Harry Potter Fanfic – Iverson/Bella Lestrange
The corridors of Hogwarts were silent. A pin drop could not be heard, except for the occasional breeze from the window. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of swift, rushed footsteps, the crack echoing down the corridors. The source of this soon became apparent.
A student, a male. He was tall, well over six feet in height, slender, but broad shouldered, muscular and robust. His eyes, green with a tinge of blue from his mother, lips curled upwards into an ever-present smirk, and copper orange hair, shaved at the sides, while the top was either gelled or waxed into spikes. He was dashingly handsome, and had a mischievous, bad boy sort of look that girls would pine after. His rucksack, slung over his shoulder, dangling from his back, slamming into him every time he took a step, was half open. He was clearly in a rush.
He soon arrived at a door to a classroom, where he barged in hastily.
"So sorry I'm late Professor McGonagall…" the boy muttered, hastily taking his seat. He slumped down next to girl, who gave him an angry glare. She was slender, delicate looking, with long pink hair, that carried on halfway down her back. Her eyes were a dazzling bright blue, with an icy tinge, a stare that could pierce right into your soul.
"Mr Iverson, I did not return to this school in order to deal with pesky nuisances such as yourself! This is the third time this week!" screeched the Professor, looking sternly at him.
"You shall see me after the class young man!" she followed up.
Iverson let out a long sigh, and unpacked his books and parchment. He turned to the girl sat next to him, who was still glaring at him. She poked him sharply in between his ribs.
"Chris! Again? You have to sort this out!" she hissed at him through his quiet squeal of pain.
"Aurora! That hurt!" Chris replied, clutching at his ribs. He opened his textbook, and turned to the same page that Aurora was on. He scribbled his name on the top of the parchment in front of him, and began sucking at the end of his quill. He turned back to Aurora, meeting her eyes.
"I… I saw it again okay…" Chris muttered to Aurora.
Chris didn't know what he had been seeing, but on multiple occasions, his eyes had been drawn to something outside of his window, whilst residing in his dormitory. It was a black, wispy smoke, floating around the beginning of the Dark Forest. This morning was the sixth time he had seen the phenomenon, and was yet again the reason he was late to class. He had no idea what it was, but he was drawn to it, every time he noticed it.
"Chris! You have to ignore it! It's probably nothing, it might even be your imagination!" was Aurora's reply.
Barely had those words escaped her mouth, when a stern-looking Professor McGonagall walked over to their desk. She dropped a thick textbook down onto their desk, creating a loud bang. The noise was enough to make the two of them jump.
"Twycross! Iverson! Would you like to share something with the rest of the class?" She said angrily.
Chris looked back at the Professor, "No thank you Professor, sorry…" he said.
The Professor looked back at him disappointedly, "Don't expect to be getting any NEWTs with this attitude! The pair of you!"
Forty minutes later, the bell rang, and the students packed up their belongings. As Chris and Aurora stood up to leave, Professor McGonagall strode over to their desk.
"Mr Iverson, I haven't forgotten. A word, if you will?" She said quickly.
The rest of the class filed out, and Chris slowly walked up to the desk at the front. His footsteps echoed on the floor. He should have been more nervous than he was, as he was about to be scolded by the deputy head. But his mind was totally elsewhere. He was fixated on what he had been seeing from his window. Professor McGonagall was clearly giving him a lecture on his poor punctuality, but the words were going straight through him. He merely nodded every few moments, occasionally agreeing with her. After ten minutes, she allowed him to leave. He marched back over to his desk, grasped his bag firmly, and tossed it over his shoulder. He left the classroom, the door clicking shut behind him, and strode off to his left. Down one flight of stairs, along a corridor, and then up another set of stairs. He strode along a new corridor, before stopping at a sculpture etched into the wall. It was of a beautiful, elegant lady, sat atop a marvellous steed. At the top of the sculpture was the name 'Rowena Ravenclaw, founder of the Ravenclaw house'.
"Evangelic Shikari", Chris said firmly. A moments pause after he said this, the sculpture began to move. Rowena Ravenclaw and her horse strode to the side, and the middle of the stone wall opened, to reveal a staircase. Chris walked through the arch created by the wall's movement, and proceeded up the stairs. Atop of the stairs was a deep, regal blue door, which he opened and walked through.
