To my dearest Hannah,
I hope the girls aren't giving you much trouble. I know you told me to write every day, but I don't expect that you thought I'd be writing so soon. I'm just writing because I have something to tell you. Do you remember how I was upset that the offspring of the Lestranges' was going to be coming to Hogwarts this year, and I'd have to teach her? Do you remember how we figured out that I'd only have to see her for class and with a bunch of students and wouldn't have to have too much direct interaction? Well, she was just sorted into my house this evening.
Anyway, love and kisses. Hug the girls for me, and I'll see you next weekend.
Neville Longbottom promptly scratched through everything he'd written and used his wand to set the paper alight. He wasn't sure it was the worst letter he'd even written, but surely it was the worst one he'd written since he'd been at Hogwarts… as a student. At age 26, he was currently the youngest member of the staff, with only a previous year under his belt. He'd applied for the job when Professor McGonagall stepped down as Headmistress, and Professor Sprout succeeded her. Neville had enjoyed teaching. He'd been an Auror before, but his real passion was growing things.
Until now, he'd only seen one problem with teaching at Hogwarts: that he couldn't see his wife and children as often as he would have liked. He could only leave on weekends, and really, it was rather wrong to leave more than every other weekend, since most of the rest of the staff just lived on campus. Of course, the difference was that most of the other staff either didn't have a family, or their family was grown up and gone.
Now, though, he was faced with another problem, something he'd never considered: teaching a student he didn't want to teach. The previous year he'd had trouble with students who thoughtthat, because he was closer to their age, they could get away with more. They quickly learned that Professor Longbottom, while not cruel, was a very skilled and perceptive wizard, and one who wouldn't put up with his students acting out. He'd had to be very strict in his first year. A number of times, he'd looked in the mirror and wondered if he'd suddenly grown the vulture-topped witch's hat, green dress, and red purse he'd put on the boggart back in this third year. He'd never expected to be acting so much like Gran.
He'd had students that were, at best, complete snots, but he hadn't really hated teaching them. He hadn't wanted to particularly deal with them because it was a pain, but not because of the students themselves. This was entirely different. Tacita Lestrange was the daughter of people who'd tortured his parents until they'd lost their minds. He wasn't sure he could look at the girl and not think of the gum wrappers his mother gave him as gifts, as if it was the only way she knew how to love him.
Neville Longbottom had very strong memories of Bellatrix Lestrange, between the pictures he'd seen of her and the instant hatred he'd felt, to the few meetings they'd had before she died. He loved Molly Weasley forever for having finished off the woman. Neville also had one very strong memory of Rudolphus: the one at his trial.
There had been many trials for previous Death Eaters. A couple had been more surprising than others. Neville hadn't gone to all of them. He'd gone to a lot of them. He'd been at the trial for the Malfoys where Harry spoke in their—at least Narcissa's and,by extension, Lucius's and Draco's—favor. Lucius had been sentenced to finish a short stint in Azkaban but Draco had been let off completely, given the circumstances.
Neville had been there for Harry at that trial. He'd been there for Harry when he'd made the decision to speak for the Malfoys. Now Harry was there for him. They sat in the tribunal room, waiting for Rudolphus Lestrange to be brought in. Neville had known Harry knew about what happened to his parents, but during a very quiet conversation before they'd entered the tribunal room, Neville found out just how much Harry knew. It had been shocking to hear about the pensieve memory of the Lestrange's first trial. It had also been a shock to realize that Harry had known and hadn't told anyone.
Neville was never ashamed of his parents. Like the rest of his family he was very proud, but he'd never wanted the sympathy. Harry wasn't offering sympathy, though; he was offering a very real understanding, in a way that few other people would be able. It was that understanding that brought him to sit with Neville during this trial.
