The Diary of Bellatrix Black - December 1967

***1 December 1967, London***

Dear Bella,

Pleased to receive your last. All are healthy, thank you; with the possible exception of my eldest, whom as you know was somehow accidentally Confunded when we last went to Diagon Alley, resulting in him playing gobstones with a half blood boy whose idiotic mother brought her filthy Muggle husband with her.

You’re quite right; the Noble House of Black has had a few notable Seers over the centuries. Aries Elizabeth Gaunt nee Black (1424-1501), Leo Cygnus Black (1524-1586), and Salazara Walburga Goyle (1740-1837, daughter of Klytemnestra Alice Goyle nee Black), were all celebrated in their respective lives for their precognitive abilities. Clarinetta Regina Tewksbury (1818-1859, daughter of Marietta Taurusette Tewksbury nee Black) taught Divination at Hogwarts for some time. The current Divination professor, Elektra Nott, is your first cousin thrice removed on the Black side, but if I remember correctly, the connection is closer on your Rosier side.

I should not be at all surprised if one of my or Cygnus’s children were to exhibit the ability to See. Each of the blessed scions of the House of Black has been gifted with extraordinary intelligence and talent, but: you, Cissy, and Regulus all seem to have the deep appreciation of the ancient magical arts necessary to lift the veil between Present and Future.

I’m delighted you’ve taken an interest in the family lore. Do let me know if you have any further questions.

See you at Christmas.

My best love to you and your sisters,

Sincerely yours,

Your Aunt, Walburga Black

***2 December 1967, Hogwarts***

Snow flurries.

Mother wrote back, too, but most of her letter was a detailed description of her last meeting with her branch of the Daughters of the International Statute of Secrecy. The relevant bit was: Professor Nott is my first cousin once removed on the Rosier side, though she and my late grandmother had a falling out some years before my birth. Mother also named two Seers in the Rosier line, but thinks that the predisposition for Sight normally shows itself before age 12.

I’m not convinced my dream was prophetic. The Dream Oracle indicated that dreams of Unforgivable Curses typically indicate the desire for power and the fear of inadequacy. The former suits me, but the latter? Preposterous.

In any case, I certainly have been growing increasingly comfortable with learning new jinxes and potions on my own. And Mafalda Higgins is nearly done catching me up with my homework.

***4 December 1967, The Daily Prophet***

AUROR VANISHES BY THE BANKS OF THE BURIGANGA, By Earnest Coke

DACCA: The Pakistani Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the International Auror Association are investigating the disappearance of Auror Mahah Kizra, who hasn’t been seen since last Tuesday. According to a spokeswizard for the Pakistani DMLE, Kizra has been stationed in Dacca to observe a wizard cult known as the Sons of the Demon Buffalo.

Kizra reported that the cult had recently been infiltrated by a group of English-speaking wizards, one of whom had “uncanny cobra eyes.” A source from the Islamabad office of the IAA, who prefers to remain anonymous, fears that Kizra has been attacked by these European, possibly British, wizards.

However, there is a great deal of tension between the wizards of the two halves of Pakistan. The Pakistani DMLE fears that Kizra, a Punjabi from West Pakistan, may have met with foul play from separatist Bengali wizards in East Pakistan.

A spokeswitch of the Sons of the Demon Buffalo denied any knowledge of Mahah Kizra or her whereabouts, and furthermore requested that we neither refer to the group as a “cult” not call it “the Sons of the Demon Buffalo.” She claimed that the group’s proper name is, “The Speakers of Mahishasura’s Truth.” She then asked the Daily Prophet to distribute a pamphlet published by the cult. This reporter declined.

***4 December 1967, Hogwarts***

Bright and cold.

It seems Markleton doesn’t expect to write because he and his companions have been so busy.

I’ve been to the library, but Madam Shafiq didn’t have any books on the Sons of the Demon Buffalo/Speakers of Mahishasura’s Truth. She hasn’t had any books on south Asian culture or history since Pakistan separated from India. She did press me again to borrow one of her horrid romance novels. The only one that could come close to tempting me is the one about the history of the Bloody Baron and the Gray Lady. But Madam Shafiq doesn’t have it here. The Baron just pulls a face and clinks his chains if anyone asks him a personal question, and the Gray Lady refuses to talk about herself.

