My father told me I was the daughter of Minerva Jean McGonagall- and my world collapsed. Or no- I think my world, the world, had collapsed eighteen years earlier. From the very moment I left my mother's body, opened my little eyes and gazed right into a very similar pair of green, fiery eyes…
I, Bellatrix, Devil Number One and the nightmare of every possible teacher at Hogwarts, was the only child of Professor McGonagall, notorious angel among the angels, terribly fair, terribly intelligent, terribly… good!
Hello, I am Bellatrix, daughter of a saint.
A saint with one little secret, though. A guilty, terrible secret.
Me.
I suppose I shouldn't be disappointed because she did not want me. I can even understand her feelings somehow- she, always so good and so fair, and he, my father, the man she did love, dark and evil. At least, to her. Because I have learnt that my father's goal is the one, true one. She never did.
Stupid, stupid woman.
And yet I am disappointed. I am sad. Because, despite everything and all bad words I've ever spoken about her, she always managed to earn the respect of her students and even, in a way, of us. She did not cry when we humiliated her like we humiliated all other teachers. Her voice did not even tremble when we yelled the most horrible things at her. She remained calm, remained herself, ever the cool, collected, intelligent Lady with the Bun…
I am disappointed and I feel lonely. I still feel lonely, abandoned by she who gave me life, every time I remember that terrible night when he, Lord Voldemort, also known as my father, told me the story of two young people. Of Tom and Minerva. Of a devil and a saint.
He had always more been a man of actions than a man of words, yet he knew and I knew as well that he had to tell me the story of my parents.
They really met each other in their seventh year at Hogwarts- he was the Head Boy whilst she was the Head Girl. They were Slytherin and Gryffindor, and thus water and fire, but they somehow fell in love. I know my father loved her and, despite all hate he feels for her, despite everything of what he is and does, still loves her. Perhaps she feels it the very same way- but that I can't know. I'll never know.
After Hogwarts, they married in secret, and three years later- they were both twenty-one- my mother got pregnant.
She gave birth to me, exactly nine months later.
And she ran away.
She did not take me with her, and perhaps it's for that that I blame her the most. Strange, isn't it? I love, I worship my Lord father, and yet I blame my mother for not taking me with her. Why did she leave me behind when she, just a week after my birth, as soon as she had gathered enough strength to properly walk again, ran away to- to Hogwarts? Because that is where she went- oh yes, I know it!
My father always tells me Albus Dumbledore had enchanted her with a love potion, but I don't believe that. I do hate Dumbledore, that ridiculous old man with all his "goodness", but not because of the same reasons as my father does
My father hates him, because he believes he's taken away the only woman he was ever capable of loving. I hate my mother for exactly that reason. Because she's left my father, cowardly. Or, no, not cowardly, just plain treacherously. She probably had only then realized my father had powers far beyond her view. And little Miss McGonagall, my mother, got frightened… or is disgusted more the word?
Or perhaps she did love Albus Dumbledore.
Or perhaps both.
I, Bellatrix, Devil Number One and the nightmare of every possible teacher at Hogwarts, was the only child of Professor McGonagall, notorious angel among the angels, terribly fair, terribly intelligent, terribly… good!
Hello, I am Bellatrix, daughter of a saint.
A saint with one little secret, though. A guilty, terrible secret.
Me.
I suppose I shouldn't be disappointed because she did not want me. I can even understand her feelings somehow- she, always so good and so fair, and he, my father, the man she did love, dark and evil. At least, to her. Because I have learnt that my father's goal is the one, true one. She never did.
Stupid, stupid woman.
And yet I am disappointed. I am sad. Because, despite everything and all bad words I've ever spoken about her, she always managed to earn the respect of her students and even, in a way, of us. She did not cry when we humiliated her like we humiliated all other teachers. Her voice did not even tremble when we yelled the most horrible things at her. She remained calm, remained herself, ever the cool, collected, intelligent Lady with the Bun…
I am disappointed and I feel lonely. I still feel lonely, abandoned by she who gave me life, every time I remember that terrible night when he, Lord Voldemort, also known as my father, told me the story of two young people. Of Tom and Minerva. Of a devil and a saint.
He had always more been a man of actions than a man of words, yet he knew and I knew as well that he had to tell me the story of my parents.
They really met each other in their seventh year at Hogwarts- he was the Head Boy whilst she was the Head Girl. They were Slytherin and Gryffindor, and thus water and fire, but they somehow fell in love. I know my father loved her and, despite all hate he feels for her, despite everything of what he is and does, still loves her. Perhaps she feels it the very same way- but that I can't know. I'll never know.
After Hogwarts, they married in secret, and three years later- they were both twenty-one- my mother got pregnant.
She gave birth to me, exactly nine months later.
And she ran away.
She did not take me with her, and perhaps it's for that that I blame her the most. Strange, isn't it? I love, I worship my Lord father, and yet I blame my mother for not taking me with her. Why did she leave me behind when she, just a week after my birth, as soon as she had gathered enough strength to properly walk again, ran away to- to Hogwarts? Because that is where she went- oh yes, I know it!
My father always tells me Albus Dumbledore had enchanted her with a love potion, but I don't believe that. I do hate Dumbledore, that ridiculous old man with all his "goodness", but not because of the same reasons as my father does
My father hates him, because he believes he's taken away the only woman he was ever capable of loving. I hate my mother for exactly that reason. Because she's left my father, cowardly. Or, no, not cowardly, just plain treacherously. She probably had only then realized my father had powers far beyond her view. And little Miss McGonagall, my mother, got frightened… or is disgusted more the word?
Or perhaps she did love Albus Dumbledore.
Or perhaps both.