He had arrived in the Ravenclaw common-room. It was a large, circular room, with two fireplaces, opposite each other, at the edges. The room was lit by light coming in through the five windows that circled the room. In front of each fireplace were three sofas, arranged to make a square next to the wall. Students, male and female, we sat upon these sofas, some chatting idly, some studying, some even lightly asleep, taking a nap after a hard lesson. In the middle of the room, there were two chess boards, with students battling each other at Wizard Chess. Students in Ravenclaw were always encouraged to play chess with a keen interest, to keep their minds sharp. In the gaps in between the windows, were huge bookcases, scaling the entire height of the wall, filled with books, old and new. Ravenclaw had long been known as the house of intellect and knowledge.
After pausing for a brief moment, Chris strode across the room, proceeding up another set of stairs, to his dormitory. As he entered the room, he walked over to his four poster bed, and slumped down on it, putting his rucksack at the foot of his bed. No sooner had his back touched his mattress, had another boy come over to him. The boy was of average height, broad shouldered like Chris, with a stocky figure. He had a slightly large, round head, with a mop of mousey brown hair, and a scraggly beard.
"Alright mate, you're back late from class!" he said.
The boy was Patrick O'Connell, the muggle-born best friend of Chris. They had been friends since before they both went to Hogwarts.
"Yeah…" Chris muttered to Patrick, still in a world of his own. He lay back onto his bed, his head sinking in his pillows, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. Patrick knew something was up, he'd never seen Chris act like this before.
"What's up mate?" he said, knowing from experience when Chris was troubled.
Chris looked up at Patrick, before looking back down at his thumbs. He didn't know whether to explain things to him or not. Maybe he should just make up some lie, or whether he could trust someone else knowing. Aurora, his other best friend, knew already. Chris thought that even her knowing might be too much. In the end, he chose to keep it to himself.
"Ah, nothing mate. Just got a bollocking from McGonagall." Chris said hastily. This was technically true, although not the source of his discomfort. Chris glanced over at his clock, noticing the time. He quickly jumped up.
"Bugger, it's almost half 5 mate. We best get to Quidditch practise!" Chris said urgently. The two fetched up their stuff, and headed out of the dormitory, down to the Quidditch field.
Both Chris and Patrick were a part of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, that had won the Quidditch Cup two years running. Chris was a chaser, and had set a school record for the most points scored by a chaser in a single season. He was a phenomenal handler of the quaffle, able to sense where a teammate would be before they were there. His passing was exquisite, his positioning extraordinary. He could weave in and out of the opposing team's chasers, slippery like water, as agile and quick as a cheetah.
Patrick served as a beater on the team. His accuracy in hitting bludgers in the direction of opposing players was fearsome. Many teams found it impossible to deal with both the pressure being applied to them by the Ravenclaw chasers, and the relentless bludger assault from O'Connell. This new, high paced style of Quidditch had drawn no answers from the other three houses. The seeker-orientated play style employed by teams in the Harry Potter era simply couldn't keep up with the fast paced, high octane offense of the Ravenclaw team. This style had led to a remarkably unusual statistic. This was that the majority of Ravenclaw games ended with the opposing team catching the snitch, only for the 150 point reward not to be enough to close the gap that the Ravenclaw chasers had opened.
Team practise began at 6pm, and after three hours, their allotted time was up. Chris and Patrick retreated to the changing rooms. As the two changed from their practise kits back into their robes, they idly chatted about the upcoming Quidditch season.
"What do you reckon about this season mate?" Patrick enquired casually.
Chris looked at him, smiled, and then looked back at his kit as he was changed, letting out a small laugh, the classic smirk returning to his face.
"Mate… Nothing has changed. Gryffindor will be stronger with another year under their belts, but Slytherin and Hufflepuff are still just bad. We're the best, everyone else is trash." Chris replied, his voice full of arrogance as well as confidence. Chris seemed to have shaken off the discomfort from earlier, and was back to his confident self.
The boys trudged back to the castle together, and swiftly headed to bed, exhausted after a long training session.
