Forbidden love ( fred wesley x oc )

chapitre 1

Everything began with a letter.

The kitchen of the Lestrange manor in France was cold, even with the fire burning in the hearth. The flames cracked and hissed, but warmth had never truly lived in that house. Not in the walls. Not in the voices. Certainly not in the eyes that watched me now.

I was making tea.

Yes. Tea.

Apparently, that was what a disgraced pure-blood daughter did to "reconnect with her English heritage." It was almost poetic. A Lestrange reduced to steeping leaves in boiling water.

My name is Victoria Elvira Lestrange.
Daughter of Rodolphus Lestrange.
Pure-blood.
Heir to a legacy I never asked for.

And, according to my grandmother, a mistake.
Why France? Because my father's noble branch had settled here long ago. Because my mother's family had refused to take responsibility for me. Because it was easier to exile a child than to explain her.

Sometimes I feel like a character from that ridiculous Muggle tale
Cinderella. I've always despised that story. Not because it was unrealistic.

But because it was far too familiar.

Except I never had a fairy godmother.

Only expectations.

And disappointment.

I poured the tea and set it carefully in front of my grandmother. She took a delicate sip, paused, then set the cup down with quiet disdain.

"Useless," she said calmly. "Absolutely useless."

I did not respond. I had learned long ago that silence was safer than defiance.

Ever since the incident at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, I had ceased to be a promising student and had become an embarrassment.

I still remember the screams.

The way magic feels when it slips just slightly beyond control.

The electric thrill.

The look in her eyes.

I hadn't meant to go that far.

I think.

Perhaps I had lingered too long in the power of it.

She survived.

Unfortunately.
And she told them everything.
Except the part where I said, "I didn't mean to."

No one believed me.

Since then, my family no longer bothered pretending I was anything but a burden.

An elf appeared with the morning post. It avoided my gaze, as they always did. Even house-elves seemed to understand hierarchy better than I did.

My grandmother sorted through the letters until one stopped her.

"Victoria."

She slid the envelope toward me.
My name was written in precise black ink.

Victoria Elvira Lestrange.

And at the center, unmistakable, was the seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

My fingers tightened around the parchment.

I had written to them repeatedly. Formal letters. Perfectly worded requests. I cared about my education, regardless of what anyone thought.

I broke the seal.

They accepted me.

Fifth year.
Transfer approved.
Sorting upon arrival.