#lestrange x longbottom

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

introduction: Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange was born on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow her destiny. Daughter of the feared marriage of Death Eaters Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her arrival into the world was marked by the echo of dark magic and power.

Barely a year after her birth, her parents were arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for their active involvement in the First Wizarding War. They were loyal accomplices of Lord Voldemort, committing acts of unspeakable cruelty. With her parents behind bars, the guardianship of Morwenna fell to her aunt Narcisa Malfoy, who had also given birth to a son that same year. Thus, Gelinne and her cousin Draco were raised together in the opulent Malfoy Manor, under the strict supervision of Lucius.

From an early age, Gelinne was taught the most elegant and refined manners. Lucius Malfoy insisted that, as a pureblood, she must maintain an impeccable appearance and impeccable conduct. Morwenna’s education was rigorous, designed to instill in her the values and superiority of her lineage.

Over the years, Gelinne grew up alongside Draco, sharing not only their education but also the ignorance of her parents’ crimes. She knew of them only by their names and their portraits, imposing and mysterious figures that adorned the walls of the manor.

Finally, the anticipated moment came to attend the prestigious school of magic, Hogwarts. Alongside her cousin Draco, Morwenna quickly earned the respect of her fellow Slytherins and other students, thanks to her distinguished bearing and innate magical ability.

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2k

a/n: i’m totally in love with Neville, but I feel bad about pairing him with a Lestrange, though it’s also super intriguing. it’ll basically be like a mini-series. basically, this chapter is just setting up what’s coming next.

My main language is not English

masterlist next chapter

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Chapter one: Mandrakes

Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange came into the world on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow the destiny that awaited her. Born to the feared Death Eater couple, Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her birth was steeped in an aura of dark magic and power.

Just one year after her arrival, her parents were arrested and sent to Azkaban, condemned for their crucial role in the First Wizarding War. As devoted followers of Lord Voldemort, they committed unimaginable acts of cruelty, leaving behind a legacy marked by terror. With both parents imprisoned, the young Lestrange was placed under the care of her aunt, Andromeda Black—now Andromeda Tonks—who, having renounced the rigid traditions of the Black family, lived a simple and quiet life with her husband, Ted Tonks, and their daughter, Nymphadora. Thus, Morwenna and her cousin grew up together in the warm and modest Tonks household.

The decision to grant custody to Andromeda was not, of course, Bellatrix’s will but rather a measure imposed by the Ministry of Magic through the Department of Magical Welfare. After careful evaluation, the Ministry determined that the Tonks family would provide the safest and most suitable environment for raising the child. Over the years, Morwenna grew up in a Muggle-influenced setting with touches of magic, surrounded by a harmonious and stable atmosphere that starkly contrasted with her roots. Unaware of her parents’ dark legacy, she only knew their faces from old photographs showing the Black sisters together. She could neither recognize her father nor imagine the atrocities her parents had committed.

Andromeda had spun a vague and convenient tale about her parents’ “deaths” during the devastating Wizarding War. In her account, she avoided specific or uncomfortable details, leaving the girl with an idealized image of her mother as a heroine who gave her life fighting for the greater good. However, what Andromeda did not dare confess—perhaps out of fear or shame—was that Morwenna’s mother was not only alive but had been a devoted follower of the very man her daughter believed had killed her.

In 1991, the same year her cousin Nymphadora graduated from Hogwarts, Morwenna received her own letter of acceptance to the school of witchcraft and wizardry. Her arrival was marked by a moment of uncertainty under the Sorting Hat, which deliberated for some time before placing her in a house. Ultimately, as if her bloodline spoke louder than her upbringing, she was sorted into Slytherin, beginning her own journey within the magical legacy she still did not fully understand.

Despite being placed in Slytherin, Morwenna stood out from the start for being unusually considerate for someone with her lineage. Her cunning and notable intelligence were undeniable, but her balanced character set her apart from the stereotype of her house. During her early years at Hogwarts, she began to interact with her cousin Draco Malfoy, who respected her only for her pureblood status rather than their family connection. He frequently lectured her on how much “better” her upbringing would have been if she had been raised under her mother’s tutelage, surrounded by the rigid traditions of the Black family. Despite her cousin’s criticisms, Morwenna found her own place in Slytherin, forming friendships with several of her housemates. However, her ability to connect with students from different houses made her unique among her peers. Notably, she developed a relationship of respect and eventual friendship with the Golden Trio of Gryffindor. This, unsurprisingly, was not well received among her Slytherin companions, who looked down on her interactions with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Morwenna, however, refused to let the opinions of others affect her. What distinguished her, beyond her strategic mind and kindness, was her ability to navigate between different worlds and challenge the expectations placed upon her.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly for her. Despite the challenges of being a Slytherin who defied her house’s norms, she found her place in the school and built relationships that reflected her unique character. It was during her first year that she met a timid and clumsy boy whom her cousin Draco constantly bullied: Neville Longbottom. Draco’s cruelty toward him deeply irritated Morwenna, and one day, she decided to intervene after witnessing one of these episodes.

During a flying lesson, Neville lost control of his broom and ended up precariously dangling from a statue. Morwenna, terrified by the situation, watched helplessly as the boy finally fell to the ground, breaking his arm upon impact. She wanted to rush to help him, but Professor Hooch’s strict orders to stay grounded kept her frozen in place, powerless to act. Concern gnawed at her all afternoon, and she could not rest until the next day, when she finally had the chance to visit him in the infirmary. She was the only one who did so, a gesture that deeply surprised Neville.

“Hello, Longbottom,” the girl greeted in a calm, almost melodic voice, her pristine green robes perfectly tailored, emphasizing her place in Slytherin.

Neville slowly opened his eyes, as if waking from a nightmare only to find himself in another. Recognizing her, a wave of nervousness enveloped him. She wasn’t just any Slytherin; she was always beside Draco Malfoy, like a sharp, dangerous shadow. Her presence could only mean trouble, and with his heart pounding like a drum, Neville clutched the bedsheets desperately, as if they could protect him. “What do you want? Please, don’t hurt me!” he pleaded, his panicked gaze darting around for an escape he knew didn’t exist.

Lestrange recoiled slightly at his reaction. For a moment, her mask of composure faltered. She frowned, her lips forming a slight moue of confusion, tilting her head as if trying to solve a particularly puzzling riddle.

“Why are you reacting like that?” she asked serenely, though a genuine note of curiosity colored her tone. Her eyes studied him closely, searching for answers in his every move. “I just wanted to see if you were okay… after all that.”

Neville, still on edge, felt the air thick with awkwardness. Yet something in her tone—perhaps the absence of mockery or malice—disarmed him slightly. He hesitated for a moment before offering a shy, tense smile, one that failed to completely erase his unease.

“Oh… I’m fine, thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as his fingers fidgeted with the edge of the sheets like a lifeline.

That first encounter marked the beginning of an unusual friendship between Lestrange and Longbottom. Their moments together were small and almost insignificant: quick exchanges between classes, rushed chats while descending staircases, or brief conversations after dinner when the castle’s hallways were filled with echoes and shadows. Yet, these moments became something they both looked forward to, almost without realizing it.

In a matter of weeks, they had developed an improbable friendship, woven through laughter and fleeting comments. Until one day, everything changed.

That afternoon, before dinner, Neville and Morwenna were playing a game of Gobstones at the long Hufflepuff table. The table, situated next to a warm fireplace, seemed like the perfect spot for a friendly game, away from the cold that battered the castle. The pieces crackled slightly with every move, charged with that mischievous magic that made the game such an unpredictable experience.

“Ugh! How disgusting!” Neville exclaimed suddenly, jumping back when the characteristic foul-smelling liquid of the Gobstones splattered on his face. His expression was one of pure disgust as he hurriedly wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater, wrinkling his nose as if he could banish the smell with a grimace.

In the distance, Harry and Ron were playing wizard’s chess, their shouts of frustration and bursts of laughter filling the air. Although the Great Hall was full of students, the atmosphere was more relaxed than noisy, with scattered laughter and quiet conversations filling the space.

“Why is it always me?” Neville muttered, looking at the pieces with a mix of resignation and frustration.

Morwenna couldn’t help it. The scene was too funny: Neville’s face covered in that disgusting liquid, his expression of absolute defeat… It was just too much for her. A burst of laughter escaped her lips, echoing through the hall and drawing a few curious glances. She leaned back, holding her stomach, her feet dangling from the large wooden bench. She almost fell to the floor, her uncontrollable laughter almost contagious.

Neville looked at her, half-indignant, half-amused, as he tried to regain some dignity. Despite the mess, he couldn’t help but smile a little. There was something refreshing about Morwenna’s carefree laughter, even if it was at his expense.

