#beau lestrange

Me too Elijah

Have this shitty sketch

Day Two: The Black Sheep

Beaumont Lestrange, called Beau, was the black sheep of the Lestrange family. Unlike every Lestrange before or beside him, he showed no sign of magic. Branded a Squib, he became the object of his family’s contempt and cruelty. The Lestranges reserved their punishments for Muggles and disappointments, and Beau was both in their eyes.

He grew up in the shadowy basements of the estate, sleeping among the house-elves and laboring beside them. Every glimpse of daylight came at a cost. His father berated him for the faintest mistakes; his mother preferred more inventive torments. She was a witch fond of forbidden hexes. She tested her experimental charms on him—spells that made his eyes swell in their sockets or shattered his fingers again and again just to mend them anew.

His sister, eager to please, went to Durmstrang to study the Dark Arts. When she returned each summer, she brought her lessons home, practicing them on Beau as a demonstration of her devotion.

By fourteen, the frightened child was gone. In his place stood a boy carved from pain. He learned to suffer without sound, to survive without hope. In the dark beneath the manor, among the house-elves, Beau nursed a single dream: a world where he had magic of his own. A world he could bend, break, and remake. A world where his parents lay impaled upon the lawns of the Lestrange estate.

Day Seven: Arrival at Hogwarts

When Beau Lestrange arrived at Hogwarts, the castle greeted him not with fear, but with possibility. For the first time in his life, eyes looked upon him without cruelty. He didn’t know how to return them.

Then came Professor Fig. He was patient, brilliant, and burdened—everything Beau needed in a mentor. Fig saw something in Beau that no one else had: potential not born of his blood, but of his will. Under his guidance, Beau began to believe, if only faintly, that he could be more than his name.

It was with Fig that he first touched ancient magic—a force vast, intoxicating and alive. It answered him as if it had been waiting all along. In that moment, the war within him reignited: the urge to heal versus the hunger to control.

And when Sebastian Sallow’s friendship turned to rivalry, Beau’s ambition found the mirror it had been searching for. Together, they walked the border between brilliance and damnation—two boys chasing mastery, each convinced he alone could control what the other could not.

In time, Beau betrayed him—as all Lestranges do. The two descended into darkness, searing their names across the Highlands in fire and ruin. Wizarding hamlets burned, families murdered; and the world once again remembering what it meant to fear the name Lestrange.

When at last their war ended, the heir of Lestrange lay dead by the hand of his equal—the final curse of his first and only friendship.

Day Six: Beau’s Emotional Identity

After the Fall of House Lestrange, Beau found himself truly alone for the first time. The silence was unbearable. Gone were the screams, the spells, the constant threat of pain—and yet the quiet pressed against him harder than ever before. At the Leaky Cauldron, he kept to his rented room for days, curtains drawn, unable to face the world he had been thrust into.

He had dreamed of freedom all his life, but freedom offered him nothing to hold on to. Without his family’s cruelty, he didn’t know who he was…

George Osric visited him then, refrained but kind, reminding him that he was still a Lestrange—a boy of noble blood, powerful name, and formidable magic. It was meant as comfort. Beau took it as command.

That night, standing before the mirror, he studied his reflection; the posture, the eyes, the shape of the sneer he’d inherited. He raised his chin, straightened his spine, and saw the ghost of his father in the mirror. For the first time, he didn’t flinch from it.

He decided he would not be the broken son, the pitied boy, or the Ministry’s charity case. If the world expected another Lestrange, then that was what he would become.

From that night forward, Beau carried himself like an heir. His words became sharp, his gaze measured. He catalogued people; their weaknesses, their needs, their fears—and learned how to manipulate them. What little warmth remained in him dimmed.

The battle inside him was over. The boy who might have been good was gone. In his place stood the heir of something ancient and cold. The new Lestrange had finally arrived.

He was the Heir of the evil…

Day Five: Beaumont’s Loss

The deaths came to him in fragments; a hushed conversation behind a Ministry door, the rustle of parchment, the soft click of a lock. His father was dead. His sister too.

