"Good work, Ms. Lestrange," Professor Flitwick said when she correctly answered his question.
"It's not Lestrange," Tacita said softly.
"What was that my dear?" the short wizard asked kindly.
"It's not Lestrange," Tacita said. "It's pronounced Le-stron-je. It's French," she corrected.
Okay, so maybe correcting the professor like that wasn't the very best idea she'd ever had, but it was her name! Lestrange was French, and the English always seemed to love to jump on French pronunciations. It wasn't Le Strange, it was Lestrange, and she didn't like people saying it wrong, especially when it wasn't that difficult to pronounce it properly.
The fallout from her correction had been… interesting. She now had other students asking her if she was proud of her family background. She was, at best, disinterested in her parents, especially her mother. At worst she disapproved, but she was generally ambivalent to the whole thing. It was before her time, and her parents had been adults. She couldn't have made them do anything. But when they continued to tease herabout her family, she finally got up and snapped that she was very proud of her pureblood heritage and her family.
No one would talk to her after that. If she'd been in Slytherin…maybe, but she wasn't and, because she wasn't, the Slytherins sort of shunned her. Well, maybe that wasn't all it. Slytherin house had become a lot more diverse over the years, and more Muggleborns were accepted, and she'd openly declared that she was proud of her heritage; her father had been one of the first Death Eaters, and her mother had been one of Voldemort's most loyal servants.
Her own housemates didn't want to talk to her, it didn't help that her head of house didn't seem to like her either. In their very first class, he'd avoided picking her when she raised her hand. When he finally did call on her (only because there was no one else), he'd berated the part of her answer that she didn't get right. And it just never got better after that.
The only teacher who seemed to genuinely like her was Professor Slughorn, probably the oldest member of the staff, outside of Professor Binns. He'd taken a liking to her because she seemed so natural in Potions. He'd go on about how her father was very much the same, and would talk about how it was too bad he hadn't taken up Potions study after leaving school, or he might have turned out different. Professor Slughorn was tactless, but sincere with his praise. He seemed wary of her sometimes, but he was never unkind.
It was his kindness that kept her from telling him why she really liked Potions: because it seemed similar to the chemistry classes she'd seen at the Muggle secondary school that was attached to her primary. Her interest in Potions and her interest in Herbology both stemmed from her interest in Muggle science; but she hadn't told anyone this.
She rather thought that she'd brought it all on herself. She couldn't even talk to her Aunt Vega, as after her very delightful Howler ("YOU'RE A SHAME TO THE NAME OF YOUR PARENTS AND THE NAME OF YOUR FAMILY! HOW COULD YOU BE IN HUFFLEPUFF, SUCH A RIDICULOUSLY WEAK HOUSE! IF YOU WEREN'T GOING TO BE IN SLYTHERIN YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST GONE INTO RAVENCLAW! BUT YOU WERE SORTED INTO THE MOST USELESS HOUSE! I AM ABSOLUTELY ASHAMED OF YOU!" etc.) she'd sent one letter to her Aunt asking for guidance. Tacita'd had friends, even if they were Muggles, in her old school, but now she didn't have anyone. Her aunt had sent back a very short response about how she'd have made friends if she were in Slytherin.
Tacita had neither sent nor received any letters from her aunt after that.
Over amonth passed of isolated loneliness, where even going to the cheerful common room seemed impossible. She would spend all the time she could either in the library, or in Professor Slughorn's class, listening to him tell stories, or watching him work potions; she'd started going to his remedial potions just for an excuse not to go back to her room. Watching older students work on potions they were struggling with was very informative in a way she hadn't expected, though. A part of her was very excited to get to higher years, just to be able to try the potions she was seeing in the remedial classes.
It was on one of those nights leaving remedial potions that she was hurrying to get back to the common room. She'd sat in the back for a remedial potions class for fifth-years, all of whom had later curfews than she did. She'd been watching them make an incredibly complex potion—Strengthening Solution—that was standard for fifth-years. She'd been wondering if Professor Slughorn would let her try to make it, if she asked him. She'd wondered for so long that the fifth-year students were packing up to leave; she realized that she was over an hour late for bed and started hurrying down to her common room.
Thankfully, the Hufflepuff common room was on the same level as the Potions classroom, even if it was on the other side of the school. There weren't any stairs to climb; it was just a straight walk. She walked quickly (not running, afraid of drawing attention to herself), toward her dorm. The dungeon levels were the ones that Professor Longbottom and Professor Slughorn patrolled. Professor Slughorn was still in his room, but even if he was the one to catch her, he'd probably just escort her to bed. Professor Longbottom, on the other hand, clearly disliked her and would probably give her detention or even take points away…and then everyone would hate her more.
