Full Synopsis: She was supposed to be an insane witch who murdered for fun, a remorseless bitch out of her mind. Someone certainly not to fuck with. But Bellatrix is a true daughter of Black. When she realizes her cousin's goddaughter is abused, she takes the Girl in as her own. It will be tough raising a vampire for a daughter. How will Estelle deal with her affliction on top of being targeted by the Dark Lord Voldemort?

Rated M for language, gore, sexually explicit details.

X-X

A/N:I don't have much to say for the first chapter here other than the fanfics that inspired this are 'The Silver Prince' by Blade Quill, 'A Cadmean Victory' by Darkness Enthroned, 'Harry Potter and the Litany of Blood' by jon3776, and 'Ties of Blood' by Wolfmoon. That, and I've also been wanting to do a Vampire-Fem!Harry fic. So here you are.

A warning to all readers. I'm not going to put up with flaming, trolling or bullying. The whole point of revamping the whole thing was to fix it! So shut the fuck up you fucktards. If you don't like it, don't fucking read it!

Edit of 4/6/2018: As of this update, Filia Corvus has been absorbed into this fanfic. The original shall be taken down shortly. Or should I leave it up and just say 'abandoned'?

Disclaimer: I, the author (a woman of many names) in no way at all, own Harry Potter and its franchise. Nor do I take credit for genius ideas. I do own the words I did type. That goes for the entire fictional story here. And one more thing: it's rated M for a reason. Now that you're reasonably warned; please enjoy your in flight episode of Salazar's Legacy.

Act I

"You insolent, little cretin!"

Rain suicide bombed the rooftops as thunder crashed down to accompany the flashes of lightning. Several of the nasty insults had gone unheard. The skeletal woman barely held together by skin and the thinnest sinew of muscle had quite the unattractive snarl upon her visage.

The insults continued as a third shard of the broken vase was hurled toward the impossibly small young girl. She whimpered, doing her best to remain unharmed. But to no avail, she could not dodge everything with the way she was cornered.

"You. Bitch!"

All the young girl had done was pilfer a hard boiled egg and stale bread from the metal box in the corner of the kitchen. Just enough to stay alive, but it seemed she was being denied even that.

Uncle Vernon had a smug grin on his face through the whole duration of Aunt Petunia's violent tirade and his amusement at her pain made Holly absolutely livid. While she was grateful to have a roof over her head, she did know that her relatives were not good people. Far from it.

"How dare you?! How dare you steal food from our fridge! Freaks like my sister―like you don't get the right to eat!" During the slight pause, the girl; Holly, was failing to fend off the flesh rending shrapnel raining down on her. Dudley and Vernon had joined in, adding other small objects to pelt at her despite her meek protests.

"P-please stop," whimpered the crimson haired girl. Tears cascaded down her discolored cheeks. Bruises were beginning to form amid the plethora of lacerations. Blood dripped from the worst of her wounds onto the floor which earned her a broken nose. Holly's entire body aches and burned from suffering her relative's' wrath.

Screaming now, Petunia cried, "Children of whores always end up as whores. That's what my no good freak of a sister was. That's what you are! All you'll ever be is a cock sucking slut just like your bitch of a mommy."

Dimly, the pork bellied teen who was her older cousin sniggered, "Yeh, yer just a slut."

"Enough!" shrieked Holly, absolutely sick of the abusive treatment she had been enduring for the last decade of her life. It took a lot to upset her, but it had been the punishment for the reptile house incident and the letters. This was the last straw!

A wave of agony struck the desperate eleven year old as soon as she had cried out her proclamation. Spiraling down to the hardwood floor, Holly fell with an audible thump.

Holly awoke to find herself in her prison once more. A fresh wave of pain arrived like breaking waves. The poor girl struggled against her aching limbs to sit up, narrowly missing the underside of the stairs.

Touching the side of her head, the young girl found blood drying. She cringed as flakes of dandruff fell down. Had it really been a month since her last bath? As her other hand raked her hand through her hair, she swept a spider away. She really needed to wash up soon. If the Dursleys let her.

"So much for trying to stand up for myself. Is asking for a little more food and more baths grounds for a beating?" she sniffed to herself. As she felt around, Holly winced at the bruises and other aches that bombarded her body.