However, that peace and laughter didn’t last long. The harmony of the moment shattered when Draco Malfoy appeared on the scene, flanked as always by his inseparable cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. The gang moved through the hall with their usual arrogance, their mocking laughs ringing out as a nearby girl ran off, visibly affected by their cruel remarks.

Draco, with his swaggering walk and that smirk that irritated so many, headed straight toward where Neville and Morwenna were. Stopping in front of them, he raised an eyebrow with disdain.

“Huh, what’s a Lestrange like you doing associating with a coward like Longbottom?” he said, as if the idea was so ridiculous it barely warranted his attention.

Neville, who had been wiping his face from the remains of the Gobstones’ foul liquid, stopped dead. His expression immediately changed. The usual nervousness that defined him gave way to something completely different: anger. His hands trembled slightly as he turned his gaze to Morwenna, who was watching him in confusion.

“Lestrange?” Neville repeated, his voice trembling between disbelief and rage. “Is your mother Bellatrix Lestrange?”

The young girl, clearly startled, blinked rapidly. Hearing her mother’s name on Neville’s lips was not something she had expected, and a bad feeling crept over her. With an effort, she kept her tone neutral.

“Yes? Why? Do you know her?” she asked, curiosity in her voice, though there was a hint of unease as she set the Gobstones aside.

Neville stood up from his seat, his fists clenched. His expression, once warm and calm, was now filled with pain and fury.

“Your parents tortured mine!” he suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the hall and silencing all conversations. Every eye turned toward them, the atmosphere instantly thick with tension.

Morwenna’s face changed. Neville’s words hit her like a misfired spell, leaving her momentarily frozen. But soon, her confusion gave way to indignation.

“What are you talking about!? My parents didn’t do that, you’re crazy!” she exclaimed, slamming both hands on the table as she stood up in front of him. Her voice, usually calm, now resonated with a mix of anger and confusion.

The atmosphere was unbearably tense. Draco, in the background, grinned maliciously, enjoying the spectacle he had caused. Harry and Ron had stopped their game of wizard’s chess to watch, and a few students whispered softly, unable to look away.

“You’re lying! My parents would never do something like that!” Morwenna yelled, pointing a finger at Neville as her eyes blazed with a mix of fury and confusion. Her voice rang out with an intensity that seemed to drown everything else, and more than one student in the hall jumped.

“I’m not lying!” Neville shot back, stepping toward her, his face flushed with anger. “Your parents, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, used the Cruciatus Curse on mine. They left them broken! There’s nothing you can say to change what they did!”

Morwenna took a step back, not out of fear, but because of the intensity of his emotions. She felt a mixture of disbelief and rage burning inside her, as if every word from Neville was a direct attack on her very identity. “My parents died fighting for what they believed was right!” she shouted, clenching her fists as her voice faltered for a moment before regaining its firm tone. “You have no right to blame me for things I don’t even know happened! It’s easy to talk about things you don’t understand, Longbottom!”

Neville frowned, his eyes filled with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Right? That’s what they told you? That torturing innocent people is right? That explains why you’re on Malfoy’s side! You’re just like them!”

That comment was the final spark. Morwenna slammed both hands on the table, causing some Gobstones to roll off the edge. “Shut up!” she yelled with such force that the murmur of the hall vanished completely. Her eyes glinted with an intensity that many had seen before, but not in her — in the tales of Bellatrix Lestrange.

With one last frustrated snort, Morwenna grabbed her cloak and turned sharply. “I’m not staying here listening to your lies, Neville Longbottom!” she spat before storming off, her face flushed and her fists clenched.

Draco, who had been standing off to the side, enjoying the show, grinned widely, clearly satisfied. As he passed Neville, he tossed a sharp remark in a tone so loud that the entire hall heard it.

“Good job, Longbottom. Now you’re not just a coward, but an idiot too.”

With a cruel laugh, Draco followed his cousin down the corridor, signaling for Crabbe and Goyle to join him.

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2,5k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

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Chapter four: Belladona

“I don’t understand how you can keep going to that Muggle house when you could perfectly well live here, with all of us…” Draco commented, his tone hovering between incredulity and reproach. His pale eyes settled on his cousin Morwenna, who remained expressionless, her gaze fixed on the plate of gourmet food in front of her. The tableware, pristine and adorned with intricate gold details, only served to highlight the contrast with her mood. She had no appetite. In fact, she hadn’t felt hungry in weeks, lost in thoughts that had consumed her ever since that day in the library.

She barely paid attention to Draco’s words, which seemed to reach her from a distant fog. Deep down, she knew he was right: life in Malfoy Manor was, at least on the surface, comfortable, safe, and luxurious. But neither safety nor luxury could dispel the knot forming in her chest every time she remembered that argument, those furtive glances, and the secret she still couldn’t share with anyone. Not even Harry, who, incidentally, was risking his life in those absurd and dangerous Triwizard Tournament games. How could she think about anything else when her friend was facing deadly trials that only served to feed the magical community’s morbid fascination?

But Draco didn’t understand—or rather, he didn’t want to understand. He kept badgering her with his opinions, as if he believed he could shape her to his will. Worse still, he had started insisting on something Morwenna found unbearable: Viktor Krum. According to Draco, the famous Bulgarian Seeker was an ideal candidate for her, “worthy of her lineage,” he would say with his characteristic air of superiority. What Draco didn’t understand was that Morwenna neither needed nor wanted anyone deciding for her. And least of all turning her love life into yet another tool to reinforce the Malfoys’ blood purity obsessions.

Tired of her cousin’s words, Morwenna did nothing but keep her gaze fixed on her plate. The meat, perfectly cooked and seasoned, hardly seemed like food to her. The pure silver cutlery in her hands felt cold, just like the light that bathed the immense dining table, a distant light devoid of warmth, seeping into every corner of that place. She toyed with the cutlery, twirling it between her fingers as if it were harmless, but in her mind, a storm raged. As Draco continued speaking, his voice faded into the background like a useless echo, growing more distant and more irrelevant with each passing second.

In that moment, Morwenna wasn’t at that table; she was trapped in her own thoughts, her own ghosts, in a world where neither Draco nor his obsession with lineage had any place.

Morwenna couldn’t shake the firm voice of Neville from her mind. It was like a persistent echo, resonating in her head over and over again. She had never heard him speak like that before. Neville Longbottom, the boy who always seemed shy, almost invisible amidst the chaos of Hogwarts, was no longer the submissive boy she remembered. There was something different about him, something that unsettled her and, at the same time, intrigued her.

As Draco’s words continued to flow uninterrupted, Morwenna drifted again into that memory. Her thoughts soon veered toward something much darker, something she didn’t want to relive but that returned to her with the force of a storm: the Ravenclaw’s hands. She closed her eyes briefly, as if that simple gesture could banish the sensation from her mind. But it was useless. The memory of that moment seemed to have left a mark she couldn’t erase, no matter how hard she tried.

It was only when the clatter of silverware against her plate snapped her back to reality that she noticed Draco was still talking. His usual tone, full of superiority and enthusiasm, was starting to pierce through the barrier of her thoughts.

“… So, what do you think? Should I tell him? I’m sure you two would be the best at the ball!” Draco exclaimed, with a confidence as absolute as it was irritating.

Morwenna slowly raised her gaze, barely focusing on him, while her mind was still struggling to push away the images that haunted her. “Yes, yes, whatever…” she murmured at last, too drained to argue, too weary to contradict him.

Draco’s face lit up instantly, as if his cousin’s indifferent words were precisely the approval he’d been waiting for. “Perfect! I knew you’d see it my way!” he remarked with a polite smile, tilting his head slightly in triumph.

While Draco celebrated to himself, Morwenna let out a soft sigh. Though her cousin was delighted, she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that enveloped her. Her thoughts, always so insistent, slipped back once again to the echo of Neville’s voice and the shadow of that memory she so desperately wanted to forget. Morwenna stood in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, her expression as cold as the stone walls of the castle. Facing her, with a mocking grin and an air of careless confidence, was Cormac McLaggen—the boy who had recently become the center of countless rumors in the corridors of Hogwarts. One particular rumor had brought her here: the blatant lie that he and Morwenna had kissed.

“Who do you think you are?” Morwenna snapped, her voice laced with a restrained fury that could rival the roar of a lion, even though she wasn’t a Gryffindor. Her eyes sparkled dangerously as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him, her nails gleaming under the warm light of the torches.

Cormac, instead of backing down, simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, as if her anger was more amusing than threatening. “Oh, come on, Morwenna, don’t be like that. It’s just a bit of fun. Who’s it hurting, really? A little rumor never killed anyone,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension that almost made her lose her temper entirely.

