The Diary of Bellatrix Black - March 1968

***2 March 1968, Famagusta***

Bellatrix,

Well done.

-V

***4 March 1968, Hogwarts***

“Well done.”

!

It came with a pressed daffodil! He sent me a flower! He praised my actions!

“Well done.”

He wrote to me in his own hand.

“Well done.”

I can almost hear his melodic tenor say it.

!

Editor’s note: A pressed daffodil was affixed to the opposite page, surrounded by doodles of hearts with “BB+LV,” “Lady Bellatrix,” and “His name is Lord Voldemort.” I have included a photograph in Appendix A. —MSL

***8 March 1968, Hogwarts***

The snow has almost all melted away.

Today at the end of Transfiguration, Dumbledore asked Sylvia to stay behind for a brief talk. I tried to stay with her as her best friend, but he dismissed me to the corridor with the assurance that it wouldn’t take long. Millicent and Adrienne waited with me.

Sylvia soon walked slowly out, staring at a piece of parchment.

“What’s that?” Adrienne asked with her usual officiousness.

“A permission form,” Sylvia answered. She looked up. “Do any of you know what ‘legilimency’ is?”

I snatched the form out of her hands to examine it.

“Wait…” she protested weakly. “Professor Dumbledore asked me not to show it to anybody.”

“You didn’t show it,” I pointed out. “I’m just seeing it anyway.”

The form began as a letter to Mr and Mrs Reid, explaining that Dumbledore has reason to believe Sylvia’s attack last month had been magical in nature, rather than purely physical. Dumbledore said that Sylvia’s symptoms were consistent with having been Confunded. He requested permission from Sylvia and a parent or guardian to perform legilimency on her in order to uncover her “true memories” of the attack that night.

I gave Sylvia a hard look. “What did you tell Dumbledore?”

“He didn’t ask me to answer yet,” she said. “He only asked me to consider it, and send the form to my parents.”

“Legilimency sounds invasive,” I said. I poured over the letter again, looking for clues. After all my extensive reading, my correspondence with a wizard traveling the world seeking magical secrets, and my upbringing with the best wizard blood in all of Great Britain… how could there be a branch of magic I’d never even heard of?

I realized that Adrienne and Sylvia has continued the conversation without me. “...Ask my father what I should do,” Sylvia said. “Don’t you think, Bellatrix?”

“Yes,” I said. “Ask your parents. But we don’t have to wait for their answer. We can educate ourselves, too.”

***8 March 1968, London***

Dear Bella,

Pleased to receive your last. We are almost all in good health, thank you. I confess I feel concerned about Sirius. He had a bit of a cold last week, and I thought nothing of it—but the fever may have long-lasting negative effects. Healer Smith will come look him over again this evening.

It’s wonderful to hear you are expanding your studies into the mysteries of the mind. Congenital legilimency is not known to run in any family. I’m afraid too little is known about it to say definitively whether it is correlated to specific environmental factors, or completely random. I can assure you, however, that the noble blood running through your veins absolutely predisposes you to the mastery of the mental arts.

You have the innate power of the Noble House of Black. Your esteemed mother’s family, too, is well known for centuries of magical achievements. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you, Cissy, or my little Regulus should grow up to accomplish rare feats of memory modification, Occlumency, or even Legilimency.

Do let me know if you have any further questions.

See you at Easter.

My best love to you and your sisters,

Sincerely yours,

Your Aunt, Walburga Black

***8 March 1968, Letchworth***

Bella,

Your mother has one of her headaches, so please excuse us; she has delegated the responsibility of reading and replying to your letter to me. As such, you won’t receive any minute details of Ismene Crabbe’s pathetic breakdown at the last Daughters of the International Statute of Secrecy luncheon, or about your little cousin Sirius reading Muggle magazines. Your mother would surely have dedicated two or three pages to each event, but I find I’ve already covered them well enough.

Legilimency is such an obscure little corner of magic that it’s really no wonder you’ve never encountered it before. Natural born Legilimens are even more rare than Parselmouths. But unlike speaking the snake language, it is possible for wizards to develop the ability to access and interpret others’ thoughts. It takes decades of study and practice, but it can happen.