Chris woke up the next morning, a Saturday, earlier than usual. It was 7am, on a weekend he was never usually up for 11am. He rubbed his eyes groggily, his vision hazy, and then stretched his arms out above his head. He looked around, and saw the time. It was a frosty morning, it was late September now, the heat from the Summer before had largely disappeared. Chris slid his legs off of his bed, and glanced at his window. He rubbed the mist off of the glass and stared out of the window, at the same spot at the edge of the Dark Forest. There was no phenomenon this morning. Slightly disappointed, Chris put on his dressing gown and headed for breakfast.
He was early for breakfast, generally only the teachers were up at this time. He had several cups of tea before he was joined at the table by Patrick and Aurora.
"You were up early this morning mate… That's not like you!" queried Patrick, knowing his best friend all too well. He poured himself some cereal, before turning his head to face Chris.
"Yeah, I dunno what happened; I just woke up at seven and was wide awake." Chris replied, nonplussed.
Just as Chris made to have another spoonful of cereal, a letter dropped into his bowl as the owls passed overhead. He looked at his name on the envelope, and immediately knew who it was from. He read through the letter twice, it was from his mother. Chris was a half-blood, his mother a smart but subdued witch, his father a muggle, who worked in computers. Chris's mother had also been in Ravenclaw, and since leaving Hogwarts had forged a successful career in the Ministry of Magic, working in their Department of Education. Chris's mother had two other sons, a decade apart from him. However, neither of Chris's older brothers showed any magical capability, and were never offered places at Hogwarts. This furthered Chris's own ego, and was one of his favourite things to tease his brothers with. Chris was now in his final year at Hogwarts, and by his own admission, the hardest thing for him was being constantly apart from his mother. He had an extremely strong bond with her, and during term time, their contact was limited. Anytime he received a letter from her, it brightened his day.
After leaving the Great Hall once breakfast was finished, Chris and Patrick departed from Aurora and headed straight for the Quidditch Pitch. It was the first game of the season on this Saturday, and they, the defending champions, were playing against Slytherin.
Ravenclaw ran away with a large victory, Chris setting the tone by leading the scoring in the game, before the game was ended when Eldon Sawbridge, the Ravenclaw seeker, caught the Snitch, ending the game. After the game, Chris and Patrick settled into the common room and enjoyed a butterbeer together.
"Get WRECKED!" exclaimed Chris, as he sank comfortably into his armchair, swigging from his beverage, revelling in their victory. Patrick smirked, taking a sip from his own butterbeer.
"You called it man, Slytherin are trash. And your mechanics just get more insane every game bro. I'd love to know how you win those 1v3s!" Patrick said, equally as smugly.
After a few minutes, a group of Ravenclaw girls came in, along with a couple of the others from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Chris and Patrick left the common room with the group, and spent the afternoon out in the grounds, relaxing out on the grass.
Chris awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright. A cold sweat had overtaken him, and he was breathing rapidly, trying to regain his breath. It was almost as if he'd had a nightmare.
'What is going on?' he thought to himself. He hadn't had a nightmare, he couldn't even recall dreaming. Something had awoken him, only he didn't know what. He ran his hand through his hair, which was also dripping with sweat. He reached to his bedside table, and grabbed a couple of tissues, with which he wiped his brow clean of the sweat that had accumulated.
"Pull yourself together…" he muttered under his breath. He blinked a couple of times to focus his vision, before looking around. Everything was normal in the dormitory, Patrick was snoring in his bed across the room, which was the only thing breaking the silence.
"3.28am…" Chris said to himself quietly, after checking his clock. He lay his head back down on to the pillow, and shut his eyes. Fifteen minutes later, he was still wide awake. He sat back up, turning his body and putting his legs on the floor. It was a completely normal night, like any other, however, Chris felt like something strange was afoot. Something didn't feel quite right to him. He considered waking Patrick, but instead turned to the window. He moved his curtains back, revealing the glass. He gazed out of the window, and it was there. The black, wispy smoke was fluttering around the edge of the forest. Making the connection, Chris realised that this could be what had woken him up, but how, he did not know. This was his opportunity. He threw his robes on, grabbed his wand, and headed out of the dormitory.