“I didn’t even know you existed until a few days ago,” she shot back sharply, every word cutting like a blade. Her finger remained pointed at him, as if she could pierce through his arrogant facade with the sheer force of her glare.

For a moment, Cormac’s confidence seemed to falter, but he quickly recovered, leaning slightly toward her with a smile that was meant to be charming but only served to irritate her further. “Really? Well, it seems like now you know exactly who I am. And admit it, the rumor isn’t that far-fetched, is it? It could’ve happened…”

Morwenna felt anger surge through her like an uncontrollable wildfire. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to keep herself from completely losing her composure. “I’ll say this once, McLaggen. If I hear you spreading anything like that about me again, you’ll regret it. I don’t have time for attention-seeking children,” she said, her voice icy enough to make even Cormac tense slightly.

Cormac narrowed his eyes, his mocking grin twisting into a scowl of irritation. Morwenna’s defiant attitude no longer amused him; his wounded ego was beginning to show in the way he tilted his head and furrowed his brow.

“Oh, yeah?” he shot back, his voice now laced with venom. “Well, that’s not what some of the guys are saying…”

A chill ran down Morwenna’s spine, but she refused to let it show on her face.

“I’ve heard you’ll kiss just abut anyone,” he continued with cruel satisfaction, savoring each word as he studied her with eyes glinting with arrogance. “And, well… it wouldn’t hurt if I joined that list, would it?” he added, his tone dripping with suggestion as he stepped closer.

That was the final straw.

Before she could even process the disgust rising inside her, her body moved on pure instinct. In an instant, her wand was raised, aimed directly at McLaggen’s face.

“Slugulus Eructo!” she cast, her voice steady and blazing with fury.

The spell hit him squarely, and within seconds, Cormac doubled over, his expression shifting from smug to horrified. A sickening, wet sound filled the corridor as the first slug wriggled out of his mouth, followed by another… and another. His face turned pale with revulsion and rage as he fell to his knees, gagging and retching.

Morwenna watched him with a mix of satisfaction and disdain. “That’s the closest you’ll ever get to kissing a girl, you creep,” she spat, her voice carrying through the corridor with such force that several heads turned.

From the Gryffindor common room, a few students peeked out to see what was happening, while in the nearby hallways, conversations fell silent. A ripple of murmurs spread among those witnessing the scene, stunned by the confrontation—and even more so by the punishment Morwenna had just dealt to McLaggen.

But she was no longer there to hear their whispers or see their stares.

The anger that had burned so fiercely just moments ago vanished in an instant, leaving behind something much heavier, much more suffocating. Something inside her cracked at that moment, something that yanked her back to the memory she had fought so hard to bury.

Cormac’s words, his tone, his arrogance… it all reminded her too much of that day in the library.

Her eyes burned with tears before she could stop them. A crushing wave of helplessness hit her so hard she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, without even looking back, she spun on her heel and ran—away from the crowd, away from their stares, away from the pain threatening to consume her.

The minutes crawled by as Morwenna hid in the west courtyard, a secluded corner of the castle where few ever ventured. The cool afternoon air brushed against her skin, but it did nothing to ease the burning in her chest or stop the tremors in her hands. She hugged herself tightly, trying to stifle the sobs that still escaped her lips.

It was a quiet place—almost too quiet—save for the sound of her own crying and the soft whisper of the wind stirring the dry leaves scattered across the ground. But then, another sound made her tense. A crunch. The distinct crackling of leaves being stepped on.

Her body reacted before her mind did. Heart pounding, she spun around sharply, bracing herself to face whoever had followed her.

And she found herself face-to-face with Neville Longbottom.

The shock of it left them both frozen for a moment. He had walked straight toward her without realizing she was there, and now they stood so close that she could see the faint flush spreading across his cheeks. Neville awkwardly stepped back, mumbling something under his breath as he avoided her gaze.

Morwenna, however, didn’t look away. Her tears still glistened on her face, but something in her expression had shifted. There was no trace of the usual contempt with which she treated him, nor the disdain she often had for Gryffindors. Only exhaustion remained.

“Oh… it’s you,” she murmured, her voice dull, but lacking the sharp edge of hatred that usually colored her words.

Neville hesitated, as if unsure whether he should stay or leave. But something in his dark eyes—a mixture of concern and nervousness—made Morwenna, for the first time in a long while, feel no urge to put up her usual walls between them.

Neville took a step back, clearly unsure how to react to the situation. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude…” he murmured, turning toward the path he had come from, ready to leave as he had arrived.

But before he could take another step, Morwenna, with an unexpected impulse, stopped him. Her hand settled firmly on his arm, as if she didn’t want him to slip away, as if, for some reason, she needed him there.

“Uh… Neville… I…” Morwenna began, her words breaking, barely audible. It was as if the simple act of speaking to him made her unravel even more. Her words tumbled over one another, struggling to emerge, as the tears continued to fall.

“Thank you… for the library… you know, for stepping in…” she finally murmured, her tone lower now, but full of palpable gratitude.

Neville froze, surprised by the words he had just heard. It had been so long since they had had any real interaction, always wrapped in hurtful words and looks full of disdain. He never would have imagined that Morwenna, the same girl who had insulted and belittled him countless times, would now be thanking him for something as simple, yet significant, as this.

“I… I didn’t know what to say… but… well…” Neville stammered, still processing the situation. His gaze softened, and a small, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if, deep down, he couldn’t help but be touched by her gesture.

Morwenna stared at Neville, her eyes glassy as she fought to regain control over her emotions. Then, suddenly, the reality of the situation hit her. She realized just how vulnerable she must have looked to him, how exposed she was in that moment. A wave of shame washed over her, and her face turned a deep crimson.

In a sudden burst of discomfort, she pulled her hand away from Neville’s arm quickly, as though what had just happened had no place in her life. Her fingers trembled as they disconnected from him, and she hastily wiped away her tears, desperate to erase any trace of the vulnerability she had shown. She grabbed her bag without looking, taking a step back, her unease visible in every one of her movements.

In her haste, she stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, and dry leaves and dirt clung to her right knee and calf. A sharp sting shot up her leg, but she didn’t even pause to check; her only concern was getting away, escaping the discomfort she felt.

“This never happened! Don’t talk to me!” she shouted, her voice a mix of anger and embarrassment, as if pretending none of it had occurred was the only way to salvage what little of her pride remained.

Without waiting for a response, Morwenna spun around, walking briskly, almost slipping again as she rushed to leave. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and her hands, gripping her bag tightly, betrayed just how nervous and confused she felt. As she walked, the images of the library and Neville’s face kept echoing in her mind, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to be alone. She needed to distance herself from him, from the vulnerability she had just exposed.

The days passed slowly, but everything changed when, finally, the date of the long-awaited Yule Ball was announced. Morwenna, who had been eagerly waiting for that moment, found herself caught between excitement and fear. The ball had always been something she had idealized in her mind, a dream where magic and elegance came together, and in her fantasies, she had always imagined a handsome guy by her side, as if that would be the moment she would meet someone with whom to share her life, someone who would become everything to her. Of course, she thought that way every time she kissed a boy, even though the realities were far less ideal than her dreams.

As the days went by, she began to notice something she hadn’t before: Viktor Krum couldn’t take his eyes off her. Every time she entered the Great Hall, she felt his gaze fixed on her, as if she could feel the weight of his eyes even while he was talking to other boys or training with his team. His presence was constant, like a shadow in her line of sight. At first, Morwenna thought she was being paranoid, but when the glances continued even while he was with others, she started to wonder if there might be something more behind it. She then remembered her cousin Draco mentioning Krum in some conversation, suggesting that he might be a good option for her, though at the time she hadn’t paid much attention to that advice.

The glances became a regular thing, but one day, the situation changed abruptly. Krum approached her unexpectedly, and Morwenna felt her heart race with every step he took toward her.

With his deep voice and sweet Bulgarian accent, Krum sat next to her, making his presence feel even more imposing. For a moment, they both stayed silent, as if the air around them became thick. However, it was he who broke the ice, his words filled with a confidence that took her breath away.

“Hello, beautiful Evangeline…” he said, using her second name in such a natural way that Morwenna blushed instantly. It was one of those small things she hadn’t seen coming, something that disarmed her effortlessly.

“I’ve heard very good things about you, both mentally and physically,” he continued, his tone so direct that it made her cheeks burn with a deep blush.

Morwenna didn’t know how to react, surprised by the boldness of his words, but also by the way he said them, so serious, so intense. Before she could process it, Viktor took her hand with a gentleness that didn’t seem to match his imposing figure, and kissed it delicately. His touch was firm, yet at the same time, as if he wanted to make sure she understood what that gesture meant.

