Mum?

September 2nd, 1964

The first time Minerva McGonagall truly interacted with Bellatrix Black outside of the classroom was at the beginning of the girl’s third year at Hogwarts.

They’d talked before- they’d had to, she was her teacher- and of course Minerva recognized the girl’s brilliance, but she was in Slytherin and therefore Horace’s responsibility and, she would admit, she was a bit biased, as the Blacks were not known for being nice.

“Minerva! Minerva, get up!”

She’d been enjoying a nice sleep- the last one she would likely get before the year really started and she was swamped with grading her student’s mediocre essays- when Aberforth Dumbledore’s head popped into her fireplace at three in the morning.

Rolling out of bed, she slipped on her glasses and shook the sleep out of her head. “What?”

“Could you come down to the Hogs Head? One of your students is here.”

Oh, Merlin. It was far too early- or late? For this. “Oh, fine. I’ll be down there in a few minutes.”

After slipping on something that wasn’t her pajamas, she slipped out of the castle and headed out of the grounds, apparating the minute she crossed Hogwarts’ gates. 

“Now, listen here, this is unacc- Miss Black?”

Now, this was unexpected. Bellatrix hadn’t been at the feast that evening, but she’d assumed that the girl had decided to sneak off to her dorms- even though her sister was being sorted. Still, she’d expected someone- older. 

“‘Lo,” the girl muttered, lifting her head up a fraction of an inch before dropping it down to her chest again.

Aberforth turned to her. “I found her passed out behind the bar. Made quite the noise falling down, else I wouldn’t have woken up- she didn’t drink much, but she’s tiny.”

“‘M not tiny.”

They ignored her.

“Alright. I’ll bring her up to the school. Come on, up we go Miss Black.”

Minerva reached down to get her up, and Bellatrix made a pained whimper in the back of her throat. “Miss Black?”

“Hurts.”

Her blood ran cold. “What hurts, dear?”

“Back.”

She and Aberforth exchanged a horrified look, before she hurriedly (but gently) ripped off the girl’s robes. 

She had to fight to keep down the bile rising up in her throat at the sight. The skin on her back was bruised and torn, clearly from a belt and a couple of well placed kicks. Next to her, Aberforth growled. “Who did this?”

“Father.”

He whipped his wand out of his robes. “Where is he?”

“Aberforth, don’t-”

“‘S’not tha’ bad,” Bellatrix mumbled. Aberforth made an indignant noise in the back of his throat. 

“It is not- dear, we’re going to have to bring you up to Madam Pomfrey, or maybe we’ll get her down here-”

“No.”

“No? You need a healer-”

“You can heal stuff,” Bellatrix protested. “You ca’ do everything.”

“Now, I can’t do everything-”

“‘Nd I don’ wanna stay in the hospital wing. She’ll keep me there forever.”

“Miss Black, she’d be right to, for at least a month.”

“Mm. No. ‘M tryin’ out for Quidditch ‘nd that’s less than a month.”

“You will do no such-”

“Will too.”

“Miss Black-”

“Jus, y’know-” she waved her arms around vaguely- “fix me up here.”

She shared another look with Aberforth, who had gone from glaring at the door and clutching his wand tight to looking at Bellatrix with a tired expression, and decided that she didn’t really want to argue with her just now.

“Alright. Hold still, dear.”

------------------------------------------

January 2nd, 1965

“Professor?”

“Yes, dear?”

Minerva looked over to the small girl sitting on her couch. She’d just gotten back from winter break, and Minerva shuddered to think of what had happened while she’d been away.

“Why doesn’t my mother love me?”

“Oh, dear, I’m sure that’s not-”

“Yes, it is. She told me so herself.”

Minerva did not often feel the urge to kill people, yet she found it rising up in her chest at this. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted anyone dead more than Cygnus and Druella Black.

“Miss Black, your parents are horrible people. They- it doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person if they don’t love you. It has nothing to do with you.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she smiled a bit (it didn’t reach her eyes). “You’re right.” She sighed, then kicked her feet up on the couch. “Can I stay here tonight?”

----------------------------

November 5th, 1965

“-ellatrix, you made such a wonderful debut last year, how are you feeling on this fine morning before the first Quidditch match of the year?”

Minerva paused on her way into the Great hall to listen in- she couldn’t help it. 