Before she could delve into the introspection of why what happened to her had, the door to her cupboard swung open. Harsh light blinded her eyes, forcing her to raise a hand to shield her eyes. How many days had she been unconscious?

"Get up freak."

Squinting her eyes, she rasped, "Wha?"

A rough hand grabbed her by the back of her torn shirt and dragged Holly out of the cupboard. She winced as her hair caught on the hinge, taking a small bunch out of her head.

Wiping her eyes in attempt to conceal her weakness, she looked expectantly at her uncle. His purple face glared at her in disgust.

"I'm trusting you to do all of these chores by the time I get home. If one of these isn't done perfectly, you're gonna wish you'd never been born. Got it, freak?"

She looked at it.

Cut the grass

Muck out the gutter

Weed the garden

Water all plants

Clean out both showers

Clean the toilets

Mop the floors

Dust the sitting room

Have dinner started by 4:30

Quietly, she whispered, "Y-yes Uncle Vernon." After being given an expired granola bar, she had been sent straight to work.

Dusk was heralded by a soft hoot that resounded as a baritone echo in the zephyr sweeping over the land. Crisp blue was darkening to tendrils of purple that choked the day. Not a cloud was in the sky. Both Venus and Mars shone brightly upon the starry backdrop that came over from the west.

Nothing was out of the ordinary in the district of Surrey.

The suburbs of Little Whinging were complete replicas of each other; the epitome of conformity. Lawns mown to exactly one point three inches high in the very specific striped back and forth pattern. Each picket fence was carefully doused in white. Not even a speck was left bare or blemish by nature. Each brick house was the same as the next. It was eerie for out of towners.

The people of this particular street were of similar nature; arrogant small families ranging in the upper middle class. There were only a few oddities such as Arabella Figg in the seventh house from the entrance to the main road.

But the truest anomaly of Number Four Privet drive was a tiny nine year old girl dressed in rags. She didn't belong in the 'perfect' neighborhood. Four feet, nine inches was small for a child her age, especially with how freakishly tall and thin her aunt was. Holly was a clone of her mother. Unlike her plain cousin, aunt and uncle who were between a light tan and ivory beige, she was more exotic; her skin pale of an alabaster peach although that was more attributed to the lack of seeing the sun for long periods of time. Her hair however, was a wild mess of wavy crimson tresses that refused to be tamed. The girl had the largest, brightest green eyes that anyone had seen on a creature that wasn't feline. Poison green eyes that would look at you with the guilt of being a burden. Almond shaped, they seemed almost luminescent which was better helped by the framing thick, dark eyelashes.

Despite her natural good looks, malnutrition dulled the beauty she hid. Standing approximately at 4'8", was Holly Dorea Potter. She wore a huge, baggy t-shirt which had a huge gaping hole in its hem. It's neckline hung off her right shoulder to reveal a purple bruise that all but covered her shoulder and upper arm. A pair of taped glasses sat on her face, detracting from her looks.

She didn't speak much, for fear of being punished. Whenever she did, the gentle lilt of her voice was pleasant on the ears despite her young age. And any time she sang, she could charm animals to stay nearby if she was in the park. It was one of the few joys she had in her miserable existence.

But all was not well for the girl; she was despised by her relatives. Any time she did better in school than Dudley, she would not be able eat dinner that night. And even then, she wasn't allowed to eat at the table. No, she was usually given a hunk of stale bread and cheese and told to go back to her cupboard under the stairs.

In the case she did anything 'unnatural' or 'freaky', Uncle Vernon and Petunia would hurt her. This is where the Dursley's got creative; sometimes they'd forcibly cut her hair if it got too long. Of course it always grew back the next morning with no explicable reason. And with that, she always got the belt to the back. And those were the mild punishments. The worst would leave her on the edge of life and death, yet she never teetered over. Perhaps as an act of defiance of not letting her wardens break her.

As per everyday, she was outside to do a good portion of chores she was supposed to do every single day, even weekends. In the mornings, it was her undisputed duty to cook a full English breakfast for the aunt and Uncle and overweight cousin. For this, she was to wake up at the crack of dawn.

Then in the afternoon, she was shoved out the door by her aunt Petunia who would order her, 'the Freak' to cut the lawn with a rickety push mower that always got caught in the ditch by the curb. When she was done with that, she would need to weed the garden, the bushes and the sidewalk. She was also in charge of watering all the plants on the lawn as well as the potted ones in the house.

