The Diary of Bellatrix Black - February 1968

***1 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Cold and windy.

It couldn’t have been Helena. Dumbledore interrogated her yesterday morning. She and her collection of romance novels disappeared from the library before lunchtime. When Leonard walked me back from my detention to the Slytherin common room, he said that at dinner, Professor Dippet introduced a thin, severe-looking young witch as the new librarian, Madam Irma Pince.

Dumbledore never seems to have turned up my full reading list. He only knows about the titles I extorted out of Helena. His knowledge was too complete for it to have all come from Andie or Leonard, and too incomplete to have come from Wikowski. So, I’ve got a real mystery on my hands.

I’ve got plenty of time to work at it, too. I’m getting bored out of my mind with day-long detentions. My primary jailers are Dumbledore and Slughorn, so I’m carted from one office to the other. All I do is sit there, quietly doing my classwork.

Dumbledore treats me courteously, with the recognition that I am a guest who doesn’t want to be there.

Slughorn can’t seem to believe that I’ve been dabbling in Dark Arts. He continuously tells me that witches and wizards “of a certain caliber” perpetually seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge; that curiosity is a sign of intelligence; and that the character of the entire Black family absolutely proves that my interests are purely defensive and hypothetical.

I have noticed Slughorn staring at me very intently, when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s absolutely ludicrous for an ugly, fat, balding old fool like him to take such an interest in any young woman. Maybe, just maybe, he could find himself a spinster in her thirties who wants the comfort of married life, and who would provide him with some companionship through his gradual slide into senility.

When Dumbledore and Slughorn are unavailable at the same time, I’m crammed into Appolyon Pringle’s tiny office, reading in the chair across from his too-large desk as he threatens me with the cane, should I “pull any funny stuff.” I’d seen the Caretaker about the castle before, but I’ve never had to endure his company before.

Tupper delivers my meals to whichever office I’m in. Valeria is standing in for my Prefect duties. She or another female Prefect must be present for my bathroom breaks. Leonard has been getting up early to walk me to Dumbledore’s office in the mornings, and accompanying me back to the common room at curfew. I am closely monitored and positively stifled.

At the moment, I’ve completed all my classwork for this week and next. I’m even further ahead in my Charms reading. Dumbledore and Slughorn are both in conference with Professor Dippet, Mother, and Daddy. So, I’m stuck with Pringle, my diary, and a supper of roast beef sandwiches.

At least I’ll have some answers when the parent-teacher conference is over. So far, Dumbledore has enough evidence of my extorting Helena and reading restricted books to “justify” these day-long detentions (as much as he believes they are just). He has been “investigating” my actions. Leonard says this includes interviews with my friends and classmates.

The meeting Mother and Daddy are in now will determine my fate. If there is sufficient evidence of me using Dark Arts against other students, I may face expulsion and criminal charges. Five months ago I’d have been ecstatic at the idea of transferring to Durmstrang, but I can’t leave Hogwarts now! I’ve just been given an important mission by Lord Voldemort. I have to stay here, and remain in good standing.

And I have to figure out how Dumbledore caught wind of my taboo reading.

***2 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Clear skies, and cleared of the accusations of wrongdoing. More or less.

After the parent-teacher conference last night, Mother, Daddy, and Slughorn all came to Pringle’s office to fetch me. The old slug was beaming, but Mother and Daddy both had expressions of annoyance at this whole ordeal. Slughorn offered to celebrate over mead in his office, but Daddy suggested that he and Mother take me for a special family dessert at the Three Broomsticks. Andie and Cissy came with us.

A thestral-drawn carriage brought us into the village. Once we had settled in to our table at the pub and ordered our slices of gateau, Mother and Daddy gave a full description of the conference.

“It was the most preposterous performance,” Mother declared. “Albus Dumbledore is clearly prejudiced against Pureblood witches and wizards.”

“His entire case was based on circumstantial evidence and the testimony of a single disturbed teenager,” Daddy added.

Mother said, “Dumbledore and Dippet refused to release your accuser’s name, but Slughorn said she was a fellow Prefect and that the two of you had clashed previously.”

“Danielle Bagman,” I said with disgust, wondering how she could have known about my reading.

Cissy wrinkled her nose. Andie shook her head.

“Who?” Daddy asked.

“She’s a bully,” Cissy said; “a fifth year Gryffindor prefect. She’s always abusing her power. She sets younger students lines just for annoying her.”

Andie added, “It seems like every week, she threatens to have Appolyon Pringle cane us.”

Mother’s nose wrinkled exactly the way Cissy’s does.

Father raised an eyebrow. “From what Slughorn and Dippet said, I got the sense that this girl was having some sort of breakdown, and blaming it all on Bella.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Danielle’s breakdown is her own fault.”

“Yeah, Bella has nothing to do with it!” Cissy insisted.