“Oh, just splendid, Rita. All geared up and ready to beat Gryffindor.”

She allowed herself a small chuckle at the exchange- Bellatrix and Rita Skeeter did not often get along, but it seemed both were in a charitable mood that day.

Rita smirked. “And, for the benefit of the school newspaper-”

“That no one reads,” Rodolphus Lestrange muttered.

Rita glared at him. “For the benefit of the school newspaper, Bellatrix, what are your goals?”

“For this match or in general?”

“Everything.”

Bellatrix put on a faux thoughtful look. “Hmm. Beating every record McGonagall has ever set in this school. And touching a unicorn.”

Minerva cleared her throat, coming up behind Bellatrix. “Miss Black.”

Bellatrix scrambled to turn around on the bench, dark hair flying into Rodolphus’s face. “Yes, Professor?” she grinned, widening her eyes and trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Did I hear you mentioning my name just now?”

“No, professor,” said Bellatrix.

“Yes, professor,” said Rita.

“May I ask why your goals in life amount to breaking all of my school records?”

“Well, it’s only because I aspire to be just like you, professor.” Cheeky. She had that stupid little grin on her face and mischief dancing in her eyes in an expression that the staff had dubbed “Trouble”. 

“Mhm. Well. I wish you well in that endeavor.”

“Very much appreciated, professor.”

She made to turn around. “And Miss Black?”

“Yes, professor?”

“Good luck at today’s match.”

---------------------------------------------------------

January 2nd, 1967

“Professor! Professor McGonagall!”

Her first thought was that she really wished that her students would stop waking her up at the most inopportune hours of the night. Then she realized that that only happened when something was wrong, and this thought was enough to get her out of bed and to her door.

“What- oh, dear.”

Rodolphus Lestrange and Rita Skeeter were on the other side of her door, supporting Bellatrix’s limp form. “Can we come in, Professor?”

“Yes, of course.”

It was just after winter break, and Bellatrix was now in her 5th year, preparing for her O.W.L.s (and, apparently, beating all of Minerva’s records) and still ruling the Quidditch pitch. She was Slytherin’s star, popular, vibrant, intelligent. 

Minerva could see none of that in the girl that was now lying down on her couch.

“Alright, I’ll take care of her from here. You two- you should get some rest, you look exhausted.”

They really did- they must have been taking care of her all night, or at least Rita had been since she looked far more worn down, before they finally decided to take her to a professor.

The two teens left after a quick goodbye- a pat on the hand from Rodolphus and a quick kiss on the cheek from Rita- and Minerva turned to the girl on her couch.

There were deep circles under her eyes, and she was looking a little too thin for Minerva’s liking. She could see bruises coming up on her collarbone and neck, and she was sure she would find more under her robes. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead was hot, and she was shivering slightly. Once she’d finished patching her up, Minerva tucked a blanket around her.

This was almost a routine at this point- minus the fever. After holidays and breaks or any time Bellatrix had to go home, she would come back battered and bruised and make a beeline straight for Minerva’s office, where she could get fixed up and sleep on her couch. That night, she picked her up and brought her into her room- she’d be more comfortable on the bed- grabbing a small stuffed animal off of one of her shelves (Bellatrix claimed not to like the thing, but Minerva had seen her cuddling it, and was almost certain she’d named it Fluffy) on the way.

She seated herself down in a chair she’d pulled up next to the bed and conjured up a cold, wet towel to drape over the concerningly hot forehead. 

Feverish eyes squinted open and focused on her. She coughed a bit and forced a swallow. “Mum?”

Oh….

“Can I have some water?”

She shook herself out of it, conjuring up a glass and filling it with water. “Yes, here. Sit up a bit first.”

“‘Mkay.”

Bellatrix fell asleep soon after that, clutching Fluffy to her chest, but Minerva stayed awake the rest of the night.

She’d called her mum.

What did that mean? She couldn’t have mistaken her for her own mother, Druella Black didn’t seem the kind of woman to take care of a sick daughter. So- did she see her as a mother figure? Minerva knew she thought of all of her students as her children, in a way- she took care of them for a large portion of their childhoods. But none had ever returned the sentiment, though she supposed Bellatrix, who’s own parents had never actually worked up any semblance of parenting, might.