The sensation of his lips touching her skin made Morwenna lose her breath, her face completely red. The power of Krum’s gaze, the intensity of his presence, made her heart race, while an uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach. She tried to process what had just happened, but the words seemed to slip away from her mind.

“V-Viktor, right?” she whispered, her voice trembling, unable to believe he was there, in front of her, speaking to her in such a close, direct manner. The mixture of surprise and a strange emotion she couldn’t identify overtook her.

Krum smiled slightly, never taking his eyes off her, and Morwenna could see a spark of amusement in his gaze. Despite the discomfort she felt, something in her chest, deep inside, was awakening. It was a confusing sensation, as if she were trapped between surprise and the desire to see what else would happen in this unexpected encounter.

Morwenna was so lost in her thoughts, caught up in the intensity of Krum’s gaze, that she failed to notice Neville Longbottom watching her from a nearby table. Her mind was still spinning from what had just happened, from the soft brush of his lips on her hand and the way Krum looked at her with that overwhelming fascination. She couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted from her, why he was behaving that way.

But Morwenna’s focus wasn’t on what was happening around her. Instead, her thoughts drifted, caught between confusion, admiration, and a strange emotion that made it hard for her to process everything she was feeling. What she didn’t see, however, was Longbottom’s gaze, fixed on her from across the room as he sat at a table with Ginny Weasley, lost in their studies.

Neville, upon realizing what was happening between Morwenna and Krum, couldn’t help but feel a wave of disgust. His face tightened, and his brow furrowed so intensely that it seemed as though he might pour his disdain over the entire table. It wasn’t just a look of discomfort; it was pure revulsion. Even though Ginny tried to talk to him, Neville couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening in front of him. Every gesture from Krum, every word he directed at Morwenna, seemed to anger him more. The way the Bulgarian looked at her, so confident, so imposing, not only irritated him, but seemed to stir something deeper, something he couldn’t quite identify.

Ginny, noticing Neville’s shift in mood, cast him a questioning glance, but he barely acknowledged her, so absorbed was he in what he was witnessing. His expression was a mix of frustration and something more profound—an unease that gnawed at him as he watched Morwenna, so indifferent to everything around her, so completely absorbed in Krum’s attention.

Unable to hide his disgust any longer, Neville finally diverted his gaze, focusing back on the books in front of him. But even as he did, something inside him kept stirring, something he couldn’t silence.

The days passed quickly, and finally, the moment of the grand dance rehearsal organized by Professor McGonagall arrived. After weeks of announcements, rehearsals, and much speculation, the day came when all the students of Hogwarts would gather to practice their steps for the Yule Ball. The Great Hall, usually spacious, was now packed with students of all ages. The heat was unbearable, and the buzz of the crowd made the atmosphere even denser. The tables, typically arranged in perfect order, had been rearranged to allow students to line up, but it was still nearly impossible to find space. The air felt heavy, and the discomfort was reflected in many faces.

McGonagall, as always, maintained absolute control over the situation. With her usual seriousness, she began calling students one by one, inviting them to step forward to show off their dance skills. She had promised to award five points to each student who impressed others with their dancing prowess, and as expected, many volunteered eagerly, eager to earn those precious points for their house.

However, what no one expected was that McGonagall, in an unexpected twist, decided that students would not only showcase their solo dance skills but would also have to dance with a partner assigned by her. The air in the hall became even tenser, as many exchanged confused glances, wondering who they would be paired with.

The shock was immense when, amid murmurs and nervous laughter, McGonagall called on Morwenna Lestrange and Neville Longbottom. The professor, with her upright posture and unyielding gaze, paired them together, despite the clear discomfort on both their faces.

Morwenna couldn’t believe what was happening. Her face, usually so commanding and confident, showed a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Her expression twisted into a grimace of distaste as, with a defiant attitude, she tried to avoid the situation.

“Uh… Professor, are you sure I can’t be paired with…?” Morwenna murmured, trying to keep her voice low so no one would hear. She was desperate to avoid the humiliation of dancing with Longbottom, the boy she had always looked down on. However, to her misfortune, McGonagall, with her unrelenting authority, responded to her protest aloud.

“Not a chance, Lestrange. You must respect the pairing I’ve chosen. No changes allowed. Deal with it,” the professor said, her tone firm and final, as she continued organizing the other pairs.

Morwenna, now completely trapped in the situation, could hear the muffled laughs rising among the students. Some, unable to contain themselves, whispered to each other, while others watched with a mix of surprise and amusement. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t go unnoticed, and the curious eyes of others seemed heavy, almost as if they were enjoying the drama unfolding before them.

Neville, for his part, didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more embarrassed by the attention the scene was attracting. Though his expression remained relatively neutral, Morwenna could see in his face that he wasn’t enjoying the situation any more than she was. But what frustrated Morwenna the most was the obvious truth: she was trapped. And the thought of having to dance with Longbottom, someone she had despised and ridiculed for so long, made her feel as if she were losing a part of herself.

The atmosphere grew even denser when Neville, though a bit awkward, placed his hand on Morwenna’s waist. The softness of the contact made Morwenna shiver, as if every inch of her skin had reacted to the touch of Neville’s hand. The reaction was immediate and visceral; she grabbed his shoulder tightly, almost as if trying to avoid any kind of closeness, but her fingers inadvertently dug into his skin, leaving a faint mark from her nails. Neville, surprised by the intensity of her grip, let out a puff of air, the tension between them now palpable.

The music began to play, and without warning, their bodies moved in unison, as if they had become an extension of each other. The rhythm of the melody, gentle yet persistent, seemed to spark something between them, an inexplicable connection. Morwenna, although tense at first, began to feel surprised by how effortlessly their movements matched. It wasn’t that she was enjoying the situation, but something inside her began to recognize the fluidity with which they moved together, as if the initial discomfort disappeared with each step they took.

Despite the tension and surprise, they became more than just two people forced to dance together. The fact that they had never communicated smoothly beyond the sharp and awkward words didn’t stop them from moving as if they had been doing it all their lives. It was a bewildering contrast: he, usually clumsy and shy, and she, used to controlling the situation, now moved forward as if they understood each other without needing to speak.

Morwenna, still uncomfortable, couldn’t help but feel a trace of astonishment as she realized that, somehow, they were perfectly in sync. Their feet seemed to move almost autonomously, and as their bodies spun, she couldn’t help but glance at Neville, noticing a mixture of concentration on his face—and something else. She couldn’t put a name to it, but she felt it. As if, for the first time, the situation was beyond frustration or anger, and was touching a new form of connection.

Despite everything that had happened before, everything she had thought about him, Morwenna couldn’t deny that, in that moment, there was something inexplicably captivating in how their bodies, despite their differences, moved together.

After a series of flawless spins and steps, they were the only ones left dancing until the end of the song. The others, either exhausted or uncomfortable, had long since exited the dance floor, abandoning it in the midst of the music’s crescendo. But they continued, somehow, completely absorbed in the moment. Each movement seemed to flow with an almost magical precision, and the connection between them, which had started as something awkward and tense, was transforming into something so fluid that it felt as if the music itself had possessed them. The movements were not just a coordination of steps; there was something more, a tacit understanding that grew with each turn. It was as if they were both in a shared trance, completely immersed in what they were doing.

However, like all good things, the song came to an end. The final chord resonated in the air, and at that precise moment, a loud round of applause burst through the atmosphere, shattering the bubble they had been in. They both separated abruptly, as if a thunderclap had struck between them. Suddenly, the electricity that had been hanging in the air dissipated, and with it, the moment vanished, leaving them back in the same discomfort that had defined their relationship from the start.

Morwenna quickly took a step back, her face now flushed with the embarrassment and awkwardness of what had just happened. What had once been near-perfect synchronization now felt like an invasion of her personal space. She wasn’t sure what she had felt, but that same closeness that had seemed so seamless before now felt foreign, even strange. As she tried to compose herself, she noticed that Neville, also puzzled, stepped back, his expression mirroring her own confusion.

“Bravo! Spectacular!” Professor McGonagall clapped enthusiastically, her excitement unmistakable as she held the vinyl record, clearly waiting to change it. Her face gleamed with satisfaction at having achieved what she had intended, though the atmosphere between the two dancers was far more tense than she had anticipated.