Mother, Daddy, and Andie all studied my face for a response. I didn’t agree with Cissy, but I didn’t contradict her either. “So what was this circumstantial evidence supporting Danielle’s allegations?” I asked.

“Well, we knew about September’s incident with the Incontinence Jinx,” Mother said.

“And you handled the aftermath of that well,” Daddy added.

“Yes,” Mother agreed. “This breakdown-girl’s testimony claims that you have waged a pervasive campaign of harassment and magical assault, employing a variety of dark jinxes and potions against her.” She paused, as if waiting for me to deny it all. I didn’t.

“Bella?” Cissy asked. “Is that true?”

Andie looked at me with narrowed eyes.

“You just said Danielle is a bully who threatens to have you caned,” I told them. “Now picture walking in on her snogging a mudblood.”

Cissy made that adorable expression of disgust again. Andie frowned.

I repeated, “Danielle’s breakdown is her own fault.”

Mother apparently agreed. She continued: “The supposed evidence is the circumstance that you had a restricted library book in your bag when Dumbledore searched it on Tuesday. In his conversation with the librarian emeritus, Dumbledore learned that you had gained permission to access the Restricted Section at will. Helena Shafiq refused to give her reason for granting this access. All Dumbledore could get from her was the titles of a few restricted books you’d borrowed, and a resignation letter.”

This saves me the trouble of following through with the blackmail. Helena could not have prevented Dumbledore from finding out about my access or borrowing record. She had the choice to explain I’d coerced her, and she chose to hold her tongue. So, there’s no need to discuss her inappropriate materials with the Prophet.

I smiled. “Let me guess,” I said. “Professor Dippet listened to Danielle’s allegations, and checked if any of the jinxes she described appear in the books I am known to have read.”

“Correct,” Mother said.

Daddy winked.

I hadn’t yet used any spells from the latest books on Danielle. I laughed.

“Stop,” Mother commanded quietly.

I curbed my jubilance a little. “Dumbledore has nothing on me,” I said.

“You underestimate him, Bellatrix,” Mother said. “He’s on the Wizengamot, after all. You must assume he has a better understanding of jurisprudence than you.”

“His evidence was all circumstantial,” Daddy insisted.

“The evidence he could present, yes,” Mother replied. “But he must have been convinced that this Danielle girl is telling the truth, for him to have instigated expulsion proceedings.” She gave me a very serious look. “Bellatrix, you must make a choice. You must either decide to transfer to another school, or you must commit to unimpeachable behavior at this one.”

This stopped my laughter completely. “But Mother, surely the Black name—”

“The Black name goes a long way,” Mother interrupted. “As does the Rosier name. Good connections go even further, and gold goes further yet. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to pull strings or call in favors.”

“Bella, sweetheart,” Daddy said, reaching his hand across the table. I took it, and he gave mine a squeeze. “We would do anything for our daughters,” he promised. “Just keep in mind that reputation is a currency, and don’t spend it too freely.”

I saw the wisdom in what he was saying. I nodded.

“There is one more thing,” Mother said.

“Yes?” I asked.

“This unhinged prefect girl, Something Bagman—”

“Danielle,” Cissy supplied.

“Thank you. This Danielle Bagman girl,” Mother said. “Dumbledore said she didn’t want to mention her suspicions about you. She brought them up because another student had told her that you were reading instructional books about the Dark Arts.”

My gut twisted with rage. “Who?” I demanded.

“Dumbledore refused to say,” Mother answered.

“Slughorn referred to ‘her’ and ‘she,’ though,” Daddy said.

My eyes involuntarily fixed on Andie.

“What?” she demanded defensively. “What are you gaping at me for? I haven’t been buzzing around your armchair, sneaking looks at the volume in your hands and commenting on how the size of the print looks different on this page.”

Sylvia!

“I take it,” Mother said in a measured tone, “That you know your adversary now?”

I nodded.

“And you know it isn’t me?” Andie’s eyes glistened.

“Of course she does!” Cissy insisted.

I didn’t like Andie’s tone. I kept my voice measured and cool. “I know you haven’t acted against me.”

“Good,” Mother said. “Now, finish your gateau, girls, and we’ll get you back up to the castle.”

On the ride back, Mother explained that I am to resume my normal class schedule on Monday, but I must not expect to receive any apology from Dumbledore or any official acknowledgement that my punishment had been unfounded. As far as he was concerned, reading restricted books without a class-related reason was grounds for severe punishment. Dumbledore had even pressed for my dismissal as a Prefect, but Professor Dippet thought that the detentions I had already served were sufficient.

Daddy gave me another warning about toeing the line and avoiding Dumbledore’s notice. I promised not to reach for a single taboo book for a few months, in order to avoid suspicion. Perhaps after Easter break I will go back to having Wikowski procure books for me.

***4 February 1968, Dover***

Bellatrix,

Don’t have much time, as we’re about to travel, but thought I’d send off a quick response to your last.

