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The Diary of Bellatrix Black - April 1968

Melodius S Lestrange presents the diary her great aunt kept during Year 5 at Hogwarts. In April, Bellatrix experienced a new level of emotional and psychological abuse; then inflicted more pain on others than ever before.

By Deanna CassidyPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 41 min read
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The Diary of Bellatrix Black - April 1968
Photo by Mark Fairhurst on Unsplash

***2 April 1968, Hogwarts***

Sunny.

During one of our breaks today, Sylvia and I were telling Charisma Bones and Doreen Vance about our spa days when Danielle Bagman and her Gryffindor gang came over. Danielle stretched her mouth into her least sincere “friendly” smile.

“Good afternoon!” she said.

“Afternoon,” Bones responded. I rolled my eyes and waited for Danielle to go away.

“I’d just like to give you a friendly reminder,” Danielle said, “As a Prefect, you know, I should just mention it: school rules do prohibit the use of the Dark Arts in the castle or grounds.”

A moment passed. Then Vance prompted Danielle with, “And…?”

“And any students found participating in a Dark Arts coven will face detention,” Danielle explained, with the air of someone telling a toddler that everyone brushes their teeth before bed. “Perhaps even expulsion.”

Sylvia stepped between Danielle and me. “Is that your latest unfounded rumor? We’re doing Dark Arts?”

Rita Skeeter stepped forward too, her face the picture of hungry curiosity. “What are you lot doing, all locked up in the Prefects’ Bathroom together? Brewing poisons?” She leered obscenely. “Are your taboo pursuits even magical in nature? Vance broke up with Hopkirk. Black here had her heart broken by Crabbe. Have you all sworn off men?” The Gryffindor girls all made disgusted sounds.

Bones gave me a quick, worried look.

Sylvia’s face reddened. “How dare you?” she raged at Rita. Sylvia reached for her wand but I stopped her.

Danielle sneered. “Decided you don’t want to go back to spending your days in Mr Pringle’s office?”

“It would be less boring than this conversation,” I said, turning my back on her to face Vance and Bones again. “So, will we see you Saturday afternoon?”

“I’ll be there,” Vance said.

Bones looked from the Gryffindor bullies to me. “I’ll let you know,” she said.

“All right then,” I said. “Have a nice day.”

Sylvia and I started walking away. Danielle shouted, “Greasy hag!” at my back, but no one paid her any more attention than they would have to a bellowing cow.

***7 April 1968, Hogwarts***

It’s the first really nice day of spring.

Yesterday’s salon went very well. Danielle and Rita buzzed around the corridor outside of the Prefects’ bathroom, undoubtedly trying to eavesdrop. Any time I checked my Foe Glass, I could see their faces floating clearly in the mirror.

At one point, Molly Prewett, that seventh year Gryffindor prefect girl, opened the door uninvited. She pushed Danielle and Rita out of the way, stepped in, and closed the door on their faces.

“Sorry for the interruption,” she said, pink in the face with annoyance. “They’re making such a scene out there. I made them promise they’d go away if I nipped in to confirm there’s no Dark Arts going on in here.” She took one perfunctory look about the room.

Five girls sat around the bath with me, as we all soaked our feet. Millicent Mitchell and Alecto Carrow painted Ganymede Greengrass and Doreen Vance’s fingernails. Catherine Umbridge was applying my face masque to Mafalda Higgins. Valeria, Sylvia, and Adrienne were styling Cissy, Edwina, and Aeris’s hair.

No one said a word to Prewett.

“Right, then. Ta,” Prewett excused herself. She opened the door and pushed Danielle and Rita away again. As the door closed, she could be heard saying, “Nobody’s exsanguinating goats in there. Mind your own business!”

When the sounds of her chivvying the others died away, Catherine Umbridge broke the silence. “At least one Prewett knows how to mind her own business.” Everyone laughed.

Of course, Molly Prewett’s mother is that hag at Witch Weekly. So much has been going on that Danielle and Rita’s stupid “Dear Daffodil” prank slipped my mind.

Well, I’ve been busy. I had my successes with Sylvia and Cole. I’ve got my prefect duties. I’ve been practicing spells from Advanced Defences Against Advanced Darkness. I’ve got Andie to scold and Cissy to encourage. Some things are just not important. So what if Danielle’s punishments or a couple of Transfiguration essays fall by the wayside?

***11 April 1968, Hogwarts***

Sunny and cool.

Easter break starts tomorrow, thank goodness. It seems like all I’ve heard all week is “OWL’s are coming! Only nine weeks! Just nine weeks left to study!” That, and another nudge from Slughorn to catch up on my homework.

Isn’t it obvious? I’m so far above and beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level and all my classmates. I’ve mastered spells that grown wizards won’t touch. I’m so magically powerful that my own Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is in love with me.

I’ve got no reason to waste my time filling out worksheets and revising for exams.

***13 April 1968, 2:48pm, Letchworth***

Sunny.

Guideon Wikowski and Bridgett McNair are engaged.

The Wikowski and McNair patriarchs are such good friends that the pair have known each other all their lives. The families have forever been going on holidays together and having dinners at each other’s houses. It’s practically incestuous, how closely Guideon grew up with Bridgett and Walden. Nonetheless, Guideon and Bridgett are apparently very much in love. Due to their families’ closeness, and no doubt to the age gap between them, their courtship has been very carefully supervised and everything has been perfectly proper.

