Chapter Text
November 5, 1981
Etretat, France
The fifth day of November held many sweet memories for Marguerite Hecate Lestrange. On this day at sixteen, surrounded by snow and laughter at the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, she’d kissed her love for the first time; the memory a blur of silver and green as the two star crossed lovers snuck around, their love forbidden due to betrothal contracts made before they could write their own names. At seventeen, she’d lost her virginity on her birthday to the man who would eventually father her daughter.
At 18, she received the greatest gift of all her daughter was born.
And today, on her 20th birthday, she knew she was going to die.
She reflected on this fact as quickly as possible while attempting to shore up the wards of her beachside cottage. She’d fled England months before, after the news of her pregnancy had begun to spread around the Death Eater ranks and the Rosier family had begun looking for blood. She knew that he would be punished, but his position in the Dark Lord’s order, and his family connections, would keep him from being killed.
She would not be afforded that luxury.
Before she’d left, he’d coerced a ministry official into marrying them in secret, tying them together with a soul bond, linked together for life. Marguerite had been the one to suggest it and he’d agreed, both of them deciding that there would be no one else, in this life or the next, that they would rather be tied to. So he’d given her funds and told her to run, to run somewhere that she wouldn’t be found, somewhere she could deliver their daughter in peace. He’d promised he would come for her once things had smoothed over, promised to be a better father than Orion or Theseus had ever thought of being. She’d believed him. She had always believed him..and then he had died. She’d given birth to their daughter two years ago to the day, nearly to the hour, alone in the house with only a house-elf, Sissy, for assistance. Sissy had been sent by her brother Rabastan, in secret, to assist Marguerite, a temporary elf to help her give birth and wait for him . Sissy had left two weeks after when the father of her child had shown up to the small house on the French coast. She remembered how his dark, curly hair had almost elongated his face, exaggerating his sharp features and making him seem older than his 18 years. The silver eyes she loved so much that he had passed to their daughter, much to Marguerite’s satisfaction, had seemed distant and troubled. He wouldn’t discuss those things with Marguerite then, simply basking in the glow of being a new father, with a new family.
It would be the first, and last, time he would see his daughter.
Rabastan’s letter had come shortly after, detailing his death. Rabastan’s letters had not alluded much to the subject, although she could feel her favorite brother’s guilt and pain through the pages. Rabastan had always adored him as much as Marguerite had. Something had pricked in the back of her mind about his death, an inkling of a memory growing into anxiety and fear that had made her write Rabastan to confirm that it wasn’t true, that Evan hadn’t killed him. Evan Rosier, the man she had inadvertently broken her betrothal contract to the moment she became pregnant four months past seventeen, when she married him in June after running away to France the moment she’d graduated, had held a grudge against her and Adhara’s father ever since. Rabastan’s letter had been brief in response.
Daisy,
He did not kill him.
Do not write. Not safe.
Raven
So her life went on, just her and Adhara. The pain persisted for months , Marguerite walking around in a daze. Rabastan sent no more letters, and although her brother’s words had calmed her nerves at the time, the seed of anxiety sparked in her mind. She hadn’t heard from her mother since the day she’d broken her engagement to Evan, the memory painful in her mind. She had no idea what the effects of being Crucio’d while pregnant would have on Adhara, but she would never have to worry about it happening again. That one day in early May was the one and only time that she had ever seen in him what the Dark Lord had seen, what had made Voldemort give a sixteen-year-old the Dark Mark. His concern over Adhara was the only thing that had stopped him from totally killing her father, but Theseus Lestrange would never be the same again.