Sounds like an uncomfortable situation. You handled it well, though. Regarding your false friend: you must do something, as such behavior can’t go uncorrected. Whatever it is, you must be subtle. I’m sure you understand.

We’re off to Cyprus, and expect to stay for some months. I’m only an owl away.

Best love, Markleton

***5 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Sunny.

I’d explained the situation in a letter to Markleton. I knew I could get my letter out without it being read, but suspected that Dumbledore might illegally search my incoming mail. So, I told Markleton to avoid names.

Looks like Lord Voldemort isn’t angry with me for nearly getting caught. I can still perform the task he set me… assuming I handle my pests correctly.

***7 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Cold rain that will no doubt freeze over tonight.

Danielle Bagman is back to her old, insufferable self. Her horrible false smile is back, as is her haughty air of superiority. For months, I had dangled her between pain and insanity. But all it took to undo my work is a few days of knowing that I had detention.

I keep seeing her in the corridors with that sixth year Gryffindor girl with the big jaw and the gaudy glasses. Danielle sneers at me and makes her usual witless, insulting remarks about my hair or complexion or what-have-you. The girl with the gaudy glasses laughs and gives me impertinent looks.

Their time will come.

Right now, my special project is the traitor, Sylvia Reid. She hasn’t been orbiting me quite so closely since I got in trouble. However, we had been spending so much time together that it’s only natural for me to continually invite her to sit beside me. I will spend a few days making her feel quite secure of my trust, and then I will teach her to regret her duplicity.

***10 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Still raining.

Another letter from Mother in this morning’s post. I don’t care about Tulip Malfoy’s Imbolc Ball, so I won’t bother saving it. The only important bit was that Mother’s campaign for the Treasurer of the London DISS was successful. She attributes her victory to the support of Ismene Crabbe and my Astronomy teacher Professor Graham.

No news about Lord Voldemort.

Danielle and her sixth year friend, Rita Skeeter, continue to pester me. They’ve been buzzing around the Quidditch teams, trying to dig up whatever they can on Slytherin’s former Keeper and his girlfriend.

Yesterday after lunch, Rita even “just happened to come across” Andie in a bathroom. She started with flattering chat about haircare and transitioned to minute questions about what I’m “really like,” because “people say such widely different things” about me. Andie told me during dinner, where I could see the gossiping tarts chattering away with their vapid friends at the Gryffindor table.

I left the Great Hall behind them. I told Leonard to lag behind, and brought Millicent and Sylvia with me. Danielle and Rita were walking with half a dozen other Gryffindor girls, but that didn’t matter. We followed them most of the way to Gryffindor Tower.

They noticed us behind them. They started by trying to ignore us. Then they tried mocking and jeering. Finally, they started whispering nervously amongst themselves.

We reached a relatively quiet corridor. The Gryffindor girls stopped in front of a portrait of some fat, rosy-cheeked woman. Then they turned to us.

“Why are you stalking me?” Danielle demanded with a façade of bravery. “What do you want?”

I cast the spell to freeze the lot of them in their tracks. Out of all eight of them, Rita alone acted quickly enough to cast a shield charm and remain free. The rest all yelped and whined like kicked dogs as their legs locked together, their arms clapped to their sides, and they fell to the floor.

“Well, I never!” the fat lady in the portrait exclaimed. “No dueling in the corridor!”

Rita clenched her squarish jaw as she realized that she alone was standing with her wand out, facing me, Millicent, and Sylvia. She took a somewhat shaky breath, and forced herself to smile.

“Impressive, Bellatrix,” she said. Her voice only barely quivered. “But everyone says you’re quite good at spellwork.”

“I’m not here to discuss what everyone says,” I told her. “I’m here to tell you, in clear and simple terms that even you can understand, that you will leave my family alone. You won’t harass Andromeda in the bathroom or anywhere else. You won’t even look at Narcissa, or even my cousin Edwina.”

“Or else what?” Rita said, attempting bravado.

“You don’t want to know,” Sylvia told Rita earnestly.

“Squash her like a bug,” Millicent recommended with a chortle.

“No need to be so dramatic, girls,” I said calmly. I lowered my wand. Sylvia and Millicent kept theirs aimed at Rita. “Keep away from my family, or else you’ll serve whatever detention Appollyon Pringle sets for older students who harass younger ones.” I turned and started to walk away. “Trust me,” I said over my shoulder; “He’s really quite unpleasant.”

Sylvia and Millicent fell in behind me. Rita stayed still until we turned a corner. Then I heard her cast, “Finite,” releasing the other girls from their paralyzation. We could hear them asking each other what they should do, and the fat lady recommending they report us, as we walked away.

Rita’s been warned. Danielle has received a reminder that she can easily fall under my power. And Sylvia is afraid of me, and afraid that I’ll know she is afraid. Her lesson will come on Wednesday.

***14 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Clear and cold.

Which to start with: Leonard or Sylvia? If I go by chronological order, then I start with Leonard.

