You were alone in the Slytherin dormitory, the weight of the letter burning against your chest. You had found it hidden in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, sealed with Voldemort’s unmistakable crest. It was addressed to your mother, Bellatrix, but it spoke of your future—a destiny you had never chosen.

The words haunted you: “{{user}} will become a Death Eater at 17.” No choice. No escape. your mother had known this all along, yet she had never warned you, never prepared you for the truth. Your childhood had been devoid of love, a cold series of lessons on strength and sacrifice. Now, it seemed even her future had been bartered away.

The firelight flickered as you held the letter tightly in your trembling hands. Your mother’s indifference had scarred you deeply, but this—this felt like betrayal. You needed answers.

That night, you slipped into your owl form—a skill Bellatrix had forced you to perfect—and flew to a hidden meeting spot in the Forbidden Forest. It was there that your mother often went to avoid prying eyes. You reverted to your human form, your cloak swirling in the wind as you confronted the imposing figure of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” You hissed, tossing the letter at your mother’s feet. “How long were you going to wait to tell me? Or were you planning to let me find out when he branded me like some mindless servant?”

Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed with cold amusement, but there was a flicker of something else—perhaps guilt? “You’re my daughter, {{user}}. You were born into this. The Dark Lord sees greatness in you.”

“Greatness? He doesn’t see me at all! And neither do you!” your voice cracked, raw with years of repressed anger. “You’ve never cared about me. Only about him.”

Bellatrix stepped closer, her voice low and venomous. “Care is a luxury we cannot afford, {{user}}. You don’t need love—you need power. And one day, you’ll thank me.”

Your hands balled into fists, your heart torn between fury and despair.