Her days fell into the same pattern: Wake up, care for Adhara, put Adhara down for a nap, tidy, care for Adhara, sleep, care for Adhara...the cycle only breaking when she realized, in horror, that she had left her newborn daughter at home whilst out to the market. Adhara had been fine, sleeping peacefully in her crib, but Marguerite had broken down and done something she never thought she would do. She went to a muggle healer. The words ‘postpartum depression’ had never meant much to Marguerite, and while she still did not understand it, knowing someone was helping her eased the transition to this new life and allowed Marguerite the chance to begin to heal. And then the news of James and Lily Potter’s sacrifice, of Voldemort’s demise, and Sirius’s supposed crimes had broken across the sleepy magic community, changing her world once again. She knew , without a doubt, that Sirius was innocent. The Sirius Black she knew, the Sirius Black he knew would never have killed innocent muggles. Thinking of her love’s relationship with Sirius brought a grimace of old pain to her otherwise pleasant countenance as she fought to reinforce the wards. He had loved Sirius, that much she’d known. Hell, he’d fought Marguerite for the right to name Sirius as Adhara’s godfather and had told her he would file the paperwork with the ministry once he returned to England. He had told her, the night before he left France, that should anything happen to him, Sirius would assist her. She’d brushed the comment off-in what world would she need Sirius? What would happen to him? She’d wished now she would have written the elder Black sibling, although she felt it pointless now. He had been thrown into Azkaban without a trial for the murder of Petticrew and the thirteen muggles.
Thinking of Petticrew made her think of the other friends in Sirius’s friend group. Her first impression of James Potter had been, well, lacking at best. She’d thought him a lackadaisical, pushy jock whose only redeeming quality had been a handsome face. He’d also mercilessly mocked Severus Snape, one of her closest Slytherin classmates just because he could . Marguerite had only been able to tolerate him, at best, since. He had never forgiven him, for he and Severus were good friends at Hogwarts. When she was a fourth year, and they sixth years, James had tried to set her up with Remus Lupin, and while Marguerite had always felt fondly for Remus Lupin, with his deceptively mischievous behavior and sweet smile, she knew from the moment she met Remus that she was not what the wizard was looking for...that in reality, Remus had already found the wizard for him. However, some of her most intellectually stimulating conversations had come from the good-natured Gryffindor. Marguerite had mixed feelings about Lily. She had been perfectly kind to him , and in turn Marguerite until Sirius ran away from home during his sixth year.
It’s trivial now , Marguerite thought to herself, watching the wards shimmer from pale yellow to an ominous red. She took a breath and attempted again to reinforce the wards, but she knew it was too late. Marguerite was a competent witch, this she knew, and her warding was impeccable. Whoever was trying to breach the wards was a powerful wizard.
Too powerful.
Sneaking out of the main room and past the kitchen to the narrow hallway that hid the staircase from the rest of the home, Marguerite tried to think of who could be trying to get into her home. The war was on the decline, Voldemort’s followers running into hiding after his death. Her brothers and sister-in-law had been arrested the day before for torturing the Longbottoms to insanity. She knew Theodore Nott Sr, Lucius Malfoy, and most of the other well-to-do Death Eaters would escape persecution. Her own father had died shortly after Marguerite had taken residence in France and she had broken her betrothal contract. There was only one man, in Marguerite’s mind, who would wait until her sweet husband was dead, until her favorite brother was more than a call away, until Sirius was locked away to rot in Azkaban until she was alone with Adhara to come and try to find them.
Panic gripped her, stopping her breath in her chest, freezing her movements. What if he’s coming FOR Adhara?
Evan Rosier had found her.
She drew her wand, in even more of a panic than a moment before, frantically trying to conjure a Patronus attempting to call for someone to help her. Gripping on the memory of him holding Adhara for the first time, hands shaking, wand unsteady, Marguerite spoke the incantation.
Her first attempt fizzled out in front of her. Gasping for air as she ran back up the staircase, she repeated the incantation and wand movements.
Nothing.
She ran down the hall, stumbling into her daughter's room and warding the door. Little Adhara lay sleeping in her crib, clutching the little raven stuffie her Uncle Rabastan had sent her for her second birthday. She looked serious, even asleep. The only feature Marguerite saw of herself in her daughter was the roundness of her face and the color of her messy curls- a lighter brown versus his black. Other than that, the Black genes had gripped Adhara and had no intention of letting go. Marguerite had always known that it would be harder to deal with once Adhara got older.
Not that Marguerite would know now.
A large explosion rocked the house, the muffled shout of Bombarda Maxima ricocheting off of the walls. Something slammed into the entryway of the house, and Marguerite assumed it was the beautiful front door that she had spent hours carving magically with Adhara napping nearby. It had been her first family project on the seaside cottage. Praying to Merlin, Morgana, and both witches she and her daughter were named for, Marguerite did something she had sworn she would never do again.