In the winter, she had to be up at four in the morning to shovel snow so her Uncle could pull his car out of the garage to go work. It didn't help that she had to make sure the gas heater remained free of ice and snow. And before evening, she had to shovel again if it snowed more during the day.

She was thankful it was summer. But she detested the heat. In a few weeks, the climate would cool and become windier. Autumn had always been her solace despite the hardships that came with doing her worst in school (or being prepared to being punished harshly for doing better than her dimwitted cousin).

Whilst the girl trimmed the rosebush (without hand protection I might add), a feeling of uneasiness washed over her. It felt like she was being watched. But how could she know? It was mostly cloudy with sunlight weakly filtering through. It was one the the few summer days she felt at home without the harsh sun glaring at her.

Slowly, she set the old rusty gardening shears in the mulch next to the perfectly pruned rosebush and sat as still as she could. With the gentle breeze swaying to her left, she listened.

After a moment of straining her ears, she was justly rewarded. Some people were whispering nearby. How she knew there was a man and a woman, she didn't know. There had just been a feeling in her gut that was who was nearby; and she knew it wasn't her aunt and uncle spying on her to make sure she wasn't slacking off. She had been just able to make out some of what they were saying.

"...and if we Turn her now, she won't grow to be stunning. A suitable heir must hold beauty beyond what she is now," hissed the man. "Are you sure, my Queen?"

His partner, a woman in a dark hood hissed, "You imbecile! Sometimes I wonder why Matthias turned you sixty years ago. You're not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. I should have brought Akatsuki instead. Anyways, back to the subject at hand. She will grow to her majority before her body stops aging. Do you forget what it means to be a Night Stalker?"

"Fine. You do it, just don't lecture me again. Girls taste gross. Men are better," sulked the poof.

"Abel, you need to get over your fear of women eventually. Blood is blood. She will become a fine daughter of the night," mused the woman while she turned back to the prey she had designated. "And one day, she shall lead us to our salvation."

When the voices stopped, the young girl exhaled the breath she had held. 'Who are they talking about?' Holly wondered as she stared at the mulch under her knees.

Before she could even mutter a bewildered 'I wonder who they were', a woman obscured in a black outfit was suddenly standing in front of the young child. Holly Potter gave a shrill scream of terror and tried to scramble away. But the icy hands that gripped her arms were like a vice.

Crimson eyes shone in the twilight, glowing like rubies in their sockets, mere inches away from the child's emerald almonds. Whatever was going on, Holly knew it was unnatural and began to struggle even harder to free herself. Fear increased the strength of the girl's thrashing. But it was all for naught.

The moment those fangs dipped into the young girl's scrawny neck, she fell still. Unnaturally so. The initial puncture shot an acute pain down the spine before numbing moments later. First came the lightheadedness, and the a raging headache. The dark haired girl noticed hazy blotches in her impaired vision. When the fangs pulled off Holly's neck, the child crumpled to the ground and blacked out.

The woman brought what could have been a knife to her her wrist and sliced it, holding it a few inches away. Though Holly was semi-unconscious, her lips parted to accept the thick viscous liquid that drooled down. She coughed, missing a few drops. The rest was dutifully swallowed. After a few seconds, the hand was pulled away. A handkerchief wiped the blood left on the girl's face.

"Goodbye for now, my little princess," murmured the female vampire as she tucked a luxurious blanket around the tiny girl. As the last dregs of daylight vanished beneath the horizon, the deathly pale nine year old girl was laid against the trunk of an ash tree by the male accomplice. The vampiress pulled away as dusty tears threatened to spill down her pale olive complexion.

"A suitable heir of the Daughters of Coldharbour. When she reaches her prime, she will seek us out. Perhaps sooner if events play out sooner than expected. Come, we have tarried for far too long." It wouldn't do to get too attached to her pawn this early in the game.

The two figures swathed in shadow and mystique vanished without a trace of them ever being in Little Whinging.

Several days later.

Normally, she would be rotting in a cell in Azkaban after failing a trial. For awhile, that statement had been all too true. She had shared a cell with her 'dear old husband'. Many were to believe they were lunatics madly in love. Not even a week had passed since her interment had she shanked her cellmate to death using the shattered femur of the previous resident who had lived in the cell. Despite the chill and wave of despair emanating from the guards, she was relatively content.