Not being a prefect, Chris wasn't really supposed to be out of bed at night. There were usually a couple of people patrolling the corridors at night, but Chris was confident he could sneak around them. He made it all the way down to the entrance hall of the castle, where he was encountered. Altaeus Bagley, a sixth year Hufflepuff, and newly made prefect, approached him. Altaeus knew of Chris's reputation, and was hesitant to approach someone of his stature. He did however, muster the courage to, and went to draw his wand.
"Don't even think about it, scrub." Chris said firmly, drawing his own wand. Chris was well renowned for his skill in using magic. Numerous famous wizards, including Harry Potter himself, had praised Chris, acknowledging him as one of the strongest wizards in the world, despite his youth at eighteen years old. He had even created a couple of spells himself.
Altaeus trembled, but still stood his ground.
"I can't let you out of the castle at this time, Iverson…" stuttered Altaeus, pointing his wand loosely in Chris's direction. The smirk returned to Chris's face, and he chuckled to himself.
"So here's how this goes, kid. You let me out of the castle. I don't hex you, and you don't tell anybody about this little meeting, understand?" Chris said, confidently. His constant, ever-present confidence usually won him his own way. And sure enough, it worked again.
"Okay… But just this once! If I catch you again, I'll be going to McGonagall!" Altaeus said, with a slight whimper. He lowered his wand, and allowed Chris to pass out into the grounds.
Striding out onto the cold grounds, Chris quickly turned to make his way around to the Dark Forest. The dew on the ground wet the bottom of his robes, and the wind chilled Chris to his core. It was bitterly cold, more so than usual for a late September night. His wand still drawn, he trudged through the grass, approaching where he knew the disturbance to be, his heart beating quicker with every step. He got to a corner of the castle walls, the last corner he would turn before getting to the location. He stopped briefly, and realised that he was in fact, terrified. His heart was pounding against his ribcage with such force that he thought it would burst out of his chest. His wand was shaking in his hand, which itself was trembling.
'Come on… You can do this…' were the thoughts going through his mind. He took a deep breath, and turned the corner. He strode towards the edge of the forest, and the disturbance came into his vision. He paced towards the wispy smoke, at some speed. He drew closer and closer, his heart still thumping against his chest. His speed increased with every step, until he took a final stride, bringing him right in front of the disturbance. He raised his wand slightly, pointing it at the smoke. After a few seconds, the smoke drifted away from him, into the Dark Forest. Alarmed, Chris rushed after it. He knew that the Dark Forest was forbidden to all students, but he hadn't come all this way for nothing. The black smoke however, didn't lead him far in. After about fifty yards, the smoke stopped, descended, and formed a ghostly figure in front of him, touching down on to the ground. The figure eventually materialised into a person stood before him, a female.
She was reasonably tall, for a female at least, with very thick, curly jet black hair, which shone in the moonlight. Her eyes were tired looking, bags underneath them, and her face was gaunt, skull like. She had long eyelashes and a strong jaw, but it was immediately apparent that she was looking a long way from her best. Still however, Chris was utterly taken aback by her. Even in the horrible state she was in, he was instantly infatuated with her. Her lips were thin and a deep shade of red, almost bloody. It looked as if she'd spent a lot of time biting them. She was wearing a tattered black corset, that clung flatteringly to her skin, long black sleeves that went from the base of her hands and finishing just below her shoulders. From the bottom of her corset, a ripped dress stretched below, to her feet. It was littered with tears and holes, and Chris was able to make out the shape of her legs through the damage, slender and beautiful.
Chris was startled. There was something vaguely familiar about this woman, but he was caught up in her looks. Although she had clearly seen much better days, he was fixated on her. It took a great deal of strength to keep his jaw from dropping. He blinked twice, thinking that he might be seeing things, but no, she was still there, in front of him. Then it hit him. He knew who this lady was. An evil lady, a Death Eater.
"Bellatrix… Lestrange…" he exclaimed. As soon as those words had left his mouth, he realised the potential severity of his situation. He gripped his wand tightly, his arm down by his side.
"It was you, all along. But… You died… At the Battle of Hogwarts, you were killed by Molly Weasley!" Chris blurted out, having read about it in the History of Hogwarts.
Bellatrix hesitated, and drew a breath, looking right back at Chris, a pensive look on her face.