If I remember correctly, Dumbledore once had an essay published in Challenges in Charming about “The Ethics of Legilimency.” I think that happened before you were born. He didn’t discuss technique, of course—just the usual mudblood-loving waffle about “the integrity of the human mind.” I’m a little surprised he is considering using it on a student, even with parental permission.

In any case, the defense against legilimency is easier to learn. Check the Hogwarts library for titles in the vein of The Beginner’s Guide to Occlumency. Wikowski or Slughorn might have something on it, too. If all else fails, Flourish and Blott’s will provide.

Love to you and the girls, Daddy

***9 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Sunny.

Daddy and Aunt Walburga’s responses were prompt, but not quite satisfying. All I know now is that I don’t know enough.

Well, I also know my cousin Sirius is shaping up to be a horrible little prat. I’m glad I’ll be well out of Hogwarts before he begins.

Madam Pince removed my access to the Restricted Section. She examined An Introduction to the Great Mental Magicks very carefully before allowing me to borrow it. She even insisted that I promise not to fold, spill on, or mark any page in any way.

What an ugly, scrawny thing she is. I suppose she took to books because no one wanted to be her friend in real life.

***11 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Windy. Cold.

There was a hubbub in the common room this morning before breakfast. Cole returned from St Mungo’s. No one spoke to him as he crossed to the fifth and sixth year boys’ parlor, but no one bothered to restrain themselves from speaking audibly about him, either. He glared at them all for a moment. Then he removed the Quidditch Captain badge from his robes and dropped it on the floor before hiding in his bedroom. I later saw the badge on Lestrange’s robes.

The healers have gotten rid of most of the scars and bruises, but there’s something wrong with Cole’s left eye. Cissy says that Malfoy told her Vincent Crabbe nearly knocked the eye clear out of Cole’s head.

Andie is the only one in our House who even acknowledged Cole’s existence. She almost sat down beside him at lunch, but he brushed her off. She blamed me for it, of course. I’m sure she’ll come round when she grows up a bit more.

No word yet on Crabbe’s fate. I’m sure I’d have heard if he died.

Cole refuses to discuss what attacked him and his boyfriend. He’s got enough sense to avoid another beating and keep his mouth shut. So, either the incident will be attributed to the “harpy attack,” or to another lover’s quarrel between the two boys.

***12 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Windy.

Sylvia’s father signed the legilimency permission form, contingent on Sylvia’s consent. She says her parents are leaving the decision in her idiotic hands. I’ve tried convincing her to refuse. I’ve even recommended she practice clearing her mind like the occlumency chapter of Great Mental Magicks says. I haven’t made any headway with her. Dumbledore is working against me.

GMM has been a fascinating read. It doesn’t give detailed instructions on any of the more complicated spells; just on the defenses against them. No doubt, this is why the book was available to Hogwarts students. Still, it contained some valuable insight.

It starts with the Confundus Charm and Befuddling Draught, but those are OWL standard anyway. Every qualified witch or wizard can confuse a target.

Next was Obliviation, a NEWT level spell. It takes work to erase memories cleanly. If cast improperly, obliviation can wipe a mind clear of all but the most basic human skills, such as language or brushing one’s teeth.

Memory modification is more difficult than Obliviation. It requires finesse to erase parts of a memory, to alter existing memories, or to instill new ones.

Then the book covered Occlumency, defending the mind against intrusion.

The chapter that surprised me most explained Sentimency, the art of opening up one’s heart to feel another’s emotions. I can’t imagine why anyone would find magical empathy useful.

The last chapter discussed spellwork that the author deemed too unethical to give instruction on. It simply explained the rules of Legilimency (requires eye contact and close proximity, must not be attempted until Occlumency is mastered, etc.). The book ended with this one little gem:

“I would be remiss as an author if this book did not mention the ultimate Mental Magick, the Imperius Curse. Like the other Unforgivable Curses, it relies on the strength of the caster’s convictions.”

So, an Unforgivable Curse will only work if one really means it when one casts it. Of course, if caught, the witch casting Imperio on any human would be sent to prison. I don’t fancy a lifetime in Azkaban. Still, if it weren’t for the consequences…?

***17 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Warm.

I had to do something. Between Dumbledore, Slughorn, and Madam Pomfrey’s pressure; the Reids’ permission; and the sympathetic look on Sylvia’s face every time William Cole walked by, I had to act. I knew it was only a matter of time before Sylvia agreed to let Dumbledore muck about in her mind.

