Chapter Text
August 1st, 1992 — Malfoy Manor
The dining room of Malfoy Manor was stiff with tension, as it often was. Narcissa sat with impeccable posture, slicing through a piece of roast as she watched Druella, who sat on the edge of the long table, legs swinging idly. Nyssa—the faded stuffed cat—was clutched tightly in her lap, her thumb grazing its worn ear.
Lucius, across the table, scowled at her again for no reason in particular. Narcissa didn’t hesitate—she elbowed him beneath the table with a sharp, pointed jab.
"Eat, Druellie, or you'll waste away," Narcissa chirped, placing a neatly cut bite on her plate.
Druella didn’t respond. She quietly picked at her food after Narcissa cut her meat for her. At the same time, Draco and Lucius discussed the Crabbe family in low tones, as if the girl seated near them was invisible.
Then—a sudden, thunderous knock echoed through the hall.
A moment later, the dining room doors burst open with a force that sent a gust through the candles.
Bellatrix Black stood framed in the doorway, cloaked in royal violet trimmed with silver.
Her hair tumbled in wild curls down her shoulders, her wand glinting from her belt, and a smirk played across her lips like victory.
“I. DID. IT.” she declared, her voice ringing through the manor like a fanfare.
Every head turned, startled, then silent.
"You got it?" Narcissa asked, her tone instantly brightening with genuine delight as she stood.
“Yes. Yes!” Bellatrix beamed, throwing her arms open. “The seat is mine. Madam Longbottom threw a full-scale tantrum—gowns flying, voice cracking—but the chamber chose me. My popularity, my merit, my legacy—Black blood prevails.”
Druella didn’t wait. She bolted from her chair.
“MOTHER!” she cried, launching herself across the polished floor and straight into her mother’s arms.
Bellatrix caught her easily, holding her tight as the girl buried her face in the velvet folds of her violet robes. For a moment, she said nothing—just closed her eyes and held her child close, her gloved hand gently stroking Druella’s back.
Lucius made a sound of disgusted disapproval, muttering something about “immature dramatics.”
Druella remained pressed to Bellatrix’s side, even retreating behind the long fall of her mother’s cloak as though hiding in safety. Bellatrix frowned faintly at the gesture but said nothing—her arm circled protectively around her daughter’s shoulders.
"Come, my Black Blossom," Bellatrix purred, her voice low and indulgent, “Let’s have something sweet to celebrate, shall we?”
“She hasn’t finished her dinner,” Narcissa reminded her, ever the guardian of rules.
Bellatrix smirked without looking back. “Then give it to Lucius’s dogs. They’ve already chewed through enough scraps of power in this house.”
Lucius’s face flushed, but he said nothing.
Bellatrix turned, her cloak sweeping behind her like the train of a coronation gown. She led Druella from the room with her head high and her daughter tucked under her arm like a prize—no, like a legacy restored.
Behind them, Narcissa smiled faintly and sipped her wine.
Earlier That Day – Wizengamot Chamber
The chamber was tense as the final vote was cast.
“Motion accepted. Lady Bellatrix Black shall claim the vacant central seat as the new Matriarchal Delegate of the Wizengamot.”
A thunderclap of enchanted applause echoed from the rafters. Violet-robed members stood in formal recognition as Bellatrix swept forward, her violet cloak trailing like the shadow of a dynasty.
From across the aisle, Augusta Longbottom stood abruptly, her expression livid.
“This is an outrage!” she barked, feathers on her hat quivering with indignation. “That woman is mad! She’s a former Azkaban inmate! She shouldn’t be allowed near a lawbook, let alone help write it!”
Bellatrix turned slowly, the barest arch to her brow, her posture composed and lethal.
“Careful, Augusta,” she said silkily. “You sound bitter. That isn’t very... dignified.”
Gasps murmured through the chamber. Augusta flushed.
“I served this country! I lost my son and daughter-in-law to the war she helped start—”
“And you lost the vote,” Bellatrix cut in, cold and regal. “Let that be your last public tantrum, or the court will question your suitability to remain as anything.”
She didn’t raise her voice—but she didn’t need to. The power in the room had shifted.
The Head Arbiter put her wand against her throat.
“Order. The vote has passed. Let it be recorded.”
Augusta stared, breath heavy, hands trembling.
No one rose to support her.
She left without another word.
Later – Longbottom Estate
The door slammed with enough force to rattle the sconces.
“Stupid Black family,” Augusta Longbottom hissed, throwing her feathered hat across the hallway.
“Gran?” Neville peeked out from the sitting room, his voice tentative.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, brushing past him. “That madwoman slithered her way into the seat with charms and charity balls. And no one had the spine to stop her!”
“But… I thought you said she wouldn’t—”
“She wasn’t supposed to win!” Augusta snapped. “They let her in because she wore a bloody velvet dress and smiled at the right fools!”
Neville flinched as she stormed up the stairs.
“Gran, I—” he tried again.
She stopped at the top, eyes blazing. “She made me look like a fool in front of the Wizengamot. Called it a tantrum. And they laughed. Do you know what that means, Neville?”
He shook his head slowly.
“It means,” she hissed, voice low and burning, “that the Noble House of Black has won again. And they’ll make sure the rest of us never forget it.”
She slammed her bedroom door behind her with a final, angry snap.
The sound echoed down the staircase like a thunderclap of defeat.
Neville stood at the foot of the stairs for a long time, blinking at the empty hallway, then slowly turned and dropped back into the parlor chair like a puppet with its strings cut.
