied her sister until she came to that very realisation. Her sister would be able to love a child far better than she ever could.
One thing was for sure, she would not be her mother- her child would know that they were loved. No matter what. “Please, Bella,” she couldn’t put this off any longer, no matter how much she wanted to, at some point she would need to bring this child into the world. With a squared jaw and teary eyes- she had pushed the life she created out of her womb, the only net of safety her child would have, and into the misery of the world.
“Bella, it’s a girl.” Her sister held her child first, washing the filth from her skin, revealing soft pale skin.
A girl, a daughter- and for a moment Bellatrix could not breathe. A daughter of pureblood, a pawn of political power for a father, no more than a broodmare they had joked in their youths, sold off to the best offer, to sons of Death-Eaters.
She would be more- Bellatrix would ensure it. She would pave the way so that her daughter would not have to climb as steeply as she did. Men did not run this world, and if they did, they would do so no longer. They would beg her for mercy, and pray for her to lead them, she would not allow herself to be another pawn in a war that she was unsure was worth fighting in.
She didn’t want to be known by the name her husband had cloaked her with. She wanted to be better- be more, so that her daughter never felt the need to be. Rudolphus stared blankly at his child as Narcissa presented her. Bellatrix had yet to see the child for herself, but by the cold, blank look in his eyes, she could tell that a daughter was not what he had hoped for.
Bellatrix did not care that her child was not a son, she did not care that her husband disliked the fact that their child was not a son. She cared only for the little baby that she had yet to hold. Narcissa seems to be oblivious to her need to see her child as she continues to fuss over and coo at the baby securely held in her arms.
“Cissy, give me the girl.” Narcissa seems to hesitate, assessing the request in her mind before begrudgingly passing the babe to her sister- who surprisingly holds the child almost tenderly.
Narcissa attempts to observe them discreetly, but she fails miserably. “I love you, no matter what, I love you, my sweet girl.” Narcissa abandons all the teaching of what is proper and for the first time in what must be years, she stares at her sister- openly.
Rudolphus enters the room, and Bellatrix attempts to shield the child from his view. He doesn’t seem to be here for them however as he starts gathering his things, his coat, his death-eater mask. Bellatrix frowns, “Where are you going?”
“The Dark Lord is missing- they claim he was informed of a prophecy; we are going to get answers.”
“I am coming with you.”
He looked at her for a moment.
“You will not ruin this mission on account of your weakened state.” He seemed to be judging her and Bellatrix did not like it one bit.
“I am not weak.” As if to prove a point she lifts herself from her bed, handing the babe to Narcissa as she walks past her. Although she should have been in tremendous pain, she kept her head held high and stalked past her husband and into the closet. She scrambles about for a moment before emerging in her usual terrifying attire.
“Let’s go.”
-Mintaka-
2 September 1991
“Are you sure that you packed everything sweetheart?” she seems worried- I know sending me here was not something that she wanted to do. However, she had little choice in the matter when her husband spoke, she was compelled to obey.
I smile at her softly, the woman who raised me- my mother in all but name. “Yes, I’m sure Aunt Cissy.” She smiles, turning back to Draco to continue fussing over him.
Our first year at Hogwarts. There was this feeling in the air- like this is when our lives would truly begin. We had been taught all the basic things that we would need to know to excel, but apart from that I could only learn about what I read. To be honest I was far more prepared for the year to come than Draco was, having spent my entire life preparing for this moment. Since I was able to comprehend the words on the page I had grasped at the covers of books, begging them to teach me all that they know.
Aunt Cissy had placed a soft kiss to the crown of our heads, both mine and my cousin’s before she promptly shooed us towards the entrance of the train. Her eyes wet, while her husband had looked on with barely concealed discontent. He had proclaimed quite loudly several times that he was upset with missing his morning meetings.
The train itself was rather magnificent, ruby-red and filled to the brim with different students. I had tried to observe as many as I could without staring as we pass, taking in their happy faces and brightly coloured garments.
