For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
Round Three
Holyhead Harpies, Beater 2
Mandatory: Write about a truth being found by the next generation.
Optional: 5. (word) difference
6. (color) midnight black
Also written for the Friends Competition (The One After "I Do": Write about a Next Gen kid)
Word Count 1968
I.
Scorpius has always hated the afternoons when his mother and grandmother meet for tea. They get so caught up in their talks that they scarcely notice the six year old at all, no matter how restless he grows.
He's learned that it's easy to slip away. As long as he doesn't wander off for too long, they'll think he's been in the parlor, playing quietly. Really, he's off on his own adventures, exploring the massive manor his father once called home.
Today's adventure leads him to his grandparents' room. He knows that he shouldn't be there. Grandfather is a stern man, but he isn't here to scold Scorpius for being where he shouldn't.
Curious, the child begins to explore. He fastens an old green and silver tie around his neck, giggling. He looks just like his father in those old photographs. He opens bottles, smelling the warm smells of mint and flowery things that remind him of his grandmother.
Still, it's not enough to keep his attention. His restless mind wanders again, and he looks around, checking that no one is around who might discover him. Satisfied that he's alone, he begins to plunder more thoroughly.
He discovers the photograph in a drawer in grandmother's bedside table. The woman who peers up at him with a dangerous smile looks almost like Auntie Andi, except this woman has hair as black as midnight and eyes as fierce as a storm.
"Scorpius! Scorpius! Where have you gone to?"
Ordinarily, he would panic when he hears his mother's voice if he's doing things he shouldn't. Now, however, the strange woman's eyes are too hypnotic. Scorpius studies her as though she might find a way to whisper her secrets to him through the frame. He barely even notices his mother and grandmother shouting his name.
"There you are!" his grandmother calls. "Really, dear, it's bad manners to look through someone else's-"
When her sentence dies, Scorpius looks up, his interest piqued. "Who is she, Grandmother?" he asks. "She looks like Auntie Andi."
He doesn't know why her face pales as though she's suddenly sick. Scorpius frowns. The tears that swim in her eyes don't help matters at all. He didn't mean to make her sad.
"Bellatrix. She was my sister," his grandmother says, her lips pulled taut into a thin smile. "Just like Auntie Andi."
Scorpius feels uncomfortable. He shuffles his feet nervously. His grandmother doesn't want to talk about it, but he can't help himself. "How come I never met her?"
"She died, darling. During the war."
His eyes widen. He's heard the stories of the war. All the heroes who fought. Some of them didn't make it out, he knows.
"Was she a hero too? Like you?" he asks, because he knows that if his grandmother was brave, her sister must have been too.
"That's enough questions, Scorpius," she says gently, brushing a hand through his hair. "Come along. Your mother is ready to go."
When her back is turned, Scorpius slips the photograph into his pocket.
II.
"Where did you get this?"
Scorpius lets out a squeak when he sees the photograph in his father's hand. He shuffles his feet, wringing his hands together. For a year, he's kept the photograph of Bellatrix a secret. Now, his father is going to tell his grandmother that Scorpius has stolen it.
"I didn't mean to take it," the child mumbles, looking pointedly away.
"Why this photograph? Wouldn't you rather have one of Grandmother?" he asks, his voice tight and cautious like it gets whenever he forgets Mum's birthday.
"Auntie Bellatrix died in the war, didn't she?"
His father swallows as he glances at his forearm. Scorpius doesn't understand why he does this whenever the war is mentioned or why he always looks upset. "Yeah. She died in the war, Scorpius," he says quietly. "But maybe you should get a different picture."
Scorpius shakes his head stubbornly. He doesn't want another photograph. He needs the one of Bellatrix. "I want this one!" he insists, sniffling.
His father softens, but Scorpius can see a hurt in his eyes. He doesn't like that at all. His father is too strong to look so sad. "Okay, son. You win."
When his father leaves, Scorpius picks up the photograph again. the photograph again. He wonders why no one talks about the woman. She's family. She died in the war. He thinks that maybe it's too painful. Maybe her death was too heroic to ever get over.
"You must have been a great woman," he says to the woman in the photograph.
Bellatrix Lestrange just smiles that dangerous smile before throwing her head back and laughing in silence.
III.
Scorpius doesn't care much for Hogwarts. The school is nice enough, but the students leave much to be desired. Even his own House seems to find him strange. Scorpius has found that hiding away with the few friends he's managed to make is his only solace.
He sits by the lake, sketching absently. His father wouldn't let him take the photograph to school. Scorpius understands. He can imagine that Bellatrix Lestrange touched a number of lives. The photograph might stir too many emotions from those who haven't yet moved past her death.
It doesn't make a difference, he supposes. He's spent five years memorizing her face, and his fingers guide the granite along easily. A hero deserves to be remembered. Even if his family won't talk about her, he won't let her fade from memory.
"What are you drawing?" Rose asks, approaching his little hiding place with Albus on her heels.