He stared at the wall, dazed.
“…Oh,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “The psycho earned the seat…”
He hesitated, then sighed.
“…And that girl of my dreams came out of her.”
He sank further into the cushions, groaning softly.
“I talked to her for five minutes.”
Treaver the toad croaked from the fireplace.
Neville groaned again and dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m doomed.”
August 3rd, 1992 — Malfoy Manor
Outside Druella’s window, the hedges of the Malfoy maze twisted under grey skies, still and silent. She sat curled in her window seat, a book balanced in her lap, but her eyes hadn’t moved in minutes.
From the corridor came voices—soft but tense.
“I’ll admit to some confusion when I read your letter, Mr. Moore,” Narcissa said carefully. “She’s always been intelligent, but I never expected her to be considered for... this great honour.”
They paused just outside the door.
“There are bruises, cuts bandages had to be wrapped.” Narcissa added, her voice quieter. “She says she fell. Lucius says the same. That’s all I’ve been told. But afterward—she won’t speak. She just… stops.”
A beat.
“She’ll be very guarded.”
Then, a knock.
“Druella, your mother’s coworker is here to see you.”
Druella looked up slowly.
A tall man stepped in with a kindly smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Druella.”
She didn’t respond—just watched him closely as he sat at the chair beside her bed and began fiddling with a puzzle cube.
He patted the mattress beside him.
Reluctantly, Druella joined him.
“Can you solve this?” he asked.
She examined it. Turned it once.
“Yes.”
“I’m Mr. Moore. A Pureblood, your mother is very close to.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you from another country?”
“No,” he answered too quickly.
“Hmm.” Her tone was oddly polite, almost rehearsed. “You have a common surname. Not much is known about the Moore’s but I think there's a women named Jennifer Moore—she works for the Gringotts finance. I remember Lucius’s allies don't like her. She's a Muggle-born, never married yes? I'm guessing you're her brother? Cousin? That’s why you’ve got that name.”
Mr. Moore froze.
Druella didn’t look smug. Only observant. Too observant.
He cleared his throat and tried to continue.
“Did you enjoy the biscuits your aunt brought earlier?”
Druella tilted her head. “There weren’t any.”
“No?”
“She doesn’t give me sweets until after lunch,” Druella said calmly, eyes returning to the cube. “Says I’ll spoil my teeth before lunch. She thinks I have a delicate stomach.”
Druella stopped for moment “she's not wrong I used to get sick easily when I was younger. So no she wouldn't take the chance to get me sick again.”
Then she returned to the cube again.
The man watched her hands as she flicked a mirror on the wall without touching it. It cracked cleanly down the centre.
“May I borrow your wand?” she asked suddenly.
He hesitated, then passed it to her.
“Repario.”
The mirror knit itself back together with a faint shimmer. Druella studied the wand.
“Willow. Unicorn core.”
He blinked. “Yes.”
“I could tell. I’ve been reading Ollivander’s lineage records.”
His lips parted slightly, stunned.
Druella returned the wand without ceremony. “Finished,” she said, handing back the puzzle.
He took it, but before he could rise, she looked at the bed.
“Sir,” she said, eyes on the small leather pouch resting near his seat.
“Yes?”
“Did you leave that for me—or are you testing me?”
He paused, watching her.
“I assumed,” she continued, “if it were meant for me, you’d have said so. But you didn’t. So I won’t touch it. I don't know what it is it could harm me.”
Mr. Moore was quiet. He took the pouch and slipped it into his robe with a nod. “Thank you, Miss Black.”
Before he could say more, a scream echoed from the garden.
Druella jumped to her feet and ran to the window. Outside, Lucius’s monstrous dog was barking and scrambling in the grass, chased by a massive green serpent, fangs bared.
The dog slipped, skidded into the hedge, and vanished. The snake slithered toward the house—but when it saw Druella, it paused, tongue flicking.
She opened the window, leaning out slightly.
The snake hissed low.
“Feral animal,” she muttered—not about the snake, but the dog.
She reached a hand down and stroked the serpent’s head.
That was when Lucius stormed around the corner, face flushed with rage. He grabbed the snake roughly by the neck.
Druella backed up instinctively, her heart pounding.
The vase behind her trembled—then shattered in a blast of magic she hadn’t meant to release.
Lucius slipped violently, crashing to the stone path with a furious curse. The snake recoiled and darted away down the corridor, vanishing like a shadow.
“You wretched girl!” Lucius spat, soaked and furious. “That snake would’ve sold for hundreds of Galleons—it’s gone now!”
He surged forward, hand rising to strike.
But he stopped.
Mr. Moore was still in the room.
The man stood frozen, gaze flicking between Druella, the shards of the vase, and Lucius's livid face. A slow, heavy silence fell.
“This meeting is over, sir,” Lucius snapped through clenched teeth. “You’ve seen enough.”
Mr. Moore hesitated—just long enough to meet Druella’s eyes.
Then he scribbled a single word across his parchment, firm and deliberate:
Approved.
He turned and left, the door closing with a soft, final click.
And then the silence was shattered.
Lucius struck her across the face with a sharp crack, knocking the breath from her lungs. She yelped, stumbling.
Then his hand twisted in her hair.
She screamed and clutched at his wrist, legs scrambling for footing, crying out—“Stop! Let go!”—but he didn’t.
He dragged her across the polished floor like she weighed nothing.
He threw her into her room.
She hit the floor hard.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Druella didn’t move.
Her small fingers clenched at the cold stone beneath her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps.
