You were sat back in the nurses office, having been practically barred from the quiddich pitch for the whole week and resigned to mope about in the library and study.
As the nurse was removing the bandaged from your arm you looked over at the window, peering out at the group of students trailing behind a professor, each holding a library of books as they struggled to carry them.
"Arm out." The nurse commanded as she took off the sling, grabbing your wrist and jerking your arm straight out.
You resisted the urge to curse, choosing instead to smile sarcastically.
"Well, you're all fixed up. Get to class."
You thanked her, rubbing your shoulder as you walked out of the nurses office and headed to your next class; Defence Against the Dark Arts.
You were wondering at your leisure down the hall, wasting as much time as possible before you had to go to class, when you heard the frantic clip-clop of heels behind you, and the swooshing of fabric. You turned round to see professor McGonagal running down the corridoor, shouting your name as she ran.
"Whats the matter, professor."
"Oh," She said in her thick Scottish accent. "You best follow me, professor Dumbledore thinks it best for him to talk to you himself."
Immediately your heart started racing; what happened? What was about to happen? What did you do? You followed McGonagal up a flight of stairs and round numerous corners, stopping at a tall doorway carved out of a stone wall, covered by a metal object.
"Sherbot Lemon." She said, the metal object spinning to reveal an ornate set of metal stairs, cradled by a sculpture of a phoenix with its metallic wing wrapped around the stairs.
You were ushered up the stairs, and told to wait at the top of them while professor McGonagal opened on of the two arched wooden doors and slid inside. You waited, hearing the shushed sound of whispering floating through the crack in the doors, before McGonagal walked back out, smiling at you sweetly as she made her way back down the stairs.
You turned back to the doors to see them wide open, Dumbledore stood between them with his hands clasped together, smiling as he spoke. "Come in, dear." You followed him, not having much time to marvel at his admittedly crowded yet extravagant office before he began talking. "Through your years here at Hogwarts we have seen you blossom in to a fine young witch, doing well in your studies, as well as the social aspect of your life here at this school." You could see in his eyes that he was nervous, obviously stalling as he intro'd you to eat you were sure was going to be a very tense talk. "By being here i believe you've found a sense of belonging, I can see it in your eyes; one that was very much absent when you first arrived, if I'm correct?" You nodded, wondering where he was going with this.
He paced over to his desk, sitting down and gesturing to a small wooden stall that stood in front of it. You sat down as he ran his fingers along the edge of the desk, taking a deep breath before speaking. "We have been aware of your... situation since you first came here, which is why we only called out your first name in the sorting ceremony." By 'situation' he was talking about your mother, Bellatrix LeStrange, of course, renowned deatheater and infamous number two to he-whi-shall-not-be-named.
"The staff and I agreed that ones family should not be a defining feature, much less one that would greatly impact your school life here."
You nodded, not sure where he was going with this.
"Well, that's no longer an issue."
"What do you mean, sir?" You spoke softly, cautiously.
He reached into a drawer in his desk, shuffling though a pile of papers before placing a plain envelope on the table, sliding it across to you.
"The letter was from Azcaban prison." It was about your mother. Great. "I think it's best for you to read it in private; feel free to go back to class when you have." He got up, walking past you and out if the office, leaving you and the envelope staring at each other.
You took breath in—whatever it was about it couldn't have been good, and it must've been important for Azcaban prison to send a letter. You reached into the envelope, pulling out a black piece of paper neatly folded, the edges of which were painted with a gold paint that made them look like razors. You unfolded it, and started to read the unnecessarily fancy white writing.
"To: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
To whom it may concern,
We are writing to inform you of some new information that has just been collected, concerning a prisoner; Bellatrix LeStrange, and a student of yours that shares her name.
It was discovered during interrogation of miss LeStrange that the child that she called her daughter actually belongs to a couple, Stacy and Dave Foster, and was stolen from them as a toddler.
The child was never reported missing as LeStrange erased all memories of their daughter when she took her, and the child was too young to remember her real parents.
We believe that this information should be shared with the child, in the most discreet way possible, due to the sensitive nature of the subject.
..."
You sat back in the chair, calmly setting down the letter and returning it to the envelope, sitting in silence.
What the fuck.
You weren't sure how to process the information. You weren't sure what was going to happen now. You weren't sure what you wanted to happen. Although you felt angry, and slightly sick, you also felt a strange sense of relief wash over you; the knowledge that whatever evil ran through that woman veins wasn't in yours. the sick feeling in your throat subsided as you thought about it more.
You felt a little lost in that moment, not quite sure what to do except head back to class; so you did.