I woke this morning with Valentine's Day flowers and presents on my bedside table. I wondered if Wikowski was going to send me a little something, but he wisely refrained. The red roses, the small stuffed animal (a pretty but useless unicorn), and the dark chocolate newts were all from Leonard.

I was feeling rather cheerful as I got to our common room. Sylvia and I told the other girls to go on to breakfast without us. It’s very unusual for Leonard to keep me waiting, but the presents made me feel generous towards him.

After a while, Sylvia started checking her watch frequently and talking about how little time remained before class. I ignored her growing anxiety for breakfast, and insisted that Leonard would come at any moment.

He never did.

I summoned Tupper and politely requested a few slices of toast. Of course, the House Elf was happy to oblige, with a whole tray of breakfast foods and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. So, Sylvia and I didn’t go hungry. We simply had a quick meal and went straight to class.

Leonard didn’t spend any breaks with me, nor did I see him at lunch. He failed to appear at dinner. I realized with a sickening, hot burst of anger in my gut that William Cole, too, was nowhere to be seen.

I left my plate half-eaten and made my way out of the Great Hall. I passed Danielle and Rita on their way in.

“Ooh, she looks angry,” Rita said audibly to Danielle.

“What’s the matter, Bella?” Danielle jeered. “Fighting with your boyfriend on Valentine’s Day?”

I hit their shoes with the barnacle-growing hex and walked on.

The Slytherin common room was empty. I pushed open the door to the seventh year boys’ parlor, and the only person I saw was the prefect, Duncan Brisbane, sipping a butter beer and revising his Herbology notes.

“Good evening, Bellatrix,” Brisbane said, unnecessarily loudly.

I gestured at the closed bedroom doors. “Which of these is Leonard’s?”

“I think answering you would be a violation of his privacy,” Brisbane told me with polite regret.

His answer was unnecessary, though. I could hear two male voices and the sounds of quick movements behind one of them. I walked towards the door.

“Bellatrix!” Brisbane nearly shouted. I turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Did you… have a nice Valentine’s Day?”

I shook my head. “Shut up, Brisbane. You’ve done your duty and warned them I’m coming.”

One flick of my wand, and the door to Leonard’s bedroom opened for me.

I found him alone in bed, with the covers drawn up to his chin and his hand on his forehead.

“Bellatrix, is dat you?” He sounded weak and stuffed up. “I’b so sorry, gettig sick ob Valebtibe’s Day.”

I nonverbally cast Finite. Cole shimmered into view as his Disillusionment Charm lifted. He was standing between the door and wall.

“Wotcher, Black?” Cole said, suppressing his victorious grin. “Thought I’d check in on my sick mate.”

“He was just showig be his latest Charbs hobework,” Leonard lied.

I gave Leonard a disgusted look.

I wanted to jinx them both with phantom bites.

I wanted to beat them with Pringle’s cane.

I wanted to summon the silver knife I use for Potions ingredients and cut a lovely, feminine, floral design into Cole’s skin.

I wanted to slit Leonard’s throat.

Instead, I left the room without a word.

“Bellatrix?” Leonard followed after me, with a dressing gown over his pajamas. “Bellatrix,” he pleaded.

Leonard chased me into the common room. People were coming back from dinner at that point, including Andie, Lestrange, and the rest of the Quidditch team.

“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” I announced in front of our audience. “You can’t treat me this way. I won’t stand for it. We’re through.”

His eyes widened with panic. “Bellatrix, please—”

I whirled away from him and crossed towards the fifth and sixth year girls’ parlor. Leonard caught my hand before I got to the door. He dropped to his knees.

“Bellatrix,” he begged quietly. “Please.”

“If you continue to make a scene,” I hissed at him, “it will not go well for you.”

For one dangerous moment, he clung on. Then he let my hand slip through his fingers.

I said, loud enough for all to hear. “You’ve got to control yourself.”

I turned to the door and stepped into my parlor with stiff dignity. I hear him swear as the door closed between us.

A moment later, Andie came in and hugged me.

“Bella, I’m so sorry,” she said compassionately. “What happened?”

“Daddy was right,” I said, patting her back absently. “Leonard dishonored me with Cole.” I shrugged. “He had fulfilled his purpose, anyway.”

In short order, Cissy, Edwina, and all the fifth and sixth year Slytherin girls came into the parlor. Adrienne made tea. Ganymede and Valeria tried to cheer me up with graphic descriptions of violent revenges. I didn’t explain how Leonard had dishonored me, so they assumed I was the innocent victim of any of the bad things that boys had done to them.

Eventually, I urged my thoughtful well wishers to go on with their evenings. Aeris Martin had Prefect duties, and everyone else had homework to do. I said I just wanted a walk to clear my head, and asked Sylvia to come with me.

We bundled up in warm cloaks, scarves, hats, gloves, and boots. Students aren’t supposed to leave the castle this late in the evening, but I was Sylvia’s distraught best friend, so she couldn’t very well say no.