No one came.
Not this time.
Not again.
Outside, the manor was still. The halls were as silent as always. No one would know. No one would speak of it. There were no witnesses to bruises behind ornate doors.
There were Ministry Raids, and Druella stayed on the floor, eyes widened, making not a sound.
Officials were there but were quickly cleared off by Lucius Malfoy's luck.
She was alone.
She whispered it aloud, like it might make it less true.
“I hate him…”
A small crack sounded beside her.
Dobby.
The elf knelt beside her, his ears drooping, a tea towel still wrapped around his shoulders like armour he didn’t have.
He said nothing. Just reached out and gently patted her back with one long, careful hand.
Druella didn’t move for a long time. Her lip trembled. Her head bowed.
Her thoughts spiralled like smoke.
She just wanted to go.
To leave.
To run far, far from these walls.
From this life in shadows.
From the man behind the door.
“I want to go home,” she whispered.
Then, softer—
“…but I don’t think I have one here.”
And still, Dobby stayed beside her, quiet and still.
He didn’t speak.
But he stayed.
And somehow, that mattered.
Time passed. The candles shifted on the wall. The chill of the floor crept up into her bones. She hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. Her muscles had locked in place, frozen in fear and something heavier—something that settled like dust in her lungs.
Then, gently, Dobby placed something soft against her chest.
It was Nyssa.
The worn little stuffed cat with button eyes and singed fur—her most precious thing, gifted from Bellatrix, and she kept it ever since.
Her fingers wrapped around it, slow at first, like they were remembering how to hold anything.
Shaking, Druella pushed herself off the floor and climbed onto her bed. She sat against the pillows, still hugging Nyssa, rubbing the patch between the ears with absent strokes.
She stared at the far wall, hollow and still.
Dobby lingered at the door, wringing his hands.
“Dobby must go now,” he said softly. “To Privet Drive. To check on Harry Potter. Dobby thinks… Harry Potter may have left his home.”
Druella blinked slowly.
“Oh,” she murmured.
“Dobby will come back,” he added, voice firm. “Dobby promises.”
There was a long pause.
Then, barely above a breath:
“Okay.”
Dobby turned to go—but her voice stopped him.
“Why?” Druella asked, her tone distant, almost hollow. “Why did you do that?”
He looked back, confused. “Do what?”
“Interfere with Harry’s life,” she murmured. “Mess with the letters. Interfere with Hogwarts. Everything.”
Dobby’s ears drooped.
“Dobby only wanted to protect Harry Potter. To stop him from coming back to school. To keep him safe from what is coming.”
Druella hugged Nyssa tighter.
“Well…” she said numbly, “Anywhere’s better than here.”
Dobby didn’t reply. He just nodded, eyes damp, and vanished with a soft crack.
The room fell silent again.
Druella remained curled on the bed, one hand gently resting atop her old stuffed cat, as if it were the only thing still tethering her to the world.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
However, somewhere behind the thick glass, the world was changing.
August 11th, 1992 — The Wizengamot Chamber
A gavel slammed hard onto the high table.
The sound rang like thunder through the glass-domed hall of the Wizengamot, silencing the hushed murmurs below.
At the very front, cloaked in shadow and enchantment, sat the Matriarch’s Throne.
And on it: Bellatrix Black.
No longer a prisoner. No longer the unhinged laughing terror whispered about in war stories.
Now she sat like a monarch.
Her robes were layered in black with green undertones, the fine stitching charmed with movement—serpents that shimmered with each breath she took. Her wand was holstered at her hip, never hidden. A single obsidian ring bore the crest of House Black: coiled, enduring, absolute.
The chamber feared her—but they also respected her.
She had clawed her way into the very system meant to condemn her. And now, she ruled it.
At the centre stood a pale young man, wandless, trembling beneath the scrutiny of the court.
A robed official cleared his throat. “You have been brought to this bench for the third time. Theft of magical artefacts. Violation of the Ministry’s fine for an unregistered Apparition. And now—wand theft.”
Murmurs.
From the high bench, Bellatrix watched him with slow disdain.
“You may speak,” she said coolly.
“I—I was desperate,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”
Bellatrix leaned forward.
“Desperation is not a defence. If it were, Azkaban would be empty.”
The man opened his mouth, then thought better of it.
Bellatrix’s voice sharpened. “Wand theft is a desecration of magical identity. A thief of soul and blood. And this is your third offence.”
She rose.
The shadows shifted with her.
“I move for six months in Azkaban. No visitation. Wand ownership banned for five years following release.”
A few seats shifted in discomfort.
Lucius Malfoy, seated near the lower bench as Governor, said nothing—but his clenched jaw betrayed his disapproval. He had lobbied for leniency. Again, he’d been ignored.
Bellatrix scanned the room. Her gaze lingered on Lucius for only a second—long enough.
“Let this serve as precedent,” she said. “Under my Matriarchal authority, justice shall no longer kneel before bloodlines or bought influence. We enforce the law. Even when it displeases the old guard.”
The gavel cracked down.
“So ruled,” the judge announced. “Six months Azkaban. May God have mercy on your soul.”
The man was seized.
He thrashed, shouting in desperation—until his voice cracked into venom.
“You hypocrite! Lestrange! You served the Dark Lord—you wear his mark—killed for him!”
Bellatrix remained seated, unfazed.
“You sat in a cell! You were only released because of your sister! And now you judge me?” he roared. “Now you wear law robes and speak of justice? You promoted stories that Muggle-borns stole magic from Purebloods! You’re a fraud, Lestrange! A FRAUD!”