At Christmas, Guideon proposed to Bridgett. She couldn’t wear her ring at Hogwarts, because their romance can’t be known there. But, she wore it to today’s Daughters of the International Statute of Secrecy luncheon. The esteemed members and their daughters and nieces made all the excited cooing noises women generally do when admiring engagement rings.

“It’s goblin-made,” Bridgett’s mother boasted. “Passed down from Guideon’s Great Great Grandmother, Harfe Karkaroff.”

“Not the wandmaker!” one of the Greengrass aunts exclaimed. (I’ve never bothered to learn how to tell Ethel from Kassandra.)

“The very same,” Isobel McNair said with a grin. “She taught Mykew Gregorovitch everything he knew. And she wore this—” Isobel held Bridgett’s hand up to show off the ring “—Every day.”

Bridgett blushed.

Our mothers and the other women all chattered away about goblin-made jewelry and wedding plans. When Bridgett could disengage, she leaned in towards me.

“Bellatrix, please tell me. How did you figure it out? I know you did. I saw how Guideon acted when the two of you talked at Slughorn’s last dinner party. I thought you must be telling him you’d found us out.”

I studied her face carefully. She was smiling, her expression more open and relaxed than I’d ever seen before. “Wikowski didn’t tell you what we discussed?”

She shook her head. “We hardly ever talk privately when we’re at school. It’s too risky. We mostly write each other letters and…” She blushed again. “Well, the letters aren’t practical.”

“The conversation you saw was about me and Leonard Crabbe,” I told Bridgett. “I never told Wikowski I had caught on to the two of you. Didn’t want to embarrass him.”

She gave me a warm smile. “Your friendship has been such a comfort for him,” she said. “And I’ve really been enjoying getting to know you, too.”

I reciprocated her smile. “I’m here for you,” I said.

She squeezed my hand affectionately.

***13 April 1968, 5:22pm, Letchworth***

I’m so excited!

After writing earlier, I curled up in the armchair in Daddy’s study and dove into his copy of Great Great Grandfather Phineas Nigellus Black’s Sixty-Six Spells that can Save your Skin. At some point, Andie barged in with her usual gracelessness.

“Bella, he’s here!”

I looked at her over the edge of the book. “Who’s here?”

“That scary man from the Christmas party!” Andie exclaimed. “Our cousin Markleton and everyone he’s traveling with—”

I launched myself to my feet. I didn’t even care that the book hit the floor. “Lord Voldemort is here? Now? How’s my hair? Answer me!”

The little brat looked stunned by the way I’d put my hands on her shoulders. “He isn’t here, here, now. He’s here in England.”

I let her go. Andie reeled backwards dramatically, as if I had pushed her, and made a show of hitting the bookshelf behind her.

“Bella, that really hurt,” she whined.

I didn’t bother to keep patience with her. “What did you go barging in here for, interrupting my reading, just to tell me what country he’s in?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I’m nervous,” she said. “I felt like he didn’t like me. Like he didn’t like anybody, really. And Mother says they’ll all be coming here tomorrow.” She paused for a moment, then awkwardly added, “To our Easter dinner.”

They’ll all be coming here tomorrow. Here. Lord Voldemort will be in my house. Our Easter dinner. I was so happy, I laughed.

“Bella? Bella! You’re scaring me!” Andie whined.

“Oh Andie, stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” she asked, incredulous. “Have you heard your own laugh? You’ve got a malevolent cackle.”

“Now you’re just being rude,” I said. I picked up the book and put it away. “You better be on your best behavior tomorrow. When in doubt, just try to be like Cissy.”

She looked like she was about to cry when I left the room. Honestly, she overreacts to everything I do.

***14 April 1968, Letchworth***

I’d never seen the house so full. Dinner was almost cozy. With the Cygnus Blacks, the Orion Blacks, Grandfather Rosier, the Ilium Rosiers, the Henry Selwyns, Lord Voldemort, and the Death Eaters, there were only about five inches between one person’s bread and butter plate and the next person’s saucer.

After pudding, it was only natural for such a large group of people to splinter off into smaller contingents. Daddy offered Lord Voldemort a tour of our park, and I immediately volunteered to come. Markleton also took the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air.

Our walk began normally enough. Daddy showed our guests the greenhouse, the rose garden, and the orchard. At first, Daddy discussed the features and beauties of the park with Lord Voldemort, and Markleton escorted me.

“You never responded to my last letter,” he said. He tried to maintain a casual tone, but I could tell he felt tense.

“I didn’t know how,” I admitted.

“You could have thanked me for cleaning up after you.”

I didn’t allow my face to show my frustration. “All I asked for was a little guidance, so I could handle the situation myself. Haven’t I demonstrated that I’m capable?”

Markleton’s lip curled unpleasantly. “Bella, the most intelligent thing a wizard can ever do, ever, is take a realistic inventory of his own shortcomings.”

I smiled serenely. “I’ll never grasp anything new if I never reach.”

He quietly began to say that I didn’t understand, but he was interrupted by Lord Voldemort’s gentle voice saying, “Isn’t that right, Rosier?”

“My lord?” he asked.

“I was telling Cygnus that Bellatrix’s letters have been a gift to us all,” Lord Voldemort said. His sweet tenor raised the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck in a pleasant way. “Her anecdotes are amusing, and her insights, invaluable.”

Daddy beamed at me. “I’m so pleased,” he said.

“I have been especially impressed with what I’ve heard of Bellatrix’s spellwork,” Lord Voldemort said. My face grew hot. “You know, Black, I think your daughter here has potential to achieve great things.”