As we walked, I painted a verbal picture of a heartbreak. “This is where Leonard first told me he thought I was beautiful,” that sort of thing. None of it was true. Such stories led Sylvia further from the yellow firelight pouring out of the castle windows, and deeper into eerie brightness of snow lit by a full moon.

We took the well-kept paths through the snow towards the greenhouses. Once there, we diverged onto a crude, uneven path that wound its way around back. I think this one had been made by the extremely tall, wide, wild-looking oaf that serves as Hogwarts’ gamekeeper.

Sylvia hesitated. “It’s so cold,” she said. She cast Lumos to light up the top of her wand. “Even now, it’s hard to see.”

“All right,” I told her, in a voice that sounded as if I was relenting. “One more spot I need to see, and I’ll be ready to go inside with you.”

I trudged on. Sylvia followed.

Once we were completely out of sight of the castle, between the greenhouses and the edge of the forest, Sylvia stopped.

“Is it much further?” She sounded frightened.

“Not at all. Petrificus totalis.” I watched her fall to the ground, stiff as a board. She whimpered. “Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia,” I said, relishing the righteous sense of power. “You should have kept faith with me. Betrayal comes at a very dear price.”

I started by kicking her. My boot slammed her hand into her leg with enough force for something to crack. Sylvia screamed through her magically sealed lips. Excitement fluttered in my chest. I kicked and stomped on her some more: bruised legs, bruised arms, broken rib.

The dark forest nearby and the thriving plants in the greenhouses seemed to swallow Sylvia’s screams. I let myself laugh as loud as I wanted to.

I moved on to one of Empress Theodora’s favorite jinxes. The ancient witch was able to transfigure nearby materials into a full-sized eagle that attacked her enemies. I didn’t do too badly for my first try; I managed to gather snow in front of my wand and make it form the eagle head, which tore gauges into Sylvia’s flesh.

My last move was to Confund her. Sylvia’s eyes widened with vacant, vague trust.

“You came out to the greenhouses tonight to comfort your friend Bellatrix,” I said in a gentle, firm voice. “Something came out of the forest and attacked you. You fought, bravely. You don’t know what it is. Bellatrix saved your life.” I undid the paralysis.

She unfroze. Her teeth chattered. Blood seeped into the snow around her. “Bellatrix… saved…”

“You’re going to be alright!” I told her in a reassuring tone. “I’m bringing you back to the castle. Stay awake, Sylvia! Stay with me!”

I tied crude tourniquets around her wounds and half-carried, half-dragged her towards the castle. The front door was locked. I banged on it and called for help.

The Hufflepuff house ghost popped out through the door to see what was the matter. “Bless me!” the Fat Friar exclaimed when he saw us. “I’ll get help.” He vanished.

I continued banging on the heavy oak door. Soon, I could hear locks being undone. It slowly opened. Pringle muttered about punishments for students out of bed after hours as he opened the door, but when he saw Sylvia and me, he gaped.

The Fat Friar didn’t take long. He returned with Madam Pomfrey, then went off again for Slughorn. Pringle and I helped Madam Pomfrey get Sylvia up to the Hospital Wing, where Slughorn and Dumbledore joined us.

I didn’t have to hide behind a handkerchief this time. The Wandless Charms of Anne Boleyn had included a spell that made the face red and the eyes and nose run, just like real crying. I blubbered my story, purposefully stuttering here and there and interrupting myself to unnecessarily insist that Madam Pomfrey help Sylvia.

Slughorn believed it all. He didn’t even chide me for convincing Sylvia to go out of bounds with me, given the “understandable distress” of my breakup.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t question a single word I had to say.

Dumbledore stared at me with those piercing blue eyes. I ignored his skepticism, avoided his gaze, and let the tears roll down my cheeks. He has no reason to think I’d have anything against Sylvia, and no reason to suspect her state had anything to do with me.

In the end, Sylvia repeated, “Bellatrix saved me.” Madam Pomfrey gave me a soothing potion to help me cope with the shock. Slughorn sent me off to bed and assured me that Sylvia was in good hands.

It’s late now. I’ll wait for tomorrow to write to Markleton.

***17 February 1968, Famagusta***

My dear Bellatrix,

It’s clear that you thought the false friend business all through, and I do believe the results will prove satisfying.

As to the spat with your unworthy suitor: you’ve already decided to end the relationship, which was the correct choice. But, was it enough? A Pureblood, especially the heir to a noble Pureblood name, must be prepared to marry and carry on his line. This boy’s particular quirks are fine enough amongst half-bloods, and can even be tolerated after a man has married and gotten an heir. To run about as he is now does not bode well for the Crabbe line, or any of its connections.

Glad to hear you and yours are in good health. My friends and I are enjoying lovely weather here in Cyprus, and Famagusta has particularly beautiful ancient architecture. Unfortunately, the city is positively swarming with tourists—most of them filthy muggles.