The Aurors dragged him back as his words echoed.
Bellatrix didn’t flinch.
She gave a single cold glance, her voice like silk pulled across steel.
“If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve carved it from your ribs. And it's Black, not Lestrange.”
The man shrieked a final insult, but he was gone before it reached her ears.
Bellatrix slowly resumed her seat, one gloved hand smoothing the hem of her robe with ceremonial precision.
The room exhaled.
Then came her whisper:
“Next.”
The Board of Governors rose.
A greying wizard with a lion’s-head pin stood and cleared his throat.
“We bring forth an educational matter. A request approved by the Board—majority vote.”
Lucius Malfoy, still seated among them, stiffened.
“A child. Not yet eleven. Turned ten late last year. She qualifies under the Arcanum Clause—prodigy potential. Evaluated privately.”
Whispers.
“Clause Eight?” “A girl?” “Ten?”
The wizard continued, “She is the daughter of a figure present today. Born December 23rd, 1981. Advanced in reading, theory, and wandless control. She has passed the preliminary prodigy trial.”
He looked up.
“Matriarch Black may know her.”
Bellatrix was already standing.
“My daughter?” she announced. “Druella Bellatrix Black the Second, is that who you speak of?”
He nodded.
The silence snapped.
Gasps. Whispers. A few leaned to whisper across benches.
“That’s Bellatrix’s child?” “I thought she was raised in secret—” “Is this allowed?”
Lucius stared ahead, unmoving, while his coworkers spoke.
“We request confirmation for the chamber to allow her early admission to Hogwarts for the 1992–1993 school year. Under probationary clause.”
Wands lifted—one by one. Most turned violet in favour.
Lucius’s did not.
Bellatrix looked only forward, eyes glinting like candlelight behind stained glass.
“I accept,” she said.
“She will attend.”
The vote passed.
Applause. Hesitant. Then steady.
Bellatrix didn’t smile for them.
She smiled for herself.
And somewhere far away, lying quietly in bed, her daughter hugged Nyssa the cat and stared out her window—unaware of the storm her name had just become.
August 13th 1992, Malfoy Manor
Druella went outside to tend to the garden, joined by Narcissa. As they worked together, Narcissa commented.
Narcissa's face fell slightly. "It's a shame Draco wasn't kind to Harry," she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.
Druella sighed. "Yes, I know. We've heard about it since he came back. I'll have to hear it again next summer."
Narcissa continued, "I heard about how his family, the Dursleys, treats Harry."
Druella turned to her aunt, puzzled. "What?"
"They used to make him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs," Narcissa explained, shaking her head. "It's cruel to treat a child that way."
Druella's expression changed, a mix of horror and anger crossing her face. "Why would they do that?"
Narcissa shrugged, her own frustration evident. "I don't know, but it's unforgivable."
Seeing the anger in Druella's eyes, Narcissa placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know you think I'm overprotective, and you don't always get along with Lucius. But we give you a good life, Druella. I made sure Bellatrix stayed with us after you were born so you could have a normal life."
Druella looked down at the ground, her thoughts troubled. Narcissa continued, "You should try to befriend Harry when you go. I know you two would make great friends. He has a lot of friends already—maybe you should give it a try."
Druella hesitated, her voice quiet. "But they're Gryffindors. Uncle and Mother have always been sceptical about them. Mother never lets me wear red or yellow clothes." A tear almost slipped from her eye. "What if I end up in Gryffindor? They would reject me."
Narcissa smiled gently, her voice reassuring. "Don't worry about that, Druella."
Druella nodded in agreement, feeling a little lighter.
Bellatrix watched as Narcissa and Druella conversed, noticing the hint of worry on Druella's face as she mentioned Gryffindor. It was only natural, she thought. The idea of her precious Black Blossom being sorted into that house—a house so beneath her—didn't sit right with Bellatrix. Her beautiful, brilliant daughter should never be among the trivial Gryffindors. She would not be counted among them.
Yet, Bellatrix could see Narcissa's reasoning in encouraging Druella to befriend Potter and his friends. If others were quick to call Druella a blood traitor, so be it. She was Bellatrix's little Blood Traitor. And perhaps, it was a label she'd have to wear. But not Longbottom. That boy was a waste of a wizard, and his family—well, they still haunted her. The memory of his parents never stopped tormenting her, not since the day she had cast the Cruciatus Curse on them. It had been necessary, part of the plan. It had led to Azkaban, but Bellatrix would do it all over again if it meant protecting Druella.
She had been carrying Druella even then, all those years ago, when she was in Azkaban. Even in the darkest depths of that hell, Bellatrix had protected her fiercely, using every ounce of magic at her disposal to shield Druella.
To ensure her safety and future, Bellatrix had begun teaching Druella Occlumency at a young age. It was necessary to keep prying minds at bay. Druella's power was formidable, already capable of resisting most, though not yet enough to block Bellatrix and Narcissa. But that was fine. Bellatrix was confident that soon, Druella would be strong enough to outstrip them all.
Bellatrix’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door.
Her gaze narrowed.
Only a handful of people dared knock on her door.
She moved with purpose through the halls of Malfoy Manor, every step echoing with restrained annoyance. When she opened the grand doors, her irritation deepened.
Professor McGonagall stood on the stone threshold—upright, stern, and irritatingly unshaken.
"I expected one of the professors might come," Bellatrix said coolly, folding her arms. “Dumbledore rarely resists meddling.”