Morwenna and Neville exchanged a fleeting glance, full of discomfort, before their eyes shifted to the floor, as if that simple gesture would allow them to avoid the inevitable. The break in the moment had been as abrupt as the dance itself, and now, amidst the laughter and applause filling the Great Hall, they returned to their original positions: him, the awkward and shy Neville, and her, the ever-proud and reserved Morwenna. The magic that had existed, even if just for a brief moment, had evaporated, leaving only the echo of what had just transpired between them.

tags

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

introduction: Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange was born on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow her destiny. Daughter of the feared marriage of Death Eaters Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her arrival into the world was marked by the echo of dark magic and power.

Barely a year after her birth, her parents were arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for their active involvement in the First Wizarding War. They were loyal accomplices of Lord Voldemort, committing acts of unspeakable cruelty. With her parents behind bars, the guardianship of Morwenna fell to her aunt Narcisa Malfoy, who had also given birth to a son that same year. Thus, Gelinne and her cousin Draco were raised together in the opulent Malfoy Manor, under the strict supervision of Lucius.

From an early age, Gelinne was taught the most elegant and refined manners. Lucius Malfoy insisted that, as a pureblood, she must maintain an impeccable appearance and impeccable conduct. Morwenna’s education was rigorous, designed to instill in her the values and superiority of her lineage.

Over the years, Gelinne grew up alongside Draco, sharing not only their education but also the ignorance of her parents’ crimes. She knew of them only by their names and their portraits, imposing and mysterious figures that adorned the walls of the manor.

Finally, the anticipated moment came to attend the prestigious school of magic, Hogwarts. Alongside her cousin Draco, Morwenna quickly earned the respect of her fellow Slytherins and other students, thanks to her distinguished bearing and innate magical ability.

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

Chapter two: Gurdyroot

Morwenna tried to push her thoughts aside as she recalled how her aunt, Andromeda, had reluctantly agreed to let her spend a week at Malfoy Manor. It had all been Draco’s idea, presented as a chance for them to get to know each other better. Yet, something in Andromeda’s gaze when she gave her consent unsettled Morwenna. It was as if her aunt knew something she wasn’t privy to.

Now, sitting in the Hogwarts Express compartment with Draco, Morwenna watched the blurred scenery rushing past the window. The journey back to the station was steeped in an odd silence. Draco, his nearly white blonde hair perfectly styled and his demeanor as arrogant as ever, seemed lost in his own thoughts—or at least pretended to be.

The compartment wasn’t empty. Across from them sat three house-elves sent to escort them. Each one looked more unpleasant than the last, with long ears and grayish skin that gave them an eerie, nightmare-like appearance. One of them kept coughing in a grating, raspy way, another scratched its arm incessantly with twisted nails, and the smallest of the three was so jittery it couldn’t keep its eyes fixed on anything.

Morwenna tried not to stare, but their presence made the already tense atmosphere feel even heavier. She shifted her focus to Draco, hoping he’d say something—anything—to break the oppressive silence. But he merely crossed his arms and stared out the window, his expression of boredom perfectly practiced.

When the train finally arrived at the station, they disembarked slowly, followed by the house-elves lugging their trunks and bags. Waiting for them was a black carriage pulled by Thestrals, shrouded in a mist that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Though they couldn’t see the creatures pulling it, Morwenna shivered at the hollow sound of hooves on stone and the faint rustling of wings that dissipated into the breeze.

The ride in the carriage was as quiet as the train ride had been. The house-elves were crammed into a corner, muttering in a language she couldn’t understand, while Draco lounged back, exuding nonchalance with a calculating glint in his gray eyes. Morwenna clung to the window, her gaze fixed on the darkened landscape as she tried to steady the whirlwind of thoughts crowding her mind.

There was something unsettling about the idea of spending a week at Malfoy Manor, an unease she couldn’t quite name but felt like a shadow lurking at the edges of her consciousness.

When they arrived at their destination, the house-elves began unloading everything with astonishing speed. With a simple snap of their fingers, the enormous black carriage that had brought them shrank instantly, transforming into a small, delicate object that looked like an intricate toy. Morwenna watched in fascination as a hand, gloved in fine black leather, reached forward to pick it up with precision. The hand belonged to a tall, slender man whose platinum blond hair was perfectly slicked back.

He took the tiny carriage and, without a word, slipped it into the deep pocket of an impeccably tailored black jacket that looked as expensive as it was intimidating. His entire figure radiated a blend of elegance and coldness that was hard to ignore. When Morwenna looked up at his face, she was met with an ironic, slightly forced smile. There was something in his gaze that unsettled her—a calculating scrutiny, as though he were measuring every detail about her in mere seconds.

Beside him, in stark contrast, stood a woman of refined beauty. Her golden blonde hair, sleek and styled to perfection, cascaded in soft waves that framed her pale face. Her piercing light eyes held a glimmer of unexpected kindness, softening her expression. This was, undoubtedly, Narcissa Malfoy—the aunt Andromeda had mentioned so often.

“Welcome, Morwenna,” Narcissa said with a warm smile, stepping forward to greet her. Her voice was gentle and melodic, but carried an undeniable air of authority that didn’t need to be asserted.

Morwenna, still slightly thrown off by the impression the man—who she guessed must be Lucius Malfoy—had made on her, inclined her head slightly in greeting, trying to recall the lessons on decorum her Aunt Andromeda had always emphasized.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” she replied politely, though her tone carried a mix of curiosity and caution.

Lucius said nothing at first, merely observing her with his distant and calculating air. At last, he gave a slight nod before turning his attention to Draco, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed, acting as though the entire scene was beneath his notice.

“I trust our guest knows how to conduct herself in a manner befitting her name,” Lucius said in a low, silky voice laced with implicit venom.

Morwenna felt a shiver run down her spine, but before she could reply, Narcissa placed a hand on her husband’s arm, a silent gesture that seemed to calm him without words.

“Come, dear,” Narcissa said gently, ignoring Lucius’s remark. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure the journey has been exhausting, and everything is ready to make you feel at home.”

Morwenna nodded, though something in the air—or perhaps in the way Lucius looked at her—made it clear that the days ahead in Malfoy Manor would be far from peaceful.

In truth, Morwenna’s presence at Malfoy Manor had not been Draco’s whim, but Lucius’s design. The patriarch of the Malfoy family deemed it crucial that the young Lestrange understand her roots, her lineage, and most importantly, the power she was destined to claim as a descendant of one of the most illustrious and feared magical families. For Lucius, this visit was the perfect opportunity to mold her, to draw her closer to the Dark Arts, as he had already done with his own son.

After settling into one of the mansion’s grand bedrooms—adorned with green velvet curtains and intricately carved dark wood furniture—Morwenna decided to explore. The hallways seemed endless, every corner cloaked in mystery. Portraits followed her with their eyes, chandeliers cast dancing shadows, and glass cases held magical artifacts that seemed to whisper secrets to anyone who dared to get too close.

As she wandered, nearly lost, a soft, hurried sound made her pause. Suddenly, a house-elf appeared before her, as if it had materialized from the shadows. Small, gray-skinned, and sharp-eared, the elf looked agitated, its expression a mix of nervousness and urgency.

“Miss Lestrange, Miss Lestrange!” it stammered in a high-pitched, melodic voice, its eyes darting about as though it feared being seen.

Morwenna frowned, intrigued. “What is it? Why the rush?” she asked, leaning slightly toward the elf to hear better.

The tiny creature opened its mouth as if about to confess something, but just as it was on the verge of speaking, a chill ran down Morwenna’s spine. A cold hand settled on her shoulder, startling her. The elf jumped and stumbled back several steps, nearly tripping in the process.

“It’s time for dinner,” came the icy, calculated voice of Lucius Malfoy. His tone brooked no argument, and though his face bore a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes.

Morwenna turned her head to look at him, her heart racing. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as if he knew exactly what was happening and had taken pleasure in disrupting it.

The elf, terrified, gave a clumsy bow before vanishing in the blink of an eye, leaving Morwenna alone with Lucius.

“Come along, dear,” he said with a disturbing softness, his hand remaining on her shoulder as he guided her down the hallway toward the dining room. “We wouldn’t want dinner to get cold. And remember, this is your home too… at least while you’re here.”

Morwenna nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling heavily on her as they walked.

A few seemingly quiet days passed, though the atmosphere in Malfoy Manor remained tense and cold, as if every word and gesture were carefully calculated. Morwenna couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider, watched closely by everyone—especially Lucius, whose presence was as imposing as it was unsettling.

The next day, Lucius and Narcissa decided to take her to visit several properties belonging to the Black family. The estates were grand, steeped in history that seemed to cling to the marble floors, the tapestry-covered walls, and the towering windows that let in only the faintest light.

In one of the houses, Narcissa led her to a room that felt like a mausoleum of lineage and pride. One entire wall was taken up by an enormous family tree painted with meticulous detail. The names of the Black family members shimmered in golden script under the soft glow of floating lamps.