“Thank you very much, my lord,” Daddy said.

Lord Voldemort gestured at a nearby apricot tree with long, pale fingers. “Of course, any attentive gardener knows that even the most promising plants will only truly thrive if they receive quality guidance.”

“Absolutely,” Daddy agreed. “Correction, encouragement, and maintenance: these are essential to true success.”

“As such,” Lord Voldemort said. The anticipation tingled down my spine. He produced a small glass vial of a pink liquid with a mother-of-pearl sheen. Daddy gave us a hesitant look, but Markleton forestalled him with a gesture.

Lord Voldemort stepped forward until a mere six inches separated our bodies, and uncorked the vial. “Tell me what you smell,” he said, “But do not drink.” He wafted the vial under my nose.

It was the most heavenly combination of scents I’d ever encountered. “It’s that somber scent you get in large, clean buildings with a lot of marble,” I said. “Like Gringott’s Bank. And a coppery tang; I suppose that’s the metal of knuts and other coins. And something more.” I took another slow, deep breath. “It’s earthy and clean. Fresh. It reminds me of riding in the cart under Gringott’s to get to the deepest vaults. What is this potion?”

Lord Voldemort corked the vial again, looking at me carefully. He put it back in his pocket. “That,” he said, “Was a test.”

I didn’t understand. I asked, “Did I pass?”

“You did. Black?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“If Bellatrix is interested in a bit of extra tutelage—and of course, if you and Mrs Black are amenable…” I hung on every word. Lord Voldemort said, “My friends and I don’t intend to leave England until the twenty-first. I could make some time available in the mornings to give Bellatrix some lessons in Occlumency.”

I could hardly breathe.

Daddy’s face lit up with surprise and pleasure. “Occlumency? Really? That would be just splendid, I think.” He turned to me. “How do you feel about that, Bella? It would be hard work, on top of revising for your OWL examinations. No one could blame you for wanting your Easter holiday to be restful, instead.”

“I’d be honored to accept Lord Voldemort’s kind offer,” I said. I was perfectly composed, without shouting or stammering.

Daddy and Lord Voldemort worked out the logistics while Markleton glared at me. Lord Voldemort will visit every morning this week at ten o’clock.

I will see him every day for a full week.

He will come here, to my house, every day. He’ll come to see me. Me! He’ll teach me.

Markleton is wrong to doubt me. He keeps trying to treat me like a child, but Lord Voldemort sees me for the powerful, worthy witch I truly am.

***15 April 1968, Letchworth***

I have been such a childish fool.

Pathetic being that I was, I woke this morning practically bubbling over with excitement. At breakfast, Andie asked why Cissy and I were smiling so much, and Cissy said that my good mood was contagious. Mother explained to the girls about my Occlumency lessons, and I felt so mature and important.

Daddy removed to the library so that we could use his study, which afforded more privacy. Markleton and Rabastan Lestrange accompanied Lord Voldemort to our house, but they spent the morning with Mother and Aunt Walburga, who was also visiting. Cissy entertained little Regulus, and Andie kept Sirius out of too much trouble.

I wondered what would make the best impression for Lord Voldemort’s first sight of me that day. I sat at Daddy’s desk with my copy of A History of Magic, as if revising for my OWL: a serious, studious picture. Then I moved to the window and looked out, letting the gentle morning sunlight illuminate my face like an ethereal, youthful beauty. Then I tried to curl up in the armchair with Sixty-Six Spells, the sight of ease and competence. But, I couldn’t get comfortable.

I was halfway out of the chair when the study door opened so suddenly that the book slipped from my hands again. Blinker apparated by my ankles, holding her little baby on her hip, and caught the book with her free hand. She shelved it, bowed, and disappeared before Lord Voldemort and Daddy had stepped all the way into the room.

I straightened up. “Good morning, my lord,” I said.

“Good morning,” he said in his sweet, light tones. “Handy things, House Elves, aren’t they?”

I felt my cheeks get hot. “They are.”

“I hope this room is comfortable enough,” Daddy said modestly. “Is there anything else I can get or do for you, my lord?”

“I have all I need, Cygnus. Thank you.” Lord Voldemort gestured gracefully. Daddy nodded to him, smiled at me, and left.

It was the first time Lord Voldemort and I had ever been alone together. I suddenly remembered again the intimate dream I’d had of him.

He waved his wand, and the wooden chair flew from behind the desk to the space in front of the armchair. He sat in the latter and gestured for me to take the former.

I sat and waited.

“The potion yesterday was Amortentia,” Lord Voldemort explained.

I know my face burned red.

“The most powerful love potion in the world,” he continued, “Made you smell grand halls, copper, and deep caves. This tells me that what attracts you most is power. Wealth, blood, and secrets: power.”

I bit my lip.

“If it had been chocolate,” Lord Voldemort said calmly, “If it had been the smell of a human body, or perhaps woad and bonfires, like in your fantasy about the Beltane Rite of Power, then you would have been less useful.”

I couldn’t hold his gaze. “It was a dream,” I demurred.

“Tell the truth,” he ordered.

My eyes immediately snapped back to his. “It was a dream that never really left my thoughts,” I admitted. “It lurks on the edge of my mind when I’m busy and steps forward uninvited at random times.”

“That,” Lord Voldemort said, “Is one of the reasons why you must learn to close your mind.”

“My lord?”

“Dumbledore is a Legilimens. You must not allow him to see your thirst for power, or your close connection to me.”