McGonagall gave a polite nod. “I’m here to deliver Druella Black’s Hogwarts letter. Per the Headmaster’s request.”
Bellatrix extended her hand, sharp and commanding. “I’ll see that she receives it.”
But McGonagall didn’t move.
“With respect,” she said carefully, “Headmaster Dumbledore insisted I give it to her directly. And explain.”
Bellatrix’s lips thinned. She hated this. Hated being bypassed. Still, she stepped aside, jaw tight.
Narcissa appeared before McGonagall had even stepped inside, her arms crossed, expression unreadable but cold.
“Oh,” she said flatly. “Minerva.”
McGonagall offered a crisp nod. “Narcissa.”
Bellatrix turned sharply and vanished down the corridor.
“Druella!” she called. “Come here. Now.”
Druella appeared moments later, quiet and guarded as always, clutching a small book to her chest. She stopped short when she saw McGonagall.
“Hi,” she said warily.
The professor offered her a small, polite smile. “You must be Druella. I am Professor McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.”
Druella’s eyes flicked to her mother and aunt, both of whom stood behind the professor like silent sentinels.
Bellatrix gave a slight nod.
“She’s here to give you something, love.”
McGonagall reached into her cloak and handed Druella the envelope. Her name was written in green ink with perfect precision:
Miss D. Black
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England
Druella opened it with careful fingers, pulling out the parchment and reading the words slowly:
Dear Miss Black.
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
Her eyes widened slightly.
Then her brow furrowed.
She looked up, confused.
“…But I’m not eleven.”
McGonagall’s professional smile faltered just enough to show the tension underneath.
“No,” she replied. “You are not. But your name appeared on the Register, and an appeal was made. The Board of Governors, after extensive magical evaluation and… influence”—her eyes briefly darted to Bellatrix—“have approved early admission.”
Druella blinked, confused. “So I’m going early?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said plainly.
“I don’t understand,” Druella admitted, her voice quiet but direct. “Why?”
“You were tested. Quietly,” Narcissa said from behind her, stepping forward at last. “Privately. At the Manor. Do you remember? That man—Mr. Moore. He was no tutor. He was there for the Board.”
Druella’s face fell.
“I thought he was a friend of Mother’s…”
“He was,” Bellatrix said evenly, “but not just that. He wrote the final recommendation.”
Druella looked back at McGonagall. “So... I passed something, and now I’m going to Hogwarts? Before everyone else?”
McGonagall gave the smallest nod.
“You’ve been accepted under the Arcanum Clause. Very few qualify.”
“But… people won’t like that,” Druella said, not whining—just stating it.
McGonagall hesitated. “They may not. But Hogwarts makes exceptions for exceptional students.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, carefully, Druella smiled.
It was small. Fragile. But real.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, still uncertain, but grateful.
Bellatrix’s hand came to rest lightly on her daughter’s shoulder, her voice softer than usual.
“You deserve it.”
McGonagall turned to leave, but Narcissa followed her to the door.
“Don’t try anything political with her,” she warned. “She’s not a tool. She’s a child.”
McGonagall didn’t answer. She simply nodded, her face tight.
As the door shut behind her, Druella stood staring down at the parchment.
“I’m going to Hogwarts,” she whispered to herself.
Bellatrix smiled faintly. “Yes, darling. And the world will never be the same.”
Narcissa’s heels clicked lightly as she stepped closer, her voice calm and precise.
“So, we have a small plan, Druellie.”
Druella looked up, already frowning slightly. There was calculation behind her eyes, the early sharpness of someone who paid attention far more than she let on.
“This year?” she asked carefully. “I’m not even eleven yet.”
“Exactly,” Narcissa said. “You’re going early, and that makes you visible. That’s a risk—but it’s also a great weapon. And I want you to listen closely.”
Druella tilted her head. She was young, yes—but her eyes didn’t flicker. She listened.
“If you hear anything bad,” Narcissa continued, “about good old Dumbledore… rumours, mistakes, whispers—anything—”
“I tell you first,” Druella interrupted. “Before anyone else hears it.”
Narcissa paused, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Very good.”
Druella nodded once, solemn and obedient on the surface—but something behind her eyes gleamed faintly. She was thinking. Already wondering what counted as “bad.” Already calculating how much she could observe without being noticed. She was already aware that people underestimated quiet girls.
“Yes, Aunt Narcissa,” Druella replied calmly. “I’ll listen carefully.”
And she would.
Not because she fully understood the stakes—
But because she was beginning to understand that information was power, and power kept people like Lucius away.
She folded the letter again, gently, and tucked it under her arm like a sealed agreement.
One step closer to the world that had hurt her.
One step closer to mastering it.
Druella couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She was going to Hogwarts. Early.
Of all things.
She sat at her window that night, legs tucked beneath her, parchment still clutched in her hands as if it might vanish. The letters shimmered slightly in the moonlight—real, solid, undeniable.
This was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Nothing could top it.
Not even Draco, who had looked at her with thinly veiled irritation when he found out. His eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything, but the message was clear: You’re not supposed to come yet.
That only made her grip the letter tighter.
Lucius, of course, said nothing at all. Just offered her a lingering glance over his teacup, eyes flat and unreadable. The same cold look he gave everything that didn’t directly benefit him.
Behind closed doors, he told her other things. Quiet, venom-laced things. Things meant to unravel her.
Words she couldn’t repeat.
Words she didn’t want to remember.
But she was leaving.
She was going.