Draco had chosen the seats and our compartment, out of pure instinct if nothing else. It had quickly been filled with other high-society pure-blooded children. Among the group was Pansy Parkinson, a particularly friendly pale girl. She was very beautiful; one would have to be blind not to see it. She has rosy cheeks, a dimple on her left cheek- but not her right, deep-set almond-shaped eyes that gleam perfectly in the light.
She had taken her spot next to me, not an uncommon occurrence, since we were young this is just how it would be. Draco to my left and Pansy to my right, perfectly balanced.
“Earth to Mintaka.” Draco laughs.
I turn my head to face him and for a moment I wish to punch him right in the face. “Yes?”
Draco raises his eyebrow. “I asked what house you think you’ll get?”
“Well, I would hope Slytherin, but Ravenclaw would suit me just fine, I believe.”
“Well, I think I’ll get Slytherin, but I wouldn’t mind Hufflepuff either,” Draco says glancing at the door.
Narcissa had raised him well, in the constant absence of his father, his mother had moulded him into someone who was kind and excepting. His family would not care about his house, his mother because she believes it does not matter in which house he is and his father because he cares for nought.
“I’m hoping for Ravenclaw, but I do believe I’ll be a Slytherin, like Alison,” Pansy admits. Alison Parkinson- Pansy’s sister and the most beautiful girl I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.
I smile at her for a moment, “I do believe you might be right Miss Parkinson.”
“Nerd.” She mutters under her breath.
I lightly shove her arm. She only glares in return. Blaise glances between us before answering, “I wouldn’t mind any house but, Slytherin is clearly the superior.”
He seems almost smug in his assessment.
“Then they wouldn’t even let you in the door.” Draco teases from his seat.
I lightly smack the back of his head, “Don’t be mean Draco, even if you are right.”
Blaise glares at the both of us, “Sure, make fun of the black kid.”
Draco begins stuttering out apologies, trying to convey that that was not the reason he was mocking him, my own eyes wide as I look at Blaise, gaping like a fish out of water. Blaise cracks a smile.
“That will never not be funny.”
Draco launches himself towards Blaise, pinning him in a headlock. I look to Pansy; she only shrugs her shoulders before chanting Draco’s name in support.
Draco is clearly winning; he pushes Blaise’s head into the cushioned seat.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, might I sit here? Everywhere else is full and the kid I was sitting with was being a right prat.” In the door of the compartment is a boy. A first year, like us.
“Sure,” Pansy says from beside me; the boy gives a beaming smile- looking up at us over the rim of his glasses as he lugs his trunk in.
Draco and Blaise seem to be attempting to fix their tussled robes every time that the boy isn’t looking at them. I get up, helping the scrawny boy pull his trunk to where ours are. He sends me a grateful smile.
He reaches his hand out towards me, “I’m Harry,” I grasp his hand giving it a shake.
“Mintaka.” I offer in return. “That blonde twat is Draco and the prat next to him is Blaise, and the lovely lady over here is Pansy.” I explain.
Draco and Blaise glare at me, but they offer Harry kind, welcoming smiles. “It’s lovely to meet you all.”
Draco gives him a curious look, “So, if you don’t mind me asking, who was the right prat you were sitting with before?” Harry looks at Draco for a moment.
“Ron Weasel- or Westly or something.” Draco lets out a snort, turning his head to the side into his shoulder.
Blaise nods along, Pansy snickers behind her hand, I try my best to fight off a grin, but it is fruitless. “Seems about right, I heard through the grapevine that he was the most annoying of all the brothers.” I add, Pansy shoves my shoulder lightly.
“Play nice Min.” her voice holds no true conviction, even as she glares.
I look out of the window of the train; we are currently crossing through what seem to be the Scottish hills “I think it might be time to get into our robes.”
Draco looks at the pocket watch that he has looped through his jacket, and nods in agreement. “Right, come on boys, let's head to the restrooms- we’ll see you ladies in a moment.”
The boys head out as soon as they grab their robes. Pansy and I follow their lead, grabbing our robes and heading to the restrooms. There is a group of older students standing in the room, waiting for the changing rooms.
“Pansy!” a soft voice calls out.
Alison is standing in the nook closest to the changing rooms. She smiles at her sister motioning her over before glancing at me and repeating the same motion. “And Mintaka, her little shadow.”