But she was feverish, and sick, and her inhibitions were lowered- she would be embarrassed to know that that had slipped out.

And so, Minerva resolved, she would keep it to herself.

------------------------------------

May 10th, 1968

“What is the meaning of- oh.”

“Professor!”

“Shit!”

Minerva averted her eyes once they had adjusted to the scene. “Miss Skeeter, please put your shirt back on.” She hurried to do just that. “And Miss Black, a word?”

“Yes, Professor.”

Rita rushed out of the broom closet she’d found her in, and she led Bellatrix back to her office. “Care to explain why you are fooling around with someone in a broom closet after curfew?”

“Curfew? That’s the only thing you’re concerned about?”

“Well, your choice in partner will certainly cause you problems in the future. And, may I just say this in total confidence, Rita Skeeter? Really? Of all the people-”

“We were just fooling around, it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere. And she kissed me first back at Ab’s, and it’s only happened a couple of-”

“Would ‘Ab’ happen to stand for ‘Aberforth’?”

A guilty look immediately crossed her features. “Maybe?”

“Miss Black-”

“We only had butterbeer!” 

“You’re not as good of a liar as you might like to think, you know.”

“Oh, fine! But he wouldn’t give us more than a shot each, it was nothing!”

“It’s illegal-”

“I think I’d like to go back to talking about Rita now.”

“I hate to remind you that that is also, technically, illegal.”

“That’s stupid.”

“We all know the Ministry is stupid, Miss Black.”

She fidgeted with the edge of her robes before looking up. “Are you going to tell Dumbledore?”

“No. Even if I did, he wouldn’t do anything.”

“Yes he would. He hates me.”

“Of course he hates you. You and your friends call him Dumblefuck. Don’t think he doesn’t know about that. And besides, for this, I believe he’d sympathize.”

“Wha- oh. I see.”

“Yes. Well.” Minerva sighed. “You may go, Miss Black. Just- be careful, please. 

--------------------------------------

October 19th, 1968

“Miss Black, you know why you’re here, yes?”

“No.”

Minerva fixed her with a stern look over her glasses. “You hexed someone.”

“Yes.”

“He’s in the hospital wing now.”

“That is correct.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Nothing.

“Miss Black, you injured him very severely.”

“So?”

“So, that kind of action must be dealt with. Hence, this detention.”

Bellatrix frowned at her. “I didn’t injure him that much!”

“His arm was broken and Madam Pomfrey couldn’t stop his nose from bleeding for nearly 2 hours. That is generally considered to be quite a bad injury.”

“I only hexed his nose cause he was being such a big baby about it.”

“Miss Black, of course he cried, you broke his arm! You dangled him upside down in front of half the school!”

“Well, why does he get to cry? I broke my arm once and I didn’t get to bloody cry!”

All of the fight seemed to go right out of Minerva. “Is that what this was about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Horace said your father visited the school last night.”

Silence.

“Miss Black, I can only help you if you talk to me.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Yes you do.”

“I-”

There was a glimmering sheen covering her eyes, and Minerva sighed, and got up from her desk to walk over to her. 

And she wondered, moments later, when Bellatrix had her face buried in her chest and hands clutching her dress, why it had never occurred to her to hug the girl before.

-----------------------

September 2nd, 1969

“Hello, Professor! Terribly sorry that we’re late, you see, the school is so big, I’m afraid we got a bit lost. May I just say that I’ve been looking forward to your class for ages? I’ve heard all about you.”

Oh, dear Merlin, I’m screwed. Sirius Black was a carbon copy of his cousin, right down to the “Trouble” look that she was sure she had taught him. She could already tell that he was going to be trouble- not the bad kind of trouble, like the emerging group of miniature Death Eaters in the school, but the kind of trouble that his cousin had gotten into. He was going to be just as bad- no, worse. He already had cronies, it seemed, and James Potter had the same mischievous look on his face, while Peter Pettigrew looked at them both in a sort of star struck admiration. Not to mention, he had grown up with Bellatrix, who would have taught him all of the best pranks and how to fool teachers and how to flirt with girls.

She would have to put all of her hope in Remus Lupin. He seemed to be the only sensible one.

She motioned for them to take their seats, and, despite herself, she found herself fighting off the grin that threatened to spring up on her face. As much of a nuisance as Bellatrix had been, she’d still loved her dearly, and Sirius Black was clearly on the same path.