And Bellatrix—Bellatrix celebrated. Spun her in the parlour like a doll. Laughed with wine in her hand and pride in her voice. Even if Druella didn’t feel like she’d earned it. Even if she wasn’t sure she believed she deserved anything.
Still… she smiled.
Because more than anything—more than the letter, more than the robes, more than the odd, fluttering feeling in her stomach—she was happy to be leaving the manor.
Happy to escape its heavy walls and colder silence.
Happy to be gone from Lucius's footsteps on the stairs. From the way the doorknob clicked just before his shadow spilled across the floor.
At Hogwarts, she’d have a room with people in it. A schedule. A wand.
She’d have books and a desk and rules and professors.
And for once—somewhere to be that wasn’t here.
Somewhere that wasn’t just survival.
She stared back down at the letter, the seal of Hogwarts glowing faintly under the candlelight, and whispered,
“Nothing will ruin this. I won’t let them.”
Then she folded the parchment carefully, pressed it against her chest, and closed her eyes.
She would make Hogwarts hers.
Even if she had to fight for every step.
Narcissa watched her niece from across the room, sipping her tea with that same calm precision she used in battle—never spilling a drop, even in war.
Her expression was serene, but her mind was already turning.
Bellatrix entered, her boots tapping the floor with a subtle confidence. She gave Druella the briefest glance before joining her sister by the window.
Narcissa didn’t look at her. She simply lifted the porcelain teacup to her lips, one eyebrow arched.
“You know,” she began, her tone light, almost lazy, “I had half a mind to pursue Headmistress once. I did my studying, unlike some.”
Bellatrix chuckled lowly.
“Draco made an attempt last year,” Narcissa continued. “Tried to tell me after the troll incident, if you can believe it. Typical.”
She gave a sniff and finally turned to her sister, her smile tight and knowing. “But you know what I think, Bella? We use our little Druellie.”
Bellatrix tilted her head with interest.
“Oh, not for anything drastic,” Narcissa said smoothly. “She simply observes. Spies, if you want to be vulgar about it. Reports back. Dumbledore can’t be trusted, not after last year—imagine allowing a Defence professor with a Dark Lord in his turban. Utterly irresponsible.”
Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh, brushing her hand along the edge of the mantle. “Oh, Cissy, you’re devious.”
“Don’t flatter me. I’m practical,” Narcissa replied, voice smooth and cold like glass under velvet. “We let Druella make her friends. Blend in. But she’ll be watched. If anything unusual happens again, we’ll know. And Dumbledore? One more mistake, and he’s finished.”
Bellatrix gave a sharp grin. “Well then. Let her go. But let her be ours.”
Narcissa clinked her spoon against the side of her teacup, her gaze distant. “Oh, she already is.”
“And I didn’t even have to pull any strings,” Bellatrix added smugly, lifting her cup with flair.
“Yes, of course. Though I’m not exactly fond of her leaving home at ten years old,” Narcissa murmured, her tone softening ever so slightly. “You know how frail she is. She doesn’t even wear shoes outside.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine. You underestimate her,” Bellatrix waved off.
“You overestimate her,” Narcissa countered, setting her cup down with precision. “She’s brilliant, yes. But too soft in some ways. Still… she’s got that mind—quick, calculating. If someone guides her right, she could become something dangerous.”
Bellatrix chuckled. “She’s already dangerous.”
“And Dumbledore?” Narcissa went on. “If he tries to pull another stunt—”
“Oh, Dummydore?” Bellatrix scoffed. “That senile peacock with his half-baked morality and lemon drops? Please.”
Narcissa allowed herself a cold smile. “He won’t see her coming. She’ll smile. Listen. Observe. And when the moment’s right—she’ll strike. Quietly. Efficiently. With evidence.”
“She’s yours,” Bellatrix said. “Trained like a little dagger in silk gloves.”
Narcissa looked down into her tea, her reflection cold and clear. “I do believe in Draco. He’s capable—he’s just been led astray by my husband’s idiocy. But Druella? Druella doesn’t just follow. She learns. She sees what’s broken and begins fixing it in her head. She was made for this.”
Bellatrix raised her cup. “To the next generation, then.”
Narcissa tapped hers in reply, her voice cool and sure.
“To the girl who will outmanoeuvre a headmaster.”
In the Library, Druella sat curled in the chair, a book balanced on one knee; her stuffed cat, Nyssa, was tucked under her arm like a fragile promise no one could take away. She tried to lose herself in the words, but they blurred. She thought of McGonagall’s cool, disappointed eyes.
She hated it. Hated being seen like that. But a part of her clung to it, too. Because at least McGonagall saw her.
She didn’t hear him until it was too late.
"Druella Black!"
Druella jumped, hands shaking, trying not to be seen.
“Did you tell that woman anything about our family matter?”
Druella jerked so hard that the book fell. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, staff in hand, dogs at his side, their teeth bared. She felt her breath catch.
“I asked you a question, girl,” he repeated, voice like a knife.
The dogs growled.
“No,” Druella whispered.
“No, what?” His eyes narrowed.
“No, sir,” she corrected quickly, voice cracking.
He crossed the room in two strides and slapped her so hard her head snapped to the side. The cat plush tumbled to the floor.
“Good,” he hissed, grabbing her dress and dragging her forward until her feet scraped the carpet. She winced, clawing at his wrist.
“Because if you ever tell anyone—anyone-I’ll give you a beating you’ll never forget.”
“Yes, sir,” she managed, tears pricking her eyes.
He let her go roughly, shoving her back. She stumbled over her fallen Nyssa and landed hard on her knees.
