I enjoy shaking up the Potter timeline, so here we go on another tale where I pervert J.K. Rowling's vision. Don't hate me too much.

Set Hogwarts, 1967

Bellatrix was lost. She was a young Slytherin girl, mooning over the pictures of a previous Head Boy. She had grown up for the last 6 years with his deeds and achievements surrounding her, his name on every Slytherin student's lips as they wished to be his successor and bring brilliance back to the house after the two decades since he left Hogwarts.

She thought it might have been a bizarre form of hero worship, she hoped it wasn't love. She had read about it and how it made some people insipid and stupid. She was strong, she wasn't going to fall in love. Especially with him, he was a lot older and had disappeared. There were rumours and whispers he was growing in power, learning the dark arts, perfecting his magical abilities. But there was no proof, so she was setting herself up for heartbreak even fantasising about a union between the two of them.

And yet she felt her heart beat a little faster looking at his picture. She felt as if his eyes followed her and she liked the feeling. She started to ask more questions about him, and as she listened closely she learned that he was a traditionalist, believing in pure blood magic and old tales like the Deathly Hallows. Subtly her taste in clothes turned away from the hippie cuts and bright colours of the period, she wore more black and flirted with corsets and flowing dresses, until over the space of the last 6 months her look had completely transformed into a gothic revival. And she tried to tell herself it was time for a change, that this had nothing to do with Tom Riddle and her pointless crush, but it rang hollow.

She began to shun the company of the other girls, preferring to stay in her dorm room and dream about the older man she was clearly infatuated with. Her once friends started to refer to her as "weird" and she stopped being invited to social events as her personality became inverted. Even people who didn't know her well could see the difference, she was distracted, she began to lose weight as she stopped eating regularly but her magical ability grew as she spent her time reading and learning as much as she could about the dark arts.

And being alone gave her time to think, time to plan.

She realised she was in trouble and that this went much deeper than a teenage crush after a particularly vivid dream. She had woken seeing an older version of herself, a version with wilder hair and eyes, that followed a half formed man round the room. The man was clearly Tom Riddle but something had changed him, and it had changed her too, she woke scared at the laugh she had heard her other self utter, it sounded unhinged and when it was echoed by the older man she had shuddered.

And yet she had also felt the power in the room and the magnetism and knew why the other woman had been drawn to the incomplete man. She might be scared, she could admit that, but she had also been aroused. She had wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to feel the strength that flowed within him for herself. To caress his sickly skin and feel whether it was warm, or cold as it appeared. To pull him to her and share confidences, whispering dark thoughts and even darker desires.

After that she began to dream about the two of them together regularly, her desire was taking form in her dreams and she knew this wasn't a normal reaction, that the lustful thoughts for a man she had never even met were a little odd and definitely frightening in their intensity.

However young and inexperienced she might be, she had to admit that this wasn't close to the tales she had heard about love. She had grown up with tales of young magicians enthralling their girlfriends with difficult spells, showering them with gifts, true love kisses and midnight walks under the stars. This was going to be nothing like that, but she knew what she wanted and it was to be by the side of this man.

She was obsessed, she wanted to learn anything she could to help her become closer to him, so that if their paths ever did cross she could hold a conversation with him. She planned to interest him with her knowledge and magical ability. She wanted to be attractive to him with her slim figure, pure blood status and views that mirrored his own.

She often caught glances from the teachers, worry for her etched on their faces, but she shrugged off their questions, assuring them she was fine. She was infatuated, possibly in love, but that didn't make her sick. She had fallen for a fascinating man, not one of the useless teens she shared a common room with who could hardly dress themselves or fly a broom in a straight line. She didn't see the problem, she wanted a man, she knew which one, and she was going to do her best to get him.

She was a moth drawn to a flame, and he was a flame, hot and dangerous, only she didn't really know it. She was too young and inexperienced to have fallen so fully. When she was falling she was out of control, she was flailing and unable to grasp anything that made sense or anchored her. She wasn't able to rationalise what she wanted, the dreams merged with reality until she struggled with attending lessons and eventually left that behind her to search out what she had become certain was her destiny.

Tom Riddle.

And after looking in the darkest places, for what seemed the longest time, she found him. And her soul rejoiced. She felt at peace as everything slotted into place. Her dreams were no longer in her head, they were reality and she felt some sanity slide back to her.

The world that had become colourless, bland, suddenly exploded back into colour. Her heart that had been in limbo lurched in her chest and beat again, her magic that had become erratic settled and she knew she had found the one. Her Master.

She knelt before him and pledged everything she had. And she meant every word, thinking that this connection couldn't be one sided, he must feel something too. She was certain fate had brought them together, he was in hiding, unlikely to be found. She reasoned that there had to be greater forces at work if she had been able to find him. Were they soul mates, calling out to each other? She didn't know, but she was giddy with excitement at being in his presence and hoped the warmth she saw in his eyes might one day grow into a fire. She would stay, be patient, and show him she was worthy.

And she gave him everything she had, her love, her virginity, her acceptance of him and what he wanted from his life, the power he wished to command. She hadn't judged him, she had supported him, believed he was capable and stroked his ego with words of comfort and compassion.