Well, she told me today that she had consented. Dumbledore invited her to come to his office tomorrow after classes, and to bring a friend for emotional support if she should wish it.

Inspiration struck me like lightning. I’d had An Introduction to the Great Mental Magicks for about a week now. I’ve read the whole thing, and reread the Occlumency instructions time and time again. But, my answer was at the very end of the book.

I started by going to the fifth and sixth year boys’ parlor, then knocking on Cole’s door. He’s been spending all his time there, save for classes and meals.

There was no response to my knock. I repeated it.

“Go. Away,” said Cole’s voice from inside.

“Please, I'm worried about Leonard,” I lied. I leaned against Cole’s door. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since the day before ‘it’ happened.”

“He transferred to Beauxbatons,” Cole whined.

“What? I can’t hear you.” (I could hear him perfectly well.)

Cole’s voice grew louder with every syllable. “Leo. Transferred. To. Beauxbatons!”

I waited a moment, then knocked on his door again.

“What?” Cole bellowed. I could tell he was just on the other side of the door.

“Please,” I said. “I need to talk to you. Just once, and then I’ll leave you alone, all right? Please.”

A moment passed. Then I heard him say, “I almost fell for it. Leo told me all about you, and I still almost fell for it.”

I moved my face closer to the edge of the door. “He told me about you, too, Bill. He thought you were such an honorable man. So does my little sister Andie.”

He didn’t respond. But he also didn’t walk away from the door.

“Bill,” I said quietly. “Please. Just talk to me this once.”

I heard the door lock slide. I backed up a step and held my wand up at eye-level.

The briefest moment passed as Cole opened the door and gaped at the wand in his face.

“Imperio.” I could feel hot power explode in my heart and surge through my arm into my wand.

Cole’s expression instantly fell blank, his mouth still open from his attempted protest.

I realized with a sudden jolt in my gut that I don’t know how long the Imperius Curse lasts. I cast it with utter conviction, but what does that get me? A mere hour, a full day, a lunar cycle?

Cole stared at me. I didn’t know how long we’d have the parlor to ourselves.

“On my word, you will walk to Professor Dippet’s office. You will tell the gargoyles the password ‘Libatius Borage.’ You will enter the office. You will confess to attacking me and Sylvia Reid on the fourteenth of February. You will say you did it because you were jealous of me. You will say you tried to Confund me, but Sylvia intercepted the spell. You will say my counter-curses drove you off before I could even see you. Understand?”

Cole nodded.

“You will also confess to attacking Leonard Crabbe on the twenty-fifth of February,” I told him. “You will explain that your injuries were the result of his self-defense.”

Cole blinked.

“Make it convincing,” I ordered. “Go.”

He went.

Upon reflection, it may have been too great a risk. I know too little about Unforgivable Curses. I haven’t mastered memory modification or occlumency or any of the mental arts past OWL standard. There are too many variables outside of my control, and if this goes awry, I could face a life sentence in Azkaban.

I can imagine Cissy coming to visit me in prison. She would draw her cloak tighter as she passed the looming Dementors, her pretty little face screwed up in an expression of determined bravery. I picture her shuddering as the guards reached their bone-thin fingers in her direction. She would try to ignore their ghastly, audible breaths as they attempted to siphon away her joy.

How could I have been so rash, so foolish? Andie is forever complaining about my “temper,” and now, for once, I did act without considering the consequences!

If I get away with this, I must never repeat the mistake.

***18 March 1968, 12:45pm, Hogwarts***

Looks sunny and windy but I haven’t been out of doors yet today.

I’m on tenterhooks. I had no appetite at breakfast. I wound up sliding down the bench away from the fifth year girls and joining Aeris Martin and the sixth years.

“Good morning,” Aeris said in a friendly but slightly confused tone.

“Morning,” I said. I managed to keep calm and appear nonchalant despite my heart pounding hard against my ribs. “I was just wondering, as a Prefect, you know, we’ve got to keep an eye on our charges, and I know that William Cole has been unwell…” Maybe I wasn’t as calm and cool as I had thought. My tongue seemed to be getting in its own way.