“This is our legacy, Morwenna,” Narcissa said softly, gesturing to the tree. “Here lie our roots, our triumphs, and… our betrayals.”

Her finger paused at a specific point where a name had been burned away, leaving a charred void. Morwenna frowned, immediately recognizing where her Aunt Andromeda’s name should have been.

“Andromeda…” she murmured, almost to herself.

“She was a mistake,” Narcissa said, her voice laced with barely restrained disapproval. “She turned her back on her lineage and married a Mudblood. That’s what happens when one forgets who they are and where they come from.”

Morwenna didn’t respond, her gaze following the tree’s branches. She scanned the unfamiliar names until her eyes landed on two she knew all too well: her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, and her father, Rodolphus.

She stepped closer, studying the portraits cautiously. Though stylized in the tree’s artistic design, the faces of her parents seemed to burn with a strange intensity. Their gazes, even painted, unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

Slowly, she reached out toward her mother’s face, as if searching for some connection in the cold, painted surface. Her fingertips hovered inches away when a voice broke through her thoughts.

“Morwenna,” Narcissa called, her tone firm but not harsh, a warning wrapped in gentleness. Startled, Morwenna pulled her hand back, turning quickly to face her aunt. “It’s easy to get lost in memories of the past,” Narcissa said, stepping closer. “But remember, the past doesn’t always hold the answers you’re looking for. Sometimes, looking back too much can be dangerous.”

The days passed in an uneasy stillness, the tension within Malfoy Manor palpable, as if the walls themselves bristled with secrets. Morwenna had grown accustomed to the cold glances and measured words, but today, in front of the Black family tree, the weight of her ancestry pressed down on her more heavily than ever.

She stared at the charred void where Andromeda’s name had been obliterated, her thoughts tangled in questions she couldn’t yet ask. Narcissa’s words, spoken with calm authority, still hung in the air, wrapping around her like a cold mist. Unable to bear the silence any longer, she finally spoke.

“I… I don’t understand, Aunt Narcissa,” Morwenna said softly, her gaze still fixed on her mother’s name. “I don’t know anything about my mother. Andromeda never told me much… only that she died in the Wizarding War.”

At this, Narcissa froze. Her usually composed expression faltered, her eyes widening slightly in shock before narrowing with a mixture of disdain and disbelief. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice low but sharp, each word clipped with irritation.

Morwenna shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of her aunt’s scrutiny. “Andromeda told me my parents died in the war,” she repeated, though the words sounded less certain now, as if cracks were forming in the foundation of what she thought she knew.

“Died in the war?” Narcissa repeated, her voice dripping with contempt. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Of course, Andromeda would say that. She always did have a talent for twisting the truth to suit her whims.”

Morwenna’s heart quickened. “So… it’s not true?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the first threads of doubt unraveling her carefully constructed understanding.

Narcissa sighed, long and deliberate, as though preparing herself to shatter the fragile lie. She stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Morwenna’s shoulder, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“No, Morwenna,” she said with a cold finality, her words as sharp as a blade. “It’s not true. Your parents, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, are not dead. They’re alive… though they might wish they weren’t. They’re in Azkaban.”

The name struck like a thunderclap. Azkaban. Morwenna’s legs felt weak, her breath shallow. “Azkaban?” she echoed, her voice trembling. “Why… why are they there? What did they do?”

Narcissa’s expression hardened, pride flickering in her ice-blue eyes. “They were loyal servants of the Dark Lord—of Lord Voldemort,” she said, her tone reverent yet unyielding. “They fought for him, sacrificed for him. And when he fell, they didn’t waver. Your parents, along with a few others, sought vengeance. They captured the Longbottoms—Dumbledore’s allies—and used the Cruciatus Curse to extract information about his whereabouts.”

The words sent a chill through Morwenna’s body. Her mind flashed back to Neville Longbottom, his voice trembling with fury in the Great Hall: “Your parents tortured mine!” It had been a dagger then, but now the truth plunged deeper, the wound raw and bleeding.

“And… and that’s why they’re in Azkaban?” she managed to ask, her voice barely audible.

“For that, and because they refused to betray their ideals,” Narcissa replied, her voice steady, almost admiring. “Your parents believed in the purity of magic, in the greatness of their cause. And they never repented. Not once. Bellatrix, especially, was… indomitable.”

Morwenna stood rooted to the spot, her emotions swirling—fear, confusion, and something unnameable, a strange pride she couldn’t fully understand or accept.

“That’s why I’m so astonished, Morwenna,” Narcissa continued, her gaze piercing. “Andromeda hid all of this from you. Perhaps she wanted to protect you from the truth, or perhaps she’s ashamed of our family. But I won’t do the same. You’re a Lestrange, and you deserve to know who your parents were and what they stood for.”

Morwenna looked up, her thoughts spinning in chaotic loops. “Do you think I should… know more about them?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course you should,” Narcissa said firmly, stepping closer. “You carry the blood of the Blacks and the Lestranges in your veins. That’s not just blood, Morwenna—it’s power, history, legacy. And while Andromeda may have tried to erase that part of you, it’s time for you to claim it.”

Morwenna remained silent, her mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. Deep within her, a seed of curiosity—and something darker—began to sprout. Narcissa’s words resonated, undeniable in their truth. It was time to uncover the past, to understand who she truly was… even if that truth could change everything.

The sound of Narcissa’s heels echoed through the silent mansion, marking the steps of her elegant and cold figure as she approached the sofa where Lucius Malfoy rested, in an equally tense posture. The wine glass in his hand made a faint tinkling sound as she sat on the armrest of the sofa, her proximity to her husband almost perfect, as if in that physical space there also resided an emotional disconnect.

“Have you spoken to her about that?” Lucius’s voice cut through the air, low and controlled, as always. His eyes gleamed with an icy intensity as he took a sip of his wine, waiting for Narcissa’s response. The question needed no clarification; they both knew what he was referring to.

Narcissa looked at him for a moment, her face set in a serene yet calculating expression. For a second, her blue eyes softened, showing a hint of concern that only a keen observer could detect.

“Yes,” she answered calmly. “Morwenna knows the truth about her parents. At least, what she needs to know… though she doesn’t fully understand it.”

Lucius studied her for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the glass, as though he were contemplating the implications of her words. “And what do you hope to achieve with that?” he asked at last, his tone tinged with a cold curiosity. “Do you expect her to align with our ideals, as her mother and father did? Or do you want her to become a tool for a greater purpose?”

Narcissa let out a small smile, which did little to ease the tension between them. “Morwenna has her own path to follow, Lucius. I’m not trying to force her into anything. But it’s clear she can’t continue living in ignorance, as Andromeda has kept her. She’s a Lestrange, and it’s time she understood what it really means to be one.”

Lucius nodded slowly, but his gaze never lost that calculating coldness that characterized him. “We must ensure she’s not a weakness, Narcissa. A weak piece in a game that no longer has room for mistakes.”

Narcissa looked at her husband for a moment, her eyes glimmering with a mix of love and disdain. “She won’t be,” she said firmly, assuring that Morwenna would not fall into the shadows of ignorance, but without revealing all the nuances of her own thoughts.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and palpable, as both of them lost themselves in their own reflections. Morwenna, in her distant room, remained unaware of the conversation, immersed in the echoes of the day’s revelations. In the distance, the wind hit the windows of the mansion, making the cold night feel even darker.

tags:

(If you don’t want me to tag you, let me know, and if it’s the opposite, let me know as well)

𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖!

ღ pairing: Neville Longbottom × OCfem!Lestrange

ღ summary: Morwenna Evangelinne Lestrange was born on October 31, 1980, on a dark and stormy night that seemed to foreshadow her destiny. Daughter of the feared marriage of Death Eaters Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange, her arrival into the world was marked by the echo of dark magic and power.

Barely a year after her birth, her parents were arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban for their active involvement in the First Wizarding War. They were loyal accomplices of Lord Voldemort, committing acts of unspeakable cruelty. With her parents behind bars, the guardianship of Morwenna fell to her aunt Narcisa Malfoy, who had also given birth to a son that same year. Thus, Gelinne and her cousin Draco were raised together in the opulent Malfoy Manor, under the strict supervision of Lucius.

From an early age, Gelinne was taught the most elegant and refined manners. Lucius Malfoy insisted that, as a pureblood, she must maintain an impeccable appearance and impeccable conduct. Morwenna's education was rigorous, designed to instill in her the values and superiority of her lineage.

