Chapter Text
10th July 1976
Sixteen-year-old James Potter and Sirius Black sat opposite each other in the grand drawing room of Potter Manor, a wizarding chessboard crackling with magic between them.
“Hah! Got you,” Sirius declared triumphantly as his enchanted knight swung its sword and decapitated James’s king.
“The only game you can beat me in is this rubbish,” James retorted with a lazy smirk, raking a hand through his already hopelessly dishevelled black hair.
“Has Moony responded to any of your letters?” James asked as he leaned back, stretching his legs out with practiced indifference.
“Not yet,” Sirius replied. “Think you can convince him to come with us to Cannons versus Wasps? I’ve heard the Wasps have got a brilliant new Beater this season.”
“Yeah—Ludo Bagman,” James said, expression darkening slightly. “He was three years above us in Hufflepuff. But the match is just before the full moon.”
Before Sirius could respond, a soft pop echoed through the room as a house-elf appeared, bowing deeply. “Lady Potter requests your presence in the dining room, Master James, Master Sirius.”
“Alright, Pimsy—let her know we’ll be there in a moment,” James said kindly. The elf vanished with another pop.
“Come on, mate,” James sighed as he rose from his chair. “Best not keep Mum waiting.”
As they descended the stairs, Sirius asked cautiously, “How are things with Evans?” His voice held unusual hesitation; no one had dared bring up Lily since the incident by the lake last term.
James’s expression flickered with unspoken pain before he schooled it into his familiar mask of nonchalance.
“Padfoot… you know I don’t want to talk about her,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to move on. I spent all last year warning her about Snivellus, and she wouldn’t listen. Now that she’s seen what he truly is, she hasn’t even bothered to apologise. She humiliated me in front of the whole school—when all I ever did was try to protect her pride. If she thinks I’m as bad as him, then fine. I won’t waste my effort anymore.She’s not worth it” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the lie.
The rest of the walk to the dining room passed in silence.
Dorea Potter née Black awaited them at the head of the long mahogany table. In her fifties and still striking, she possessed the classic Black features—midnight hair, sharp cheekbones, and storm-grey eyes that commanded obedience without a word. The air around her seemed to still with her presence.
James and Sirius bowed respectfully.
“James. Sirius,” Lady Potter began, her voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “Arcturus has invited us to Grimmauld Place tomorrow for a family dinner.” She raised a hand before either could speak. “You will both attend.”
The tone in which she spoke made it unquestionably final.
Sirius’s jaw clenched at the name Grimmauld Place, his usual lazy grin slipping for just a moment. James shot him a questioning look, but Sirius avoided his eyes.
“Will… the entire Black family be there?” Sirius asked carefully.
Lady Potter’s expression didn’t change, but something sharp flickered in her grey eyes. “Yes. All of them.”
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Bellatrix lay sprawled across her bed, a heavy sixth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts volume propped open in her lap. Her long raven hair curled around her fingers in idle motion, though her sharp eyes moved rapidly over the page, absorbing every spell and counter-curse with hungry fascination. The Black family crest shimmered faintly on her bedroom wall, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight filtering through enchanted curtains.
The door creaked open without a knock.
“Bellatrix.” Druella Black née Rosier stood in the doorway, regal as ever. Her piercing blue eyes—cold and assessing—swept over her eldest daughter from head to toe. Her pale blond hair, the proud mark of the Rosier line, was immaculate, not a strand out of place.
Bellatrix straightened instinctively, closing her book with a soft thump. Her mother’s smirk was slight, but cruel.
“Your father has contacted Lord Lestrange,” Druella said with chilling composure. “The betrothal contract between you and Rodolphus has been formally proposed.”
For a heartbeat, the world went utterly silent.
Then Bellatrix saw red.
It felt as though Fiendfyre had erupted within her veins—hot, uncontrollable, devouring every rational thought. The room around her blurred at the edges, her breath came sharp and uneven, and the heavy DADA tome in her hand trembled beneath her tightening grip.
Rage. Betrayal. The crushing weight of destiny not chosen—but forced…….
TBC