A/N: Hey guys! This is a new (and quite a long) chapter. I don't know what came over my mind when I wrote this, but what's done is done so I'm just going to throw this out in the open and hope it doesn't suck.

It still takes Dru's POV in this chapter. A little angsty, and most probably will leave you frown after reading. I have another one with lighter story and it took me a while to decide which I want to post first.

Thank you for those who have read and reviewed the first chapter. You're all my sunshine on a rainy day (not that it's been raining here for the past couple of weeks but, well, you know what I mean).

Again, this is an unbeta-ed work. I try to self-edit but I'm not perfect and my silly brain seems to refuse that yours truly is capable of making mistakes. So, good ladies, if you happen to come across any mistakes, please be kind and point it out to me. I shall be forever obliged. *bows*

Disclaimer: I'm still playing with other people's food.

Being a Ravenclaw has its own quirks. For instance, we birds don't care about our ancestry – be it Muggle-born, Pure Blood, or Half Blood – we simply just don't give a thought about it. Unlike other Houses, our social status is laid upon our intelligence rather than family ties. Ravenclaws don't care whether you come from the purest, noblest, oldest family in wizarding history or if you happen to come from the dirtiest, poorest slum in Muggle society; anything is looked over as long as you don't flunk your exams – when that's the case then please welcome yourself at the bottom of our food chain.

As Ravenclaws, somehow we're bound to be chummy with Hufflepuffs – they're very friendly people, get in a little bit of rivalry with Gryffindors – who happen to have some brains in them, and try to tolerate Slytherins at all matter –our seniors say that but for their magical blood they wouldn't even be considered into Hogwarts; but that is, of course, a subject of debate because I notice some smart serpents in my year.

It's only been a month since the beginning of the semester and to my surprise, I really feel at home here in Ravenclaw. I make friends with every boy and girl in my years and some of the seniors. Somehow along these four weeks they get the impression that I'm either a Muggle-born or have both Muggle-born parents. I don't know what gives them the idea – I suspect it is due the fact that I mentioned something about watching Muggle shows on television at times (well, Grandpa Granger loves his crickets) but maybe it's because I told them that I have two mothers and no father (apparently being raised by two mothers is not unusual in Muggle world and though it is not a subject to be frowned upon in Wizarding society, it is still considered new).

Frankly speaking, I find it weird to be thought as something less than a Black, especially because I spent my whole life being taught about what being a Black means by both my mothers – Mama only emphasises on how I should behave like a proper daughter of hers instead of an uneducated urchin, though. However, I don't find the need of correcting their view of my parentage. Like I said before, bloodline is the least of my concern in Ravenclaw.

It is a pity that other Houses do not share our opinion.

Now my friends and I are walking across the main hall to DADA class in a hurried stride. We don't want to be late for this class for Merlin only knows what Professor Black will do to students who are late – rumour has it the Professor sometimes uses latecomers as willing volunteers for the day's class object to practice various jinxes and hexes. None of us want to test if the rumour is true; we're too sensible for that.

A couple of feet away from our class, we come across a group of older Slytherin kids loitering in the hall, chatting idly. They notice us and point at us. My roommate, Susan Talley, nudges at me but I shake my head, silently warning her against running.

"Why, isn't it Druella Black!" one of them yells in mock tone. I glance, spotting a tall redhead girl, and groan inwardly. The girl is the person who I accidentally knocked down and spilt my pumpkin juice on the other day. This is great, I mutter. "Still not learning your lesson, I see. Doesn't your Muggle mummy teach you manners?"

I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut. It's not worth it, Dru, I tell myself. I'm not going to fall into her trap and start a fight.

"Oh but it's not only one mummy for her, do you know?" a boy cuts in – I take it he's on his third year, my Nephew Scorpius' classmate. "I heard she has two mummies! Both Muggle-borns!" Laughter erupts from among them and I feel my face redden. I still say nothing though, keeping my head high as I continue walking. But then, then he has to say it! "What is it like to have two Mudblood mummies, Black? Mud and mud, I wonder what it makes you then!"

I freeze on the spot on hearing that word – my mind flashes to Mama's left arm, to the silver scar on it – and I see red. Shoving all my books in Susan's hand, I draw my wand from under my robe and turn around. No one, I repeat – NO ONE insults my mothers and lives to see another day. I couldn't care less if this gets me into trouble or detention or even resulting in my being expelled from school. I have to get my revenge first.

"Oh, did I rub a soft spot?" the boy taunts as I storm toward him, not knowing what awaits next.