Over the years, Gelinne grew up alongside Draco, sharing not only their education but also the ignorance of her parents' crimes. She knew of them only by their names and their portraits, imposing and mysterious figures that adorned the walls of the manor.

Finally, the anticipated moment came to attend the prestigious school of magic, Hogwarts. Alongside her cousin Draco, Morwenna quickly earned the respect of her fellow Slytherins and other students, thanks to her distinguished bearing and innate magical ability.

ღ warning: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress, sex…

ღ a/n: this is a work created by me, which means I haven't relied on anyone or anything to make it, and I don't accept any adaptation or translation since l've already taken care of both myself c:

————————》✧《—————————

ღ chapter one

ღ chapter two

ღ chapter three

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, actions without consent, obligations, distress, 0anic attack…

words: 3,5k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

Chapter three: Devil Snare

The years passed in the blink of an eye, and with each one, Morwenna seemed to transform before the eyes of those around her. Her character, once curious and somewhat naïve, began to take on an unmistakable air of haughtiness. She walked through the halls of Hogwarts with her head held high, her confident steps echoing with the same arrogance her cousin Draco and his entourage exuded. To many, there was no doubt she was a Lestrange: pure blood and ambition flowed through her veins, or at least that’s what her demeanor and behavior suggested.

However, what few suspected was that behind that arrogant façade lay a far more complex truth. Morwenna wasn’t truly like Draco or his friends; she didn’t entirely share their disdain for others or their apparent certainty in the supremacy of purebloods. But she had learned to play that role with unsettling mastery.

Draco’s influence had been inevitable. From the moment she arrived at Malfoy Manor, she had been exposed to his worldview, his taunts, his biting remarks, and the camaraderie he shared with his group. Crabbe and Goyle would laugh at anything Draco said, and Pansy Parkinson looked at her with a feigned respect that always felt uncomfortable. Morwenna, though initially distant, soon realized that keeping her distance was a dangerous option. So, she decided to adapt.

She became an actress in her own life. She pretended to laugh at Draco’s cruel remarks, even though they often made her stomach churn. She mimicked his arrogant tone when they spoke about other students, though in her mind she questioned every word. Her façade was flawless: the proud cousin of Draco Malfoy, a young Lestrange who didn’t hesitate to assert her place in the magical world.

But at night, when the castle fell silent and the masks faded, Morwenna faced herself. Sometimes she recalled the words of Andromeda, her true mentor, about right and wrong, and she wondered if she was betraying everything she had once been taught. Yet, she also thought of the pressure from the Malfoy family, of Narcissa’s expectations, and of Lucius’s cold, calculating gaze. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t had become her only means of survival.

Despite her façade, there were moments when her true nature surfaced. When she saw a first-year student trip and become the target of ridicule, her first instinct was to help, though she quickly suppressed the impulse to avoid appearing weak. In classes, she excelled in magic, but she preferred to downplay her achievements to avoid drawing too much attention. Everything was carefully calculated, every move part of a delicate balance between maintaining her façade and preserving a shred of her true self.

The arrogance she projected was armor—armor that shielded her from judgment, rejection, and, above all, the possibility that someone might discover she was not, and never would be, entirely a Lestrange like her parents or as Draco wanted her to be.

It was an ordinary day in Morwenna’s second year at Hogwarts, and the castle corridors were bustling with students rushing about, chatting and laughing. Morwenna, however, walked in silence, her gaze cast down, lost in her own thoughts. Her mind wandered between her pending assignments and Draco’s latest remarks when, suddenly, a jarring collision snapped her out of her reverie.

A student had bumped into her, and before she could react, all her belongings tumbled to the floor with a clatter—quills, parchments, and an enormous Potions book that landed squarely on her foot.

“For Merlin’s sake!” Morwenna cried, gritting her teeth as a sharp pain shot through her big toe. Instinctively, she bent down, clutching her foot, and let out a muttered curse. “Who in the name of—?!”

Looking up, her eyes locked with those of Neville Longbottom, who stood frozen in front of her, his face red with embarrassment and his hands trembling.

“Of course, a useless klutz. Who else could it be?” Morwenna snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm and anger as she leaned down to rub her aching foot. Her tone was laced with contempt, and the hateful glare she shot upward could have made anyone shrink back.

Neville seemed to shrink under the weight of her words at first, but something in his expression shifted almost immediately. For a fleeting moment, he had stepped forward, reaching out a hand to help her, as he often did even with those who didn’t deserve it. But then reality struck him like lightning.

Lestrange.

The name echoed bitterly in his mind, conjuring memories of his parents and that night—the night they were tortured into madness by Bellatrix Lestrange. The initial empathy in his eyes vanished, replaced by an anger rarely seen in him.

“Stupid idiot, get out of my sight,” Morwenna spat coldly, still rubbing her sore foot. Neville, without a word, quickly gathered his things and walked away. But this time, it wasn’t the timid, submissive retreat many expected from him. His jaw was set, and his fists were clenched tightly.

As he moved away, Neville muttered something under his breath, low enough that Morwenna couldn’t hear. It was rare for him to curse anyone, even those who treated him cruelly, but this time he couldn’t stop himself. Just being near her, someone bearing that name, churned his stomach.

The small moments of hatred, both big and small, accumulated over the months and years, like a poisonous spiral that only fed on their mutual contempt. Every time they crossed paths in the hallways, the air would thicken with hostility. Their exchanges of words were always sharp, and their glances were like poisoned knives. It seemed as if they both lived to ruin each other’s day with nothing more than their presence.

It was Morwenna’s third year, and, to her misfortune, they shared a Transfiguration class. The moment Neville arrived late, as was his custom, he had no choice but to sit in front of her. A gesture that, of course, caused an almost malicious smile to spread across Morwenna’s face.

She knew that day would be entertaining. As Professor McGonagall began the lesson, Morwenna had already begun to plot her little revenge. With a subtle and discreet spell, she cast a clumsiness jinx on Neville, hoping to watch him stumble once more under her influence. And as expected, the poor boy did everything he could to perform the spell assigned to them, but only managed to make a fool of himself in front of the class, drawing laughter from his classmates and a stern look from McGonagall.

Morwenna couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, though she did so loudly enough for Neville to hear. Pansy, sitting beside her, also let out a mocking laugh as she watched the boy sink deeper into ridicule.

While McGonagall was busy correcting another student, Morwenna seized the opportunity to make her move. She leaned slightly forward, without moving from her seat, and, with her arm extended, gave Neville’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before quickly slipping a note torn from a parchment into his hands. The note, covered in animated scribbles, read: “Your wand must be broken, because even the simplest spell doesn’t know what to do with your clumsiness.” The note was accompanied by a cruel cartoon of Neville being singed by his own spell, a drawing sure to make anyone who read it laugh. The laughter behind Neville only made him feel more humiliated.

“Your ability to cast spells is so weak that even your frog could learn faster than you,” Morwenna whispered with a twisted smile, as she slowly withdrew, returning to her seat as if nothing had happened. As she sat back down, she watched Neville from over the edge of her desk, seeing the red color creeping up his neck. However, she didn’t care. For her, watching him sink into shame was a small personal pleasure, and the day couldn’t have gone better.

Although her smile still lingered on her face, something inside her tormented her. A small but persistent knot in her stomach slowly began to form as she watched Neville wipe his sleeve across his face, an involuntary gesture that betrayed what he was probably trying to hide: a tear that had escaped. The relief she had felt from seeing his humiliation faded for a moment, replaced by an uncomfortable sensation that she couldn’t quite identify.

Morwenna’s smile slowly dissolved, turning into a strange, almost imperceptible grimace, which she tried to mask by keeping her eyes fixed on her desk. She didn’t want to look at anyone, not even Pansy, who was still laughing beside her. A cold unease settled in her chest, something she had never experienced before in the midst of such a clear victory. Why, after all, did it bother her to see Neville like this?

She glanced at her notebook, but the words seemed blurry. The knot in her stomach was still there, growing, as if what she had just done had left a mark that couldn’t be easily erased. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off that uncomfortable feeling that didn’t seem to align with the person she was trying to be.

In the last term of their third year, Neville and Morwenna shared the same Divination class, which made it an experience Morwenna always enjoyed.

Professor Trelawney moved from student to student, asking about their visions, and Morwenna seized the moment when attention was diverted from her to slip silently to Neville’s side. No one heard her approach.

“Are you sure you can see anything in that ball, Longbottom?” she whispered, her tone sharp as a dagger, but loud enough for some of the nearby students to hear.

Neville looked up, confused and annoyed. “Go back to your disgusting seat, I don’t need any opinions, especially not yours.”