The more she considered the consequences of getting caught, the more upset she got; she had completely worked herself up into a tizzy by the time she arrived at the entrance to her house. She knew she absolutely had to go in, but just stood there staring at it, unable to bring herself to go inside. No one liked her. She'd been there for a month-and-a-half, and almost no one would speak to her. In her own house, they either gave her odd looks or ignored her. They were supposed to be the kind and fair house…which was apparently true for everyone except the children of Death Eaters.
"What are you doing out in the corridors?" came a strict but kindly voice from behind her. Tacita turned around and immediately burst into tears. It was the headmistress; she was going to be in so much trouble. It was one thing to be caught being out of bounds at night by a teacher, but being taken to the headmistress was only for severe cases of rule-breaking. Surely being caught out of bed by the headmistress would incur similar consequences.
Professor Sprout was completely caught off guard by a student bursting into tears. "There now, don't cry," she said, producing a handkerchief and handing it to the small eleven-year-old, but her words and actions didn't seem to help as the girl merely continued to cry. "How about we go to my office for some tea and a talk?" she asked, starting to guide the girl up to her office.
Tacita continued to cry until they arrived at the stone gargoyle. She didn't cry very much, but when she did, it was very loud, very messy, and very short. She wiped her eyes furiously with the handkerchief, but couldn't stop trembling. She was afraid of what would happen now. She didn't even notice when the stone gargoyle leapt aside until she was being guided up the stairs to the headmistress's office. Once inside, she was momentarily distracted from her distress.
Professor Sprout's office was wonderful. There were shelves filled with books, mostly on plants, but an entire bookcase was devoted to novels. Outside of the books there were an assortment of odd instruments that seemed like old artifacts from ancient gardeners or farmers. Tacita's eyes moved past the tools to the different plants in the room. She could tell they were made for offices, as they seemed to be thriving, even with the less-than-hospitable light that would come from the windows. A particularly interesting plant seemed to be producing a very soothing jazz instrumental.
"You like it? It's a type of Phonoflora," Professor Sprout said, making Tacita jump. She hadn't even noticed the short woman come up behind her. "Phonofloras are easy to grow in the right conditions, and thrive very well once they've matured in about any given environment. This one has been raised under a Jazz club. Terribly expensive, so best not touch," the Professor explained, and Tacita nodded numbly. "Do you like plants?"
Tacita nodded again. "Yes, I do," she said softly.
"How about we sit down? The tea should be ready," Professor Sprout said, guiding Tacita to the desk, where a tea pot was pouring tea into two cups. "Please sit," she said, indicating the chair on the other side of the desk as she moved to her own chair. Pomona Sprout had been headmistress since Minerva McGonagall had retired. Professor Sprout was still short and plump as ever, but her hair had more grey, her face had more wrinkles, and her robes and nails carried considerably less dirt. "It's okay, you can drink," she said, seeing the student eyeing the tea.
"Thank you, Headmistress," Tacita said softly, taking a sip of her tea.
"Now, would you like to talk about why you were out of bed after hours, Ms. Lestrange?" Professor Sprout asked kindly, pronouncing the name correctly.
Tacita's body jumped in a small, silent sob. She wasn't going to start crying again, but the reminder that she was in trouble, and of her current circumstances, brought her fear back all over again.
"We'll come back to it," Professor Sprout said, sensing the girl's distress. "Are you enjoying school so far?" Again, this elicited a small sob from the girl, so Professor Sprout changed topics again. "Do you have a favorite subject?"
"P-Potions," Tacita said shakily. "Professor Slughorn's very nice," she said softly.
"You seemed to be interested in my plants. Do you like Herbology?" the Headmistress coaxed.
"I like studying plants," Tacita said, not wanting to lie, and not wanting to say anything bad about her teacher.
"But you don't like the class?" Professor Sprout pushed.
Tacita's mouth went dry and she looked up at the Headmistress, not sure what to say. Then it all came spilling out. "Nobody likes me," she said, feeling her tears come back; she hadn't expected them, but a fresh wave of emotion hit her all over again, and she couldn't help it. "I don't care about my family history at all, but what else could I say but that I'm proud when they kept teasing me about it?" she wailed. "Now they think I'm evil, and no one will talk to me!" They'd talked to her before, been kind of nice…but now she was all alone in a place she didn't know, with strangers who didn't like her.