"Died… Not quite…" Bellatrix quietly muttered. Her face suddenly contorted into a more serious look, staring at Chris with conviction.
"She ravaged me, I was grievously wounded, but survived, just." She went on to explain.
The two of them looked at each other simultaneously, sizing each other up.
"What are you doing back here? Were you trying to seek me out?" Chris said, still confused.
"None of the others… could see what you have observed over the past few weeks, you see. It takes a wizard of a certain quality to be able to see me in that form… I have been here ever since, barely surviving, but no one until you was able to see me. I couldn't show myself in this body to anyone but a student, as any member of staff or adult would have immediately arrested me, or worse. I waited, and finally, you saw me. As soon as I knew you could see me, I appeared to you periodically, to peek your interest. But you weren't taking the bait… So I had to disturb you, which is why you woke up tonight" Bellatrix explained. She bit her lower lip gently, and stared into Chris's green eyes with her own, cold black eyes.
"Well that's all very well and nice… But now I'm here. You summoned me. But why am I here? What do you want of me?" Chris asked. He tightened his grip on his wand, sensing some danger.
"I'm weak now boy… My powers are at an all time low… I need to restore them… By draining yours from you!" She shrieked at Chris, raising her wand.
"Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix screeched, flicking her wand at Chris, a green light firing from the edge.
Chris had less than a split second to respond. But he had sensed danger before, and was alert.
"Dissapatio!" Chris incanted, waving his wand, firing a bolt of white light, deflecting Bellatrix's killing curse away from him. Bellatrix was weak, with a fraction of her former power remaining. Because of this, Chris was able to repel the dark magic.
"Crucio!" was Bellatrix's next attempt.
Again, Chris dissipated the spell, with the counterspell he had invented himself.
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light, and Chris had disarmed Bellatrix, catching her wand.
"Time to cut that out, Bella. It's getting old." Chris said, almost teasingly. Bellatrix stood there in disbelief. It was apparent that she didn't realise both the level of which her powers had weakened, and the ability that Chris possessed. She despaired, before becoming angry.
"How could I be HUMILIATED by just a boy! ME! Bellatrix Lestrange, bested by you! Give me my wand! Let me finish you off!" she spat, her voice overflowing with anger.
Chris strode over to her, confidently, until he was nose to nose with her. She really was in a mess. Being this close to her, Chris noticed how badly she smelled, unable to even guess how long it had been since she had washed. He could see the dirt on her face now he was in such close proximity to her, and long, sharp, black hairs poking out from her armpits. She was a mess. An absolute mess. Chris powerfully grabbed the greasy hair on the back of her head, pulling down, forcing her head to look up.
"You're nothing now, pathetic…" Chris said forcefully, even though deep down, he was still utterly infatuated. Even through all of her unkemptness, she was occupying all of his thoughts. But he had to keep in control. He knew she was dangerous, very dangerous.
Bellatrix wasn't expecting Chris to manhandle her the way he did. Her thoughts of anger changed, and she gasped, not with pain, despair or even anger, but with ecstasy. No one had ever given her this feeling before. The feeling travelled through her body, she just wanted to touch him. She pressed her body up against his, and let out another gasp, yet more ecstasy, leaving Chris confused.
"What the…" Chris quietly mumbled, before angrily yanking on her hair to remind her who was in charge. As her hair pulled against her scalp, she felt another pang of pleasure. Now on autopilot, she opened her eyes, looked deeply into his, and then forced her head towards his, kissing him deeply, unexpectedly to Chris.
Chris reciprocated for a brief moment, before realising what was going on. Her breath was just short of foul, her tongue pointed, dry and almost sharp, grappling with his. Chris pulled back suddenly, and gave her a confused look. He released her hair, and firmly pushed her, causing her to fall to the ground, onto her back. Chris strode towards her, all kinds of thoughts running through his head. He knelt between her legs and kissed her deeply, ignoring her obvious uncleanliness.
A few hours passed before Chris woke up, lying on his back in the same spot in the forest. He was naked, with Bellatrix, also naked, asleep lying on him, her head on his chest. He was 100% sure what had just happened. But he had no idea why. Or how. Just that it had happened.