He looked her up and down with cold disgust.
“Look at you. Filthy little urchin. Snot-nosed disgrace. Don’t you dare cry.”
She wiped her eyes fast, trembling.
“I wouldn’t tell,” she choked out. “Even... if… if I make friends… I think they’d love me.”
Lucius laughed, a terrible, mocking sound.
“Love?” He sneered. “Who’d love a dowdy little nothing like you? Who’d want to be friends with a plain-faced scullery rat?”
She swallowed hard.
“Gregory Goyle, maybe? Even he’d think twice.” Lucius mocked.
Druella let out a strangled noise and dropped her gaze, tears sliding down.
Lucius leaned in close enough that she smelled his cologne and the sourness of his breath.
“Remember this,” he said low. “You’re a wretched little mistake I should’ve tossed out the window when you were a baby, crying so hard every single night. You still cry like a baby. You’re lucky your aunt cares about you, or you'd be gone. I'm glad you'll be out of here early so I don't have to pretend to tolerate you.”
The dogs snarled at his feet, eager for a command.
“Now get up. Go sulk or play with that ugly, raggy cat you drag around. The family has a meeting, and you’re not to be seen or heard.”
Druella sniffed, picked up Lucky with shaking fingers, and scrambled up. She didn’t dare look at him again as she scurried toward her bedroom. She felt the dogs’ eyes on her back, teeth bared, as she shut the door behind her with a quiet click—and finally let herself sob.
In her bedroom, Druella lay curled on her side, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The lamplight burned low. A doll rested in the crook of her arm. A few stuffed animals sat neatly lined up along the edge of the bed, untouched, all brand new and stiff with price tags, Narcissa had ordered removed.
She didn’t reach for them. She didn’t dare.
She lay perfectly still, breathing slowly and shallow, staring at the wall the way she always did after Lucius left the room. Her cheek still burned faintly where he'd struck her.
Then the door creaked open. Druella jumped. She instantly covered her face with her arm, heart hammering.
A small figure squeezed through—a house elf, ears twitching, eyes shrewd and sharp.
Hubble.
Lucius’s favourite elf.
Druella never trusted him. She knew he was the one who always watched her too closely, reporting every sulk and every tear to Lucius like a loyal, nasty little spy. It had been that way ever since she'd chased down that book thief in the forest beyond Dobby's watch—Lucius hadn't let it go. Hubble had kept extra careful watch on her ever since, exactly as Lucius wanted.
Hubble smiled, though it was more of a grimace stretched across his wrinkled face.
“Yo, Druella. Relax. It’s just Hubble,” he said, tone falsely friendly, sing-song, condescending. “Hubble’s just making sure you’re okay in here?”
He moved further into the room without asking, blinking around at the untouched toys.
“What’s this? Haven’t touched any of your new toys?” he asked, voice dripping with mock hurt. “After Hubble bought them just for you?”
Druella’s breath caught. Her eyes widened, a cold fear crawling up her back.
She remembered when they’d shown up in her room—a whole box of them, bright and garish, not the kind of toys she liked at all. Hubble had beamed as he presented them, Narcissa standing nearby, watching. Druella had seen Narcissa’s narrowed eyes, the flicker of suspicion there.
Narcissa hated Hubble. She always had. She told Druella once she didn’t trust the elf one bit—said he had a ‘mean streak.’ She thought he despised Druella and wasn’t subtle about it. Bellatrix even told her to stay away from the elf herself.
But Lucius adored the creature. Always had. Always protected him. Always will. Hubble never got beaten the way other elves did. He was smart enough to keep Lucius happy—and clever enough to try pleasing Narcissa just enough that she wouldn’t get rid of him outright. He was always the one who didn't have to work as much as the other elves. Being Lucius's favourite after all made him quite snobby and lazy. More as a butler telling the other elves what to do and keeping the house under control. He sure won Lucius and Draco well for ordering the elves to Draco's delight.
And now he was trying to win over Druella, too. Trying to look like the good, loyal elf who just loved the precious Malfoy niece.
She didn’t buy it.
“Wouldn’t hurt to let your guard down a little, you know?” he mused aloud, picking up one of the stuffed animals and pressing its head with a squeak.
He dropped it on the bed and looked at her hard.
"Look happy," he thought privately, "or Hubble will be the next elf Narcissa kills, you little brat."
He wasn’t stupid. He knew Narcissa was just looking for an excuse to punish him, to be rid of him forever if he so much as made Druella cry.
So he’d begged Lucius for permission to buy toys for Druella, to look good. Lucius had agreed easily—anything that shut the child up, anything that kept Narcissa off his back for five minutes.
Hubble forced his best grin and reached out, patting Druella’s dark hair, his hand gentle but possessive, his claws scratching lightly against her scalp. She shuddered.
“See? Hubble’s not scary,” he crooned.
Druella flinched and clutched her doll tighter, eyes wet, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t even breathe loudly.
Hubble clicked his tongue and drew back, inspecting her.
“Anything Hubble can bring you?” he asked, tone suddenly sharp around the edges, like he was testing her.
She didn’t speak.
“Ah,” he said. “No worries. If Hubble’s in the way… Hubble will leave you alone.”
He turned smartly and walked out, shutting the door behind him with an audible click.
Druella lowered her arm slowly. She blinked at the empty room, the stuffed animals lined up like mocking witnesses. She turned her face into the pillow, hugging her battered stuffed cat Lucky—one of the only things she trusted—and closed her eyes.
She didn’t make a sound as she cried herself to sleep.
