The air around the orphanage was thick and silent, except for the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's elegant boots echoing on the stone floor. You, a three-year-old girl, were snuggled in her lap, with your little arms around her neck. His big curious eyes tried to understand the world around him. The dark dress Bellatrix wore lightly brushed her skin, and the strong scent of dried flowers invaded her nostrils.

The black carriage, pulled by imposing horses, waited at the door. Bellatrix held you tightly, as if you were a rare treasure. His gaze was cold, but his arms, curiously, offered some kind of protection. You felt her warmth, even though Bellatrix's face had always been hard and impassive.

"Don't be afraid, my dear," she said, looking at you with an insane gleam in her eyes. "You are mine now, and I will teach you everything I know."

You didn't respond, you just buried your face in her shoulder, feeling a strange comfort in her words, even though you didn't fully understand them.