Pansy glares at her sister, “She is not my shadow.”
“Of course not, my apologies,” even though she claims to be apologizing, she does not seem very apologetic.
Pansy doesn’t look very upset any longer, she smiles at her sister. She holds my arm close. Keeping me firmly at her side. “Hello, Alison, lovely to see you again.” She looks at me as I speak a hint of mirth in her eyes.
“Lovely to see you as well Mintaka.”
Pansy grabs her sister’s hand, diverting the older witch’s attention away from me and onto her. “I’ll see you after the sorting, hopefully in OUR common room.”
Her sister sending her a beaming smile. “I’ll come to see you even if you aren’t in Slytherin, you know that doesn’t really matter.”
Pansy rolls her eyes playfully, “I know.”
When the next changing room opens Alison shoves us towards the open door shutting it behind us. No one objects to our clear-cutting of the line. Alison has quite the terrifying and intimidating presence so I cannot really fault them.
Pansy begins to strip her regular robes off the moment the door closes, I turn towards the wall before also changing my robes. Our robes are devoid of any house colours. As we leave the changing room, two other witches quickly take our place.
The boys are already in the compartment when we get there, “Finally,” Draco mutters. Pansy glares at the boy as Blaise elbows him in the stomach. “Okay, sorry.”
Harry is snickering at Draco’s misfortune.
“A prefect came around to let us know it won’t be long now, probably less than 10 minutes,” Blaise says, he glances out of the window before nodding- as if confirming his own theory. Glancing at my own watch I come to the same conclusion.
The train starts to slow as we pass over what must be the last hill surrounding the school. We pass several unfamiliar faces as we exit the train. A red-headed boy glares at Harry as he passes him. Harry rolls his eyes in return, mutters about something that sounds a lot like “redheaded git, thinks the world of himself”.
Draco rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder reminding him that he isn’t alone. Harry smiles at him, clearly conveying his unsaid gratitude.
A giant, brutelike man calls in the distance for the first years, we make our way to him, Harry- clearly familiar with said man, rushes to him, keeping a firm grip on Draco’s wrist. Draco looks up towards the man’s face, positively pale with wonder.
“Hagrid!” Harry runs up to the man- Hagrid, smiles hugging the boy back. He lets out a soft “Harry,” as Harry pulls away to look up at the man.
Hagrid looks from Harry to Draco who is now stood right behind the boy, his gaze shifts to us when we close the last bit of distance between them and us. “And are these your friends then ‘Arry?” His accent was far thicker and more northern than all of ours combined, but none the less deciphering what he was saying was not as complicated as one might think.
“Yes sir.” Draco muttered nervously.
Harry giggled at Draco’s response before turning to Hagrid himself and answering, “Yeah, I met them on the train, this is Draco- that means dragon in like Latin or something.” Draco looks very proud that Harry remembered the fact that he taught him earlier on the train.
“And this is Mintaka, Pansy and Blaise, we all sat together on the train today.”
Hagrid nods along as Harry indicates to us. “Lovely to meet you all, any friend of Harry is a friend of mine.”
We return the sentiment, even if some sound a little meek.
Hagrid goes back to yelling out for the first years, after those who seem like the last first-years approach, he instructs us to get into little boats, no more than four in each. Harry, Draco and Blaise climb into the boat with a brunette first-year who seems dead set on avoiding me at all costs.
Pansy and I stick together, our group of five needed to split but we didn’t want one person to end up alone. A girl with bushy hair and buck teeth gets into the boat with us, another girl soon gets in with us, she has longish blonde hair and a lot of freckles.
“I’m Hermione, Hermione Ganger.” She stretches her hand out to Pansy.
Pansy takes a hold of her hand, smiling slightly, “Pansy Parkinson.”
Neither of them seems keen on looking away from each other, I reach out my own hand towards Hermione. “Mintaka Lestrange-Black.” Hermione hesitates, I attempt to give her my most comforting smile. She grasps my hand giving it a firm shake.
The blonde girl focuses solely on the building ahead. It was magnificent. The boats stop on the shore, we all follow Hagrid up the steps of the school, a strict-looking woman dressed in green robes waits for us at the top of the stairs.