Just as I am about to reach him, a flash of silver and black moves past me and beats me to the boy. The next thing I hear is a pained grunt and a thud of body colliding against a brick wall. It takes me a second to realise who it is.

Scorpius Malfoy is holding the boy by his throat with one hand, pressing him hard to the wall. Scorpius' wand is pointed to the boy's nose and their faces are only inches away. "Don't," he hisses threateningly in a tone that is so much like Uncle Lucius when the man is angry, "you dare call her that again, ever!"

"Malfoy, what's your problem, mate?" the redhead girl calls out but Scorpius silences her with a glare. He returns his focus back on the boy in his grip.

"Do you understand me, Flint? Never!"

Flint has turned a shade of purple this moment due to the pressure on his throat but others are too stunned at the display to move and do something. He struggles vainly, hands clawing at an unrelenting Scorpius. As he tries to reply he chokes so he only manages to bob his head up and down frantically. My silver-haired Nephew holds him in that position for a moment longer to make sure that his words sink in before releasing his grip. He takes a step back and watches in disgust as his scared victim takes to his heels without looking back.

Scorpius shoots his fellow Slytherins a challenging glare for them to oppose him. Nobody says a word. Apparently he is quite a brawn among his friends – even though I can't say the same when we're at home. He then turns toward me, eyeing me up and down with anger still gleaming in his eyes – that, along with an unsaid concern that he can't verbally express for nobody in school knows about our family ties, save for the Potter and Weasley children.

I raise my head petulantly and stare back at his blue eyes in the same intensity as wrath still burns hot on my head.

We exchange angry glares at each other before he growls, "You owe me one, Black."

"I owe you nothing, Malfoy – if it hadn't been for your unnecessary interruption, I'd have handled him fine myself," I retort viciously.

"You ungrateful little–.." He doesn't have the chance to finish his sentence. A sharp voice interrupts us from behind me.

"What have we here?" Scorpius' head snaps up and I spin so quickly that my back bumps into his front. Professor Black is standing just a foot away with her hands on her hip, looking as bored as she can – there are no other students in sight, apparently her appearance is enough to scare them away. "Fighting, are we, Scorpius?" she asks as she saunters toward us with her predatory eyes fixed on the two of us.

"No, Professor," I mumble a reply.

"Pardon?" Her voice was smooth as velvet when she speaks the word but not without a dangerous aura that I never saw before. She shoots a glance at me and raises her eyebrows. "Am I talking to you, Miss Black?" she enquires in a low tone.

I shake my head, my cheeks begin to blush. "No, Professor, but I need to expla–.."

"Ah, ah, ah," she cuts me off lazily, waving a finger in front of me. "You don't need to do anything but try to control yourself and not speak unless spoken to. Mind your manners, Miss Black – I don't tolerate impertinence from my students," she rebukes.

I swallow hard, glaring at her angrily but keeping my mouth shut this time. Tears begin to force their way up to my eyes but I command them down. No way am I going to cry because of this. I'm a Black. I keep my gaze steadily at Mother as she diverts her attention toward her grand nephew.

"It's.. it's Flint, Professor. He called Black and her parents 'mudblood'," Scorpius stammers out. Professor Black's eyes darken for a moment but the darkness is gone a second later. There is a silent understanding exchanged among us three: we protect our own – a saying that Mother always emphasises. No matter how annoying our relatives are, they are family and no one harms family.

"I don't see Flint anywhere, boy," murmurs the Professor.

"I told him off," Scorpius states proudly, "I defended her."

A faint smirk forms at the corners of Professor Black's mouth. She pats Malfoy on the shoulder. "Such a gentleman, Scorpius, defending a damsel in distress. Twenty-five points for Slytherin for a genteel act of courage!"

My jaw nearly drops to the ground. Twenty-five points? For the House that just insult our family? Is she out of her mind? "I'm not a damsel in distress," I mutter under my breath.

Unfortunately for me, Mother has the sharpest hearing on earth. She hears what I just said. "What did you just say, Miss Black?" she fishes, "Do you realise how lucky you are that someone bothers to defend you? Show gratitude when gratitude is due. Ten points from Ravenclaw for showing insolence and lack of appreciation!"

"Wait–.. what?" I nearly yell, "Professor! That is not fair! I didn't ask Malfoy to help me – and I wasn't the one starting a fight!" For a moment there I forget that I'm not talking to the Mother who always comes to my defence; that we are not at home; that I'm facing Professor Black.