“Mipsy?” She called out quietly, praying that the house-elf heard her. Mipsy had been a part of the dowry that Marguerite’s mother, Evangeline, had brought into her marriage with Theseus Lestrange, and eventually, the house-elf assigned Marguerite as a child. This meant that Mipsy would hold allegiance for no other than Evangeline, Marguerite, and Marguerite hoped, Adhara. When she didn’t see the sweet creature, Marguerite called for her again. “Mipsy?”
The quiet CRACK of Mipsy’s apparition resounded in the nursery, and for the first time in many, many months Marguerite felt a slight tinge of relief. She may not survive this night, but Adhara would.
“You have called for Mipsy, young Miss? It has been many many months since Mipsy has seen young Miss Marguerite. Almost three years! Mipsy did not teach young Miss to act this way. No, she did not-” Looking around Marguerite, Mipsy’s already wide green eyes grew larger at the sight of Adhara’s sleeping form. “Oh! Young Miss Marguerite has had a child! Such a beautiful child. Mipsy remembers when young Miss was a child-”
“Mipsy!” Marguerite interrupted harshly, listening for the sounds of the wards and traps set through the house. “There is no time for sentiment at the moment! I have a task for you, one that must be completed with the utmost seriousness and haste!”
Before Marguerite could finish her sentence, Mipsy’s head was bobbing frantically. “Mipsy will assist young Miss in any way she can!”
“That is wonderful, Mipsy. But I must ask you this first,” Marguerite took a steadying breath, “to whom does your loyalty lie, Mipsy?”
The question must have caused Mipsy immense distress because she looked to the floor and began wringing her small hands. She answered Marguerite without raising her eyes from the floor. “Mispy serves the illustrious house Lestrange and Lady Evangeline Lestrange.”
Gently grasping the small elf’s shoulders and shaking her slightly to get her attention, Marguerite hissed “Mipsy! This is no time for bullshite answers. I need to know and I need to know now. Do you serve my mother? My brothers? Another dark wizard or witch? Who is your master?” Marguerite’s voice grew cold at the end of her question, and for a split second, she was reminded of her elder brother, Rodolphus.
Before Mipsy could reply, the sound of what Marguerite could only describe as a door exploding reverberated down the hallway, followed by a deep, dark voice. “Oh my Daisyyyyyyy!” the voice called, turning Marguerite’s blood to ice where she stood, gripping onto Mispy’s shoulders. “Where is my fiancee?”
“Do you know who that is, Mispy?” Marguerite asked in a voice cold with fear. She did not wait for Mispy to reply. “That is Evan Rosier. He has come to kill me, and possibly kill my daughter Adhara.” Mipsy’s eyes grew even wider, but Marguerite continued. “You remember Evan, right? You found him forcing himself on me in the owlery the night I fought mother and father about our betrothal contract, remember?”
Mipsy nodded.
“Do you remember what he said to me?” Marguerite asked, doing her best to occlude. The memory of that early October day was painful, and Marguerite was doing all she could do to not let the memory affect her, but Mipsy had to know. She had to know how serious this was. The words filtered into her brain, seared into her subconscious forever. He stole what is mine, Marguerite. He took you first. I hope for your sake his seed didn’t take, Adhara. I would hate to end the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.
Again, Mipsy nodded.
“Mipsy, I fear what will happen to her if he gets her. He cannot get Adhara, do you hear me? He cannot get my daughter. Her father-” Marguerite choked up at the mention of him, before shaking her head and continuing, “He has been dead for nearly two years. Evan waited until we were alone. Until Rabastan was arrested. Until it was just me, me and Adhara. He’s been planning this, Mipsy. He plans to kill us both.”
Another door echoed in the hallway, another taunt from Evan.
“I can stall for time, but I cannot defeat him. Mipsy, please help me. Help me protect my daughter.” Marguerite met Mipsy’s eyes, the latter spilling over with silent tears. Finally , Marguerite thought to herself, she finally understands the severity of my situation.
“Master Theseus Lestrange has passed. Does young Miss want Mipsy to take baby Miss Adhara to Mistress Evangeline?” Marguerite’s breath caught in her throat, and then her brain whirred to life, a thousand images flashing in her brain. As a child and transitioning to a young teenager, Marguerite and Evangeline had been extremely close. Many jealous witches at the social events she and her mother had attended in her youth were always quick to comment on how close the mother-daughter duo were. Marguerite had admired her mother and had always wanted to be just like Evangeline.