“The first-years professor McGonagall,” Hagrid sweeps his hand in our direction.
The professor scans the crowd of students before she clears her throat. “Thank you, Hagrid I will take them from here.”
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.” Her voice is firm and lacking any sort of timidness.
She clears her throat once more, something that surely is necessary when reaching her age. She taught all our parents nearly 15 years ago, some of our parents even before that and back then they had already referred to her as: “Old McGonagall”.
“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.” Her voice has a certain amount of pride as she refers to Gryffindor, clearly, this was her house during her time at Hogwarts.
Personally, I do not see the appeal, yet I do respect taking pride in your own triumphs. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes linger for a moment on a brunette boy’s cloak, which is fastened under his left ear. Harry nervously tries to flatten his hair.
“I will return when we are ready for you,” Professor McGonagall says. “Please wait quietly.”
She struts down the hallway into what can only be the dining hall. Harry is still attempting to ‘fix’ his hair, Draco swats at his hands to get him to stop before promptly fixing his tie then his own. Blaise squares his shoulders, ruffling his hair. Pansy looks content to stay just as she is, upon closer inspection I cannot seem to find anything amiss with her uniform anyway.
A loud exclamation of fear grabs my attention as I turn to face the back of the group- where the sound seems to have come from. Over the group of students what seem to be spectres of some sort appear, causing several students to scatter away in fear.
“Ickle firsties on their way to be sorted,” one of the ghosts exclaimed.
Another jolly-looking ghoul rolls his eyes, “I hope to see you all in my house.”
“Move along now,” says a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.” Professor McGonagall has returned.
At the sound of the stern professor’s voice, the ghosts scatter off, loudly complaining about the old teacher ruining their fun. Professor McGonagall ushers us towards the set of double doors. The students seated at the tables look far too interested in the sorting. Several of the first years move closer to each other. Pansy grasps my arm tightly.
“Before we begin the sorting, Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words.”
The oldest professor at the teacher’s table stands up from his spot, clearing his throat. “I have a few start-of-term notices I wish to announce. The first years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the 3rd floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you.”
Dumbledore sits down, McGonagall moves forward to grab our attention once more before she begins to speak. “When I call your name, you will sit on the chair and put the hat on your head.”
The hat on the stool, dusty and old- opens its mouth and belts out the strangest lyrics that I have ever heard. Professor McGonagall looks uninterested in the song that the hat belts out and the minute that the singing stops she looks down at the parchment in her hand. “Brown, Lavender.”
“Gryffindor!”
“Bell, Katie.”
“Ravenclaw!”
“Bones, Susan!”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Crabbe, Vincent.”
“Gryffindor!”
“Finnigan, Seamus.”
“Gryffindor!”
“Granger, Hermione.”
The hat is completely silent for a moment, and even though I cannot hear anything the Granger girl is saying, I can tell that she is arguing quite vehemently with the hat. “Ravenclaw!”
She lets out a relieved sigh as she makes her way over to the cheering table.
“Goyle, Gregory.”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Lestrange-Black, Mintaka.” A tense hush settles over the hall, old professor Dumbledore, in the centre of the teacher’s table, perks up, looking over the rim of his glasses. Pansy lets go of my arm and I weave through the crowd of remaining first years.
Professor McGonagall, observing the scathing looks thrown my way, gives what I can only assume is her best attempt at a reassuring smile as she places the hat on my head.
“Ah, another Lestrange, oh, and a Black- what a delight.” The voice resonating within my mind is raspy and drawls through every word. “Mmmmh, you have a sharp mind, a lot of courage too- loyal to a fault, a thirst to prove yourself; you could go anywhere really. But you don’t want to go anywhere…”
Right, because if I end up in Gryffindor, I’ll kill myself.
“There is one place where you could blossom, be something great, be remembered.”
That is all I have ever wanted.
“Better be Slytherin!”
A few scattered claps are heard through the hall as Professor McGonagall removes the sorting hat from my head. I rush to the Slytherin table.
“Longbottom, Neville.”
The brown-haired boy who had been avoiding me like the plague scuffles forward at the name. no wonder he runs from me, after what my parents did, I don’t blame him.