Rudolphus Lestrange was brought in by armed wizards. For a man whose freedom was about to be gone for a second time, he seemed surprisingly serene. He was heavily, magically restrained to the chair on the center of the floor, but he didn't seem to care. The clerk started to read the charges against the man, but Neville tuned them out. He already knew the charges. Now, instead, he focused on the man who'd helped to torture his parents into insanity.
Neville had never paid as much as much attention to Rudolphus Lestrange; he knew his face and profile as well as he knew Bellatrix's, but Rudolphus had just never stood out at much. Neville had always imagined the man to be as crazy as his wife, just maybe a little less loud about it. Instead he was perfectly calmand collected, like nothing in the world could touch him. Bellatrix was much more theatrical. Neville had pinned a lot of his hatred on her because it was hard to see anyone but her when she was in the room, but that samehatred boiled up in Neville nowas he looked at Rudolphus. Neville had a natural dislike of suffering, but the man didn't seem at all affected by anything.
"How do you plead to the charges as they have been brought against you?" Kinsley Shacklebolt asked in his deep baritone. The ministry was still in such a mess after Voldemort's control that the current Minister of Magic was doing a lot more than was normally expected, including helping out with the trails.
"I am guilty of every crime you have charged me with, Minister," Rudolphus Lestrange said calmly, with a wicked kind of smile on his face. A quiet murmur spread through the audience in the tribunal room, and then it started to grow. They had some confessions, but those were mostly on plea bargains that included information on other Death Eaters. Lestrange had simply confessed to everything on no incentive to do so.
"Why did you do those things?" someone asked. Neville wasn't sure who it was, but they'd asked what everyone was wondering.
"Hm… an interesting question," Rudolphus said, seeming to think for a moment before answering. "I did it because I enjoyed it. It seems that it was in my blood, like it will be in my child's."
They'd sentenced Rudolphus to life in prison after that. Most people thought that he was crazy, especially since no one specifically knew about a Lestrange child. Neville hadn't followed the story much after that, secure in the knowledge that the last living person who'd tortured his parents was permanently behind bars. Now he considered that it would have been better to look into then, instead of getting the nasty shock when he saw the name "Lestrange, Tacita" on his role sheet for the new ear.
"You act like there's something you could have done about it," Neville said to himself. Well, there was something he could have done; he could have strangled the child in its cradle. The fact that the idea alone came to his mind made him shiver. If at all possible, he hoped to never have such a thought again. He didn't believe that anyone was evil from birth, at least he'd always sincerely hoped not.
A part of him was telling him very loudly that the girl hadn't done anything yet, aside from eat dinner and be sorted into Hufflepuff. She hadn't even been sorted into Slytherin like her parents. At the same time, the small eleven-year-old girl had her mother's unruly black hair, and her father's steady brown eyes. Neville imagined that aside from the eyes, Bellatrix had probably looked very much the same way at eleven.
"Hm… an interesting question," Rudolphus said, seeming to think for a moment before answering. "I did it because I enjoyed it. It seems that it was in my blood, like it will be in my child's."
That's what Rudolphus had said. There was no doubt of his wife's insanity, and his sanity was probably tenuous at best. Tacita Lestrange was the child of two very unhinged, very violent, very sadistic Death Eaters. Hermione still had the scars from where Bellatrix had tortured her. Bellatrix had killed Harry's godfather. Bellatrix and Rudolphus had held Frank Longbottom held down while they used the Cruciatus Curse on his wife until she'd lost her mind. Then they gave him they same treatment when they found that he knew nothing after all. Tactita Lestrange was the child of both of those sins against humanity.
And he was her head of house. It was his job to make sure she followed the rules and stayed in line. It was his job to be there if she needed assistance or guidance. He would be advising her future career path. It was an interesting, yet heavy burden to have that job for any one student; he had it for about 150. Tactita Lestrange was just one student. She was just one eleven-year-old girl, who had so far done nothing wrong except be born a Lestrange. He would watch her closely, because of the resemblance to her parents, and one of the few things Neville had ever heard Rudolphus Lestrange say. Yes, it would be a good idea to keep an eye on her.