Mafalda Higgins caught me up on my homework, but I decided to let her off the hook with doing it for the rest of term. She can’t very well take my exams for me, so I’m completing my own worksheets and writing my own essays again. I’m still practicing new jinxes and hexes, though. I’m hitting Danielle Bagman with the Paranoia Charm every morning at breakfast, and throwing other little incantations her way every now and then, too.

The Aversion Draught for Vance will be ready on Wednesday.

Everything is coming together nicely. It’s been horribly cold and draughty lately, so Leonard and I have mostly been reading together by one of the braziers in the Slytherin common room in the evenings. I’ve noticed that Andie usually does her homework in the library with friends from other houses—it’s annoying that she isn’t favoring Slytherins, but it would be more annoying to have her constantly whining at me for validation.

Cissy, our cousin Edwina, and their other first year friends keep better company. I often see them doing homework and chatting with Alecto Carrow and Daisy Parkinson. And of course, Cissy always has a few boys orbiting her, like admiring moons. Ganymede’s little brother in second year, Niel, keeps trying to show off in front of Cissy.

I occasionally notice the Malfoy boy flirting with Cissy, but he’s a smarmy little prat who tries to charm all the girls he can. I’ve even noticed him chatting with Valeria. I gave her a disgusted look, and she just shrugged and said, “He’s a cute kid.”

On evenings where the Slytherins don’t have Quidditch practice, William Cole tends to avoid the common room. But, I have caught him staring at Leonard and me on his way from the door to the fifth and sixth year boys’ parlor. I can’t imagine how pathetic a person has to be to fall in love with his best friend’s girlfriend, ruin the entire friendship, and keep following his unattainable love interest around like a puppy.

***6 December 1967, Hogwarts***

Heavy fog.

Adrienne, Millicent, Valeria, Sylvia, and Ganymede basically begged me to help them with the latest Charms essay. I spent most of the evening in our parlor with them. Adrienne could pull her grades up much faster if she would just shut up about her boyfriend for five minutes, or stop her incessant flattery. Valeria’s company is much more tolerable, even though her club involvement puts her on a first name basis with so many unworthy classmates. Ganymede is smarter, but at the first sign of a joke, she unleashes that horrible shrill laugh of hers. Millicent best’s quality is the fact that she’s smart enough to understand how ludicrously stupid she is, so she doesn’t bother talking much. And the best that can be said for Sylvia is that the poor dear is inoffensive.

***16 December 1967, Hogwarts***

Where do I begin? Leonard is quite the disappointment. But, perhaps the circumstances aren’t really so disappointing?

We had a date in Hogsmeade today. It was cold and clear, so I wore the fine wool cloak trimmed with Baskerville Hound fur that Daddy gave me last Christmas. We did a bit of Christmas shopping together, and then Leonard suggested we stop for lunch.

Instead of the Three Broomsticks, Leonard led me to a little tea spot called Madam Puddifoot's. I had misgivings from the name alone. But, Leonard said he’d been there before, and the tea was especially good.

The inside of the tea shop confirmed my worst fears. It was a revolting mass of lace, frills, florals, and shades of pink. It was crowded with tiny, “cozy” tables, where couples were making puppy-dog eyes at each other, holding hands, and even kissing.

“You've been here before?” I asked Leonard.

“Yes,” he said. He took a table and gestured for me to sit across from him.

“With another girl?”

“No.”

I wasn't expecting that answer. “You came here on your own?”

Leonard smiled. “I think it’s charming,” he declared. “Everything here is either delicious to eat or adorable to look at.”

The proprietor bustled up to us. She was a tall, stout woman, perhaps in her late twenties, with what appeared to be a blonde wig mismatching her dark eyebrows. “Hello and welcome, dearie,” she said to me in a soft, husky voice. “And welcome back, Leo! So glad you came. What can I get for you two?”

“Madam Puddifoot, do you have any of those raspberry scones?” Leonard asked her.

“Made ‘em this morning, dearie,” she beamed.

“Your name is Madam Puddifoot?” I asked. It really did strike me as the name someone would make up for a fictional mascot of just such a place.

“Meliflua Amberella Puddifoot,” the woman said, offering a handshake. Her hands were bigger and more calloused than I had expected. “It is a delight to meet any friend of Leo’s.”

“Bellatrix Black,” I introduced myself.