“Close connection,” I repeated.

“You must not allow the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts to know that you are reporting the school’s news to me,” Lord Voldemort pressed.

The phrase "close connection" had sparked the mental image of us alone by the springtime bonfire again.

“And,” Lord Voldemort said sharply, “You would do best to put that image out of your head entirely.”

I looked away again.

Lord Voldemort lifted my chin with the smooth tip of his wand. “Bellatrix Druella Black, you are a child,” he said firmly. “If you cast me in a hero’s role in your adolescent heart, your usefulness will die with my tolerance of you.”

I swallowed hard. The tip of his wand remained under my chin, commanding, even threatening.

“At present, you are nothing,” Lord Voldemort said.

My heart seized as if pierced.

He continued: “You are an arrogant amateur. You are a dilettante, dabbling in forces you cannot control or even understand. Legilimens.”

My mind flooded with images. I saw myself casting the Phantom Bite jinx on Danielle’s boyfriend, then the disastrous kiss with Crabbe.

Lord Voldemort’s high voice sounded over the mental images. “Your self-love has fooled you into believing the empty flattery of others who just want to use you.”

I saw Cole’s Disillusionment Charm fade as he smiled at me in Crabbe’s bedroom. I saw Wikowski, wishing me a warm farewell after one of Slughorn’s parties, and then turning to Bridgett to do the same.

“You are petty.”

Lord Voldemort’s words poured down my back like ice water. I saw Danielle curling into a ball on the school train.

“You are weak.”

I saw my breath hanging in the freezing air as I laughed and kicked Sylvia, paralyzed in the snow.

“You are shallow.”

I saw myself handing a box of crystallized pineapple to Slughorn.

“You are nothing but a little girl with delusions of grandeur.”

I had one last glimpse of the dream in which Lord Voldemort leaned down to me and kissed me. Then, as suddenly as the flood of images had begun, it ended.

At some point during it all, I had slid off the chair and was kneeling. Lord Voldemort’s wand had moved from my chin to my temple. He mercifully withdrew it.

I felt empty. I felt as if I’d been empty this whole time, and only now realized how empty I was.

I’m not sure how much time passed. Eventually, I realized that I was staring blankly at a bookshelf. I blinked my tired eyes.

Lord Voldemort looked down at me with his otherworldly red gaze. I felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow me whole. With one serpentine bite he could surround me in a comforting, weightless, dark void. His handsome face seemed to emanate light.

I realized how easily Lord Voldemort could kill me.

He nodded, just a little.

Hot tears slid down my cheeks. I can’t even remember the last time before this I cried in earnest. I dabbed the tears away on my sleeve, then stared at the wet spots on the fabric.

“Forgive me, my lord,” I said, attempting to mop up my face. “It isn’t like me to weep.”

Lord Voldemort didn’t acknowledge my words. He looked at me with clinical detachment.

I remained on my knees before him. I understood now: I am not worthy.

“Your first lesson—” I jumped a little at the sound of his voice. Then I hung my head in shame. “—Is complete,” Lord Voldemort said, choosing not to comment on how I’d startled. “I am pleased with the results.”

I dared to look up at him.

Now, Lord Voldemort was smiling.

He was smiling at me.

I am nothing. I am an idiotic amateur, a self-important prat, a child. And the perfect wizard still smiled at me.

He was smiling.

At me.

Smiling.

He offered me his hand. He helped me to my feet with his own hand. The room lurched and swam around me. He guided me into his own seat in the comfortable armchair. My hand was in his hand.

I sat rigidly, trying to stop myself from swaying as the room flickered in and out of focus. The only thing I felt sure of was Lord Voldemort’s face, constant, gentle, comforting.

Smiling.

My hand in his hand.

He was talking. I forced myself to listen. It felt like a crime not to pay attention to his every word.

He sat across from me, his face not far from my own.

“There you are,” he said sweetly. “Good.”

I blushed again and fought back tears. “My lord,” I said, hating the whining tone in my own voice. “Please, my lord, don’t waste your time on me…”

He held up a hand and I fell silent.

“You are nothing right now,” he clarified. “Most people are nothing, for their entire lives. You, Bellatrix, have potential.”

I finally managed to dry my tears. The phrase repeated in my mind. “You, Bellatrix, have potential. You, Bellatrix, have potential.” I was staring off again. I looked at him.

“If you had been a lesser witch, I would have maintained your ignorant delusions. I have done it before. I will do it again. Some people are only useful for their stupidity.”

I nodded.

He lifted my chin again, but this time, it was the intimate touch of his bare hand. “You are tired.”

There was no denying it.

“Go to your room, Bellatrix. Make yourself comfortable. Empty your mind of all thoughts. Rest. We will have someone wake you for lunch.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He helped me rise and escorted me to the stairs. I felt like I floated all the way up them.

My curtains were closed. Maybe Blinker had done it on Lord Voldemort’s orders. I kicked off my shoes, lied on my bed, and stared at the plum-colored velvet canopy for some time.

I must have slept, because at one o’clock, I woke to Cissy’s musical little voice.

“Bella?”

“Cissy,” I said. My eyelids felt heavy. “Was it a dream? Did Lord Voldemort really come back to England?”

“He’s here, Bella,” she said, with perfect composure. “He’s in the library with Daddy. Blinker’s set up a luncheon for us all in the garden.”

I sat up. Cissy’s lips tightened with a touch of disapproval. She smoothed down my hair and pinched some color into my cheeks.