And now she felt small, used, useless and stupid. For he had taken the things she had to offer, used them up and thrown her away. He hadn't wanted her as anything more than a trophy, something he could use for his own pleasure.

She hadn't even orgasmed, he had never cared about her satisfaction while they were together. He had selfishly taken his and left her wanting and frustrated and didn't care. She truly had been used. And now he had grown tired of her company, realising she was still a child who knew much less than he did and that there was nothing to be gained from having her around. She had been shocked that he had turned around and callously left her, as if she meant nothing.

Her heart had been breaking, her love had curdled in that moment of clarity, where she saw him for his true self. An ugly, power hungry monster that only gratified his own needs and used people to progress himself. He was on a path to make himself great and he didn't have time for anyone else in his plan.

How she could have been so blind sickened her, she had allowed childish infatuation and his manipulative behaviour to deceive her, the warmth she had initially seen in his eyes wasn't friendship or love, they were all dead to him. It had been the glint of opportunity, his pleasure at an unexpected gift falling at his feet.

Now she was left far from home with no-one to turn to. She had shunned friends, the company of others in her quest to find him and stand by his side, but it was clear to her now he had never wanted anything like that. He had never wanted to share anything, frightened that she would try and take a share of the power and recognition. She had never wanted that, but that he thought she might, well it showed his paranoia and complete lack of trust. She shuddered, taking a deep breath to keep tears at bay, because all she had wanted was to earn his love and admiration, his respect.

And she had teetered on the brink for him, feeling a calmness and detachment descend when he started talking and explaining his plan. A plan that required murdering people, enslaving muggles, monitoring and controlling families with questionable blood lines. She only saw him, not his actions, because he had caught her, ensnared her somehow and she was smitten, his voice lulling her into a trance of delusional happiness.

At points she would suddenly jolt herself out of the dangerous place she was falling into. She knew he wanted to cross lines civilised people wouldn't dare to and then part of her rebelled and wanted to run away, knowing it was so very wrong. Yet part of her was thrilled with it and mesmerized by his power, attitude and clear ability and belief in himself. And yet another part was aroused by the fire and determination he had, her desire stoked by an experienced, older man who was allowing her to share this with him. She felt torn, waring inside herself, nearly succumbing to madness as she felt her mind warp, threatening to snap with her confusion.

She began to wonder what it might feel like to kill, to have a blood lust pump through her veins, raw and powerful. And then she felt sick, her rational mind reasserting that what he wanted was wrong and she had naively thought that being by his side she could negate his ambition and dampen the aggressive edge to his plan. Incarcerate not kill, guide him to be reasonable and use the half-bloods and mud-bloods and muggles to his advantage rather than enslave them. She thought he had some respect for her and would listen if she structured her arguments, she had been a debater at Hogwarts and could be persuasive. She thought with time and enough love she might succeed in changing him.

But he was an angry and scared man, damaged in a way he had kept hidden when at Hogwarts. They never would have given him the awards or made him an example as Head Boy if they had realised his ulterior motives and insidious true behaviour. But she had found out that even then he had been disturbed, consumed by the past and his abandonment as a child. He hated muggles, his own family included and she had seen how he would openly rage to her about it, venting in a near hysterical way as his anger and bitterness spilled out.

But he could then turn on the charm and behave as society expected in the next instant, if he thought there was something to gain or someone to impress. She had seen him interact with older wizards, witches that had hidden themselves away to practice in silence and solitude. He would barter and offer a trade, or just listen with rapt attention as they gave him information, hints and advice.

He could show respect, yet she knew now it was an act, just a cover for his true persona hidden underneath, one that was obsessed with self-preservation and was forever scheming. It was an act he had been honing for years so that it had become second nature to him.

When they were alone and he was free from all restraints, he relaxed and allowed glimpses of the broken creature living within. The one that craved attention and respect, power and control. The one that had been festering and feeding while he practiced the dark arts, committed murder and was growing considerably in power and she shuddered at allowing herself to be seduced by that. She had allowed his charm, his lip service to comfort her. He had spoken to her heart and mind, and she had let him trick her into believing the façade, like everyone else ever had done. It was as if she was finally seeing clearly after him being half in shadow or surrounded by mist. She had only ever seen his outline, now she saw him fully she was repulsed.

She left one night in tears, he had already apparated, telling her it was over and he was unlikely to return and if she was sensible she would leave this place and return to her family. She couldn't believe this was what her life had become, her youthful chasing of a dream leading her to this.

How could she go back to a normal life after seeing that much darkness? And embracing it? How could she go back to an existence where she knew she was just waiting for Lord Voldemort to make his entrance and start his bid for power and ultimate dominance? The world would never be the same for her, and once he returned as Lord Voldemort it would never be the same for anyone else either.

She hung her head, hatred for the man swirling with in her. It would work out, she was strong, and she would cope. She would find a way, she would have to because it seemed fate had yet another bitter twist of the knife for her. She was pregnant.

I wrote this before I discovered the plot of The Cursed Child, and decided to post it and see what happened because it shares some ideas but is obviously different to the play. I thought it might go 3 chapters in total if I continue.

Thanks for taking the time to read.