To Whom It May Concern:
If you’re reading this, that means I’m now deceased. My name was Bellatrix Lestrange. I hardly think you need clarification of who I am, though, since my list of crimes is so long. I lived and breathed to torture and kill others in the Dark Lord’s name. But that’s just one side of me. Was I always evil? It’s story time, boys and girls!
Like every other young witch or wizard, I had to be homeschooled until I was eleven years old. Mum and Dad would always tell me that pure magical blood runs in our family. Not just any family, but the noble house of Black. To make them proud, I needed to marry a pure-blood wizard. The same went for my younger sisters, Andromeda and Narcissa.
When I was little, I asked Dad why this had to be so, and he simply said, “Because no Muggle man can handle a witch. Only a select handful of us in the world were gifted with magic. The rest of the world is useless. Look at the Muggle-borns. I’m positive that they steal their powers from someone else.”
I stared at him in childish disbelief. Not knowing any better, I replied, “I’ve been around Muggles and Muggle-borns before, and they don’t seem bad at all. How can you say that, Dad?”
“Bellatrix Electra Black, don’t you dare try to challenge what I say!” he yelled. “So help me, if you keep taking this path, we’ll never speak to you again. Am I clear?”
It was the angriest I’d ever seen him. I don’t know about you, but whenever my father raised his voice, I listened. From that time on, I convinced myself that what he said was true. Fathers are never wrong, right?