“How was your first lesson?” she asked.

My eyes welled with tears again.

Concern flooded her pretty little face. “Oh, Bella!” She flung her arms around me. “Are you alright? What ’s happened?”

“I’m fine,” I told her, parting her back and letting the tears fall freely. “Really, I’m alright. I actually feel good.”

She sat back and examined my face. I suppose she was looking for signs of a lie. She wiped my tears away with her fingers. “Andie says she always feels better after a ‘good cry.’”

“Do you?” I asked her.

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a ‘good cry,’” she said. “I remember I used to cry a bit, you know, when I was a kid. All little girls do. But you and Mother and Daddy and all the Blacks and Rosiers—I’ve never seen any family member older than Andie cry, and it’s weird when she does it.” She sat with me for a moment, holding my hand in pensive silence. Then she added, “I thought that fear and sadness were weaknesses. But you’re crying now, and you don’t look weak.”

“I am weak right now,” I told her. “I’m learning that I’m not as capable as maybe I thought. But it’s all right. Lord Voldemort is fixing me. He says I have potential.”

Cissy’s head tilted a little as she looked at me. If she was considering saying anything more, she decided against it.

Lunch was pleasant enough. Sirius went off somewhere to hide and Andie chased after him. Without them, everyone remaining behaved beautifully. Cissy and little Regulus were particularly quiet; I think they were awed by Lord Voldemort’s powerful presence.

Even Aunt Walburga was less dramatic than usual.

After the food, Lord Voldemort and I returned to the study. With a wave of his wand, the furniture placed itself neatly along the walls of the room, clearing the center of the floor. He had me stand in the middle.

“Take out your wand,” he told me. When I hesitated, he reassured me, “The restriction on underage wizards performing magic outside of school is unenforceable in this case. Take out your wand.” I obeyed. “Now, clear your thoughts. I will use Legilimency again. You must attempt to prevent or stop me in any way possible.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, imagining my thoughts to disperse in the air with it.

“Legilimens.”

I saw Slughorn looking warily at me out of the corner of his eye during my daylong detentions, when I’d been caught with restricted books. It wasn’t admiration on his face. It was fear.

My mind jumped to Andie at the breakfast table. “Can you love?”

With another jolt, I was riding on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. A girl with a squarish face peered shyly into my compartment and tried a brave smile. “Hi. I’m Danielle. You seem to have some room…” Her smile withered at the look on my face.

Another shift, and I was twelve years old, standing on a beach in Nice and twisting four-year-old Sirius’s ear to stop him throwing sand at me. Andie tugged on my arm. “Stop it, he doesn’t understand!” Sirius clawed at my arm like a trapped animal.

“You’re letting me go where I please,” Lord Voldemort said from somewhere, unseen.

With another shift, I was walking into the headmaster’s office with Sylvia, face to face with Cole’s mother and terrified I would be sent to Azkaban.

“Protego,” I cast.

I had returned to my senses, standing in the middle of Daddy’s study, my shield charm wavering uncertainly in the air between Lord Voldemort and me.

He vanished my spell with a casual wave of his wand. “Again,” he said. I didn’t get a chance to empty my thoughts again before he cast, “Legilimens.”

I was in my bedroom at Hogwarts, affixing Lord Voldemort’s press clippings to my diary and kissing the page before closing it.

“How sentimental,” Lord Voldemort’s voice sneered.

Another shift, and I saw Cissy bowing to her audience at Grandfather Rosier’s Christmas party as Lord Voldemort applauded.

“You can do better,” he told me.

I couldn’t help it. My mind went right back to the sight of us beside a springtime bonfire, wearing nothing but blue paint, with Lord Voldemort’s face drawing closer to mine.

“Protego!” I couldn’t bear the thought of Lord Voldemort watching that entire fantasy—especially not after he had specifically told me not to dwell on it. This time, my shield charm was stronger.

Lord Voldemort smiled at me. “Again,” he said, waving away my shield charm as if it were nothing.

Again and again and again.

The sunset burned orange and lovely when Lord Voldemort finally told me to compose myself. He, Markleton, and Lestrange did not stay for supper. Aunt Walburga and my cousins had already left.

The evening was rather subdued. Cissy and Andie kept looking at me. Mother and Daddy congratulated me once each on my lesson, and discussed other things.

Now, I’m exhausted. I don’t want to forget a single moment of my first lesson, so I took the time to write all this out. But it is beyond time for me to sleep.

***16 April 1968, Letchworth***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Today’s lessons were also difficult and draining. Lord Voldemort says I’m making acceptable progress.

***17 April 1968, Letchworth***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Occlumency is hard. I’m tired.

***18 April 1968, Letchworth***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Andie has been exchanging letters with a Hufflepuff boy. She insists that Patrick Gamp is not her boyfriend, but he’d be a decent fit for her. Too bad he isn’t in Slytherin.

Lord Voldemort says that my mental defences are improving. To me, it still seems like he plunges into my thoughts effortlessly.

I have no secrets from him. I have no boundaries with him. He is as much a part of my brain as I am, and he says I have potential.

***19 April 1968, Letchworth***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

I haven’t had much appetite lately. I haven’t bothered studying for OWL’s or reading or even going outside. I just attend my Occlumency lessons with Lord Voldemort and sleep.

I’m so tired.

***20 April 1968, Letchworth***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Today was my last session with Lord Voldemort, at least for now. He, Alfred Mulciber, and Julius Avery stayed for supper. Daddy asked Lord Voldemort how my lessons had gone.