The wizards here maintain the International Statute of Secrecy with the most ingenious perimeter charms. Anyone holding or wearing the image of the correct glyph can pass through the barrier as if it were nonexistent; anyone lacking the glyph would find the barrier entirely impassable. Local wizards and witches typically wear necklaces with their personal glyphs, as well as the one that serves for all public wizarding places. Anyone who forgets the necklace or hasn’t got one can just scribble the glyph on a spare bit of parchment, so long as they destroy it after. Can’t let the unworthy filth in.

The only downside to these powerful charms is their time limit. They must be cast every eight hours, or the perimeter barrier vanishes. The Cyprian wizard’s greatest fear is sleeping in.

All the best, Markleton

***18 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Raining. It’s melting some of the snow, but it’s all sure to freeze over tonight.

Markleton asks me, “Is it enough?” I hadn’t considered it.

Crabbe and Cole have resumed their previous state of friendship. They eat their meals together and spend their breaks together. I assume they have picked everything up where they’d left off.

Andie tells me Crabbe is back on the Quidditch team, much to the disappointment of Amicus Carrow, the ugly little Second Year who had been filling in for him.

So far, neither Crabbe nor I have explained our breakup publicly. The only people who know the truth are my family, whoever Markleton spoke with, Crabbe, and Cole. I don’t know if the homophiles have confided in Duncan Brisbane.

Perhaps they told their friend with the tacky tea house in Hogsmeade.

Slughorn had my sisters and me round for tea yesterday. He did ask one insinuating question—“Is it possible the reports I’d heard last summer…? Oh, but it doesn’t signify! There’s no excuse for breaking a lovely young lady’s heart!”

I’ve been carefully observing my classmates and listening to what they’ve got to mutter about me. The only people bothering to discuss my breakup behind my back are Danielle and her horrid sixth year friend. So far, nobody seems to be paying them much attention. They’re much more interested in what happened to Sylvia Reid and Bellatrix Black, the brave fifth year girls who fought off some sort of attacking monster near the Forbidden Forest.

***19 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Sunny. Cold.

Sylvia is out of the Hospital Wing. Her story about what happened on Valentine’s Day is nearly incoherent, and mine matches hers in the appearance of intense fear and confusion.

Madam Pomfrey examined Sylvia’s injuries and Dumbledore examined the spot behind the greenhouses stained with her blood. They’ve determined that the most likely cause was a harpy.

The enormous gamekeeper with the unkempt beard swears up and down that there are no harpy nests in the Forbidden Forest. He expects rational wizards to believe that centaurs and talking spiders would alert him to such a threat. Wikowski tells me that the only person paying any attention at all to the gamekeeper is Dumbledore.

“Even then,” Wikowski said in our aside after class; “Dumbledore says that Hagrid could be wrong. All faculty and staff at Hogwarts must assume the legitimacy of the logical conclusion drawn from the evidence at hand. The current best theory is a harpy just traveling through, or perhaps one who has not yet built her nest.”

Sylvia has been clinging to me in a positively puppyish manner. Markleton told me the results would prove satisfying, and the outlook is quite good.

***23 February 1968, Witch Weekly***

ADVICE BY “DEAR DAFFODIL”

Dear Daffodil,

I’m so lonely and heartbroken, I don’t know what to do! My boyfriend dumped me on Valentine’s Day to date another boy. The closest things I have to friends are the girls in my own year and Hogwarts House, and they’re just being nice because they have to put up with me. I have two little sisters here at school with me, but they’re both so popular that they barely ever have time for me.

Help! How can I make people like me?

With great big tears, Black At Heart

Dear Heart,

Young lady, you will never earn true affection from your peers with that attitude! You’ve got to get over yourself.

Your ex boyfriend’s romantic abnormality isn’t about you. It’s about him.

It sounds like the girls in your dormitory are treating you with adequate respect. You aren’t owed any more than that.

Let your younger sisters have their own social lives. You are supposed to be setting a good example for them, not smothering them with your insecurities!

You can’t “make people like” you. All you can do is examine what qualities make you unlikable, and work to improve yourself. If you want friends you can open up to and rely on, you must start by being a supportive, reliable friend. Get out of your own way, and be there for the people you like. Earn love by giving love.

Best of luck, Daffodil

***23 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Danielle Bagman, Rita Skeeter, and Grenadine Prewett must all die a painful death.

The taunts and snickers started just after the post arrived at breakfast. Half the girls in every House and more than three-quarters of the Gryffindor girls subscribe to Witch Weekly. The editor/advice columnist has three kids at Hogwarts, two of them Gryffindor prefects.

Adrienne made the most ludicrous face when she came across the latest issue’s “Dear Daffodil.”

“Erm. Bellatrix?” Her voice was a bit higher and more annoying than usual.

“What?” I asked, spreading marmalade on my toast.

“You, erm, you don’t subscribe to Witch Weekly?”