“Nice to meet you, dearie! Now I’ll just scurry along with those raspberry scones. They pair delightfully with my jasmine blend.” She disappeared behind a wooden door carved with hearts and cherubs.

When I looked at Leonard again, he was fussing over the different lace patterns on the curtains.

“You were here before,” I repeated.

“Yes,” he repeated.

“With whom?”

He paused. He took a deep breath and let it out with purpose.

“With Bill.”

William Cole’s jealousy and Horace Slughorn’s misgivings suddenly appeared in my mind, in sharp focus. And hadn’t Andie even expressed doubts about Leonard Crabbe’s romantic life?

“Please say something,” Leonard said.

“You could have just told me,” I murmured. “You’re a homophile.”

He looks dejected. “I can't be a homophile,” he responded quietly. “There aren’t many Crabbes left. It's only me and Vincent who can carry on the name, and he’s…” He trailed off there, giving me a hopeful look, as if I’d supply the word for him. I didn't. “He’s a bit vile, to be honest,” Leonard eventually said.

“You intend to carry on the name?” I asked him.

“I've got to,” he said. “But I couldn't stand to marry some half-wit bimbo and lie to her for all her life. It would be exhausting. Can you imagine a life with someone like Adrienne Chester? Better to have an intelligent woman, who knows the score and isn't overly sentimental. One who doesn't get upset because I'm not mad about kissing her.”

Puddifoot returned with a tray. The scones were pink. The teapot, cups, and saucers looked as if a rose garden had vomited all over them. She made rather a show of setting up the table for us, complimenting my hair, and fussing over the frills of the table linen. Finally, she left us.

“Try the scones,” Leonard said. “They really are delightful.

I did take a bite. “Much too sweet,” I lied. They were rather good, but I didn't want to say anything was good just then. I dropped the scone on my plate and crossed my arms, looking Leonard over. As much as he delighted in this place’s caricature of femininity, he looked the part of masculinity. Strong jawline. Broad shoulders. He moved, sat, and even ate with a distinctly male grace. Every bit the gentleman.

Except for the part where he couldn't love a woman.

I spent a long time thinking about whether or not love was important. Leonard occasionally made small talk, and once offered to leave if I wanted to. I just told him to let me think.

I'd always figured I would marry very purposefully. I can't stand when girls go all doe-eyed and dreamy over “true love” and “serious feelings.” Women, especially purebloods, and especially the scions of the ancient families like the Blacks and Rosiers, must choose their husbands strategically.

If that is all there is to it, then homophile or no, Leonard was a desirable choice for me. The Crabbe family was not quite as distinguished as my own, but they nonetheless had excellent standing. Leonard’s looks, intelligence, and wealth would reflect well on me.

But it still didn't feel right. Something was missing. After mulling it over a long while I still can't put my finger on it. Surely, “love” is irrelevant. But there must be some purpose to it. Some calling greater than expediency.

In the end, I told Leonard I’d consider it. He asked my permission to continue saying we were going steady. I told him to wait, and that I would consult Mother over the holiday, but not to worry: I would not tarnish his reputation.

“Slughorn invited me to his Christmas party,” Leonard told me.

I felt a surge of white hot anger. “Prat,” I spat at him. “You timed this purposefully. I’ve been known as your girlfriend for months now. It will look pathetic if I go to Slughorn’s Christmas party stag, while you’re there; and worse if I scrounge up another date in a week.”

He smiled at me.

“How dare you manipulate me like this?” I demanded.

“I thought,” he responded calmly, “that if anyone could appreciate such precise timing, it would be you. You’re the most calculating person I know.”

“You think flattery will get you back in my favor?”

“I’m counting on it.” He leaned forward, extending his hand. “Bellatrix Black doesn’t want an idiot who falls all over himself around her. Bellatrix Black doesn’t need a boyfriend at all. If she is going to have one, he has to be useful. A handsome, intelligent, well-connected pureblood, who knows how to value her.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “And what about Cole?” I asked.

Leonard looked pained. “Things with him ended.”

“Was that your big fight in November?” I asked. “You dated us both, then ditched him?”

“Not quite.” Leonard finally withdrew his hand. “I broke it off with him before I started going out with you. Told him I’d still be his friend, and that didn’t really work out.” He looked a bit pained.