Lord Voldemort answered, “When you consider her youth, Bella’s powers are considerable.”

He calls me Bella, now.

Mother praised my hard work and asked Lord Voldemort if he’d ever considered teaching regularly.

“It is a career I have always wanted to pursue,” he said. “In fact, I am nearing the end of my nomadic travels. I have just a few more places to visit and things to learn. Then I intend to apply to Professor Dippet for a post at Hogwarts.”

Andie dropped her fork with a clatter and dove under the table to retrieve it. Cissy froze, taking slow, carefully measured breaths.

“That would be wonderful!” I said. “When? Will I still be in school?”

“I expect to return to Great Britain this winter,” he said.

“My lord, it would be a great honor if you and your companions visited with us upon your return,” Mother invited. “Any time that is convenient and appealing to you. Christmas, New Year’s, any time.”

Mulciber gave Mother a resentful look. “My cousin Abraxas has already invited us for Christmas,” he said.

Lord Voldemort waved a graceful hand dismissively. “We do not yet know the date of our return,” he said. “But thank you, Druella, for the warm invitation. It will not be forgotten.”

After an unnecessarily long time, Andie reappeared from under the table, wide eyed, with the air of a cornered rabbit.

I understand the point of Sentimency now. Sometimes, a person’s emotions are so extraordinarily ridiculous that they are hard to understand. Why on Earth would Andie be so frightened?

Conversation turned to wishes for Professor Dippet’s good health, and then to Lord Voldemort’s upcoming travels. Between now and Christmas, he has “things to do” on the Aleutian Islands; in Leningrad, Russia; and somewhere “not far from Krujë,” Albania.

The thought of so much distance between us makes me ache. Lord Voldemort is now so much a part of me that I fear I will be incomplete without him. But, I have my orders, and he will be pleased to see how well I follow them.

***21 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort and all his Death Eaters ate breakfast with us. Then they departed on their great travels, off to the westernmost reaches of Alaska, to a remote little island where there are more bears than wizards.

Markleton shook my hand before he went. He nearly crushed my fingers, and murmured in a threading tone, “Toe the line.”

I placed my free hand over his deadly grip and dug my nails in. “Do your best, Markleton,” I said with a smile. “I won’t forget to write.” He bruised me, but I made him bleed.

Lord Voldemort gave me no particular praise this morning, except by calling me “Bella,” which may well be the highest honor I ever receive in my life.

Mother and Daddy took us to Platform 9¾ by side-along apparition, as usual. Before we separated to different compartments, Andie clung to my hand and Cissy stepped aside with us.

“Bella,” Andie said in a dramatic half-whisper. “I’ve got a terrible feeling. Like something just awful is going to happen.”

I wrenched my bruised hand out of her grip. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Listen, Bella, please,” Andie begged. I knew if I didn’t stop and let her speak that she would make a scene, crying. “There’s something different about you lately. This past week, you’re a completely different—I mean, I suppose you haven’t changed, really, you just—something isn’t the same, and—”

Andie was confusing herself, but Cissy came to her rescue: “I have noticed you’ve been particularly intense. And sad. You haven’t been eating much, and you’ve been saying sad things, like calling yourself ‘worthless.’”

“Not worthless,” I countered. “Just, not worthy. There’s a difference. And if I’ve changed at all, I’m just more myself than ever. I’m less bogged down with shallow matters. Less affected by frivolous anxiety.”

Andie and Cissy exchanged a look. I’d never before suspected them of colluding. Cissy shook her head.

Andie sighed. “Please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease just follow the school rules. I’m worried about you.”

I raised my eyebrow at Cissy. “Are you worried about me?”

She looked absolutely calm and composed when she said, “Terrified.”

“Well, don’t be,” I reassured them. “Lord Voldemort thinks I have potential.”

We separated. The ride on the Hogwarts Express was uneventful. Dinner was a rather overdone lamb chop, but the asparagus was good. No prefect duty for me tonight, so I have time to practice occlumency before bed.

***22 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***23 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***24 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***25 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***26 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***27 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Another spa day went well.

***28 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***29 April 1968, Hogwarts***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

***30 April 1968, Hogsmeade***

There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort.

Either he will save me from myself, or he’ll kill me for what I did today. Or maybe I’ll just be caught and sent to Azkaban for the rest of my life.

It’s all Danielle’s fault! And that abominable gamekeeper Hagrid. They should be the ones locked away by the dementors. If it weren’t for them, I’d be writing in my bedroom in the Slytherin dungeon, not in this foul-smelling inn.

Danielle is such a petty, horrible bully. She’s been failing to get a rise out of me for weeks now, so she escalated to an unbearable extreme. Today in Arithmancy—of course, she had to do it during a double period—she used a switching spell to replace every page of my book with copies of that horrid “Dear Daffodil” column. No doubt that Rita girl gave her the idea.

So, as we were leaving, I nonverbally cast the Imperius curse on her. I knew right away it wasn’t strong enough. Unforgivable Curses require conviction. They work best when declared out loud. If it had really worked, Danielle would have immediately marched to the forest. As it was, she froze in place.

“We have to talk,” I said to her. “Come with me.”

She hesitated. One of her Gryffindor friends started walking our way with a concerned look on her face. I closed the space between Danielle and me and cast the spell again, this time with a mutter, masking my movement by catching her as she “lost her balance” at my suggestion.