“I know what you mean,” Aeris said in a stage whisper. “I heard Cole and Crabbe were attacked by a harpy while they were kissing in the Forbidden Forest.”

The other sixth year girls joined in the gossip.

“No, it was a lover’s quarrel,” a girl with short chestnut brown hair said. “They’d dueled before.”

“I thought Cole and Crabbe were both in love with you, Bellatrix,” said a girl who wore an inordinate number of gold rings. “Isn’t that what they were fighting about?”

“No, no,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “I never thought Cole was attracted to me.”

“It wasn’t a fight between them,” insisted a girl with bright blue eyes. “They were attacked by that same thing that got Bellatrix and her friend, weeks ago. Do you know what it was, Bellatrix?”

“I never saw,” I said with a pout.

“Weird that it got both you and your ex boyfriend,” Aeris said. “Glad you’re alright, though.”

“Thanks,” I told her.

“Any word on what happened to Crabbe?” asked the rings girl. “Or do you not speak with him anymore? No one could blame you for cutting him out.”

I answered, “Leonard transferred to Beauxbatons.”

The chestnut hair girl made a disgusted sound. “France,” she said, shaking her head.

Blue Eyes shrugged. “The French are probably more lenient to that kind of person there. I must say, Bellatrix, I really admire your grace. I’d have fallen to pieces if a boy had been so awful to me.”

The rest agreed with her.

I responded with a wan smile and disengaged politely.

None of the other Slytherin prefects knew where Cole was, either. Hephaestus Rookwood from my year and Nigel Lipshaw from the sixth year both told me not to bother with Cole. Catherine Umbridge from seventh year wanted to gossip as much as Aeris had, and Duncan Brisbane simply told me to shut my mouth and leave him alone.

Brisbane really is selfish and rude.

Andie hasn’t seen Cole since yesterday.

Any minute now, I’m going to be summoned to the Headmaster’s Office and questioned about my amateur attempt to cast an Unforgivable Curse. I know it. I’ll be in Azkaban by dinner time.

This was a million times worse than if I had let well enough alone and spilled ink blot

Broken quill, spilled ink—this isn’t like me! My hand is shaking—!

***18 March 1968, 8:45pm, Hogwarts***

I’ve always known that I was intelligent and talented, but now I have reason to suspect I am something of a magical virtuoso. When my heart stops racing so distractingly, I’ll write to Markleton.

Everything has worked perfectly for me.

The last class of the day was interrupted by the seventh year Gryffindor prefect girl knocking on the door.

“So sorry to interrupt,” Prewett said, pushing a lock of flaming red hair out of her face. “Professor Dippet asked me to request that Sylvia Reid and Bellatrix Black join him in his office straight away.”

We packed up our school bags quickly. Once in the hall, Prewett asked, “Do you know the way?”

“Yes,” I told her.

“Password’s Libatius Borage,” she said.

Sylvia thanked her.

I had that fluttery feeling in my chest that means I am about to experience something momentous.

“Do you think it’s about legilimency?” Sylvia asked me, struggling to keep up with my long strides.

“I think the mental arts will come up,” I answered.

As we walked down the corridors, I saw portraits on the wall flit in and out of each other’s frames, whispering and looking our way. A few odd phrases stood out—“justice served,” and “best for the students,” and, “disturbed adolescent.” The excitement vibrated within me like a violin string sounding a single, high note.

We were almost at the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office when Sylvia took my hand.

“Bellatrix,” she said. “I’m a bit nervous. I don’t know what this is about but to call us out of class… it can’t be good, can it?”

“You’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

She looked like she wanted to ask a question.

“Come on,” I urged her. I took the last few steps to the gargoyles and said the password.

Professor Dippet stood in front of his desk, speaking with Dumbledore, Slughorn, and a plump middle-aged woman with limp mousy hair.

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Reid, Miss Black.” Dippet sounded positively feeble.

I nodded politely.

Sylvia said, “Good afternoon.”

“This,” Professor Dippet gestured to the woman, “Is Mrs Cole. She asked to address you…” he wheezed. “...And she is pressed for time…” he wheezed again.

“We will make sure everything is fully explained,” Dumbledore added in a kind tone. “So please hold your questions. For a bit.”

Dippet nodded, then coughed.