The little bell over the door tinkled, and I noticed Adrienne and her Ravenclaw boyfriend come in. I took Leonard’s hand and smiled as if nothing was wrong. Adrienne grinned and waved. She gave me a questioning look and gestured, as if to ask, “Should we join you?” I shook my head and winked. Adrienne and Michael asked for a booth, where they snuggled up and ordered coffee.

“See?” Leonard said, caressing the side of my hand with his thumb. “We look good together.”

I glared at him.

“And we would both look terrible, if you were to do that Phantom Bite Jinx and storm off.”

“How is everything, my dears?” Madam Puddifoot asked, holding up a teapot. “Top you off?”

“It’s all perfect, thank you,” Leonard said.

I didn’t speak, but I covered my cup with my fingers and shook my head with a polite smile. That was when I realized that Meliflua Amberella Puddifoot has an Adam’s apple and particularly thin lips. She did make up that stupid girly name.

Madam Puddifoot squeezed Leonard’s arm in a familiar, almost motherly way. She smiled at me and went about to her other tables.

“Well, whatever happens between us,” I told Leonard, “You will not take me here again. There are already quite enough things in life that I have to pretend to like. I refuse to add ‘tasteless layers of pink paisley’ to the list. Pay the woman and escort me to the Three Broomsticks.”

He obeyed. We spent a few hours holding hands and sitting with Bridgett McNair and a handful of other Seventh Years.

Still not quite sure what to make of Bridgett. She’s lovely, with shiny, straight chestnut hair and a clear complexion. Her family has solid ministry ties; her mother is in the DISS with mine; and Daddy and her father belong to the same club. I think Malfoy’s and Wikowski’s fathers both belong, too. Anyway, I can’t decide if Bridgett is painfully shy or artfully reserved. She has a habit of always moving a conversation forward with a politely interested focus on anybody but herself.

Of course, Leonard flattered me all afternoon. He bragged about my early mastery of nonverbal spells. He praised my attentiveness to my little sisters. He attributed his decision to leave the Quidditch team to a desire to spend more time talking about books with me. Every word sounded entirely sincere.

I think he truly does admire me, even if he can’t adore me the way I thought he did. I don’t even like kissing him anyway, so how important is it to have a boyfriend who is in love with me? It isn’t as if I feel any particular gratification from Professor Wikowski’s love, and he’d be a more impressive conquest than a fellow student.

I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

***18 December 1967, The Daily Prophet***

DARK WIZARDS ALLEGED TO HAVE TORTURED 6 MUGGLES, By S. Phantasmus Hamilton

DRESDEN: 6 German muggles were rushed into Sister Camille’s Magical Hospital last night at approximately 11:15, suffering from symptoms consistent with the Cruciatus Curse, although Sister Camille’s has not yet confirmed their diagnoses. The German Department of Magical Law Enforcement released a statement indicating that they were searching for 4 wizards: white men in their late 30’s or early 40’s, dressed in fine wool robes and speaking with British accents.

2 of the muggle victims arrived at the hospital unconscious, 3 babbled incoherently upon arrival, and the last victim screamed the phrase “Snake man” repeatedly until subdued by healers. It is unknown at this time if one of the suspects is the dark wizard with “snake-like eyes” reported by the Daily Prophet in October.

“This was an isolated incident,” said a spokesman for the German DMLE in a press conference early this morning. “Dresden is a safe city for magical and non-magical peoples.”

He stressed that the DMLE takes all breaches of the Statute of Secrecy very seriously, and if convicted, the suspects could face a minimum sentence of 4 years in Nurmengard. If the British Ministry of Magic requests extradition, the suspects would each face a similar sentence in Azkaban.

At this time, no additional precautionary measures are recommended to the general public, but British citizens traveling in the continent may benefit from planning for extra time at border security stations.

***18 December 1967, Hogwarts***

They’re back in Europe! What if they come back to Britain for Christmas? My mind is SWIMMING with What If, What If, What If…?!

***22 December 1967, Hogwarts***

Wet snow.

So far, Leonard and I have been keeping up the show. We’ll be together for Slughorn’s Christmas party tonight. Cissy’s escort is Niel Greengrass. Little Edwina’s escort is another pureblood First Year, Francis Longbottom, but he’s in Gryffindor. And of course, Andie’s escort is a pureblood third year, just like she is—except, Patrick Gamp is in Hufflepuff. I don’t admire Andie’s taste.