“Hufflepuff!”
“Malfoy, Draco.”
The hat does not even touch his head before yelling, “Slytherin!”. Draco smirks before rushing to take a seat next to me.
“I never doubted you cousin.”
“Nott, Theodore.”
“Ravenclaw!”
He only elbows me in the side in response, smiling widely, but not looking away from the sorting hat.
“Parkinson, Pansy.”
The hat is silent for a moment, sitting peacefully on her head before opening his mouth once more, “Slytherin!” Pansy moves to us, a relieved smile on her face as she settles next to me.
“Patil, Padma.”
“Ravenclaw!”
“Patil, Parvati.”
“Gryffindor!”
“Potter, Harry.”
Another wave of anxious stillness falls over the hall, older members of each house holding their breaths in hopes that Harry Potter will be in their house. The hat is still for a moment once more, Harry looks very nervous beneath the rim.
“Slytherin!”
The hall erupts in different exclamations, some in horror others in confusion and some in awe. Harry looks overjoyed, skipping over to us in haste, then promptly settling next to Draco.
“Thomas, Dean.”
“Gryffindor!”
“Weasley, Ronald.”
“Gryffindor!”
“Zambini, Blaise.”
Draco holds his breath as Blaise struts up to the chair, the hat barely touches his head before deciding. “Slytherin!”
As Blaise struts away from the chair, seating himself next to Harry as the eldest-looking professor clears his throat to make a speech.
“Let the feast begin.” As his words are said, several plates adorning different delicacies line the tables. Harry reaches out to take some chicken off of a plate in front of him immediately, sinking his teeth into the supple meat, he lets out a noise of satisfaction.
Students begin to chatter happily amongst each other as they eat. The ghost from before pass through the walls to take note of which students their house has received.
-Time skip- (I am not writing about them eating, it's weird- just imagine that they had chicken or something.)
“Your house prefects will lead you back to the dormitories, I wish you all a pleasant evening.”
The prefects were quick to make themselves known, ours was an older girl named Daphne Greengrass and a boy named Felix Rosier. The girls and boy were instructed to separate from each other, the girls following Daphne down the corridors into what seems to be a basement.
The Hufflepuffs follow a similar route, where we branch off to the left, they branch off to the right. The common room is dark, a large pane of glass takes up the entirety of one wall, inky black being the only thing that we can see in the distance.
The girl dormitories seem to only have four beds lined along the room. Slytherin does seem to be in the habit of excepting more boys than girls, this year only two out of the five were girls. Half of the first years, well almost half, but unless we plan on splitting someone in half and gendering them differently, I doubt that five is completely divisible when referring to people.
Having four beds in a room occupied gives Pansy and I free dominion over where we wish to sleep. Although there are two open beds, Pansy decides to situate herself right next to me.
Pansy is the first to head into the restroom attached to the dorm, she re-emerges a few moments later dressed in comfortable-looking beige pyjamas. I change into a pair of sage pyjamas before settling into my own bed.
“I’m glad I get to be here with you.”
Her words are so soft that for a moment I believe I might have imagined her saying them. “I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.”
-3 September 1991-
There is something so uniquely cruel about the way children treat each other, an innocent child can be subjected to terror and mockery, cruel children can become favoured among their peers. A first-year boy, Longbottom- had been fated to be ridiculed by other boys his age. Draco and Blaise had apparently come across the poor boy cowering away from a group of Gryffindors.
The boy had thanked them and promptly scurried away from them at the mention of their names.
Pansy and I stay sticking close to each other. Draco, Blaise and Harry had come to the same consensus, by being placed in a house of green and silver we have the entire year of students at our throats for the sole reason that we are “evil”. As if a house could dictate whether someone is evil or good.
During the annual Triwizard Tournaments, Slytherin students are outcasted by the other houses, left to fend for themselves, usually dying because of it. Every four years, two students from each house- out of every participating school enter an arena to fight for their lives. Two competitors from every school exit their own school-dedicated arena, those two will then have to fight in a inter-school tournament, filled with victors; the participants are chosen randomly, and are obligated to compete.