But the idiotic aurors had failed to keep the Dementors spaced out. It had been a bit of luck for her to slip between the old rusty bars and knock out the human guards. Upon fetching her wand from the only other structure on the island, she escaped.

It had been no easy feat to swim three miles back to solid ground, shivering and freezing. Three weeks it had taken to recuperate for nearly a decade in Azkaban. A sweet old muggle couple were on holiday, leaving their home quite open to her.

When she had gotten to the mainland of Britain, Bellatrix Lestrange had apparated to the outskirts of the manor where her husband and her had lived in during their service to the Dark Lord.

But she had been unable to remain. She couldn't stay unless she wanted to return to her old cell. Aurors and their pet happiness suckers had been crawling around the whole manor and she was forced to flee to a muggle settlement on the outskirts of London. As much as she detested them, she needed to lay low.

A scream from a nearby dwelling caught the ragged witch's attention. When she remembered it wasn't her doing, she decided to investigate. If someone else was having fun without her, that was a no-no. She was the Mistress of Agony; her duty to spread pain to the unworthy.

The moment she peered into the window, Bellatrix turned livid. Holly Potter, her former Master's supposed Vanquisher was being beaten from an inch of her life. Even with her shoddy view, she could see the white rug beneath the girl becoming stained with the girl's blackish-red blood. Where the belt hadn't lacerated the girl's bare skin, yellow and purple bruises were darkening under the muggle's tyranny.

The whole wizarding world had been informed by Albus Dumbledore that the Girl who Lived was somewhere safe and living in luxury. That the Girl Who Lived was spoiled rotten just like her counterpart. But that was now seen to be an absolute lie. His words had been rubbish!

The more she watched the little girl being beaten by the fat man, the more furious she became. Seeing any magical child being mistreated by filthy pond scum made her blood boil. Children and family was the most important part of being a Pureblood. It kept tugging on her maternal instincts before she snapped.

The moment the little girl lost consciousness, Bellatrix stood up and blasted the door off its hinges, startling not only the muggles inside, but the neighbors as well. With a knife in her left hand and wand in her opposite, the most notorious witch stalked inside.

Only a sliver of light made it past the curtain. The rest of the hallways cloaked the intruder in shadows.

Vernon grabbed his shotgun from the closet and nervously inched closer towards the front door where the racket had startled the living daylights out of the family. Petunia hid behind behind her mammoth of a husband whilst Dudley the miniature whale had a cricket bat in his hands. A sickening glee was on the boys face, eager to hurt someone else other than the pathetic cousin of his.

Then, they found exactly who was trespassing upon the Dursley's property. A gaunt woman whose pallid face was contorted in rage. She wore ragged prison robes like the freaks associated with Petunia's sister's people. Her hair was a flying mess of curly black hair tangled with leaves and small twigs.

"Who the ruddy hell are you?" yelled the pissed off man, cocking the gun to load it. He had just been found by a very gaunt looking woman wearing one of those robes the freaks thought was fashionable. The mere thought of Magic had his face turning an angry shade of purple.

With a shriek of fury, Bellatrix screamed, "YOUR GODDAMN EXECUTIONER YOU FUCKING, FILTHY PIECES OF SHIT!"

"Who the-"

"CRUCIO!" came the dark witch's bark, pointing her walnut cased wand at the fat man who had stepped forward.

Vernon howled in agony, the Unforgivable curse sending white hot needles down his spine before spreading to the rest of his body. Blades of chaos sewn into his privates, threatening to rip them off. The prospect of being a eunuch vanished as the spell let up. The needles pricked his flesh a little bit longer while he was no longer the target.

Seeing his father in pain, Dudley decided to get revenge by charging the psychotic woman. This proved to be the wrong course of action. As he drew back to swing, a heeled boot smashed the idiotic boy's family jewels. Father like son, he crumpled to the floor. But she didn't stop there; Bellatrix stomped several more times before the boys bollocks officially splattered as they couldn't take any further abuse.

Then she turned on the twig; the fucking cunt whom she had seen trying to hit the girl with a frying pan. With a snarl, Bellatrix summoned the cast iron skillet. It flew from its hook in the kitchen and into her hand.

