Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him.

Belle sat with her arms curled around her knees, her black hair whipping around in the wind, looking out across the front lawn. She glanced at the sky, turning pink with the setting sun and casting long black shadows from the fence towards the porch she perched on. As of right now, she was exactly ten and a half. In three weeks, she would be starting the sixth grade. Not that she was looking forward to it, because she was always made fun of - children her age could be very cruel, especially to someone who was different. And Bellatrix Riddle was most certainly "different".

"What type of name is BELLATRIX?"

"Hey, CURLY!"

She shook slightly with anger just thinking about it. She couldn't help it! Just as she was having these thoughts, she saw something strange; up above her, a dark shape swooped over her head. As it circled closer, she realized it was an owl that was carrying something in its talons. It dropped that something at her feet, circling and landing on a fencepost on the other side of the lawn. She looked at what it had dropped, and saw with some surprise it was a letter... And it was addressed to her.

"Dear Miss Bellatrix Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you you have been placed on the waiting list for entry to the new Spanish Magic Academy, Academia de Magia.

We will give you further notice by the twentieth of August on whether you will be expected to attend.

Labelle Magnastra, head mistress."

She stared at the letter, very confused. She was in England (although, admittedly close to Spain), so why would she be going to a Spanish school? She didn't even speak Spanish! And a school of Magic? Her hand shook, and her mind filled with images from the past. She had gotten angry with an older boy at the orphanage, and the floor had given way beneath his feet. A dozen other times with similar circumstances filled her mind, and her stomach churned as she read the letter again and again.

"I imagine you are feeling quite confused," a soft voice said from somewhere to her right. She jumped and spun to look into the bushes, seeking out the voice's owner.

"Who's there?"

"It's all right," the voice said, now from her left. She turned, and saw a woman sitting calmly on the fence. She was an old woman, wearing green robes with a black pointed hat and very square spectacles perched on her nose. The woman rose, pushing herself upright with her gnarled, aged, and bony hand. She eyed Belle with a strange expression; it was as though a normally stern face was trying to form a sympathetic composure.

"What's this?" Belle asked, her hand trembling as she held out the letter. "Is this some kind of prank? You don't look like you'd be working with the kids from school to prank me."

"No, dear, I'm not pranking you. Magia is a new school of magic," the old woman said, walking with surprising grace for her apparent age over to Belle. "That brings it to four in Europe, I do believe. Just started this year, actually."

"What are you talking about?" Belle asked, shaking. The woman peered at her over her spectacles, then turned and slowly sat on the steps of the orphanage.

"You're a witch," the old woman said, easing herself to lean against the banister. "You get it from your father."

"What do you know about my father?" Belle said, slowly sitting down beside the woman. "Who are you?"

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the woman said calmly. "I didn't know your father, I merely know of him. Not many do, they tried to hide him, you know. Wasn't intelligent to have people talking that the bloodline lives." Belle looked at her, utter confusion on her young face. The old woman sighed and settled down, and began to weave a tale for the girl.

The tale told of a powerful dark wizard rising to power, to be foiled by a little boy. She spoke of friendship and loyalty, of death and pain, but most of all, of love. She sat and told Belle the story of Harry Potter until the sky grew into an inky blackness. And then, she spoke of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and how he had a son by Bellatrix Lestrange. Very few knew of the son, they tried to hide him for fear of the rumor of Voldemort's bloodline still living. They sentenced him to death, and on the run, Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr fell in love with a muggle and had a daughter. He left the girl in the keeping of an orphanage, then went to meet his death.

"My- my father," Belle said, choking for a moment. "Was a killer?" Minerva McGonagall considered it for a moment.

"I don't believe he ever killed anyone," she said thoughtfully. "Or that that was proven, in any case. But most people believed it to be so."

Belle was shaking so hard now she couldn't even read the letter in her hand anymore.

"You said- you said Harry Potter and- and my grandfather went to a place called Hogwarts," she said, looking at the letter in her hand. "Why am I not accepted there? And why am I only on a waiting list? Do I not have enough magic?"

"No one wanted to accept the blood of the Dark Lord into their school," McGonagall said, smiling sadly at the girl. "But they knew it was dangerous to be having you come into your powers untrained. Magia drew the short straw, so to speak... So, here we are."

"I can't go to Hogwarts because... because of my parentage?" Belle said indignantly. "I never even met them! I want to go to Hogwarts! I'm not a short straw!" she declared angrily. McGonagall smiled broadly at the girl, and pulled herself to her feet. She pulled out her wand and walked to the street, beckoning Belle to follow her, and held out her wand.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she said softly, and all of a sudden there was a loud crack, and suddenly a huge purple tripple-decker bus was standing before them.

"C'mon, c'mon, we haven't got all night, have we?" a middle aged man said, sitting in the seat. He saw McGonagall, and grinned. "C'mon, Professor! Hurry it up, then!" McGonagall made her way onto the bus, then looked over her shoulder back at Belle.

Belle was looking at the orphanage, torn. Could she really leave without telling them? Looking up at the bus that had appeared out of no where, McGonagall still holding her wand, she realized she could.

She would find out who she was.