The only schools that participate are Hogwarts, Drumstrang, Ilvermorny, and Beauxbatons. Other countries ban participating in the tournament. Our wizarding government has decided that it serves well as a reminder of what our world once was. Having to fight to survive in both the wizarding world during the war and in the muggle world during the witch trials.
A brutish, outdated reminder perhaps- but it has served the minister well in controlling the citizens. The genders of the competitors are of no consequence to the selection. Both competitors from one house can be the same gender and it will not matter at all. All your time at Hogwarts is solely dedicated to training and acquiring as much knowledge as possible, in hopes of surviving.
The last tournament was four years ago, by the end of the week, the next selection of students will take place, then followed by a 3 month waiting and training period with previous victors. And by the end of this year, six to eight of our students will be dead. Murdered at the hands of other children.
As first years our names will only be entered once, so the likelihood of being chosen is slim. But nonetheless, the chance is there, you cannot ask to be chosen as the “champion”, once the person is chosen it is set in stone. There is a certain unnamed nervousness within the castle at breakfast. Owls swoop down from the ceiling, delivering posts to the students from their parents.
Nyx, the Malfoy family owl, swoops down dropping a letter in front of Draco before bringing a letter and Daily Prophet to me. Draco looks just as confused as I when we see the letter has been marked urgent. Several other owls swoop down with Daily Prophets. As they read the front-page people turn to look at me, whispering amongst themselves. I grab my own copy of the daily prophet, the title on the page causes me to freeze. “Bellatrix Lestrange released from Azkaban today.” I shove the prophet in Draco’s direction, I tear the letter open, and my aunt’s handwriting greets me.
The letter is no more than 5 words.
I have done it.
-Narcissa.
Whispers filled the room, eyes glued to me and for a moment I believe that I might be on a stage, a marionette only meant to move when the strings are tugged, hollow and without the words of lip. I look upon them and I feel envy, what I would not give to be a spectator instead of a performer, the quiet life of a nobody. Yet I am plagued with the name of my parents, and I bear their sins upon my own shoulders.
I wish for a being greater than I to reach down and pull me out of this misery by the scruff of the neck. But the curtains have been opened, the seats are filled, and I have forgotten the movements taught to me since birth.
“Miss Lestrange?” a light within the ever-present dark, there is something so spectacularly endearing about a saviour. A glimpse of a wing, an angel perhaps?
I turn to the voice. “Professor McGonagall?”
She gives me a smile, not one of kindness or friendliness, no this is one that most adults have become accustomed to wearing around me, pity. “Follow me, please?” she requests. I nod, following her brisk pace as she makes her way to what I can only assume to be her office.
She takes a seat behind the large mahogany desk, she indicates to the chair in front of the desk, “Please, have a seat, Miss Lestrange.” I sink into the seat opposite her, a slight, nervous smile. “I can assume that you’ve heard the news of your mother’s release?” she asks, although I know she is posing a question her tone is more of a statement. I nod, not trusting myself to respond, the news still being at the forefront of my mind, unable to comprehend the feelings still flittering about in my mind.
“How are you feeling?” though the question is simple, I struggle to find the words to encapsulate the answer coherently.
I look at her for a moment, she seems to be sincere, with a small comforting smile on her features. “Surprised…” I admit softly.
She nods a look of understanding on her face. “Of course, that would be the normal response.” She states the words as a means of comfort but there is a rage flaming in me, accompanied by a very unwelcome sense of longing.
“I am not crazy,” I say softly.
She looks genuinely surprised by my response. “I never said that you were.” She assures.
I nod, “But that’s what you meant, you said it was the normal response, I’m not like my mother professor, I’m not crazy.” I assure.
She leans forward, “It is not what I meant, but I see why you would think that. I do not make a habit of condemning children for the sins of their parents Miss Lestrange, and I certainly do not intend to start that habit now. I only meant that I understand you would feel like this- anyone else would in this very same situation.”
I nod, even though I do not believe her, she is trying and perhaps that is all I will ever be able to hope for.
“I know that this must be a shock, your mother has been in Azkaban for 10 years now. People tend to be cruel about these things and Professor Dumbledore thinks it would be best for you to be able to speak with someone. He recommended Professor Snape, but I thought you might be more comfortable speaking with… a woman, instead a strange man who you do not know.” She looks almost uncomfortable admitting this.