----------------------

December 29th, 1970

Trouble in Paradise: Lestranges Loose First Child

Minerva let the paper fall from her hands as she sunk into her chair. Plastered on the front cover was a picture of Bellatrix and Rodolphus leaving St. Mungo’s, stoic expressions forced onto their faces as cameras flashed around them. A slightly stricken Narcissa Black trailed behind them- she made a note to herself that she should talk to her once term resumed. The article was surprisingly bare, and void of everything but the most basic details, and didn’t once wonder about issues with the family, an obvious deviation from the Prophet’s usual stories. She was a bit puzzled for a moment, before she looked back at the top…

Edited by Rita Skeeter.

----------------------

April 2nd, 1971

Albus was the one who told her that Bellatrix had joined the Death Eaters.

It had been mentioned nonchalantly one day, when she’d come up to speak to him about the girl in question- the Daily Prophet was all ablaze at the murders of Cygnus and Druella Black, with everyone presenting theory after theory on who it could’ve been. Most had dismissed one theory, which had nearly gotten lost among the others, that it had been Bellatrix. And most had missed another article, in one of the back pages, suggesting that they deserved it.

Minerva hadn’t even had to check to know that the article was written by Rita Skeeter.

“I’m afraid it was Bellatrix Black,” Dumbledore had said. Well, that was obvious. “And I’m afraid of what she did in order to do it.”

“Well, obviously she had to kill-”

“And who let her? Only one man would be powerful enough to ensure that there would be no repercussions. You have heard the stories of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, yes?”

Oh, Bellatrix….

Two weeks later, Bellatrix’s face was on the front cover of the Prophet, being accused of leading a raid that killed 15 muggles. 

--------------------------

July 12th, 1977

“Sirius, get back here!” She grabbed her former student’s arm and pulled him back to cover. While she didn’t doubt his ability to defend himself, they hadn’t expected You-Know-Who’s lieutenant to show up at this fight, and it made things… complicated. Not only was Bellatrix Lestrange an exemplary fighter, she wasn’t confident that she could bring herself to fight her, and she imagined Sirius would have the same problem.

“Come out and play!” a voice shrieked across the street. “Wittle fwightened aurors, come play with meee!”

“Merlin,” Sirius breathed, shooting a stunner over the trash can they were huddled behind. “She’s crazy.” 

“Well. I can’t argue with that. It seems she’s finally snapped.”

She peeked over the trash can to see Bellatrix shrieking with glee as a building caught fire, and felt a pang deep in her chest. 

-----------------------

May 2nd, 1998

“Here, dear, let me help you with that.”

She tried not to think about the fact that the body she was carrying had once been one of her students- didn’t want to think about the fact that most of the dead people in the room had once sat in her classroom, in this hall, as students. Or that there were children here, that hadn’t left when they’d said because she’d been too distracted to notice. Or that Hermione was a wreck because of a girl that used to be a daughter- sort of- to her, and she could never tell her that, because who would want to say that they had loved a monster?

Instead, she focused on the things that she could do to help- which were many. Bodies to be moved, injuries to be tended to, school to be fixed. She comforted young children and took over for Molly Weasley for a while, who was making meals with a vengeance because the house elves were still recovering, trying to block out the image of Bellatrix collapsing to the floor at her wand. And when Rita Skeeter walked in “for the benefit of the Daily Prophet” (that no one ever reads, Rodolphus Lestrange’s voice echoed in her head), a hint of red lining her eyes, she directed her to the back section of the room where they had put the bodies of the Death Eaters (that she’d been too afraid to go and visit) with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

She worked for nearly 24 hours, her old bones on the verge of collapse, when Hermione Granger finally managed to convince her to go to bed.

When she got to her rooms, thankfully untouched by the battle, she sagged down onto the couch, letting herself relax a bit into the cushions. She nearly closed her eyes, but she spotted something- a small and forlorn and sad looking stuffed animal, sat up on the shelf.

Ignoring the protests coming from the aches in her joints, she got back up, crossed the room, picked it up, and brought it back to the couch with her. It had gotten a little worn throughout the years- especially this year, when so many students had needed the little bit of comfort that she could offer. One ear was starting to fall off, and it was looking a little deflated.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and, try as she might, she could not stop them from spilling over.