Mrs Cole gave us a somber look. “Ladies,” she said with a quiver. She swallowed hard and continued with a steadier, steely voice. “I want to offer the sincerest apologies of the Cole family. I recognize that nothing can undo the pain William inflicted on you. It is my earnest wish that justice will help bring you closure, and that you can have happy, healthy lives going forward.”

Sylvia gaped. I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. Slughorn dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. Dumbledore gave me one of his impertinent piercing looks.

Professor Dippet coughed again.

“Thank you for listening,” Mrs Cole added, anticlimactically. She looked to Dumbledore.

“Is there any other way in which we can assist you, Mrs Cole?” Dumbledore asked politely.

A moment passed. “I suppose not,” she said.

“Can I walk you to the door?” Dumbledore offered.

Mrs Cole shook her head. “Thank you. No. I’d rather just go. I’ve been asked to make a statement at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so…” She left her sentence unfinished and walked to the door. She turned at the door, as if remembering manners. “Good afternoon, all.”

“Good afternoon,” Dumbledore, Slughorn, and I all returned. Professor Dippet nodded and wheezed again. Sylvia just looked confused.

With Mrs Cole gone, I looked to Professor Slughorn for answers. He blinked watery eyes. “My dear Miss Black,” he said, holding out his hands in a grandfatherly gesture of support, “Miss Reid. I can’t imagine a Hogwarts student ever having a harder fifth year than you two.”

Sylvia and I each took one of his hands.

“I’m confused, Professor,” Sylvia whined. A tear slid down her cheek.

Professor Dippet tried talking again, but wheezed and coughed. Dumbledore poured a potion from a bottle for him and urged him to drink it.

“William Cole confessed to attacking you last month,” Slughorn answered. “It seems he was, erm, romantically involved with Leonard Crabbe. Mr Cole attacked Miss Black in a jealous rage, and you, Miss Reid, got caught up in the crossfire.”

Sylvia dropped Slughorn’s hand and threw her arms around me. “You saved me,” she said. “And who knows what would have happened to you if you’d been alone! I’m so glad I was there!” She sobbed.

I patted her back. “It looks like we saved each other, then,” I said. It was true. That’s how it looked.

Professor Dumbledore continued to watch me closely.

“Did Cole hurt Leonard, too?” I asked him.

Dumbledore didn’t nod, but he did say, “Cole claimed that he did, and that his own injuries were the result of Mr Crabbe’s self-defense.”

“How is Leonard?” I pressed.

“Fully recovered,” Dumbledore answered. I got the feeling he wanted to observe every detail of my reaction. “Mr Crabbe has decided to finish off his education at Beauxbatons. With a bit of hard work, he should still be able to pass his exams and graduate on time.”

I could feel the shoulder of my robes growing damp with Sylvia’s tears. I patted her again. “There, there. You’re all right. I told you, you had nothing to fear now. Cole is gone.” I looked at Slughorn and asked, “Cole is gone?”

Slughorn nodded. “William Cole turned seventeen in February. So, he will face charges as a minor for his assault against the two of you, and as an adult, for the attack on Mr Crabbe.”

Dumbledore added, “Bartemius Crouch from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has scheduled his arraignment this afternoon.”

I peeled Sylvia off my shoulder. “There, there,” I repeated. I didn’t want to lose patience with her at the moment. “You’re stronger than this.”

She sniffed, but attempted to stiffen up her lip. She nodded.

“Do we have to do anything?” Sylvia finally asked. “Testify?”

“Why would we?” I asked her. “He confessed.”

“You are welcome to submit impact statements, if you like,” Slughorn said. “You are also free to put this ugly business behind you, and never think of it again.”

Professor Dippet wheezed. “That… may be wisest…”

I squeezed Sylvia’s shoulder and bolstered her spirits with a smile. “Hear that? You don’t have to submit to legilimency after all.”

Dumbledore didn’t exactly frown, but his brow furrowed with just a hint of dismay. “Of course, you may still find it worthwhile to establish the facts of that night for yourself.”

“Merlin’s beard, Dumbledore!” Slughorn exclaimed. “Don’t you think it was hard enough to live through it all one time? There’s no sense in dwelling on so unpleasant a memory.”

“It is…” Professor Dippet coughed, “Miss Reid’s… decision.”