“Well, then I thank you, professor.” I utter the words without truly understanding what I am saying, automatic, without thought. I was wired to be polite, to be seen and to be respected, to keep my mouth shut and respond politely.
She seems to know this well, understanding in her face, and for a moment I am tempted to spill every secret that I have ever had to her, to lay my soul bare and beg for redemption. Yet I am guarded, and walls of stone and hatred seem to confine me without even trying, and in this moment, I realise that I do not have any sins of my own that I carry. I am weighed down by sins, yet I have not committed any myself.
I take another look at her, her face is grim, “So, this is what I’m here for? To talk to you?”
She smiles at me soft and caring, “Yes, you don’t have to tell me about your mother, you can talk about anything, your first lesson every day will be just you and I here. Professor Sprout will help you catch up with herbology, that is the lesson your housemates will be having when you are here.”
I nod along in understanding. “So, I can talk to you about…. Anything? It doesn’t have to be about my mother or the Malfoys?”
“You can speak of anything, if you want to speak of them, you can but I won't force you.” Her voice is quiet, soft, and reassuring.
“So… what’s it like being a professor here?”
Professor McGonagall’s face breaks out into a grin, “We aren’t here to speak of me. Tell me of your friends, I see you are already quite close with several of your housemates?”
“Oh, Pansy, Blaise, Harry and Draco. I have known Pansy, Blaise, and Draco my whole life, and we met Harry on the train on our way here. He was annoyed by the Weasley who was badgering him about his scar and how he defeated the Dark Lord.” I explain smiling softly. “Draco is like my brother; we grew up together because my aunt took me in after my mother was arrested.”
Professor McGonagall smiles, “That’s lovely, and Blaise and Pansy? How have you known them your whole life?”
I think for a moment, how to phrase this nicely. “Pureblood wizards and witches mingle together. They force their children to be in each other’s constant proximity, hoping to form lifelong bonds. They are under the impression that we need to stick together to keep from dying out. They make us play together as children and then they use that to arrange marriage contracts.” I speak almost hesitantly.
“Ah, I see, and you and Miss Parkinson and Mr Zambini became close then?”
I nod, we were close from birth really, my aunt and their mothers ran in the same social circles, so I was always around them. “Yeah, we were.” I look around the room. “Is your favourite colour red or is your entire office just red because you are the head of Gryffindor house?” I question suddenly.
“My favourite colour is red. What’s yours.” She asks after a brief moment of silence.
I think, “Green, but like a light green.” I answer softly.
“I think that’s a lovely colour to have as your favourite colour. You were not there this morning when your head of house handed out your timetables so here is yours,” she hands over the paper, I take a glance at it.
Free Block with Professor McGonagall (for this appointment then), potions with Professor Snape, Defence against the Dark Arts with Professor Z. Spellman, Charms with Professor Flitwick, Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, History of Magic with Professor H. Spellman, then I have Herbology with Professor Sprout (to catch up what I miss in the morning.). Every day follows the same schedule, making it easier for young students to learn the timetable. We have flying on Wednesdays, Astronomy on Tuesdays, and Care of Magical Creatures on Mondays and Fridays. Those are the only rotating lessons.
“Thank you, Professor.” I hesitate for a moment. “These talks in the morning, how long do I have to be here every day?”
She grins, almost mischievously, “I didn’t think it would be such a punishment to spend the morning with me.” My eyes widen.
“It’s not, professor, I was just curious.” I defend myself.
Her grin does not falter. “I know Miss Lestrange, I thought lighting the mood might have set you at ease. Every lesson is 45 minutes, so you are obligated to stay here for 45 minutes.”
I think for a moment, 45 minutes is a long time, I don’t have enough things to say to her to fill such a long period of time. “And if I just sat here and didn’t say anything?”
She narrows her eyes. “You could, I would not force you to talk to me, but perhaps you could just tell me anything, it doesn’t have to be of consequence, you can tell me of your common room, and I would still listen. For now, you could tell me what classes you are excited about.” Her words ease the tension in my being, there are no expectations and therefore I cannot disappoint her.