"Another five points for yelling at a teacher," she declares, looking down at me as if challenging me to protest. She hates it when I yell, she always says that only idiots yell to get their point across. "Oh, and since it seems that you are late to my class – make that another five from Ravenclaw." The dark professor waves a hand at Scorpius, telling him that he can go to his class.

She strolls to the class without even a glance at me and I follow behind her; my jaw is clamped and my fists curl into two balls so tightly that the nails dig into the flesh of my palm. Never in my life have I ever been this angry with my own mother, my idol.

"Sit down, Miss Black," she orders as I close the door behind us, "Scoot, now, before I change my mind and give you a detention."

I shoot her the last angry glower then storm to my seat next to Susan in the back row. I can feel eyes from people around me but I ignore them. I don't even pay attention to what the professor is saying in front of the class. How much I want to scream at her for treating me so unfairly. How much I want to hurt her for siding with the snakes instead of defending me – her own flesh and blood? I bite the inner of my cheek to stop me from crying. I am not going to cry.

Before the class ends, as usual Professor Black divides us into pairs to practice jinxes and counter-jinxes. Woe falls to the Gryffindor boy – Jordan or something – who partners me today. I'm still fuming in the head, still too occupied with the thought of revenge that I practically don't hold back. I'm merciless and he doesn't stand a chance against me and my anger. It's Professor Black herself who finally steps between us and disarms me with a spell when I somehow fail to recognise the boy's signal of yielding. I am panting hard and my face blushes from all the exertion.

"Class is over," Professor Back dismisses us; her eyes are trained on me. As everyone begins to collect their books and leaves the class, she calls me out. All hums and chatters die in an instant and all pairs of eyes are looking at me. "A word," she says.

I stay behind, standing with my back on the wall next to the door as every student who passes me offers a glance of sympathy – even a troll knows that 'a word' with Professor Black isn't exactly an experience of a lifetime. I apologise to Jordan (or is it George?) about earlier when he walks past me but he gives me a friendly smile and tells me all is forgiven.

When the last student has left the room, Professor Black flicks her wand from where she is sitting on her desk, right on the students' homework, and make the door closes. Another flick, and the latch fastens itself. I remain on my spot, holding my books with both hands in front of me. She gives another flick with her wand, mumbling a silencing spell on the room.

With this, I snap. All hell breaks loose as I drop my books, stride towards her, and begin screaming my head off. "How could you!" I yell to her face, by this time the tears I've been holding back fall freely from my eyes, "He insults me – you heard Scorpius – he insults you! He insults Mama! And what did you do? Instead of defending your family, you chose to reduce my points? What is wrong with you, Mother? I can't believe you!"

Mother remains silent as I throw my tantrum, her expression unchanged. That stoic expression only leaves me even angrier than ever and I lose all my control. I feel the urge to hit something, to destroy something, to hurt someone and before my mind even registers what I am doing, I've my wand already drawn. I point it at various objects in class – chairs, desks, practice dummy, everything – and begin to throw all the spells I've learnt at them, destroying everything in my path. I'm so angry that I can't even think anymore.

There is a tiny part of me – the logical part – that tells me how embarrassing I am, lashing out like this in front of her. It reminds me that Mother hates this kind of behaviour. I push the thought away. I don't care.

She stays quiet and I just can't stand the silence any longer. I toss my wand onto the floor with a clatter and lunge at Mother, projecting my anger physically with my fists now – using her as my punch bag.

Mother doesn't flinch when my fists make contact with her body over and over again; she simply stands there and lets me punch. After some time, she speaks coldly, "Are you done?"

The question slaps me into reality; it actually serves better purpose than if it was physically done. All the sudden the bout of anger evaporates in an instant leaving me powerless and weak to the bone. I sag to the floor like a sack of grain and sob, clutching my robe with both my hands, which has started to hurt from earlier. It is then when I hear her move.

I flinch involuntarily when her cool hands touch me but she doesn't relent. She circles my waist with her arm and hoists me up to her lap. I bury my head into her robe as I weep in shame and anger.

"You're being unfair," I croak hoarsely.

"I know," she whispers a reply.

Another drop of hot tear falls from my eye, burning my cheek along its trail. "I hate you," I say, knowing how untrue that was the moment the words leave my lips.

She exhales tiredly. "I know."

We stay in the same position for a while, her supporting my body with her arms and me hanging onto her as if for dear life. I still refuse to look at her – not because I'm afraid that she's going to be mad at me but because I dread to see disappointment in her eyes.