Sylvia looked to me. It would be unwise to argue against legilimency in front of Dumbledore, but Sylvia already knew my position.

She took a deep breath. “I’d rather not go through with the legilimency, Professor Dumbledore.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “As you wish, Miss Reid. My offer still stands, if you should ever change your mind.” He gave her a smile he undoubtedly thought was kindly.

There was a bit of bustle as Professor Dippet coughed weakly and Slughorn doted on Sylvia and me. Dumbledore watched me minutely, but whatever clues he sought simply weren’t there.

And so, without instruction in the mental arts; without once Obliviating a person or modifying a memory; without mastering Occlumency or even attempting Legilimency; I have successfully cast the Imperius Curse. I can only imagine Markleton’s envy when he tells Lord Voldemort and hears my praises.

Sylvia and I were free to go about our business just in time for dinner. Pudding was a delightful dark chocolate tart with a red currant drizzle. I should have one of the Hogwarts house elves give the recipe to Blinker.

***21 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Misty and cold.

Another of Slughorn’s dinner parties. Tonight’s honored guest was Esther Jones, head of the Ghoul Task Force in the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures. Much of the dinner conversation involved regulations on the hexes and jinxes her task force is authorized to use.

The ever-present, ever-smarmy Malfoy boy made a point of escorting Edwina back to the common room after dinner. Cissy politely took Goyle’s arm. Andie took one look at Vincent Crabbe and marched out of the room, preceding all the other younger students away from Slughorn’s office.

After dinner, I took my usual place with Wikowski and Bridgett. There was a moment where Slughorn called Bridgett over to talk about her brother with Jones. I took the opportunity to talk with Wikowski.

“I need some information,” I told him. “Stuff I can’t get from the library. I don’t even know if it’s in the Restricted Section, but Pince won’t let me near there, anyway.”

“What about?” Wikowski asked.

I noticed Bridgett looking our way. I responded very quietly: “It has to do with Cole’s confession. I need to know how long that will last.”

Wikowski blanched.

Bridgett look concerned. I gave her a friendly smile and wave.

Wikowski responded quietly. “That depends on how unconventional his confession was.”

“Unconventional,” I agreed. “Unusual. Un-something, anyway.”

Wikowski froze in awe.

I favored him with a smile. “Unexpected, I know. But will it last?”

“I don’t… really know…” he said, staring at me. Maybe he was even feeling a similar sense of amazement to what I experience in Lord Voldemort’s presence.

“But you can look it up for me?” I pressed. “Or give me a relevant book, so I can better control this magic?”

“I’ll try, Miss Black,” Wikowski told me. He drained his glass of whiskey. “Excuse me. Better not delay.”

He said a hasty farewell to Slughorn and Jones, and left early.

Bridgett extricated herself from conversation and approached me. “Is Professor Wikowski ill?” she asked with great concern.

“No, no,” I reassured her. “He just has some things to do.”

She didn’t say much all the rest of the evening. It almost makes me wonder if she’s secretly a homophile too, in love with me, and jealous of the attentions I allow Wikowski to pay to me. But, homophilia is so uncommon, it’s hard to imagine there would be more than one pair at Hogwarts at a time.

***20 March 1968, Dresden***

Bella,

I’d never have thought you would be this reckless. There’s no telling how little time we have to clean up your mess. Mulciber has called in a favor to have Abraxas Malfoy handle it. Now I owe Mulciber a favor.

Don’t you ever forget, Bella: now, you owe me a favor too.

Lie low. Be a normal teenaged girl. Study for your OWL’s, get a normal boyfriend, and do something pretty with your hair.

Do not touch any books or artifacts connected to the Dark Arts.

Do not draw any attention to yourself.

Do not, under any circumstances, make a similar mistake.

And please, please do not make me regret being in Mulciber’s debt for your sake. -Markleton

***22 March 1968, Hogwarts***

This was not the response I expected from Markleton.

***23 March 1968, The Daily Prophet***

TRAGEDY STRIKES TROUBLED TEEN, By Betty Braithwaite

LONDON: Chaos broke out in a Ministry of Magic courtroom yesterday afternoon as William Cole, age 17, fired destructive jinxes at random, ultimately resulting in his own death. Eyewitness accounts agree that Mr Cole had cast the severing spell that cut an antique chandelier’s supporting chain. The chandelier’s fall ended Mr Cole’s young life.

