Chapter Text
Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange came into the world on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow the destiny that awaited her. Born to the feared Death Eater couple, Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her birth was steeped in an aura of dark magic and power.
Just one year after her arrival, her parents were arrested and sent to Azkaban, condemned for their crucial role in the First Wizarding War. As devoted followers of Lord Voldemort, they committed unimaginable acts of cruelty, leaving behind a legacy marked by terror. With both parents imprisoned, the young Lestrange was placed under the care of her aunt, Andromeda Black—now Andromeda Tonks—who, having renounced the rigid traditions of the Black family, lived a simple and quiet life with her husband, Ted Tonks, and their daughter, Nymphadora. Thus, Morwenna and her cousin grew up together in the warm and modest Tonks household.
The decision to grant custody to Andromeda was not, of course, Bellatrix’s will but rather a measure imposed by the Ministry of Magic through the Department of Magical Welfare. After careful evaluation, the Ministry determined that the Tonks family would provide the safest and most suitable environment for raising the child. Over the years, Morwenna grew up in a Muggle-influenced setting with touches of magic, surrounded by a harmonious and stable atmosphere that starkly contrasted with her roots. Unaware of her parents’ dark legacy, she only knew their faces from old photographs showing the Black sisters together. She could neither recognize her father nor imagine the atrocities her parents had committed.
Andromeda had spun a vague and convenient tale about her parents’ “deaths” during the devastating Wizarding War. In her account, she avoided specific or uncomfortable details, leaving the girl with an idealized image of her mother as a heroine who gave her life fighting for the greater good. However, what Andromeda did not dare confess—perhaps out of fear or shame—was that Morwenna’s mother was not only alive but had been a devoted follower of the very man her daughter believed had killed her.
In 1991, the same year her cousin Nymphadora graduated from Hogwarts, Morwenna received her own letter of acceptance to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. Her arrival was marked by a moment of uncertainty under the Sorting Hat, which deliberated for some time before placing her in a house. Ultimately, as if her bloodline spoke louder than her upbringing, she was sorted into Slytherin, beginning her own journey within the magical legacy she still did not fully understand.
Despite being placed in Slytherin, Morwenna stood out from the start for being unusually considerate for someone with her lineage. Her cunning and notable intelligence were undeniable, but her balanced character set her apart from the stereotype of her house. During her early years at Hogwarts, she began to interact with her cousin Draco Malfoy, who respected her only for her pureblood status rather than their family connection. He frequently lectured her on how much “better” her upbringing would have been if she had been raised under her mother’s tutelage, surrounded by the rigid traditions of the Black family. Despite her cousin’s criticisms, Morwenna found her own place in Slytherin, forming friendships with several of her housemates. However, her ability to connect with students from different houses made her unique among her peers. Notably, she developed a relationship of respect and eventual friendship with the Golden Trio of Gryffindor. This, unsurprisingly, was not well received among her Slytherin companions, who looked down on her interactions with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Morwenna, however, refused to let the opinions of others affect her. What distinguished her, beyond her strategic mind and kindness, was her ability to navigate between different worlds and challenge the expectations placed upon her.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly for her. Despite the challenges of being a Slytherin who defied her house’s norms, she found her place in the school and built relationships that reflected her unique character. It was during her first year that she met a timid and clumsy boy whom her cousin Draco constantly bullied: Neville Longbottom. Draco’s cruelty toward him deeply irritated Morwenna, and one day, she decided to intervene after witnessing one of these episodes.
During a flying lesson, Neville lost control of his broom and ended up precariously dangling from a statue. Morwenna, terrified by the situation, watched helplessly as the boy finally fell to the ground, breaking his arm upon impact. She wanted to rush to help him, but Professor Hooch’s strict orders to stay grounded kept her frozen in place, powerless to act. Concern gnawed at her all afternoon, and she could not rest until the next day, when she finally had the chance to visit him in the infirmary. She was the only one who did so, a gesture that deeply surprised Neville.
“Hello, Longbottom,” the girl greeted in a calm, almost melodic voice, her pristine green robes perfectly tailored, emphasizing her place in Slytherin.
Neville slowly opened his eyes, as if waking from a nightmare only to find himself in another. Recognizing her, a wave of nervousness enveloped him. She wasn’t just any Slytherin; she was always beside Draco Malfoy, like a sharp, dangerous shadow. Her presence could only mean trouble, and with his heart pounding like a drum, Neville clutched the bedsheets desperately, as if they could protect him. “What do you want? Please, don’t hurt me!” he pleaded, his panicked gaze darting around for an escape he knew didn’t exist.
Lestrange recoiled slightly at his reaction. For a moment, her mask of composure faltered. She frowned, her lips forming a slight moue of confusion, tilting her head as if trying to solve a particularly puzzling riddle.
“Why are you reacting like that?” she asked serenely, though a genuine note of curiosity colored her tone. Her eyes studied him closely, searching for answers in his every move. “I just wanted to see if you were okay… after all that.”
Neville, still on edge, felt the air thick with awkwardness. Yet something in her tone—perhaps the absence of mockery or malice—disarmed him slightly. He hesitated for a moment before offering a shy, tense smile, one that failed to completely erase his unease.
“Oh… I’m fine, thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as his fingers fidgeted with the edge of the sheets like a lifeline.
That first encounter marked the beginning of an unusual friendship between Lestrange and Longbottom. Their moments together were small and almost insignificant: quick exchanges between classes, rushed chats while descending staircases, or brief conversations after dinner when the castle’s hallways were filled with echoes and shadows. Yet, these moments became something they both looked forward to, almost without realizing it.
In a matter of weeks, they had developed an improbable friendship, woven through laughter and fleeting comments. Until one day, everything changed.
