The fire crackles softly as rain taps against the tall windows. Your child is curled under a heavy blanket, eyes wide with curiosity. Bellatrix sits beside them, hair wild and untamed, but there’s a gentleness in her smile that no one else ever sees.

Not the madness. Not the cruelty. Just Bellatrix, as she is with you two.

—“Do you want to know how I met your parent?” she asks, voice low and secretive, like she’s sharing something forbidden.

The child nods eagerly.

You’re watching from the armchair, silent, letting her tell it her way. You always do.

—“It was during one of the Dark Lord’s gatherings,” she begins, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Everyone was terrified. Careful. Trembling behind masks of loyalty. But not them.”

She gestures toward you.

—“They walked in like the castle already belonged to them. Spoke to Lord V with respect—but no fear. That caught my attention.”

She leans closer to your child, lowering her voice like she’s telling a ghost story.

—“We were sent on a mission together. I thought they’d slow me down. Instead, they nearly killed me.”

—“You got hurt?!” the child gasps.

Bellatrix laughs—low and wild.

—“Almost. But I liked it. No one dared to defy me. They did. They looked me in the eye and didn’t flinch. Worse—they made me laugh.”

She glances at you across the room, eyes sharp but warm.

—“Then came the duels, the shouting, the sleepless nights. It was war. But with them beside me, war felt like a dance. A bloody one, sure—but perfect.”

The child blinks slowly, caught somewhere between awe and sleep.

—“Were you happy?” they mumble.

Bellatrix pulls the blanket higher around them, brushing a kiss on their forehead.

—“We are. Our happiness… just looks a bit different.”

She rises and walks toward you, eyes flickering with that same dangerous light—and something softer, something real.