The next morning.
Hubble the House Elf shuffled through the wizard toy shop, the permission tag on his neck, permission to be out of the family home alone. He cast narrow glances at the busy aisles, nervously fingering the coin in his little fist.
He hated these errands. But he needed to look good.
Hubble approached the counter, clearing his throat.
“Er—Hubble is looking for one of those popular dolls,” he muttered.
The witch behind the counter gave him a polite smile. “Oh? Which one did you have in mind?”
Hubble scratched behind his ear, twitchy. “Um… don’t know… one of those witches? Popular ones?”
“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “Those are all sold out.”
Hubble clicked his teeth, cursing under his breath.
It was then that a man stepped up beside them, tall, thin, draped in a black cloak that billowed like a living thing. Sallow skin, hooked nose, dark eyes glittering like chips of onyx.
Severus Snape, the Potions Professor at Hogwarts, followed the House Elf, seeing the bass permission tag.
He held out a small stuffed rabbit, grey and floppy-eared. His voice was soft and cold as he addressed the elf.
“These,” he said, “are quite popular. Children seem to like them.”
Hubble hesitated, glancing at the rabbit, then at Snape.
He froze. Snape was looking straight at him.
Snape’s dark eyes bored in, unblinking, dark as a bottomless well.
Legilimency.
Hubble felt his mind scraped open.
He saw a bedroom at Malfoy Manor. A trembling little girl with tangled black curls hugging a battered stuffed cat. Her wide green eyes were wet with fear.
Hubble entered, holding out a bright, new stuffed animal with forced cheer. The girl recoiled, clutching her old stuffed cat tighter.
Then another scene—blisteringly sharp, burned into the elf’s memory.
A tall woman with wild black hair and sharp cheekbones. Bellatrix Black. Her eyes ablaze with fury as she snatched Druella away from the elf’s grasp, the child whimpering, eyes wide with terror.
Bellatrix’s hand struck the elf hard enough to make his ears ring, her voice a vicious snarl.
“Don’t you ever touch her like that again!”
The stuffed animal he’d brought was flung into the fireplace, flames crackling and spitting as it burned to ashes. Druella clung to her mother’s robes like a lifeline, her face buried against Bellatrix’s chest.
Bellatrix bent over her protectively, kissing the top of her tangled black curls, her voice low and urgent, murmuring something only Druella could hear. The girl’s shoulders shook as she sobbed, but there was relief there too, and the sound of her mother’s steady breathing.
More images came. Softer, warmer.
Bellatrix and Druella are in a quiet room, washed in candlelight. Bellatrix painting black flowers on an old canvas, her brush strokes elegant and sure. Druella watched in rapt fascination, her stuffed animal forgotten in her lap.
Then Bellatrix pressed one of her own wands into her daughter’s small hand, guiding her grip, correcting her stance. Druella whispered an incantation and sent a bolt of green light sparking from the tip—her precision shockingly good for a child. The child reads day after day powerful, advanced books far beyond her age. She read them presisly. Then a shreak came. The girl duelling elegantly and strategically cast a powerful spell.
"Protego." The girl chanted, protecting herself.
Bellatrix laughed, delighted and unrestrained. Her face—so often twisted in madness—softened, pride in every line.
Safe, Snape realised. Safe with her mother.
But the next memory turned darker.
Lucius Malfoy is standing over Druella. His staff rested across his shoulder with casual menace, his voice slick and poisonous.
“Grubby little thing,” he was saying, lips curled in contempt.
Druella shrank away, tears streaking her cheeks, her mouth pressed shut to stop the sobs.
And Narcissa—Narcissa was in another room entirely, fussing over Draco’s robes, her voice warm and lilting, oblivious.
Bellatrix was gone elsewhere that day.
Lucius smiled. A slow, cold, triumphant smile that made Druella tremble harder.
"Obliviate." He quietly chanted.
Then, Narcissa finally came in, eyes widening at the sight of her niece on the floor.
Lucius’s voice turned mild in an instant.
“She fell again, clumsy little thing.”
Narcissa knelt immediately, scooping Druella into her arms, her voice turning baby-soft.
“Oh, there now, love, you’re all right, Auntie’s here…”
She pressed Druella’s head against her chest, stroking her hair, never realising the way Lucius’s eyes watched, gleaming with quiet victory.
Snape felt a sour taste in his mouth.
She didn’t know. She really didn’t know.
Narcissa was fussing, cooing, and treating the girl like she was small and helpless. Believing her niece simply fell, because that was the easier truth.
Bellatrix would have seen. But Bellatrix hadn’t been there.
He pulled back from the memory, blinking.
He understood.
And it made his stomach turn.
His expression didn’t change. He let the images fade. He understood.
Lucius’s elf, spying. Buying toys to save face, to fool Narcissa, to keep Lucius’s favour.
And the girl, Druella Black. Bellatrix’s daughter. Eleven years old. Going to Hogwarts this year.
Snape’s black eyes flickered.
He thrust the rabbit into Hubble’s hands.
“Take it,” he said shortly.
Hubble blinked. “Er—Hubble will. Thank you, sir.”
Snape nodded once and turned, cloak flaring, moving toward the door.
As he stepped into the street, he let out a slow, steady breath.
“She’ll be at Hogwarts,” he thought, eyes narrowing against the morning light.
With Bellatrix around, she’s safe enough for now. Dangerous, yes—but safe. And powerful. She’ll be taught well. No one will break her if her mother has anything to say about it.
He walked away without looking back.