That afternoon, before dinner, Neville and Morwenna were playing a game of Gobstones at the long Hufflepuff table. The table, situated next to a warm fireplace, seemed like the perfect spot for a friendly game, away from the cold that battered the castle. The pieces crackled slightly with every move, charged with that mischievous magic that made the game such an unpredictable experience.
“Ugh! How disgusting!” Neville exclaimed suddenly, jumping back when the characteristic foul-smelling liquid of the Gobstones splattered on his face. His expression was one of pure disgust as he hurriedly wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater, wrinkling his nose as if he could banish the smell with a grimace.
In the distance, Harry and Ron were playing wizard’s chess, their shouts of frustration and bursts of laughter filling the air. Although the Great Hall was full of students, the atmosphere was more relaxed than noisy, with scattered laughter and quiet conversations filling the space.
“Why is it always me?” Neville muttered, looking at the pieces with a mix of resignation and frustration.
Morwenna couldn’t help it. The scene was too funny: Neville’s face covered in that disgusting liquid, his expression of absolute defeat… It was just too much for her. A burst of laughter escaped her lips, echoing through the hall and drawing a few curious glances. She leaned back, holding her stomach, her feet dangling from the large wooden bench. She almost fell to the floor, her uncontrollable laughter almost contagious.
Neville looked at her, half-indignant, half-amused, as he tried to regain some dignity. Despite the mess, he couldn’t help but smile a little. There was something refreshing about Morwenna’s carefree laughter, even if it was at his expense.
However, that peace and laughter didn’t last long. The harmony of the moment shattered when Draco Malfoy appeared on the scene, flanked as always by his inseparable cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. The gang moved through the hall with their usual arrogance, their mocking laughs ringing out as a nearby girl ran off, visibly affected by their cruel remarks.
Draco, with his swaggering walk and that smirk that irritated so many, headed straight toward where Neville and Morwenna were. Stopping in front of them, he raised an eyebrow with disdain.
“Huh, what’s a Lestrange like you doing associating with a coward like Longbottom?” he said, as if the idea was so ridiculous it barely warranted his attention.
Neville, who had been wiping his face from the remains of the Gobstones’ foul liquid, stopped dead. His expression immediately changed. The usual nervousness that defined him gave way to something completely different: anger. His hands trembled slightly as he turned his gaze to Morwenna, who was watching him in confusion.
“Lestrange?” Neville repeated, his voice trembling between disbelief and rage. “Is your mother Bellatrix Lestrange?”
The young girl, clearly startled, blinked rapidly. Hearing her mother’s name on Neville’s lips was not something she had expected, and a bad feeling crept over her. With an effort, she kept her tone neutral.
“Yes? Why? Do you know her?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, though there was a hint of unease as she set the Gobstones aside.
Neville stood up from his seat, his fists clenched. His expression, once warm and calm, was now filled with pain and fury.
“Your parents tortured mine!” he suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the hall and silencing all conversations. Every eye turned toward them, the atmosphere instantly thick with tension.
Morwenna’s face changed. Neville’s words hit her like a misfired spell, leaving her momentarily frozen. But soon, her confusion gave way to indignation.
“What are you talking about!? My parents didn’t do that, you’re crazy!” she exclaimed, slamming both hands on the table as she stood up in front of him. Her voice, usually calm, now resonated with a mix of anger and confusion.
The atmosphere was unbearably tense. Draco, in the background, grinned maliciously, enjoying the spectacle he had caused. Harry and Ron had stopped their game of wizard’s chess to watch, and a few students whispered softly, unable to look away.
“You’re lying! My parents would never do something like that!” Morwenna yelled, pointing a finger at Neville as her eyes blazed with a mix of fury and confusion. Her voice rang out with an intensity that seemed to drown everything else, and more than one student in the hall jumped.
“I’m not lying!” Neville shot back, stepping toward her, his face flushed with anger. “Your parents, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, used the Cruciatus Curse on mine. They left them broken! There’s nothing you can say to change what they did!”
Morwenna took a step back, not out of fear, but because of the intensity of his emotions. She felt a mixture of disbelief and rage burning inside her, as if every word from Neville was a direct attack on her very identity. “My parents died fighting for what they believed was right!” she shouted, clenching her fists as her voice faltered for a moment before regaining its firm tone. “You have no right to blame me for things I don’t even know happened! It’s easy to talk about things you don’t understand, Longbottom!”
Neville frowned, his eyes filled with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Right? That’s what they told you? That torturing innocent people is right? That explains why you’re on Malfoy’s side! You’re just like them!”
That comment was the final spark. Morwenna slammed both hands on the table, causing some Gobstones to roll off the edge. “Shut up!” she yelled with such force that the murmur of the hall vanished completely. Her eyes glinted with an intensity that many had seen before, but not in her — in the tales of Bellatrix Lestrange.
With one last frustrated snort, Morwenna grabbed her cloak and turned sharply. “I’m not staying here listening to your lies, Neville Longbottom!” she spat before storming off, her face flushed and her fists clenched.
Draco, who had been standing off to the side, enjoying the show, grinned widely, clearly satisfied. As he passed Neville, he tossed a sharp remark in a tone so loud that the entire hall heard it.
“Good job, Longbottom. Now you’re not just a coward, but an idiot too.”
With a cruel laugh, Draco followed his cousin down the corridor, signaling for Crabbe and Goyle to join him.
Neville stood there, breathing heavily, as the gazes of the other students pierced through him. Harry and Ron quickly approached, but Neville couldn’t hear what they were saying. His mind was trapped in the fight, in the furious face of Morwenna, and in the words he had shouted.