It is her next line – or maybe it is the way that she says it – that makes me finally look up. "I love you, sweetheart," she whispers; there's a crack in her voice. There are no tears in her eyes, but the dark eyes are filled with something so deep that it sends a stab of pang right in my heart – I learn it the hard way that I'm not the only one that's been hurt.

She's hurt, too. My strong and powerful mother is hurt too by the very word that has condemned Mama, her wife. Fresh tears begin to blur my view again and this time I cry for her – for every pain that the word has caused her and for the pain that my ignorance adds to the initial pain.

"Don't cry, Dru," she tells me. Without warning, my mind drifts somewhere to the past – the first time I saw her cry – and I can't bring myself to stop.

...

We were in the study then; I was around five or six if I'm not mistaken. I was half asleep on the bear rug in front of the fire place as it was long past my bed time.

My mothers are on the sofa behind the bear rug. Mama's back was flushed against Mother's front as they were lying down – Mama had her eyes closed but she wasn't asleep. Mother had one arm draped across Mama's stomach, circling her waist as though keeping Mama from falling from the sofa while her fingers traced the seams of Mama's blouse. Her other hand was under Mama's head, used as a pillow. They wore the same expression on their faces – the unguarded one that they only put on when there is nobody else but us three.

I tilted my head to get a better look at them. The burning fire makes Mother's pale skin look almost translucent and Mama's tanned one glow. They looked so beautiful in this light – almost unreal, even. I hid my smile as Mother lowered her head and kissed Mama on the side of her mouth. Mama let out a contented sigh which, somehow, made my heart swell.

The only sound in the study was the fire cracking and the serenity lulled me deeper into sleep. Soon, my eyes began to droop close.

I wasn't aware of what made me awake again, but when I cracked my eyes open I saw that they already changed positions. Mama's back was fully on the sofa now. Mother was on top of her; her hand held Mama's left arm loosely in her grip and she was kissing the inner part of the arm. I closed my eyes again to sleep, not wanting to interrupt.

Before I fell asleep, though, I heard Mother's low voice whisper – there was urgency in her tone that even as a child I became alert. "I can make it disappear, Hermione," she said referring to something, "I can erase it."

"Bella," Mama sighed, "we've talked about this before. I don't want you to make it disappear."

"I still don't understand you," came the reply.

I risked a look and saw that by then Mama had had Mother's face cupped between her hands. "I told you before that it's a part of me; something that only serves as an endearment, like an old friend. Whatever it is you think, Bella, this doesn't hurt me the way it did – not anymore; not after everything that we've been through."

Mother shied away from the touch; her brow knitted in a tight knot between the bridges of her nose as if she was in great pain. "It wasn't an act of love and you know it perfectly. For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I meant the word to hurt you! I carved it in your arm to derogate you, to remind you of your place! I branded you – marked you!"

"And that you did, Bellatrix – you reminded me of my place; it's here, beside you. You branded me – marked me as your own and there is nothing I want to change about it!" Mama's voice was so calm that I was assured that they weren't having an argument.

"I beg to differ."

Mama shifted, propping her elbow to help her sit. "Why? Why do you insist on erasing it? Why is it such a big deal for you whether it stays or not? Darling, even if you remove it physically, it won't change the fact that it was there in the first place. Bella, that word doesn't define me."

"But it defines me!" Mother growls, trying her best to keep her voice low as not to wake me (well, I wasn't asleep but they didn't have to know that). "It defines who I was and it was a painful reminder of what kind of a monster I was before – it hurts! Every time I see it, all that I can see is how lost I was and how close I was to losing you to my own hands; I did that and I am ashamed of it and I'm hurt!"

The confession left Mama's mouth agape. There it was, her other half baring her soul for the world to see – for Mama to see. I watched as Mother hugged herself on the sofa and began to rock back and forth, lost to her own thoughts.

Mama reached out to her, placing her hand on Mother's chin and push upwards gently. "Bella," she called out tenderly, "Bella, sweetheart, please look at me."

Dark curls moved upwards as Mother lifted up her face. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears and I felt my heart being squeezed so tightly by an invisible hand when a lone tear broke free and rolled down Mother's pale cheek.

She was pulled into Mama's arms and Mama murmured something that I didn't quite catch. I managed to make the parts that she was sorry for not heeding Mother's feeling, for being so ignorant that she failed to see Mother's pain.

"I can't let you erase it, Bella. Like I always say to you; it's a part of me, and in some way it's a part of you too – a part of us and the life we have before."

Mother shook her head. "I still don't understand," she replies weakly.