Cissy did my hair, and it took far less time and Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion than expected. So, now I’m in that uncomfortable in-between-time, where I haven’t got long enough to begin and finish a worthwhile task, but can’t just sit around waiting. I suppose I’ll read.

***23 December 1967, Letchworth***

Wet snow persists.

I suppose Slughorn’s party went well. It was rather crowded, as members of the slug’s extensive club who had been his students at any time in the past decades could come, and bring a guest. Only two people attended without a date: Wikowski (who of course is in love with me, but can’t very well date his student), and Bridgett McNair. Odd that a pretty Pureblood like her would fly solo.

Leonard performed his role adequately. I’ve never been so flattered or attended to, but the artifice does not please me. There certainly were a few noteworthy pureblood witches and wizards in attendance, but most of the chattering fools present don’t deserve the compliment of putting on a respectable show.

There was a moment, shortly after the House Elves rolled out the tea services and puddings, when I realized exactly how alone I am at Hogwarts. Leonard had his hand around my waist as he spoke with Abraxas Malfoy, father of the boy who has been flirting with Andie. I could see Andie laughing with Gamp and his Hufflepuff friends. Cissy and Edwina were giggling and whispering to each other while Niel Greengrass, Lucius Malfoy, and a few other boys showed off for them, producing sparks of different colors and shapes from their wand tips. Wikowski spoke with Bridgett. Slughorn drank with a ministry witch named Eugenia Jenkins. Everyone smiled and enjoyed themselves and ate cake and drank butterbeer, and there I was, standing in the middle of all that Christmas cheer, feeling none of it.

Who even are these people? What are Slughorn’s chosen “talented” mudbloods and “successful” blood-traitors to me? All my life, my parents pushed me to impress other wealthy, well-connected wizards, and I had thought I was doing just that by acting the perfect little prefect. But what does it matter? We just keep going on with the status quo, protecting muggles, allowing their mudblood spawn to learn the power that is our heritage. These rites are our rights.

Today, Mother is dragging me to a luncheon with her branch of the Daughters of the International Statute of Secrecy. They spend ridiculous amounts of time and energy on their robes and hairstyles. But at least I’ll be wasting my afternoon with the right sort of people, even if they are shallow.

***23 December 1967, Minutes***

DAUGHTERS OF THE INTERNATIONAL STATUTE OF SECRECY, LONDON BRANCH

MEMBERS IN ATTENDANCE

• Ethel Greengrass, President
• Fern Martin, Treasurer
• Walburga Black, Secretary
• Isobel McNair, Geneologist — accompanied by daughter Bridgett McNair
• Druella Black — accompanied by daughter Bellatrix Black
• Mary Rose Corey
• Ismene Crabbe
• Kassandra Greengrass
• Esmerelda Jorkins — accompanied by daughter Bertha Jorkins
• Tulip Malfoy
• Lucille Prince — accompanied by niece Millicent Mitchell
• Johnathetta Rosier

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• Amythest Knott safely delivered her baby boy. Charles Renquist Knott was born at 7:06 in the morning on Thursday, the 21st of December, weighing seven pounds and two ounces, and measuring twenty inches long.
• Fern Martin hosting benefit ball for Hogwarts Scholarship Fund on Friday, February 2, in her home, Donwell Abbey. One hundred galleons a plate, or eight hundred for a table. Look for her owl.

OLD BUSINESS

• London DISS received lovely Thank You letter from St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, for redecoration of Visitors’ Tea Room
• London DISS received lovely Thank You letter from the Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries, for annual donation to Fountain of Youth Research
• International DISS declined to adopt Pureblood Membership Requirement, but supports each branch’s choice to institute their own requirements. Havana chapter adopted the requirement, making a total of 47 countries in which is DISS is all-pureblood.
• Christmas Present drive for Orphans of Grindelwald’s Works complete success

NEW BUSINESS

• Easter drive for annual contribution to the Opaline Hufflepuff Fund for the Arts
• Everleigh Graham’s application for membership

OPEN FLOOR

• Walburga Black requests the London DISS back a reintroduction of the Muggle Hunting Bill to the Ministry of Magic. Isobel McNair counters with unpopularity of anti-muggle sentiments in current climate. Vote called: 6 yay, 7 nay. Motion fails.
• Mary Rose Corey introduces measure to drop the age requirement of London DISS members. Druella Black counters with the importance of members being well educated and fully qualified. Vote called: 2 yay, 11 nay. Motion fails.

