Miscalculated results

I stood in front of a full-length mirror and looked at my own reflection. I looked like a proper lady—a woman.

The dark blue dress was hiding a corset under the seams, attracting even more attention to my chest that had bloomed over the last year, and I hated it.

It felt as if, since September, the only reason any boy looked at me was to gaze at my chest. I felt like my personality had been reduced to just a body, to a tits holder, and if not for my Last name, they would try to put their hands on me.

After all, nobody wants to get a second-hand braid. Mudbloods and half-bloods were not so lucky unless they were smart enough to find sponsors on time.

At least, they had a choice. I didn't. I didn't even have an illusion of a choice. And starting today, I will become a commodity for the trade.

My first Yule ball as a woman starts in an hour, where I will be presented to our society as a woman. Ready to be married off to the highest bidder.

And I hated it.

How I wish I had been born a boy. Then nobody would think about me as a walking, talking womb, ready to pop out an heir and a spare. Then I would have, at least, an illusion of freedom, of choices to make. Freedom to choose who I am.

They had something that was denied to me just by birth happenstance, and I hated it.

Cygnus, and I avoid calling him Father even in my head, had a lot of hate to share with us.

He always wanted a boy, an heir to leave a legacy behind. Maybe even to be the next Lord black.

Unfortunately for all of us, Druella (and I don't call her mother anymore either) lost her ability to carry a child after Cissy was born, and then Sirius was born.

His plan had failed. He only had three girls, and, obviously, it was our fault for that.

Since then, there was no love to be found in our household, only responsibility this and proper lady that. And don't you dare to say a word against.

My thoughts, my hate-filled, fuming rage, were interrupted by a yellow glow from the mirror. To my shock, under the glow, I saw a woman who reminded me of Aunt Cassiopeia. She had the same wild hair, the same crazy haze in her eyes, that made me shiver from the fear. This woman was worn out and definitely saw better days many, many years ago.

Our eyes locked, and with a flash of bright yellow light, I blacked out…

༄​

It was like a dream, but a dream that was so, so vivid…

I saw myself at the Yule Ball. I was glorious, I was a jewel among the bright lights. I was shining like the brightest star.

Cygnus was his false, proud persona that walked me around, valued me highly and presented me as a potential bride, looking for a higher bidder.

And then I met him–a powerful man.

I became entranced by the aura of power that emanated from him almost immediately. I found myself thinking that I wanted that power. That if I just touch it, it could set me free.

I was drawn as a moth to the candle, and nothing could stop me from burning my wings.

This dream sped up and slowed down at the same time. I felt like living it and watching it from the sidelines. I felt like all the choices I made in the dream were sound and solid, but at the same time, taken from me.

Robbing me blind of my free will.

Getting sold to LeStrange and being enslaved by the magical contract made me wish to die, and so I sowed death and pain around.

The man of power turned to the worst of all men. He ruined himself and everything around him.

The leftovers of my sanity snapped, and I turned into a mindless tool, good only for killing and maiming. And so I did.

And did it again and again, and only crazy laughter and haze were following every single bit of memory.

Until He disappeared, maybe even died, but even then, I wasn't able to stop. There were no stops for me anymore.

Years of Azkaban after did nothing good for my own mind, turning me into crazy bitch that just couldn't die.

But it was not the end. Somehow, he came back, and it all started over again and again and again.

I was ready to do anything and everything for him, even killing my own child that He sired in me by himself.

And so I did, in the darkest ritual I ever witnessed.

And madness continued. I saw myself fighting and ending my niece, Nymphadora. The Andromeda's daughter. The one who is supposed to be married to Rodolphus. The one who robbed me of my own future, daring to run away and forcing me to take her place.

Until I felt him die and I got burned in the power of ritual–his failsafe that was supposed to send my memories back in time…

༄​

Cygnus stood next to locked wards in Saint Mungo and looked through the window at his thighed up to the bed daughter, half listening to explanations.

Someone cursed his older child with an unknown curse right before the Yule ball started. Nobody expected it, and they found no trace of who did it.

