The Dark Lady 15 September, 1962
So much for doing something right. I've already made an enemy of Mary Schultz. It shouldn't matter, because she's very stupid. I don't think she's going to be very talented either. She holds her wand like it's a club she's about to beat someone to death with.
Mary Schultz would probably love to beat someone to death. She's very tall, with wiry blonde curls and dull blue eyes. Her face is red and pimply. I noticed yesterday that she has thick fingers to go with her clumsy hands.
"Do you think she's Muggle-born?" I asked Bishop this afternoon at break.
"Definitely." He agreed quickly. "I know a Muggle-born when I see one."
With a jolt, I realized I hadn't asked him his blood status.
"Pure-blood of course." He answered, smiling up at me.
"You should try and make her happy." Dolores advised.
"Why?" I asked. "I never did anything to her."
"I heard she tried to kill an owl that nipped her finger."
I grimaced. On the first day of school, a brown barn owl landed next to her to deliver a letter to the boy sitting there. When she saw it fly past her head, she reached up and tried to twist it's head off. Professor McGonagall saw her, however, and forced her to release her grip.
"I'm not an owl." I told Dolores, "And I'm fairly certain that if she tried to kill me, she'd be packing her things."
"But Bishop told me that his brother tried to kill someone1 and he's still here." Dolores argued.
"Bishop is an idiot, and so are you for believing him."
17 September, 1962
That filth! I walked into the dormitory and found Dolores sitting with my open diary across her lap. A quill was in her hand, held frozen over the page.
"Did you read anything?" I exploded.
"Yes." She replied, blushing almost as much as Rodolphus did at the ball. "I saw you writing in it, and I was curious what you were writing. I think you and your sister are very charming together. I'm sorry. I'll never tell."
"Never do that again." I commanded. I slapped her hard across the face like I'd seen Mother do to Andromeda when she broke Grandmother's favorite vase.
Dolores cried out shrilly, then cowered into a corner. The quill dripped ink onto the floor.
"I swear I'll never tell anyone about what I saw there." She whined.
"Be quiet." I commanded, imitating the tone Father used with me when he was displeased.
Then I stormed out into the common room to write this. Bishop sits beside me, doing the History of Magic essay that is due tomorrow. I don't think, or at least I hope, he will not act so awfully as Dolores and read what I'm scribbling here.
I was hoping Bishop and I could avoid Dolores, and in doing so, make her go away. This seems impossible, because she has read my diary. She knows about Voldemort. Merlin's beard! I didn't think of it! She KNOWS about Voldemort, about Father's conversation with Mr. Malfoy, about my family's fear that I am a Squib... I must write Father and ask him what I should do.
20 September, 1962
Father wrote back. He wrote back, and He's not criticizing me as I thought he would. I've pasted the letter here, as it is the first one I have received since arriving at school.
It is unfortunate that your privacy was breached.
This little girl sounds like a piece of filth if there ever was one. This is what Mudbloods do, daughter. They wish to take advantage of the minority, the superior: The Pure-bloods. I often find Mudbloods spineless pieces of work. Use this to your advantage.
You cannot let her get away. Seduce her. Do you know what that means? No, of course you don't. The traditional meaning of the word is to lure someone away from proper conduct or principles. You, daughter, will lure this girl, seduce her away from her urge to tell someone of what she has read. You will do so with sweetness, even if after a day of it you wish to kill yourself. You will do so with friendship, even though you will hate every minute. You will do so quickly. I will help you daughter, as I am sure you have written of the events of the cave. (No one must know about that. Always remember)
Also, you have spoken very highly of this "Bishop" of whom I am displeased. You are not to develop affections for anyone. You are there to learn.
Write your mother on the topic of your sister, Narcissa. The spoiled brat has given us nothing but grief, and Druella has an irrational theory that you are the only one who can control her. Set her fears at ease. DO NOT TARNISH OUR NOBLE NAME, Your Father, Cygnus Black III
I will do just that. I will "seduce" Dolores. She will not tell anyone about what she read. They won't even know that I keep a diary, not unless I tell them. Not even Bishop. And they will never, ever, know about Lord Voldemort.