Editor’s note: Unlike the letters and news clippings Bellatrix affixed to the pages of her diary, the above meeting minutes were kept loosely between the pages. I found no mention in her entries of how she wound up with the minutes, or whether she kept them purposefully. As the document was in her diary, and as it further illustrates the environment in which she grew up, I have decided to include it here. —MSL

***24 December 1967, Letchworth***

Wet snow today. I expect it will all freeze over tonight.

This morning at breakfast, I told Mother and Daddy I should like advice regarding my connection to Leonard Crabbe. When I mentioned it, I noticed Andie’s face blush red as a Weasley.

“You knew, didn’t you?” I demanded.

“No!” she said defensively. “I mean, I thought maybe… but I didn’t know, know. And then he asked you out and I assumed I must be wrong.” I glared at her, but then she added, “You always know better than I do, Bella. How could I trust my own judgment when it went against yours?”

It was a good point. I squeezed her hand affectionately, and for once she didn’t pretend like my touch hurt her.

Mother steepled her fingers, that way she always does when she’s considering something carefully. “We’re going to need more information,” she said. “What did Andromeda know?”

“Leonard Crabbe is a homophile,” I said.

Daddy dropped his fork. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he declared. Blinker apparated to his side, wearing her little baby Misty in a sling. She cleared Daddy’s plate and vanished again.

“What’s a homophile?” Cissy asked.

“Break the word down to its constituent parts,” Mother answered.

Cissy thought. “Same love?”

“Well done, Cissy,” I told the brilliant girl. “A man like Leonard Crabbe can only feel romantic attraction to other men.”

“But Leonard is your boyfriend?” she asked, her lovely eyebrows high with astonishment.

“He has been,” I said, “and he wants to continue as such. Despite his inherent unusual inclinations, Leonard intends to marry a witch and carry on the Crabbe name.”

“Otherwise they’ll have to rely on Vincent,” Mother added thoughtfully. Andie and Cissy both winced at the idea.

“Exactly,” I said. “Leonard told me his ideal wife would be intelligent. Someone whose company he could enjoy and whose opinions he could value, without having to pretend that he was in love with her. He holds me in very high regard indeed.”

Mother nodded slowly.

Daddy shook his head. “I don’t want one of those for a son-in-law.”

“Hold on, Cygnus,” Mother said. “The Crabbes are perfectly respectable. I’ve nurtured a friendship with Ismene Crabbe since Bellatrix first started dating Leonard. Ismene has all the right values. How else could her homophile son determine to ignore his perversions and behave as he ought?”

“You can’t be serious,” Daddy said. “It would be like marrying a squib. Bella’s children might turn out alright, but there’s a chance of them inheriting the malady.”

“That’s a good point,” I said.

“It would be, if it were true,” Mother said. “Squibs have wizard children all the time. Look at Everleigh Graham. Squib father, and she’s still a gifted enough witch to teach at Hogwarts. There’s no reason to believe a homophile would be any more likely to produce homophilic offspring than a normal person.”

“Still,” Daddy persisted. “Homophiles are naturally weak people. He could have all the best intentions in the world, but still succumb to his perversions. A husband who philanders with lesser women can do no harm to the honor of his wife. A husband who carries on with other men?”

Mother made a face. “Yes, I see your point.”

Andie and Cissy both looked shocked.

I leaned back in my chair. “So, you recommend I break it off with Leonard.”

Daddy nodded.

Mother held up a contradictory finger. “We’re definitely recommending that you not marry Leonard Crabbe. Right, Cygnus?”

Daddy agreed.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean his usefulness had run its course,” Mother said. “Personally, I could benefit from his mother’s support when I run for DISS Treasurer next month. It’s between me and Kassandra Greengrass.”

“I could see a continuation working out well for you, too, Bella,” Daddy said. “If you’re amenable to it. A little romance like you seem to have recommends you to both boys and girls around you. It demonstrates your desirability as a girlfriend, and it makes girls less wary of you as a competitor. Then, when you tire of Leonard, his malady provides you with a blameless exit.”

“Perfect,” Mother said.

Andie scowled.

“What?” I asked her.

“It just sounds like you’re using him,” Andie said.

“He’s using me!” I shot back. “I’m a smokescreen.”

Andie bit her lip.