"And I'm not going to force you to understand it now. I made my peace with it, and I'm going to do whatever it takes – no matter how long it takes – to help you make peace with it. Please, sweetie?"

I didn't remember falling asleep but the next thing I knew, I was in my parents' bed the next morning with them still asleep on my either sides. There were smiles on their faces. And when Mama shifted in her sleep, I saw it – the faint silver scar on her left arm, almost illegible. It was something that I was used to see until then but never bothered to think about. There in the sunlight, written in a childish handwriting on my Mama's arm was a word single word: Mudblood.

...

"Words don't define you, Druella," Mother's even voice pulls me out of my train of thoughts.

"Sometimes they do," I counter stubbornly.

"They only do when you let them define you. Words don't hurt me anymore – at least words that don't come from you or Hermione."

"He called us Mudblood," I protest, relentless.

"But do you feel like one?" I didn't answer. She releases her hold on me so that she can take a better look at my face. Mother locks her gaze to mine. "Tell me, Dru, tell me who you are. Tell me who I am – who we all are."

"I'm a Black," I reply in a heartbeat. There's no doubt in that. "I'm a Black and so are you and Mama."

"There," she says, smiling in satisfaction. "As long as you know who you are, little raven, it's all that matters. Don't let others define you; define yourself. Do you understand me, Dru?"

"Yes, Mother," I respond.

She nods even though I know she knows that I don't fully understand what she is trying to convey. I'm still only a child, I suppose. She loosens her grip on me and we stand up. "Is there anything else you want to say, child?"

I worry my bottom lip before blurting out, "Am I getting my House points back?"

Mother throws her head back and laughs at my question. "Keep dreaming, Miss Black, keep dreaming," she teases. Then she sobers up. "As much as I want to protect you from the world, Druella, I can't be there for you forever. I meant what I said before – that you should give thanks when thanks is due. You didn't thank Scorpius, did you? And you did yell at me, your teacher. I can't tolerate that kind of behaviour – not from my student, especially not from my daughter. Just consider it a hard lesson, will you?

I nod reluctantly, knowing that she is not going to change her mind.

She takes a piece of parchment and scribbles something in it before giving it to me. "Here," she says in a serious Professor Black's voice, "give this to your teacher. Just tell them you got a detention from me. Now leave."

I take the parchment and walk to the door. When I have my hand on the handle, I turn around for the last time. "Mother," I begin. She waits. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It won't happen again." With that I pull the door open and run to my next class without giving her a chance to respond.

Being a Ravenclaw is a privilege – here I learn that blood doesn't matter because it takes more than just crimson liquid running through my veins to define me. And being a Black is an honour – here I learn to know and be proud of who I am.

There. I hope the ride is satisfactory enough *hands another basket of nutella brownies*

Apology: Sorry for the lack of Bellamione in this chapter. I'm a bit biased because I love Bellatrix more than I do Hermione.

Note (this is purely random and quite long so feel free to just skip it):

I'd like to address about Dru's little tantrum in the story. A friend of mine, whom I sent this work before I posted it to, mentioned about not liking the way Dru lashed her anger physically at Bella.

Without trying to justify her action, I'd like to say that Dru is a child – an eleven-year-old who most probably never received an unfair treatment in her whole life. She was an only child, which would mean that she never had to fight for attention at home and basically never tasted the bitter part of sibling rivalry in which her parents did not take her side. As a parent, I think Bellatrix, being her, would spoil the child rotten in her own way that made Dru both respected and loved her. And Hermione with her loving personality would only give soft rebuke if the child made a mistake. Therefore it was quite understandable – although, as I said before, not justifiable – that Dru didn't know how to channel her anger properly.

School was Dru's first taste of the 'real world'. Here she had to learn that the world didn't revolve around her; that she wasn't the queen of everything and she had to learn to share the attention she didn't have to fight for before with hundreds of other students. And she did learn. She said it herself in the end – that she would not yell at her mother again.

Personally speaking, I don't like a child with a temper. I understand how difficult it is for a child to control their anger and channel it in a more positive way, but they will learn eventually. I'm a teacher and I happen to help my mother bring up my youngest sister (who is now 14) so I've experienced the tantrums and the lashing out firsthand. And yet, eventually they learn. Just like Dru.

Err.. I'm rambling again. And wow, it's a long ramble. Sorry, gonna stop now.

So, yeah, Miss Gb, who is really a sweetheart and brought this to my attention – I hope that it's quite clear on why I made Dru throw a tantrum like that. (And you know how typing a long answer on Blackberry Messenger sucks, don't you, dear?)