"My grandmother's sister," Scorpius answers proudly, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Andromeda?" Albus asks. "She's really neat! She gave me a Sugar Quill the last time I visited!"
Scorpius shakes his head. "Her other sister," he says.
Rose's face flickers with something Scorpius can't quite place. Shock? Fear? Disgust? He isn't sure. He only knows that he prefers her pretty smile to this.
Without warning, she snatches the sketch away, her eyes narrowing. "How could you idolize such a wretched woman?" she demands, her voice shrill and dangerous. "Do you know what that monster did to my mother?"
Scorpius doesn't understand her words. He's heard stories of Hermione Granger, of course. But she was on the good side. Why would his great-aunt, a hero, have done something that would make Rose call her monstrous?
"But she was a-"
"Death Eater," Rose supplies with a scowl. Albus shudders.
"I didn't… I don't…"
Scorpius trails off, shaking his head. It doesn't make any sense. If Bellatrix was so bad, why didn't his family tell him?
"You didn't know," Rose guesses, incredulous.
IV.
Perhaps no other Death Eater was as feared as Bellatrix Lestrange neé Black. Lestrange boasted the title "the Dark Lord's most faithful" and participated in some of the most heinous acts committed in the war. One of the most infamous crimes, the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom that left them insane beyond any means of-
Scorpius can't bring himself to turn the page. The few sentences that he's read have turned his stomach so acidic that he fears he might throw up.
Longbottom.
There's no doubt in his mind that the book means someone related to Professor Longbottom. Scorpius swallows dryly. He wanted so badly to believe that Bellatrix was a hero. However, the evidence is right there before him. Bellatrix Lestrange was a cruel woman who shattered so many lives.
His eyes flicker to his bag where the sketch is stashed among the rest of his belongings. He has spent years trying to understand this woman he had never met or even heard of. Now he supposes he should have realized. Heroes get remembered. It's the beasts from dark times that are spoken of in whispers and swept under the rug to be forgotten.
Scorpius digs in the bag, retrieving the sketch. He saw the darkness in her eyes, but he had assumed it was just Slytherin cunning. How could he be so stupid?
With a growl that earns him an annoyed shushing from the librarian, he rips the parchment in half, then again and again until Bellatrix Lestrange is left in a jigsaw puzzle of scraps upon the table.
V.
He waits until winter holidays to confront his father. He wanted to write a letter rather than wait for the months to pass; several attempts and so much parchment wasted, however, he quickly learned that there was no way to convey the words through ink.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Scorpius whispers, holding Bellatrix's photograph in trembling hands.
His father takes a deep breath. "For most of the war, our family was on the wrong side. I…" He trails off, looking at his arm again.
Scorpius remembers another picture now. Bellatrix Lestrange, sneering and displaying the skull and serpent on her arm proudly. It was in the book, on the page he finally found the courage to turn to, the page he wishes he had never seen.
"You were a Death Eater," Scorpius guesses.
"So was your grandfather. We were cowards. Your grandmother was a hero, Scorpius. She lied to Vol- er… She lied to him and told him Harry Potter was dead. Her sister…"
Scorpius nods. He isn't sure that he wants to hear anything else. The truth is so heavy, and he doesn't think he can take much more.
"She died in the war," Scorpius says. At least that much is true. "But she died a villain."
"Your friend Rose's grandmother killed her," his father confirms. "You knew that your grandmother was a great woman in those days. You knew that Andromeda fought on the right side. You can hardly blame me for wanting to shelter you from the ugly truth. No parent would want their child to have to carry that weight, knowing that his family has so much blood on their hands."
Scorpius wishes that he could be angry with his father. He's spent years believing. At any point, they could have spared him the pain. Perhaps learning the truth at a younger age would have cushioned the blow, if only slightly.
But he understands. His father made mistakes but learned from them. Bellatrix never did, and her mistakes cost her her life. He can't blame his family for wanting to shelter him from the ugly side, to let him believe that he comes from a line of goodness with no shadows hanging over the branches of his family tree.
"What do I do now?" he asks, still clutching the photograph. "I can't forget her now that I know the truth."
"You don't forget her. Even the bad ones should be remembered, if only to learn from their mistakes. You know what she did. You know the path your grandfather and I chose. Learn from us. Don't be like us. Be like your grandmother. Be like Auntie Andi. Hell, I never thought I'd say this, but be like Harry Potter. Choose good, Scorpius. Now that I'm older, I wish I had."
When his father leaves, Scorpius gives the photograph one last look. He considers tossing it into the fireplace and letting the flames swallows up the woman with midnight hair and stormy eyes. He doesn't. Instead, he tucks the photograph away in drawer where he might look at it from time to time as a reminder.
Her blood flows through his veins, just like his mum and dad's, just like his grandmother and grandfather's. Maybe he'll be faced with terrible things like she was. The difference is that he will not have to learn from his own mistakes. She will be a cautionary tale, a reminder of the price of darkness. She will be just another ghost with a story that will shape him into a good man.