The Gryffindor girl squeaked with concern as she saw me catch Danielle. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Danielle shook her head as if she just came to, and smiled. “Thanks, Bellatrix. I’m fine, Mavis, thank you.”

We left the classroom and Danielle followed me towards the front door.

“Danielle?” Mavis asked. “Aren’t we meeting up with Rita for dinner?”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Danielle reassured her. “I just have to talk to Bellatrix for a bit.”

Mavis didn’t seem to believe it, but she didn’t follow us down the stairs. Sylvia, Millicent, and Ganymede fell in with us wordlessly as we crossed the entrance hall. We were halfway to the Quidditch pitch when Adrienne and Valeria caught up.

“Have we missed anything?” Adrienne asked. “I didn’t realize it was on.”

“Sort of a spur of the moment decision,” I said. “Glad you caught up.” I gave Valeria a glance over my shoulder. “Missing your Charms Club meeting?”

She took her wand out of her pocket. “A girl’s got to have her priorities. Saw you heading out and figured I’d cover your tracks.” With a complicated whirl of her wand and muttered enchantments, she cast a glamour over us that made us blend in to the grass on the field. Then she and a mute, magical copy of each of the rest of us sat down in the grass with every appearance of settling in for a comfortable chat.

Obscured from sight, I led the way past the Quidditch pitch and into the forest. “I’ll want a lookout here,” I said.

“Understood.” Ganymede cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself. Her shadow leaned against the shadow of a nearby tree.

Adrienne, Sylvia, Millicent, Danielle and I stepped deeper into the woods.

“There isn’t really a harpy in here, is there?” Adrienne asked nervously.

“There’s much worse,” Sylvia told her. I didn’t see what she did next but I assume she gestured at me.

I heard Adrienne say, “Oh.” Millicent laughed.

Evening sunlight trickled through the budding leaves as we walked past larger and larger trees. Danielle tripped over a root and landed hard on her wrists. She yelped.

We paused, standing around her. I didn’t know how to tell if the curse was still in effect. After a moment, she slowly pulled herself up, and then in a flash, she cast the disarming spell. I dodged just in time, and Millicent and Adrienne grabbed her.

“Take her wand,” I told Sylvia.

Sylvia hesitated.

“Please,” Danielle said to her. “Please, help me. You tried to help me before. You know what Bellatrix is.”

“You know what Bellatrix is!” I snapped at her. “You know what I can do, and you still insult and harass me. You forced my hand, again! Take her wand.”

Sylvia took Danielle’s wand.

“Imperio.” I cast it at full volume, in front of witnesses. The power of the spell burned white hot from my brain, down my arm and through my wand.

Sylvia and Adrienne gaped. I’d never seen Millicent grin so wide. Danielle’s expression went blank, like a doll. My friends let go of her and backed up a step. We had her surrounded.

“Let’s get to the bottom of your petty jealousy, shall we?” I said. “Tell me, truthfully, what you think of my blood status.”

Danielle responded with her characteristic fake smile and saccharine tone. “Blood status doesn’t matter at all, Bellatrix,” she said. “Muggle-Born, halfblood, pureblood. Muggle. We’re all human.”

Adrienne scoffed. “She’s delusional.”

“She’s stupid,” I said. “Danielle. Tell me truthfully what you think of my looks.”

I wanted to jinx that hideous smile right off her face. “You look a bit bug-eyed, Bellatrix. Weak chin. Unappealingly skinny. You look like an inbred greyhound. Your hair is greasy—”

“Enough!” I commanded. “You’re delusional about blood status and tasteless when it comes to classical aesthetics. You’re jealous of my intelligence and magical prowess. Admit it.” She blinked. “Danielle, tell me truthfully what you think of my power.”

Her smile continued. “You’re irresponsible,” she said. “Immature. Reckless. You’re going to get yourself a cell in Azkaban.”

I cast the Cruciatus curse on Danielle. She screamed and fell to the forest floor, writhing in pain.

When her scream faded into moans, I heard a sniffle. Tears poured down Sylvia’s cheeks. I looked at Millicent, who smiled down at Danielle like a child with a new toy. Adrienne stared at me in open admiration.

Danielle wiped her face and looked up at me. “You’re going to Azkaban.” There was no more sweetness in her voice.

“Crucio!”

Her screams rang out again. I couldn’t help it; I burst into laughter. After years of us bickering, and weeks of her trying her best to bully me, I reduced her to a little ball of screaming agony.

“I’m sorry,” Danielle sobbed. “I’m sorry I was mean to you! Please!”

“Crucio!”

When her screams deescalated back down to sobs, Danielle cried, “Sylvia! Sylvia, help me!”

Sylvia didn’t bother dabbing at her tears. “Bellatrix,” she begged. “Please. I know you’re a good person. You saved me, that night Cole attacked us. Please, you’ve won. Danielle will leave you alone now.”

I turned to Adrienne. “Sylvia doesn’t have the stomach for this.”

“Oh, please don’t make me take her back to the castle,” Adrienne requested. “I don’t want to miss the show.”

“Stupefy.” The red flash of Millicent’s spell hit Sylvia in the gut. Sylvia fell to the ground, unconscious.

Adrienne beamed at Millicent. “Good thinking!” She picked up Sylvia and Danielle’s wands.

“Will you cruciate her, too?” Millicent asked.

I Confunded Sylvia instead. “It worked wonders last time,” I explained.

Danielle pushed herself up on her hands and knees. “You’re all going to rot in prison,” she said. “Bellatrix, I hope a dementor kisses you. No one else will ever want to.”