Mr Cole had been in a sentencing hearing for violent crimes he confessed to perpetrating against fellow Hogwarts students. His victims’ identities have not been released to the press. “It was blessedly fast,” said Amelia Bones, newest member of the Wizengamot. “Mr Cole did not have time to feel pain.”

“I heard a lot of shouting, then a crash and some screaming,” said Abraxas Malfoy, who had just arrived at the ministry to drop off the results of a fundraising effort for the restoration of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. “My heart is broken for Mr and Mrs Cole,” Malfoy continued. “First, their son was a homophile; then, a violent menace; and now, a grievous loss.”

The Daily Prophet has not confirmed reports of the late William Cole’s homophilia.

***23 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Cloudy.

So, I don’t have to worry about the Imperius wearing off Cole, but I still don’t know how long it lasts in general. Wikowski won’t even meet my eye, and gave a lame excuse about having to wait for a book he ordered to arrive.

I’m still puzzled by Markleton’s reaction. I performed extraordinary magic! I proved myself precocious, ambitious, worthy! And he scolded me like a selfish child.

“Study for your OWL’s, Bella. Get a normal boyfriend.” Is it a joke? I am leagues beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. And I’ve never been interested in a “normal boyfriend.” The closest I have to a candidate is a teacher, so it behooves him to act as if I’m off-limits! At least until I graduate from Hogwarts.

“Do something pretty with your hair.” What a buffoon. Everything I do with my hair is pretty, because my hair is pretty.

Now that I think of it, a bit of a spa day could bolster my social leadership position with the Slytherin girls. Cissy could make her cuticle cream. I can whip up a batch of Empress Theodora’s pore-refining mud masque. We can all pamper ourselves in stereotypical girly fashion, and I can lead our gossip in the direction of proper Pureblood pride.

The girls already admire me for my looks, my intelligence, and the poise with which I handled my breakup with Leonard. With just a little nudge, they could really look up to me.

***26 March 1968, Hogwarts ***

Misty and cool.

Another care package from Mother today. I’ll gladly take the dark chocolate newts, but I could do with less of her correspondence. Mother’s letter droned on and on about Tulip Malfoy’s dinner party and the peacocks at Malfoy Manor. Of course, that was only after she urged me to study hard for my exams, and to “relax” my extracurricular pursuits.

Slughorn pulled me aside after class this afternoon to address my recent incomplete homework assignments.

“You’ve been through a lot, Bellatrix,” he said kindly, “but you’re such a clever, talented witch. You can’t let one hard school year harm your academic future. If you just make the time, you’ll have no problem completing your assignments.”

I thanked him for the encouragement and admitted distraction. Of course, he thinks my feelings are hurt by all that happened with Crabbe and Cole. He doesn’t know that Wikowski gave me a copy of Advanced Defences Against Advanced Darkness by Solomon Moody, and that I’ve been spending all my time either studying the Imperius Curse or encouraging my classmates to hate mudbloods.

***30 March 1968, Hogwarts***

Drizzling and windy.

We had another girly spa day today, but this time, it wasn’t just Pureblood Slytherins. The other Slytherin prefects girls and I arranged to use the Prefect Bathroom on the fifth floor. Cissy made her cuticle cream, I did the mud masques, and Bridgett enchanted half a dozen pairs of tweezers to self-clean and to follow verbal instructions.

Since we had so much space, we invited some like-minded half bloods (like little Alecto Carrow, in Cissy and Edwina’s year). We also selectively allowed girls from other Houses to join us, including Adelaide MacMillan (Hufflepuff) and Mafalda Higgins (Ravenclaw).

I had a right little salon going, in two senses of the word. Girls were polishing fingernails and braiding hair, while discussing which politicians were likely to back the Muggle-hunting bill.

For all intents and purposes, it looks as if I’m doing Normal Teenage Girl things. But really, I’m following Lord Voldemort’s orders.

[First] [Next] [Last]

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

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 Transgender Legal Defense & Education Fund at https://www.transgenderlegal.org/

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

The image of the daffodil was adapted from fmanos's post "Pressing and Drying Daffodils" on wordpress.com