“I do,” I said, tapping the pile of periodicals that had arrived for me. “I don’t read that rubbish cover to cover, though,” I explained. “I’m just keeping up with all sorts of news.”

Adrienne struggled with finding words. “So… so don’t follow the advice column?”

I scoffed. “Why would I waste my time with that?”

Adrienne didn’t answer with words. She simply blushed.

Ganymede snatched Adrienne’s copy and flipped through to the column in question. Valeria and Millicent leaned in towards her to read over her shoulder. I decided to give them the satisfaction, and opened my own copy. Sylvia looked on with me.

Once I read it, I stormed over to Danielle at the Gryffindor table. Sylvia and Millicent flanked me.

Danielle greeted me with her sickening grin. Rita smirked. Other girls around them giggled.

“What did you do?” I demanded of Danielle.

“I can’t take all the credit,” she demurred proudly. “I sent it in, but Rita wrote the copy.”

I lowered my voice to a controlled whisper. “Have you both gone mad?” I asked. “Do you sincerely wish harm upon yourselves?”

Danielle wasted no time. She drew her wand on me. Her friends froze, but mine sprang into action. Sylvia and Millicent both aimed their wands in Danielle’s ugly face. Valeria, Ganymede, and Adrienne came up behind us.

“Girls, please,” I said calmly. I gently put my hands on Sylvia’s and Millicent’s, encouraging them to lower their wands. I kept my eyes trained on Danielle’s. “There is a time and a place.”

Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick came over from the staff table.

“Wands away,” Dumbledore commanded.

“Dueling is strictly prohibited!” Professor Flitwick said, his squeaky voice surprisingly stern and authoritative.

“Bellatrix Black is a bully!” Danielle whined. “She uses the Dark Arts on other students for fun!”

I handed Dumbledore my copy of the magazine, open to the advice column. “I’m not the bully here,” I said. I met his piercing gaze, daring him to acknowledge the truth of what I said. “I didn’t write that nonsense. Danielle freely admitted before you came over here that she sent it in.”

“With Rita’s help,” Sylvia added.

Dumbledore considered me carefully, then Danielle. “Miss Bagman, Miss Skeeter, I will require a full explanation this evening. My office, six o’clock.” He handed the magazine back to me and returned to the staff table.

“Back to your seats, ladies,” Professor Flitwick commanded. “Finish up your breakfast, so you can study hard today!”

I gave Danielle and Rita one last threatening glare before my friends and I returned to our table.

I considered burning my copy of the column, and maybe every copy in the whole school. I decided on balance to keep the offensive column, secured forever in my diary as a reminder to never underestimate how petty and cruel and low my enemies can be.

***24 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Cold.

Last night, I had almost settled in to sleep when Aeris Martin knocked on my door and said Duncan Brisbane wanted to talk to me. I assumed that it was business pertaining to the Slytherin prefects. I threw on my dressing gown and followed Martin to the common room, but once there, Brisbane motioned for me to join him in the seventh year boys’ parlor. Martin did not come with me.

I crossed my arms and kept my chin up with great dignity. I knew it had to be about Crabbe. Brisbane held the door for me and I went in.

“What’s your role in all this, anyway?” I asked Brisbane.

He shrugged. “I don’t give a knarl dropping about other people’s romances. I do care that my final year as a Prefect goes smoothly. You can do as you please to the Gryffindor brats. Leonard Crabbe and William Cole can snog each other day and night. I’m not bothered. What I won’t tolerate—” he started walking to Crabbe’s bedroom door—“is the students under my care, on my watch, wasting my time with paperwork, all because they’ve gotten themselves beaten to a bloody pulp.” Brisbane rapped on Crabbe’s door twice, then opened it a crack. “She’s here.”

Brisbane waited until Leonard came out, still dressed in his school robes. Then Brisbane disappeared into his own bedroom.

Crabbe threw himself at my feet. “Bellatrix, please! I’m so sorry. I knew it would be stupid to carry on behind your back. I knew it was a hurtful, low thing to do. Idiot that I am, I did it anyway. I can’t apologize enough!” Tears streamed down his face.

“You knew it was stupid,” I repeated back to him. “Why did you do it?”

Crabbe gave me a pathetic, helpless look. “Love is stupid,” he said. “If love made any sense at all, I would have devoted myself to you, heart and soul. You’re everything a man like me could ever want in a wife. But my brain just doesn’t work that way.”

I responded in a carefully measured tone. “If you had any sense, you would have devoted yourself to me, heart or no.”

Crabbe instantly agreed.

I was losing patience: “Why am I here? It’s getting late.”

Crabbe bit his lip. “That awful prank the Gryffindor girls pulled,” he said. “All that gossip spurred on by their ‘Dear Daffodil’ waffle. The longer you and I remain broken up, the more people believe I’m… I’m...”

“You are,” I snapped.