How could you be in Hufflepuff? Aside from a few blood traitors, the most noble house of Black, your mother's family, has been almost entirely Slytherin, and there's never been a Lestrange in Hufflepuff in the history of the family. You've brought shame on the name of your dead father and mother!
It's all your father's fault for sending you to a muggle school. I knew it was a bad idea. If he'd only let me access some of your vault I could have gotten you into a proper primary school for wizarding children! What was Rudolphus thinking when he sent you there? He must have been out of his mind. I blame Azkaban, he was never right after he went there. The second time just pushed him over the edge…
Tacita was fairly certain that the response letter she would get from Aunt Vega would be something like that. Whenever she did something her Aunt considered odd, it was always the same. "You're a shame on your parents' names… you're a shame on your lineage… what was your father thinking sending you to a Muggle school...? it must have been Azkaban what done him in." Tacita had heard the same lines most of her life. It only got worse as she got older, and her primary school started teaching more about science. Her Aunt had fallen to her knees and wept when Tacita said she wanted to be a scientist.
"A scientist, a Muggle profession? How could the product of two of the purest lines in wizard history want to undertake a Muggle profession?" her aunt wept bitterly. "How have I raised her wrong that she'd want to do such a thing?"
Tacita never brought it up again. She couldn't explain that it came from her father telling her about genetics, or that she'd stolen a book from a Muggle library on genetics, though the language was far above her (because, of course, the Lestrange family was above theft, Muggles, and science), or that her father's picture was wedged in between the pages of that book. Her aunt didn't know she had it, and Tacita planned to keep it that way, especially after the heart attack she was going to give her with her current news.
She couldn't explain it, but she'd always gotten the most perverse glee out of making her Aunt Vega upset. On one hand, she deeply hated upsetting her aunt, and she hated being fussed at, and she hated it even more when her aunt cried. On the other hand, she liked making her aunt angry, and she enjoyed her aunt fussing at her. She'd never mentioned wanting to be a scientist again because when her aunt had sobbed like that, Tacita had never felt so happy in her entire life, and that frightened her.
She couldn't help but be happy to have broken the tradition, to not be like her parents, and to make her aunt really upset all in one go. She didn't understand why. She'd heard about her parents all her life, but she'd never gotten a real clear picture. She distinctly remembered her father from her memory because she thought on it so often that she couldn't lose very much of it. Even that memory did not give her a clear understanding of Rudolphus. Her Aunt Vega alternated talking about him in a reverent tone, and cursing his name for things he'd done. Her understanding of her mother was even worse, because Aunt Vega seemed to want to tell her nice things about her mother, but felt held back by the truth. Whenever Tacita heard anything about her parents from any other witches and wizards, they seemed to hate and fear her parents. The word insane got batted around a lot. Even Aunt Vega couldn't seem to deny her mother's poor grasp on reality. It made Tacita wonder what her real parents were like.
None of her thoughts that night were very cheerful. She'd very quietly penned the note to her Aunt, using one of the ball point pens she vehemently preferred to messy quills. She'd have to wait until the morning to send it. Unlike her parents, whom Tacita discovered once she went to get supplies for school had been rich, Vega Lestrange did not have that much money. According to her Aunt, Uncle Rabastan had never been good with money, and Vega never had a good inheritance to begin with. Yet her aunt and purchased a huge barn owl for her for being accepted to Hogwarts. Tacita named him Gandalf to annoy her Aunt. Tacita was certain she could send her letter in the morning.
A part of her wondered, as she folded up her envelope and sealed it, why it had been so important to finish the letter that night instead of waiting until the next day when she wasn't so exhausted. She didn't ponder that mystery for very long, as a fresh wave of sleep washed over her, giving her only enough time to pull the gaudy yellow curtains closed and curl up on her warm blankets before she was dragged under into a deep, peaceful slumber.