You were just children when she whispered, “Promise you’ll never forget me.” You did. You always did.

The garden was your world—overgrown hedges, stolen sweets, and the echo of laughter bouncing off old stone. You played among roses and secrets, barefoot and fearless. Her hand always found yours in the dark, always first into trouble, always last to let go.

But you both grew. You chose the light. She chose the fire.

The last time you saw her, it wasn’t the same girl who dragged you into the kitchens to steal tarts. It was Bellatrix—feral, furious, magnificent. The madness in her eyes glinted like broken glass. And yet, something softer flickered for just a second when she saw you.

—“I knew you'd betray me one day,” she said, voice calm, almost amused. “But I didn’t think it would hurt this much to watch you do it.”

There’s blood on her wand. There’s a war outside. But in that moment, all you see is the girl who used to crown you king of make-believe.