At first, Beau felt nothing. Then came the relief—sharp, shameful, and undeniable. He hated himself for it. It wasn’t guilt for their deaths, but guilt for the quiet satisfaction that followed. For years he’d dreamed of being free of them, yet now that freedom felt like a burden.

He had said nothing of the abuse during the Ministry’s inquiries. He’d spoken only of his newfound magic, as if the horrors of his childhood could be reduced to a footnote. Some part of him still wanted their approval—to prove he was more than the broken boy they’d buried beneath the house. Losing his father meant losing the one person he had ever wanted to impress, even in hatred.

That twisted need to be seen, to be acknowledged—had burned in him long before his first spark of magic. Power, he thought, could have made him worthy. But his father was gone, his mother sent to Azkaban for her devotion to the Dark Arts, and the name Lestrange now lay amongst the ruin and cinders of the manor.

As for his sister, her absence stirred little grief.

Day Four: Path to Hogwarts

The moment word reached the Ministry that the Squib of House Lestrange had performed magic, the vultures began to circle. Inquiries became investigations, and investigations became whispers of a reckoning long overdue. The Lestrange name had always been protected by power and fear—but now, for the first time in generations, the Ministry smelled weakness.

George Osric, a high-ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, arrived at the estate under the guise of diplomacy. He met with Beau privately, assuring him he would be safe, that the Ministry wanted to help. Beau believed him. For the first time in his life, someone in power spoke to him as if he mattered.

Within forty-eight hours, the Lestrange estate was under siege.

The attack came at dawn, quiet and calculated. Spells shattered through the manor’s wards. Aurors flooded the grounds. Beau never saw it. He was already gone, kept at the Ministry “for inquiries”. He waited in a small, windowless room in London, told only that “negotiations were underway with his parents.”

When the smoke cleared, seven were dead: theee Aurors and four Lestranges—including his father, his aunt, and two cousins. His mother, sister, and uncle survived, though they were to be sent to Azkaban.

The house itself burned for a full day before the fires were doused.

By the time Beau learned what had happened, the story was already in print: The Fall of House Lestrange—A Ministry Triumph. George Osric smiled when he told him the news, hands firmly on his shoulders, promising a new beginning. The boy had been saved from darkness, he said.

Beau didn’t feel saved. He felt alone.

Day Three: Discovering His Magic

Everything changed the night Beau discovered his magic.

The summer of 1890 was thick and airless, the kind of heat that made the Lestrange estate feel like it was sweating out the fog that covered its grounds. Beau had endured punishments before, but that night his parents were particularly cruel, indulging themselves as if his pain were a pleasure.

Desperate for a scrap of kindness, he confided in one of the house-elves a small, brittle secret he’d carried too long. He whispered that he thought he liked a boy he’d glimpsed once on the grounds. It was a harmless confession, fragile and human. But the elf, bound by obedience, repeated the words.

By evening, his mother summoned him. He was bound, pleading for answers never given. She said nothing at first, only raised her wand to his chest. As she hummed softly, the tip of her wand glowed white-hot. When she pressed it to his skin, the smell of burning flesh filled the room. His father watched, smiling. A hateful word seared itself across his ribs—a brand of what he was.

He was branded as the abomination that saw him as.

Something inside Beau snapped.

The world tilted, dimmed, and then erupted. In blind fury, he unleashed power he didn’t know he possessed. When it ended, every house-elf lay dead, the basement slick with blood and silence. His family found him there; suspended half an inch above the floor, arms outstretched as if crucified, his fingertips sparking with black flames that burned like hellfire.

His parents were overjoyed. Their son, the disappointment, had finally proven worthy of the Lestrange name. His mother wept with pride. His father embraced him, whispering that all had been forgiven. But Beau could only stare at what he’d done—the viscera, the blood, the horror.

Before the blood had dried, they took him to Knockturn Alley. A secondhand wand was pressed into his palm, and a quiet meeting arranged with a Ministry liaison who promised to find a place for him at Hogwarts. But word spread faster than they could contain it: the Squib of House Lestrange had performed impossible magic. Within weeks, the Ministry began its inquiries, and the great unraveling of the Lestrange name had begun.