Preface.
London, England. October, 1976.
It may as well have been ice.
The rain seemed almost murderous; unforgiving, it lashed against the back of a young woman whose cloak provided nothing more than a slight shield for the bundle of blankets underneath it. Penance. It was simply penance for the horrible sin about to be committed. Heels clattered on the cobblestone, but the noise was mercifully subdued by the downpour. If anyone saw…if anyone even knew it was I…The street lights had been inexplicably extinguished. The only light was the dim glimmer radiating off the tip of what was, apparently, a stick the young woman was holding with an outstretched, shaking arm. She glanced back over her shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, her pale face was illuminated in the feeble wand light. Chestnut brown eyes peered out from under tangled curls stained black from the rain. But quick as a flash, the face was concealed once more behind the cloak as the woman turned down yet another street. The bundle in her arms began to squirm and whimper softly. "Shh," The woman cooed; she paused for a moment to press her lips to the infant's smooth forehead. A tear escaped her long eyelashes and mingled with the rain already soaking the blankets. Soon another came, and another, until she sank to the ground crying softly. Was she really doing this? It was for the best, she knew it. No child could grow up happily amidst the violence and sorrow she herself took part in creating, however great the cause may be. However, this fact did nothing to stop the steady stream of tears that was now beginning to compete with the rain.
The infant whimpered again, louder this time. The woman stood up and continued down the road, faster than before. With each step, she began to hate herself more and more. Surely, she could not do this. Surely, there was another way. Surely…She had to. She had to give up her first and only child to a world she despised and condemned. She had to throw away the only token she would ever have of the love He had given her. Her master, her mentor, her lover, and the person she feared most. This child was the only remaining bond she would have to him, and she was abandoning her among filth.
The buildings around her were collapsing in shame, taunting her, killing her; and she soon fell with the buildings.
"YOU THINK THIS IS EASY?" She finally screamed out, eyes bloodshot with either insanity or sadness, it was impossible to tell. "YOU THINK I WANT THIS?" She asked the brick, macabre buildings. Her stomach was in her throat, her pulse in her neck, and she cursed the air a thousand times but none at all. She was foraging for rationalizations but attempting to rationalize the situation only fed the pitiless, burning guilt bubbling in her stomach.
The feelings she felt for this bundle pressed affectionately against her chest were entirely unexpected, for experiencing any love at all was almost unprecedented, save for one man who, through no coincidence, bore this child. She is so pure, in innocence and in blood…and I'm leaving her in the care of horrifically sordid, vile people.
The woman pleaded to the skies for death, screamed at the buildings to rise once more and to free her of their taunts. The cries from the child grew louder and louder and soon the woman gathered herself and focused her attention on her crying infant. "Shh, my Ella. It will all be fine, I p-promise…" Her voice quivered, her heart broke. The buildings grew back to their normal sizes, bringing with them a sense of confidence. I have to. "It's for the best, little Adela."
Once again, and for the final time, the young woman continued down the narrowing street. Thoughts poured in her mind like waterfalls, staying for only a mere second but making a miserable impact nonetheless. Her steps soon lined with her heartbeat and she began to count them. One, two, three…In a matter of minutes she arrived at a set of iron gates and, passing them, stepped into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. She slowly and cautiously, for fear of trembling too much to make a successful trip up the stairs, stepped one by one and knocked on the front door. Almost immediately, the door was opened by a scruffy old woman wearing an apron.
"A-are you Miss Cole? I read about the place…" The woman could barely mask the repugnance she felt simply looking around the place. The wallpaper was peeling off, revealing a yellowing wall. "I have nowhere else to turn…obviously. I…I-I have to leave her," She took the bundle out from her cloak and unwrapped it partially, exposing a round face with dark brown, confused eyes."
"Oh…oh of course you can leave her with me, don't you worry," Miss Cole brushed off the rudeness of her guest. "What's your name, miss? If you don't mind me asking."
"It doesn't matter, don't waste time," The woman snapped back, not taking her eyes off her daughter. "Just treat her well, do you understand me? Treat her as I wish I could…" More tears threatened to escape their lashed cell.
"Yes, miss. But she needs a name. She has a name, I assume?" Miss Cole asked tentatively.
"Adela, my little Ella," A smile escaped the woman's mouth, creating a soft expression that looked oddly unsettling on such a harsh face.
"A last name, miss?"
"Oh…well…She can't have her father's last name…Lestrange. Yes, Lestrange might work, but if my husband ever found out…No. It can't be. I'll have to go with my maiden name, Black. Adela Black," Bellatrix Lestrange spoke rapidly, and Miss Cole only caught the last two words she had managed to utter through tears. "Stop looking at me like that, filth," She added with scorn.