“I’m looking forward to Herbology, I quite like plants. I’m not too good with numbers so History of Magic seems daunting, I know I’ll have to memorise dates. Aunt Narcissa prepared Draco and me well for this year so I know that the coursework shouldn’t be too difficult, we haven’t been able to practise the work because we aren’t allowed to use magic outside of school yet but I’m certain that we shan’t be too incompetent.” I muse Aunt Narcissa made it her mission to ensure that both of us would excel in our coursework and know all that we need, to bring home all ‘O’s’.
She nods along, making sure that I know she is in fact listening to what I am telling her, “Your Aunt Narcissa was one of my best students, if she has prepared you, I am certain you will do well. How is it living with the Malfoys?”
I nod, I knew Aunt Narcissa was clever, she is brilliant in spellcasting and in brewing potions. If she had not married Uncle Lucius, she would have been an extraordinary potion master. “It's fine, I love living with my aunt and Draco, it's nice being with family. It’s important that we stick together because the rest of the wizarding world isn’t too fond of me.”
“Why do you say that?” there is no judgement in her gaze, rather only curiosity.
I furrow my brows, “My mother is a criminal and a renowned death eater, people aren’t too fond of the children who death eaters produce.”
“Your mother was not a Death Eater.” Professor McGonagall looks almost confused that I would think that.
“She was. Everyone says so.” I reply.
Professor McGonagall looks appalled by the very notion. She shakes her head firmly. “She was not, she never took the mark, when Tom Riddle became minister, she was pregnant with you. She approached Professor Dumbledore and volunteered to become an auror in the order of the Phoenix unit. She was an auror and a darn good one, she was there during the torture of the Longbottoms because she was infiltrating the Death Eater hate group. Minister Riddle knows of this, that is why her sentence was so short, she didn’t want to blow her cover by not getting a sentencing at all. You were meant to be informed of all this by Dumbledore before the year started.”
“Oh,” I whisper out. “I didn’t know.”
McGonagall gives me a soft sympathetic smile, “You weren’t meant to, your mother wanted to make sure that you would remain safe.”
“She won her games, right? The Triwizarding Tournament of 1967, it was her and her sister, Aunt Andromeda.” I inquire, changing the subject.
McGonagall knows this is a way of changing the topic, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Andromeda and Bellatrix, twins both chosen to compete in the same games. They won, Bellatrix kept her sister safe, and she was incredible.”
There seems to be a pattern of rich and influential pureblood families’ children being chosen for the games. Even though the ministry claims that the selections are purely ‘up to fate’. If you are unlucky enough to be chosen and you survive, you receive a large sum of money, and you are immune to having to compete again.
“I knew they won, but no one in the family is very willing to discuss the games. Aunt Andromeda was in critical condition for weeks and my mother was admitted to St. Mungo’s for weeks to recuperate from the stress.” I explain.
Professor McGonagall nods, “Yes, I could imagine that it would be a sore subject. Your family has a history of being unfortunate enough to compete, the only one who didn’t have to, was your aunt Narcissa.”
Of course, I know this, both of Mother’s cousins were killed during their games, Uncle Regulus was trapped in a river and left to drown, and Uncle Sirius was murdered at the hands of someone he considered to be a friend. And the boy still didn’t win. My great aunt Waldeburga was driven to madness by the deaths of her sons. When she passed and turned into a portrait as all Blacks are, she continued to wail and mourn her sons, who were not given the luxury of living on in portraits, as they passed in the arena where your soul cannot escape.
“The selection is happening at the end of this week, right?”
McGonagall looks uncomfortable, she swallows harshly. “Yes, it is. As it does every time the games take place.” She answers.
The games must be horrible for McGonagall to watch, she has been chosen to compete in her own games back in the 1940s.
“Draco is sure that since we are first years we won’t be chosen, but I have an awful feeling about it,” I admit softly.
McGonagall looks down for a moment, gathering her own thoughts. “Your family has been chosen for the games for the last 3 generations, it is normal to be worried that you’ll be chosen as well.”
I nod, Merlin, if one of us has to compete I hope it’s me, Draco is too kind too soft to win.