"Mr Black, we can only keep her here, locked in the Magic suppression field. Irregular magic outbursts and body seizures are very dangerous for her and everyone around. We have the means to keep it contained and keep her alive until we find a solution. I highly recommend against moving Ms Black anywhere."

It had been two months since then, and nothing had changed.

"Send me an owl if there are any changes."

With his last words, he turned around and left. He saw no point in coming back again.

༄​

It took another month before he received the owl from St Mungo. He was looking at mail with an emotionless face, trying to guess if this was a report of her death or improvement. He expected either.

Since Bellatrix succumbed to the curse right before the beginning of the Yule ball, the household became even more unbearable and empty.

Andromeda returned to Hogwarts, Druella with the youngest girl, moved to stay at Black Manor with Lord Black. Orion sent his boys there as well.

Until they find out who and why they dare to attack them, the youngest generation needs to be hidden in Black Manor under the heaviest wards they could set.

They still had nothing, not even whispers.

With a sign that he allowed himself to express, he opened the letter.

The curse was gone, and they promised that she would recover, but there were consequences they didn't dare to put on paper.

That didn't sound good. Not good at all.

At least, he hoped, she would provide any information on how and who had cursed her.

༄​

I regained consciousness in a slow-motion fashion—it felt like time was crawling, making everything almost freeze in place.

I found myself in a clean and light green room. It took me some time to focus on two figures standing next to my bed, and even more to focus on their words:

"Ms Black, do you understand me?"

I tried to understand what had been said and what I should say, but instead, I got lost in a slow-motion journey of the words floating in the air.

"Ms Black, do you understand me?"

Ah, yes, I needed to answer that. I focused on the man again—he looked old and green and…

"Ms Black, do you hear me? You can nod if you have a hard time focusing."

Oh, that would be simpler than answering. And so I nodded.

"Good! Good! You are in St. Mungo's, and you are safe here. Ms Goodstock will take care of all your needs. Take it slow, Ms Black, and all will be fine. Do you understand?"

His speech was funny—slow-motion one moment, then sped up the next. I did my best to focus on it, and with each moment, it became easier. I even managed to say:

"Yes."

And I immediately got distracted by the sound of my voice—it somehow sounded wrong. Too young?

"Excellent! Do your best to keep focused as long as you can. It's most important for now. Ms Goodstock will look into your needs while I inform your family that you are awake and getting better!"

With that, the man (healer?) left. The woman stepped closer to my bed and started to wave the analysis matrix (How do I know that?) over me. I got distracted again by the bright lines of magic floating above me.

"Ms Black, it looks like you are recovering just fine. Please focus on what we ask you to do as much as possible. It will help you regain your cognitive functions as soon as possible. Alright?"

And so it began. She was asking me to do this or that. I had to touch my nose, move my hands and legs, or look at funny and weird pictures.

It took me some time to clean jelly out of my mind and body. But even then, my first try to sit up almost ended on the floor, and only the steady hands of Ms Goodstock prevented that.

But somehow, I was recovering—and recovering fast. I clearly saw a surprised look on my helper's face. I could only assume they expected me to take ages before I could stand up.

But I needed a shower, and I wanted to go there by myself. And so I pushed and forced myself out of the slumber that tried to take over me again.

I took my time under the water to finally sort myself out. I felt so young and right, while at the same time feeling so wrong. Shouldn't I be old by now?

I had a teenager's body, but somehow it bore all the marks I remembered receiving in battles and fights.

The mirror on the wall let me see it all.

The thick white scar that split my left breast in two halves—the one I received from Fabian Prewett before Dolohov killed him. It had been a close call. A bit deeper, and Fabian would've gutted me open back then.

Who knew he could use a dark curse? Could it be because I had just Avada'ed his brother Gideon?

Then there were white stars on my right thigh from a dark piercing hex, left by Alastor Moody. It had been a small price to pay to buy me enough time to activate the portkey. He almost got me that day. It had been a well-set trap I nearly fell for.

It was all so weird.