“But Bella…” Cissy started. Her cheeks took on a sweet, rosy hue.

“Go on, my dear,” I encouraged her.

“Wouldn’t you rather date a boy you loved?” she asked.

“Can you love?” Andie asked me. Mother and Daddy both scolded her immediately. She apologized and equivocated, but finally made her point: “I know Bella can love! She loves us, and her feelings are acute. I just mean… Bella, can you love romantically? Have you ever really had an attraction?”

This question took me aback.

“Of course she can love!” Cissy insisted.

Andie was giving me an earnest, searching look. I decided on the truth. “I could,” I told her. “I’m just not certain I will ever meet the man who could elicit my genuine affections. He would have to be my equal, or even my superior.” I remembered reading the article from Dresden, and all the “What if’s” it inspired in my fancy. Even if I did meet my superior, there’s no telling if romance would ever enter the picture.

“Well, Darling,” Daddy said, clasping me heartily on the shoulder. “I advise you not to marry the Crabbe boy. I even request it. But whether or not you carry on pretending there’s a romance for now? That’s up to you.”

Mother agreed. Cissy and Andie looked thoughtful, but didn’t say anything.

I told Andie not to tell Cole I know. That led to me explaining to Daddy and Mother that Leonard Crabbe had secretly dated William Cole. Daddy cut me short, though. Hearing about it made him feel unwell.

After breakfast, I wrote a quick note to Leonard telling him we could continue going steady, at least for now. His return owl included a Christmas card and a lovely shawl of sheer black silk.

***26 December 1967, Letchworth***

Sunny. Cold.

Yesterday was the most incredible Christmas of my life. I'm still reeling. It has nothing to do with the presents Daddy gave me, either, though they were all wonderful.

I’ll start at the beginning.

As usual, the family gathered at Grandfather Rosier’s house for the Christmas Party. Musicians played classical music on string instruments during the meal, and then each young lady had a chance to exhibit her accomplishments. Cissy always steals everybody’s hearts when she sings. Andie plays the piano, and I curse a servant into being my marionette and make her dance.

This year’s party was especially large and formal—because Lord Voldemort was there! He, Markleton, and their other companions are all staying at Grandfather Rosier’s for the holidays!

Lord Voldemort. Just writing his name gives me chills. Just seeing it on the page of my diary excites me to a strange and pleasant heat.

Power radiates from him. How can I describe his face? The Prophet said he has “snake-like eyes,” and that's accurate, but only partially. He’s handsome, in the traditional sense of the term--dark hair, dreamy smile, strong jawline. And, he’s beautiful in an otherworldly, Beyond Human way. His eyes are red where most people have white, and instead of circular irises and pupils, his are dark slits. His skin is so pale he almost glows. His nose is flatter than you'd expect. All together, I could barely keep my eyes off him.

I couldn't guess his age from looking at him. Markleton is 42, and their other companions are all around there. But it doesn't matter. The greatest wizards stretch their lives over centuries.

I could barely talk all evening. I, eldest daughter of the House of Black, eldest granddaughter of Antigonus Rosier, I was shy.

Andie kept nudging me and whispering things like, “We could go into another room,” or, “Come on, let's walk about the garden. You're pale.” She made it sound like she was worried about me, but I think she was just uncomfortable in the presence of so much power. Cissy, on the other hand, was perfect: silent and gently smiling until spoken to, then polite and dignified. Andie is older, but she is more of a girl, and Cissy is more of a lady.

Some Rosier cousins started the after-dinner entertainment with a glee. One of them played the piano accompaniment passably well, and the rest sang somewhere near the right key. Then someone convinced Juliette Smith, who’s married and a bit older than the usual exhibiting young ladies, to sing a saccharine love song. Throughout this all, I watched the Dark Lord, who sat politely but did not pay attention.

No one could blame him for being bored through Andie’s piece on the piano. Really, all that Quidditch is going to ruin her fingers for music.

While she was playing, Cissy sidled up to me. “We’re the only two left,” she whispered. “Do you want to go next, or last?”

I looked over at the Dark Lord, Markleton, and the other companions. The need to impress them burned in my heart.

“You go on next,” I told Cissy as Andie played her last notes. “I love to hear you sing.”