“Of course you don’t,” she continued, a flash of malice in her eyes. “Because all I see there is a dark future. A future where you become a great wizard? I don’t think so. More like one where you’re still the laughingstock of everyone, right?”

The group of nearby students couldn’t help but laugh at her remark. Neville’s face turned red, and his gaze immediately dropped to the table, feeling the weight of their laughter on him.

Morwenna didn’t let the moment slip by without adding her final touch of poison. “Aren’t you ashamed, Neville? You’re so lost that not even your visions of the future can save you.”

The laughter grew among the students. Neville trembled slightly, his nervous hands gripping the crystal ball as if it were his only anchor in the world.

At that moment, Professor Trelawney, with her large glasses and dreamy gaze, approached their group. “What’s going on here, Morwenna? Aren’t you learning about the true magic of the future?”

Morwenna feigned surprise, placing a hand on her chest theatrically. “Oh, professor, I’m just giving Neville a little… inspiration, so he can see what’s ahead of him. After all, he has so much to learn.”

Neville looked to Trelawney, seeking help, but the professor didn’t seem to notice the cruel tone in Morwenna’s words, lost in her own esoteric thoughts.

“Interesting,” murmured Trelawney, oblivious to the harm. “Perhaps that’s an omen of what’s to come, Neville. Trust your intuition.”

Morwenna returned to her seat with a victorious smile, knowing that, once again, she had left her mark. Although Trelawney continued speaking about the future, Morwenna knew she had won: Neville wouldn’t be able to shake off that bitter taste, and the whispers among the other students would confirm that everyone knew what she had done.

As the end of the school year approached and her fourth year began, Morwenna had solidified herself as one of the most admired Slytherins at all of Hogwarts. Her beauty, a blend of features inherited from the Blacks and the Lestranges, made her stand out in any crowd, but it was her ability to manipulate situations to her advantage that made her truly dangerous. While she possessed a natural charisma, that was just one facet of her complexity. No one could deny that, despite her cold facade, she had the ability to adapt and win the sympathy of those around her.

The boys, especially the older ones, seemed to fall at her feet. Many of the sixth and seventh years sought her attention, inviting her to stroll through Hogsmeade or simply spend time with her, hoping for something more than just companionship. They were shrewd, manipulative, and Morwenna, with her growing confidence, often fell into their traps. She knew how to take advantage of others, but she also understood that in this game, the more experienced players sometimes held the upper hand.

On the fourth day of the new year, as the first leaves of autumn fell outside, Morwenna received an invitation to meet in the library. A boy from a higher year had asked her to meet him that night, under the pretense of studying together. The chosen location was discreet and secluded, in the G section of books, right in a hidden corner that couldn’t be seen from the librarian’s desk. The library, that sanctuary of knowledge, thus became the perfect setting for what she thought would be a simple study session, or at least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

The boy, with dark hair and bright eyes, seemed like an excellent opportunity for Morwenna: someone with more experience in everything, someone who could teach her something useful for her studies. She thought that, as in many other situations, she could use this to her advantage. However, what she didn’t know was that, as she entered that dark and secluded corner of the library, she wasn’t just walking toward a study of potions or spells—she was also walking directly into the lion’s den.

Morwenna, with a mix of nervousness and curiosity, slowly approached the section of the library where the boy had said they would meet. The books on Divination and Herbology, subjects that had always been difficult for her, felt slightly heavy in her hands, but she couldn’t shake the faint shiver running through her as she thought that perhaps something more than studying would happen that night. The seventh-year boy, one of the most popular with a captivating gaze, was someone she had never imagined she would find herself in this kind of situation with. Yet, there he was, in a secluded corner of the library, during the late hours reserved for students.

When she saw him, she blushed instantly. He, with his tall frame and dark hair, greeted her in a confident tone. “How’s it going, little one?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying a certain authority. His flawless, almost arrogant features only added to the tension building in the air. With an unexpected gesture, he hugged her, rubbing his hand firmly against her back. Morwenna stiffened, unsure of what to do, while the blush on her face deepened. The hug was warm, but something in the way he held her, possessively, made her feel an odd discomfort that she tried to ignore.

Placing the books on the table, Morwenna tried to focus on studying. “So, what is it that…?” she began to say, but couldn’t finish the sentence.

Suddenly, the boy moved closer to her, his presence overwhelming. In the blink of an eye, he trapped her between him and the low table, his face so close that his warm breath mingled with hers. Before she could react, his lips attacked hers with a passion that completely took her by surprise. Morwenna couldn’t help the shock and fear that flooded her as her hands, still gripping the books, fell to the side. The sensation of her body trapped between him and the table made her feel vulnerable, as though she had no way out.

The kiss, deep and unexpected, left her breathless, and though she initially tried to pull away, something inside her kept her frozen, feeling a confusing mix of emotions.

The young man stood close to Morwenna, his presence enveloping her in a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Every gesture, every glance, seemed to take Morwenna's breath away, who slowly began to relax, letting herself be carried away by the illusion of an eternal and pure adolescent love. However, her dreams vanished when, with a firm hand, the boy pushed her towards the desk, forcing her to give in and settle on its edge. A faint rustle accompanied the advance of lips and curious hands exploring her skin, melting into a whirlwind of confused sensations.

Morwenna, in the midst of emotional turbulence, searched desperately for a foothold, but her hands wandered aimlessly, finally stopping at the sides of her own thighs, mute witnesses to her bewilderment. It wasn't until she felt the boy's hands ascend her legs, defying boundaries and intimacies, that the thread of her reality began to fray.

The young woman was startled to notice her skirt being lifted, revealing the suggestive skin of her thighs and causing her stockings to slip slightly in a dangerous game. Uncomfortable and confused, Morwenna parted her lips from the boy's, only to be silenced by a rough grip over her mouth, accompanied by a grin full of mischief on the young man's face.

"What do you think you're doing, let go of me!" exclaimed Morwenna in a trembling voice, trying to free herself from the suffocating pressure echoing in her chest. The boy, in response, continued with invasive gestures, sliding his playful fingers into the lace of her panties, causing Morwenna to feel an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and helplessness.

The situation became increasingly distressing as the agitated struggling made the ancient wood of the desk creak, accompanied by the sound of Morwenna's wrenching resistance. Desperate attempts to push the boy away culminated in a pleading cry, interrupted by a painful grip on his face.

"Stop! No more!" whispered Morwenna between sobs, as the boy persisted in his advance, moving his exploring hands into forbidden territories and causing a shiver of terror to run down the young woman's spine. With a violent gesture, the boy pulled her tightly to him, making her feel the unwanted brush of his body against hers, unleashing a torrent of anxiety and fear that vibrated in the tension-laden air.

And at the height of Morwenna's despair, when all seemed lost in the abysmal darkness of helplessness, a powerful incantation resounded in the silence of the library, uttered with determination.

"Depulso!"

The word, uttered by Neville with a tone that cut through the air like lightning, triggered an explosive reaction. The boy stalking Morwenna was thrown backwards violently, impacting painfully against the library table and causing books and scrolls to tumble tumultuously in its crashing trajectory.

Morwenna, overwhelmed by a mixture of fear and relief, clung to her books as if they were her only lifeline. Her wrinkled and soiled clothes reminded her of the violence of what had happened, forcing her to escape into a silence laden with anguish and grief. As she left the library, Neville looked at the much older boy with disgust.

After that incident, something changed in Morwenna. From that day on, she avoided looking Neville in the eye. There was something in his gaze, a sense of discomfort that took hold of her every time he was near. She no longer spoke a single cruel word to him, not even one of those biting remarks that had once been her signature. Instead, she distanced herself from him, seeking refuge in anything that could offer her a little peace, as if his presence had become something that caused her shame. She hid behind her friends, especially her cousin Draco, seeking comfort in his closeness to avoid facing the growing unease she felt whenever she crossed paths with the boy who, unintentionally, had shown a vulnerability that had left her disarmed.

This change, though subtle at first, was profound. Morwenna took refuge in a façade of flirting, a temporary escape that gave her a sense of power and control. She sought attention from boys, not just from those in her magical circle, but also from Muggles who lived near her Aunt Andromeda’s house. She threw herself into those small interactions, those gestures of affection and desire, believing that somehow, they made her feel better. She felt the need to be seen, to be wanted, for her worth not to depend solely on the image others had of her, but on the attention she could attract around her.

Morwenna, like many teenagers who don’t know how to deal with their insecurities, became dependent on those small doses of external approval. She seemed like a confident girl, but the truth was that her need to be loved was leading her to an even greater emptiness, a constant search for validation that she could never completely satisfy. Despite being surrounded by boys who admired her, by that superficial interest, something was still missing—a hole inside her that the compliments from others couldn’t fill.

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