"Oh, dear," Professor Sprout said, not having expected such an outburst. She was about to ask about her family when she remember the Howler. "Have you tried to talk to your Head of House about this?" she asked, but Tacita just shook her head violently. "Why not?"
"Professor Longbottom won't help," she said quietly. It would hurt too much to ask and not be helped…and she was so sure he wasn't going to help her.
"Of course he will," Professor Sprout said, but Tacita just shook her head.
"No, he won't," she said quietly, her tears settling down again. She hoped to keep them down for good this time.
Professor Sprout sighed and tried something different. "Why were you out of bed after curfew?"
"Professor Slughorn lets me stay and as questions a lot… he's let me stay in his Remedial Potions class…and I forgot to leave tonight until it was after curfew and the fifth-years were packing up," she said.
"You really like Potions, don't you?" the professor asked.
"I like science," Tacita said miserably. She seemed to realize what she said and looked panicked. "Please don't tell anybody!" she begged.
"I won't, I won't," the Headmistress said in a soothing tone before standing up. "There there, it's okay. Now, the next time you accidentally forget to leave on time, you ask Professor Slughorn for a note, or to escort you to the dorms," she said. "Now, I'll take you back to bed," she said. "Come on."
Tacita got up, still shaking a bit. "Please don't take away points," she said quickly. "Everyone will hate me even worse if I lose points," she said.
"No, dear, I won't take away points, and I won't give you a detention. I'll talk to Professor Slughorn to be sure…but you've had a hard evening, and I believe you're telling the truth," she said as she guided the girl back down to her dormitory. The naked relief on the girl's face hurt.
"You asked to see me, Professor?" Neville Longbottom asked as he stepped into the Headmistress's office. One of the old headmasters had gone to find him. For the life of him, Neville couldn't remember his name. He'd never say that to the man, all the paintings were very sensitive about being forgotten. He only could remember Dippet, Dumbledore, and Snape. McGonagall would get a painting after she died, but at the moment there wasn't one for her, or he'd have remembered hers as well.
"Yes Neville, please do come in… and how many times have I asked you to call me Pomona?" she asked with a kind smile.
"I'm sorry, Professor," he said, shutting the door behind him and stepping in. He sat in the seat across from the headmistress's, feeling like a student all over again. His eyes went to the half-drunk cup of tea in front of him. "Have you had guests this evening, Professor?" he asked.
"Hm—What? Oh, yes." She waved her wand; the cups, tray, and all their contents vanished. "Neville, I just had a meeting with a very distraught student from your house. She seems to think that she can't come to you for help," she said. "Is this true?"
"Of course not," Neville said quickly. He couldn't think of any student who he wouldn't help if they came to him.
"It was Tacita Lestrange," Pomona Sprout said.
"Oh," Neville responded. That was a little different. He was sure he would help her, but he wasn't sure how much he would help her.
"Neville, the girl burst into tears when I found her in the hall, and then again in my office. She begged me not to take points off, because everyone would hate her worse." She eyed him, and Neville had the most uncomfortable memory for his first year surface in his mind. He had been lost coming back from the library, having fallen asleep there. When Professor Sprout caught him, he'd burst into tears, afraid that people would hate him if he lost any more points for his house.
"Professor—" Neville started, but was cut off.
"I know about your problem, and it's not that I'm unsympathetic...but she's eleven, and you're an adult. You need to suck it up. So far, has she shown any indication of being anything like her parents?" she asked.
Neville thought about it. She was very smart, and she'd seemed rather cold, but the idea of her bursting into tears was unsettling. It was hard sometimes in class to not see her as Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter, but Professor Sprout was right…Tacita Lestrange was an eleven-year-old girl, one he'd never seen friendly with anyone, or laughing with anyone, because he had watched closely. He'd assumed she was a loner…but it occurred to him now that maybe it wasn't exactly a self-induced isolation.
"You're right, Professor Sprout. I'll talk to her," he said.
Professor Sprout smiled. "I know you will, Neville."
A/N: Hello all. I have just a few notes.
First, yes, I know how Lestrange is pronounced in the movies, but it is French, and the English have a way of purposefully stepping on French names (see Jacques from "As You Like It".)
Second, Tacita is eleven at this point. Having no friends, no family, and no support is stressful enough as an adult, but it's even worse at eleven. Things will pick up a bit more later.
Thank you for reading. Reviews are very much loved. :D