Until Voldemort happened.
Would Evangeline raise Adhara with the same blood purity values that she had been brought up with? Would she Crucio her in punishment, as Marguerite’s father had once done? Would she throw the Lestrange resources to reunite Adhara with her uncle and godfather?
Marguerite did not know the answer to any of these questions save one. Evangeline would have given her life for any of her children, and part of Marguerite knew that that protective instinct would be tripled for her grandchild. One of the greatest regrets of Marguerite's short life was not making up with her mother. Quickly raising off her knees, she turned her back to the door, lifting her necklace over her head and draping it around her sleeping daughter’s neck, Marguerite’s wedding rings glinting slightly in the moonlight. Adhara shifted slightly in her sleep, her small mouth opened, tongue peeking out in a way that reminded Marguerite of him . Tucking the rings into the toddler’s adorable pajamas, she turned back toward Mipsy, eyes glassy.
Kissing her daughter’s curls, she whispered before handing the sleeping toddler off to Mipsy. “Your Mummy loves you. Papa loved you. Uncle will find you. Remember, my love, even the darkest of nights cannot blot out the brightest of stars.”
Reverently grabbing Adhara from Marguerite’s hands, Mipsy glanced up at Marguerite, “Young Mistress, grab Mipsy’s hand. Mipsy will-”
Mipsy had no more reached for Marguerite’s hand when the door to their left exploded, sending shards of wood across the room. Marguerite was pushed sideways, landing against the wall with a sickening thud . Mipsy landed on her back, doing her best to shield Adhara from the splintering wood. Evan’s terrifying voice spoke from the doorway. “I’ve found my fiancee, and her little bastard, too.”
Fighting to open her eyes, Marguerite took her ex-fiance in. Evan Rosier had always been terrifyingly beautiful, with cold blue eyes and a sharp jawline. He had an air of cruelty that rivaled that of Marguerite's sister-in-law, Bellatrix, that only made him that much more dangerous. He had quickly climbed the ranks in the Dark Lord’s forces but always seemed to be behind him , something that had enraged Evan to no end. His cold eyes now were focused on the toddler sitting between Mipsy’s legs, his icy eyes locked with Adhara’s own. Had it been any other situation, Marguerite might have laughed at her daughter’s look that seemed to be haughty and disinterested all at once. Had Adhara been able to speak fluently, Marguerite imagined she might be saying something akin to Who the fuck are you?
Finding her voice, Marguerite spoke, standing up gently. “I’m not your anything, Rosier, and neither is my daughter any concern of yours.” It didn’t feel as strong as she’d wanted, but she would chalk that up to what she was sure were broken ribs. Wand gripped firmly in her left hand, she began slowly moving to place herself between Evan and Adhara and Mipsy, her eyes on him the entire time.
Evan laughed in a way that froze her blood. “Oh but she IS my concern, my Marguerite!” he all but screamed, eyes wild, pointing his wand at Mipsy and Adhara. ‘' I TOLD you what would happen! I WARNED YOU, don’t you remember? I told you he had taken what was MINE. What had been promised to ME. I told you that you better pray to the witch you are named after because if his seed took I would end the House of Black, and then kill his bastard and finally you. I, unfortunately, didn’t have a chance to kill him, kill your poor Regulus, but now you’re all alone...and you’re mine, Marguerite.”
Before Marguerite could respond, Evan shot out a slicing hex toward Mipsy and Adhara, an evil smile spread across his face. Marguerite screamed, turning back to her daughter. However, the sight that she found made her, and the rest of the ‘adults’ stop in their tracks. Evan had thrown a basic slicing hex at Mipsy and Adhara, and although house-elf magic was strong, its efficacy for stopping wizard cast magic was selective at best.
But somehow, a protego had been cast around Mipsy and Adhara, and only one hand was raised. Adhara’s chubby fingers found the blue shimmer of the shield most interesting, and the toddler was attempting to grab the shield, leaving a stunned Evan Rosier to marvel in the power of a child whose first bout of accidental magic was at two years old.
The shield had been a distraction that Marguerite desperately needed. She shouted “Mipsy! Now!”
The last thing Mipsy remembered of her Young Mistress Marguerite Lestrange was the two streaks of green light coming from opposite sides of the room.