But the weirdest of all was the missing Master's mark on my right arm. I felt naked and lost without it.

Wasn't I meant to be branded as His?

༄​

The rest of the day was confusing. By now, I understood that whatever memories I had—they never happened in reality—but were experienced under the dark curse.

A dark curse sent from the future. A dark curse that made me see and experience a life that was meant to be—but would never happen again.

And the reason was quite simple—the curse took my womb as a price. I would never be a mother. Hell, I'd be no good as a mistress now. I had no woman bits left, except for the breasts. There was nothing left in me that someone would need to do sex with.

He had the pleasure of describing all the results I would get, to me, before He made me proceed with the ritual. I had to be willing to sacrifice that. And so I did.

If not for the Calming Draught they gave me, I'd be puking my guts out and screaming bloody murder by now—or crying my eyes dry.

But I didn't.

In my apathy, I just sorted through memories from a future that would never be—while silently thanking Merlin and Morgana that at least I was not Bellatrix LeStrange anymore.

And now, I never would be.

༄​

"Mr Black. I assure you, for the physical damage she received, we did all that could be done."

The healer—and I still didn't know his name—calmly tried to explain to Cygnus what had happened.

"Self-inflicted wounds that occurred during the first two months of this unknown curse are classified as Dark Magic damage. Such damage cannot be healed, and scar tissue is permanent."

It was all happening in my hospital room, in my presence, because Cygnus insisted on it. He'd told the healer that as a Black heiress, I had the right to hear everything. That if I was old enough to be cursed, I was old enough to know the consequences.

"Luckily for Ms Black, the scars are mostly superficial rather than deep, and internal organs were not damaged."

The healer made an ominous pause before continuing.

"Well—except for the female reproductive organ. But as I said, nothing could be done. Ms Black will not be able to bear a child."

Healer probably expected that I would throw a tantrum or something, judging by his flickering eyes at me, but I didn't see the point. Even if I hadn't truly lived through those years, I had still experienced them. And that changed me deeply—I was not a naïve sixteen-year-old girl. Not in my mind, at least.

The healer shifted uncomfortably under Cygnus's heavy gaze before continuing:

"We were more worried about the mental damage Ms Black might have suffered, but it seems she has adjusted well. Cognitive functions appear mostly intact. There are no signs of permanent damage in that part of the mind."

His voice dropped by a tone, probably to underline how important the next part would be.

"She cannot recall what happened to her at all. It presents all signs of traumatic amnesia—in simple terms, memory loss—and no, we cannot treat it as Obliviate spell damage."

He looked Cygnus in the eye, even raising his voice slightly. It was interesting to watch him try to hide his fear while forcing the words out.

"And I highly recommend avoiding exposure to Obliviate, Legilimens, and other mental or neurological spells. Her mental state is fragile as is, and any new damage could lead to unknown results."

"Out."

Cygnus's voice was barely above a whisper, but it was charged with magic, and it threw the healer through the door, slamming it hard behind him.

He was furious—and when he turned to me, I knew. He would blame me for whatever had happened, and he proved me right with his next cold words.

"How could you allow this to happen to you?"

If he could, he would have Avada'd me right then and there. Luckily for me, he couldn't.

"Name. I need a name. Don't waste my time, girl!" he snapped when he saw no reaction to his previous words.

For just a moment, I toyed with the idea of telling him the truth. But that would lead to consequences I wasn't ready to bring on myself. So I had to lie.

"I don't know."

He stared at me for several seconds, maybe hoping that his death glare would force me to speak. But he had nothing on the red gaze of Him.

"You are worthless," he finally breathed out, turning toward the door and walking out.

Just before he left, he paused and said, without looking at me:

"Elves will pack your belongings. Tomorrow, you will be back at Hogwarts. Slughorn will expect you at eight a.m. sharp by the fireplace. Make sure I hear not even a whisper about you from Hogwarts. Clear?"

"Yes, Cygnus," I calmly replied.

He slammed the door. Said nothing more.

Have a good day, you too, father.

༄​