The professional strings players accompanied Cissy’s song. Hers was the first performance that Lord Voldemort actually paid attention to. He clearly has an acute taste, with desire to behold nothing but the finest. She sang an old Winter Solstice song, the kind that celebrates the necessary darkness of winter. It was beautiful. Side conversations died out. By the end, the Dark Lord applauded, and the family outright cheered.

Cissy bowed, and I took the center of the drawing room. I heard some whispers and chuckles. In the past, my talent had sometimes been viewed as a joke.

“Play a waltz,” I ordered the musicians. They began it.

Three of the maidservants presented themselves dutifully as volunteers. I chose the prettiest, a blonde with ruddy cheeks, and dismissed the others. Under the direction of my wand and nonverbal incantations, she began to dance.

A few people chuckled appreciatively, including Markleton. Just as I decided to choose Markleton, I saw Lord Voldemort’s lip curl in the hint of a smile. I swear, he saw it coming.

Markleton didn't. His face was a portrait of shock when my first spell hit him, freezing him in place. I levitated him towards me and took his wand out of his pocket by hand, to the laughter and spattered applause of the other guests. Then I levitated him towards the dancing servant girl. I conjured two pairs of large, crossed wooden rods to levitate above them. Another spell, and silver ribbons poured out of the ends of each rod. The ribbons entangled both of my human puppets, so their hands and feet were bound to the crossed rods.

I kept my focus mainly on the control bars as I made my marionettes dance, but I did notice the servant girl’s mortified blushes and Markleton’s furious scowl. Both expressions were perfectly satisfying, of course.

The song came to a close, and I made my marionettes bow to their audience before I vanished the control bars and ribbons. The servant girl disappeared into obscurity, the way maids do. Markleton marched up to me, heedless of the party's applause, and held out his hand expectantly. He didn't say a word. I wondered for a moment what he would do if I refused to hand his wand to him civilly--but that would have been bad form.

“Thank you for the dance, dear cousin,” I told him as I placed his wand in his palm. This close up, I could see how tightly he clenched his jaw.

The musicians returned to their gentle background music, and everyone else began to chatter amongst themselves again.

“I don’t know if I want to shake your hand for good spellwork, or slap your face for impertinence,” Markleton said quietly.

“Slapping me would make you look petty and weak.” I offered him my hand. “Be a good sport. Show both of us off to advantage.”

He shook my hand hard. “You’re an impressive little witch, Bella,” he told me. “Do not press your luck.”

Grandfather Rosier walked over to us with his arm around another of Lord Voldemort’s companions.

“Bellatrix, my beauty,” Grandfather said, “That was a lovely performance. How clever of you to coordinate with your cousin at the last moment.”

“I'm grateful he was kind enough to participate,” I said as sweetly as I could. Markleton released his vice-like grip on my hand. His gentle chuckle sounded sincere.

Grandfather released the man he had walked over with.

“I'd like to introduce you to one of my new young friends,” he said. “Mr. Rabastan Lestrange, this is my eldest granddaughter, Miss Bellatrix Black.”

“A pleasure,” Rabastan said, taking my hand and kissing it. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you from my little brother, Rodolphus.”

“Have you?” I smiled, remembering Daddy’s comment about recommending myself as a desirable girlfriend.

Grandfather Rosier and Markleton walked away, talking with each other.

“Oh, yes,” Rabastan said in his deep, resonant voice. “And I must say, your display this evening made an impression.”

“A good one, I hope,” I said.

Rabastan smiled mysteriously. “Good,” he said. “‘Good’ can mean many things. You made a strong impression, Bellatrix. One which may prove beneficial, eventually.”

“Sounds good to me,” I told him. I kept my face straight, even though my heart was doing cartwheels.

A strong impression. Rabastan could not merely mean himself. I made a strong, beneficial impression on him. Lord Voldemort.

I barely paid attention to the rest of the party. I just said the pleasant nothings one says at such things, and cherished every glimpse I caught of the Dark Lord. He only looked at me once the whole evening. Andie and Cissy were leaning against each other on a sofa, semi-conscious, so Daddy and Mother insisted on going home. As we said our farewells, I saw Rabastan lean in towards Lord Voldemort and murmur something. The Dark Lord turned to us, locked his beautiful otherworldly eyes on me, and nodded just a little.

For a moment, it felt as if there were no air on Earth to breathe. Then, Mother shepherded me towards the floo and I went home.

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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. To find out about the Unites States' first transgender suicide hotline, please check out https://translifeline.org/