I raised my wand at her again, but I heard, “Oy! What’s goin’ on here?”

“Hagrid!” Danielle shrieked. “Hagrid, help!”

“Stupefy.” Millicent’s spell hit her target’s shoulder. Danielle fell face-down in the dirt.

“Oy!” Hagrid shouted again. “Who’s stunnin’ who over there?” He lumbered over from the depths of the forest, waving a floral umbrella in our direction. A gigantic spider that was almost as tall as me followed close behind him.

At the sight of the acromantula, Adrienne shrieked and ran, dropping Sylvia and Danielle’s wands. Millicent came to my side, wand drawn, ready to fight.

“Hold it!” Hagrid shouted after Adrienne. “You lot are in trouble! This forest ain’t safe for students!” He waved his hand dismissively. “She’s runnin’ for the castle, anyway.” He shrugged his gigantic shoulders and looked at us, absent-mindedly pulling bits of twigs from his bushy beard. He saw that Millicent and I stood with our wands pointed at him, but didn’t seem bothered. “You lot duelin’? That’s against the rules, that is.” He bent down over Sylvia and rested a huge hand gently on her back. Then he checked Danielle. “No harm done yet, but it’s dangerous out here.”

“No kidding,” I said, eying the acromantula.

“This is Aragog,” Hagrid said conversationally. “He’s my friend. Had ‘im from an egg. Aragog, these’re some students from the school.”

The spider spoke in a hissing, clicking voice, which somehow managed English words: “Hagrid, I’ve smelled two of these humans before. Back in the winter, this one,” it pointed a long, hairy leg at me, “attacked that one,” it pointed at Sylvia, prone on the ground.

I instantly knew it would all come out. “Stupefy!” I aimed for the spider, and Millicent joined in.

“Stop that!” Hagrid shouted.

The acromantula, unharmed but chattering with annoyance, advanced towards us.

“Don’t hurt ‘im!” Hagrid called.

With the swipe of one long, hairy arm, the spider knocked me over. I landed hard, my left eye just an inch away from a sharp rock.

“Stupefy!” Millicent continued trying to get the spider. “Stupefy!” The red flashes of her spell bounced off its hairy exoskeleton. She screamed as it knocked her down, held her against the ground, and kicked her wand towards Hagrid.

I was back on my feet. “Stupefy!” The spider jumped suddenly to dodge my spell, which knocked Millicent out cold instead. “Stupefy!” This one hit Hagrid square in the chest, and he barely winced.

“Knock it off!” he said, pointing his umbrella at me in a threatening gesture. “That’s enough!” He and the acromantula both advanced towards me.

I pointed my wand at the spider. “Bombarda!” I’d aimed for a leg, but the damn thing is so resilient that the spell glanced off it and detonated a lot on the ground nearby. The force of the spell did trip the acromantula up, though, and caused Hagrid to dive protectively between the unconscious Danielle and wooden shrapnel.

I paused only long enough to cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself, and ran. Light drained slowly out of the forest as I ran over protruding roots, thorny bushes, and all manner of natural little obstacles that caught at my robes and scratched my skin.

I had nothing with me but my schoolbag and my wand. My diary, my quill and ink, a few textbooks, a few bits of parchment, and my wallet. No food. No cloak against the evening chill. No broomstick. And if I used the Summoning Charm, someone could track my belongings and find me.

My lungs burned and my legs ached from the run. I figured I must have put enough distance between Hagrid and myself. Besides, it was getting dark, and he had to tend to my unconscious classmates—assuming the acromantula didn’t eat them. I slowed to a walk and lit my wand.

For a few minutes, I kept walking with no idea of where to go. I realized I needed a safe place to hide and a way to contact Daddy. So, I made my way to the Hog’s Head.

There were only two patrons in the bar. Both looked my way when I entered, but quickly averted their gaze. I marched right up to the barkeep.

“I need a room.”

He looked at me through filthy glasses. “Can you pay a galleon a night?”

“Two, if that’s the last question you ask me,” I said, pulling them from my wallet and dropping them on the bar.

He slid a key across to me. “Second on the left,” he said.

I accepted it. “Are your fires connected to the Floo Network?”

“No.”

“Get me an owl,” I said.

“I’m not a House Elf, girl,” the barkeep said. “I don’t accept orders just because they come from someone with a fancy pedigree.”

I tossed a sickle at him and started towards the stairs. “Get me an owl please,” I said.

To his credit, I got the owl, a large serving of pot pie, and two bottles of butter beer.

To his demerit, I can’t stand the smell of the bed. I’ve cast tergeo on the mattress and bedding several times, and it’s helped.

Hopefully Daddy will see the owl and respond to my letter before he goes to bed. Otherwise I really will be stuck here until morning.

Editor’s note: Before Easter break of her fifth year at Hogwarts, Bellatrix did not write in her diary every day, and most entries began with the weather. Between her first Occlumency lesson in April 1968, and her imprisonment in Azkaban in December 1981, Bellatrix wrote, “There is a perfect wizard, and his name is Lord Voldemort,” every single day. For the remainder of this publication, I will omit the entries that consist solely of these eleven words. —MSL

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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. Please consider supporting the National Equality Action Team at https://www.theneat.org/

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About the Creator

Deanna Cassidy

(she/her) This establishment is open to wanderers, witches, harpies, heroes, merfolk, muses, barbarians, bards, gargoyles, gods, aces, and adventurers. TERFs go home.

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