“I can’t be!” He was crying again. “You don’t know what straight men do to men like me. They aren’t all as dispassionate as Duncan. My own classmates would tear me to pieces, and my father would chuck those bloody pieces in the bin without a single regret.”

I watched him cry. I didn’t speak or change my disgusted facial expression.

“Bellatrix,” Crabbe begged. “Please. Just take some meals with me. Be seen holding my hand in the corridors. Please. It could save my life.”

His tears fell on the hem of my dressing gown. “Your particular quirks,” I told him, ”are fine enough amongst half-bloods. They can even be tolerated after a Pureblood man has married and gotten an heir. But. To run about as you have been does not bode well for the Crabbe line, or any of its connections.”

The door to the common room opened. A seventh year boy walked in backwards, blowing kisses across the common room to his girlfriend.

I watched Leonard’s eyes widen and his Adam’s apple bob up and down nervously. It was the first time looking at him actually filled me with a quivering excitement.

I smiled.

“Stop crying!” I commanded. “I will not play along with your deception!” I raised the pitch and volume of my voice even more. ”If you and William Cole are going to date each other, you’ll have to leave me out of it!”

I spun around. The other boy held the door open for me, gaping. He heard every word.

“Bellatrix!” Leonard yelped. “She didn’t mean that! She’s just angry!”

I paused on my way out to look the other boy full in the face. “I meant every word.” And I left.

***25 February 1968, Hogwarts***

Cloudy with a bitter wind.

The “harpy” in the Forbidden Forest has reportedly struck again. Andie came back to the common room after practice, whining with hurt and confusion about being excluded from her teammates post-Quidditch plans. I looked around the common room and realized that it didn’t have as many people as it usually would on a Saturday afternoon. The majority of boys were missing.

“Don’t worry about the boys,” I told Andie. “Just wash up and get your homework done.”

Shortly before dinner, the door to the common room opened. Almost every boy in the house filed in, each one carrying a flower.

Malfoy led the way, and placed a white crocus on the table before me. “Thought you might like this, Bellatrix,” he said casually.

Vincent Crabbe followed with a yellow crocus. “Picked this for you,” he said. As he placed it on the table, I saw that his knuckles were raw and swollen. “And for my own sake, too,” he added with a grunt.

Pemberly Goyle placed his flower without a word.

Robert Cox, the seventh year boy from last night, laid a cluster of Highland Snowblooms on the table before me. “We went out to enjoy the mild weather,” he explained. “Found some tidings of spring.”

One by one, the Slytherin boys piled the flowers of late winter and early spring in front of me. Some didn’t speak at all. Others simply said, “Thought you’d like this,” or, “For you, Bellatrix.”

The boys on the Quidditch team came last—all but Crabbe and Cole. They laid daffodils on my lap.

Rodolphus Lestrange was last in line. He gave me a charming, rakish grin, and made a show of popping the daffodil’s head off. He let the blossom fall to the floor and held the stem out to me, waiting for me to take it from my hand.

“Thought you might prefer the daffodil this way,” he said.

I could have kissed him. I rewarded him with a smile as I accepted the mutilated stem.

I heard Brisbane swear. He called for the prefects to follow him. I stayed put, but the others obeyed.

Girls giggled and chattered. Boys dispersed and cleaned up for dinner. Lestrange lingered by me.

“Whose idea was this?” I gestured at the mountain of flowers.

“Cox recommended we take the walk,” Lestrange said. “He’s our new Chaser, by the by. I’ll be the new captain.” He waved a hand carelessly towards the flowers. “It was Lucius’s idea to come back with flowers,” he said. “That boy has got a flair for the dramatic.”

”I think you might, too.” I pretended to smell the mutilated flower stem he gave me.

“Maybe a bit.” Lestrange gave me one last small, handsome smile. “Almost time for dinner,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

I nodded and he walked away.

***26 February 1968, Hogwarts***

The snow is melting.

Leonard Crabbe and William Cole have been moved to St Mungo’s. Professor Dippet announced at breakfast that the off-limits perimeter around the Forbidden Forest has been extended to sixty yards during daylight hours, and one hundred and twenty yards after sunset. All Quidditch practices will be supervised by the team’s Head of House, or by the flying instructor, Mr. Hornsby.

After dinner, Slughorn made one of his rare appearances in our common room to make the point that Slytherins must be especially careful, as four of us have been attacked by “something in or near the forest.”

Sylvia clung to my arm for support as our classmates stared at us.

“It’s true,” I told them. “We are in danger. But we can take steps to protect ourselves.” I smiled reassuringly and made myself available to answer questions after Slughorn left.

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This work of fanfiction was based on characters and settings created by JK Rowling for her Harry Potter series. I'd like to note that my fair use of this popularly known source material does not in any way represent an endorsement of Rowling's harmful public statements against the validity of trans identities. LGBTQ+ youth are at higher risk of abuse and suicide than their cis and heterosexual peers. Please consider supporting the Matthew Shepard Foundation at https://www.matthewshepard.org/