21 September, 1962
"Good Morning, Dolores." I said when she woke me up, without my usual haughtiness.
"Good morning." She replied happily, genuine sweetness in her voice.
We went up to the great hall together after meeting Bishop in the common room. Mary Schultz tried to trip Dolores on the staircase. I defended her, when yesterday I would have laughed.
After a morning of simpering chatter she said: "Oh, Bellatrix! You're being so nice. Are we friends now?"
"Of course." I said, forcing a smile.
"You're not acting like yourself, Bellatrix." Bishop observed quietly in Charms.
I decided to tell him: "She will betray us if I don't keep her quiet."
"When will she do that?"
"When it suits her." I answered and refused to say anything else. In Transfiguration, I was able to turn my match-stick into a silver needle. Bishop nearly succeeded, but his still had splinters. Professor McGonagall awarded a grudging five points to Slytherin.
In Potions, Mary Schultz concocted a tar-like substance that smelled like rancid meat. This earned her dirty looks from Bishop, Dolores and I, and titters of disapproval from professor Slughorn.
Oh goodness, she's asking if I'll help her do her Transfiguration homework. This could take hours! She's so dull when it comes to that subject.
28 September, 1962
Bishop and I were having a nice, rather boring walk around the lake. It's getting colder, so we wore our cloaks. They blew behind us in the strong wind.
"So you know Rodolphus Lestrange?" Bishop asked after a bit.
"Yes." I answered. "Why?"
"Because he's going to some meeting my brother is organizing. Ellodie told me."
"Ellodie? Who's that?"
"My sister. You never did meet my siblings, did you?"
"No. Aren't they in Slytherin?"
"No, my brother's in Ravenclaw and my sister's in Hufflepuff."
I laughed rather cruelly. "Hufflepuff?"
"Yes. She's not like us. Robert should have been in Slytherin; he acts like he is at least. Ellodie, she's a sot, or so my mother says."
"What's a sot?"
"No idea, but it sounds mean."
When we went back into the castle, we were laughing, shivering, and seeking out the fire in the Slytherin common room. We'd return to Dolores, who hates the cold, and sober up.
Bishop left me on the fourth floor to talk to a second year boy he knew and I continued down to the dungeons.
I walked past a broom closet from which I heard a girl screaming and banging.
"Help me! I'm locked in!"
"Surely you can get out." I scoffed. "And why would they lock you up in the first place?"
"Because I told them they were going to die. Please, let me out. You're doomed if you don't. Please, I've been in here for hours and hours."
"Isn't there a spell to get you out?" I sneered through the door.
"Yes I tried that. I'm only in my first year you know. Oh, I'm doomed!"
"What is the spell?" I asked curiously.
"Alohamora!" I exclaimed at the door. The lock jiggled feebly, but other than that, gave no indication of turning.
"again. Please, again!"
"Alohamora!" This time the lock turned, and a girl with huge glasses wrenched the door open and embraced me.
"Oh I've been in there for so long. I was taking a walk at midnight last night, to scry by moonlight, and these boys caught me, and they locked me in and said my predictions were worth nothing and oh..."
"You really predict things from the future?" I asked.
"Yes. My great-great-grandmother was Cassandra Trelawney, a renowned Seer. Surely you've heard of her?"
"No, I haven't. Sorry."
When I returned to Bishop, we had a good laugh about the great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney.
When we'd calmed down enough to speak, Dolores said: "I've heard of her, actually. My father told me she was a fraud. My mother was reading Wizarding history, and came across the name."
"And they really locked her in a broom cupboard for scrying by moonlight?" Bishop asked, suppressing more laughter.
"Yes." I replied, and we let out the laughter we'd been holding in.