Spittle flew from her mouth as she screamed, "Let's see how you like it, worthless whore!" Whack! "You. Do. Not. Hurt. Little. Girls!" Each word was punctuated with a smack to the face with a heated pan.

She started again, giggling as she threw the cruciatus curse at the muggles, taking turns to send them into wracking spasms of stabbing pain. Their cries and pleas to let them go was music to her ears. 'Divine Retribution' she told them between their screams.

The adult male still had some fight left in him. Bella sent a few bludgeoning hexes to knock him down a peg to show how helpless they were. There was nothing they could do to stop her and nobody to save their worthless lives.

When most of her fun to be had was mostly over, the mass murderess sent ropes to pin the muggles to the sofa and the one chair. The air was tickled by her gleeful chortle as she watched them struggle helplessly against their bindings.

"Oh yes, this is absolutely my favorite part!" chirped the witch as she brandished a blade in her hand. The Dursleys cried in fear from behind their gags; smelly socks ripped from their feet and shoved into their mouths. A sticking charm prevented them from being spat out.

Bellatrix crooned as she flayed the skin from the trio of muggles. A deranged hum came from her lips to follow the rhythm of strokes of the filleting knife. This, she stole from the kitchen.

She was proud of her work despite how rusty she was. It had taken an hour to separate each epidermis from her victims. With the fat fuck whose name she hadn't cared to learn, she started with the black and purple face. As her makeshift scalpel bit into flesh, the muggle man cried into his gag. It didn't take too long before blood loss had taken the man's life and he'd stopped twitching.

With the land whale liberated of his life and skin, the bony bitch was up next. This one was much easier since there was no fat and gristle to weave around; Bella had carved off the breasts first.

With the parents as an example, the thirteen year old boy cried. Vernon and Petunia had been ruthlessly butchered and he was next. This terror put him out before his soon to be murderer had even started. Bellatrix was disappointed she wasn't going to be able to hear his screams. So in turn, she kicked him around, trying to wake him up. But the little shit was out cold. She took her frustration out with a swift neck break and sighed. There was no more fun to be had.

In an exhausted voice, she whispered, "Fiendfyre."

Fire of a most fiendish nature swept to the four corners of the mid sized suburban home, blossoming into a roaring inferno. A serpent of searing fury blazed, spreading ire and swallowing matter. Tongues of flame licked and consumed the sturdy house until it was merely ashes. It dissipated just as quickly as it had come to life. Only the orange coals and smoke were among the evidence the home had been obliterated by fire.

Where the Dursley's had been moments before, now lay three crispy bodies on the blackened concrete floor. Amidst the soot, charred beams and shattered, half melted glass was the fledgeling witch, curled into the fetal position. Pristine as the day she was born and unconscious. Bellatrix was a little bloody and grimy, but alive.

The last thing to do, was to decide what to do with the child. She couldn't just murder an abused little girl, there was no fun, no challenge in torturing someone who was already broken. But there was no point in bringing said girl to a master that no longer existed.

While under the orders to do Voldemort's bidding, she had lost her unborn child. While she had hated her husband, she definitely wanted a child to call her own. It was a primal instinct instilled into all females and even in Bellatrix, it was quite strong despite her wild nature. Only one thing in good conscience she could do. So she took the unconscious girl from the ruins of the muggle house and disapparated.

3AM, Minister's Office

Cornelius Fudge was a paranoid man, fearful of the slightest deviation from the norm. Right now, he was sweating bullets on his pudgy face. The obnoxious green bowler hat sat crookedly as a quill shook in his hand.

"Surrey is in an uproar. The muggles have been asking too many questions," said Amelia Bones worriedly. As head of the DMLE, this woman oversaw all incidents concerning both wizard and muggle deaths. "Fires and explosions don't just happen out of nowhere. It must have been the girl."

Another said, "Oh don't worry too much about it. It was a wee bit o' wandless magic. She ain't done nuffin wrong."

"A bit of magic? That was more magic than displayed by You-Know-Who during the war. It was Fiendfyre!" squeaked Mafalda Hopkirk. "She's a dangerous child, possibly an Obscurial! I suggest we put her in the care of the Ministry with heavy monitoring. That or we could take precautions and prevent a second Dark Wizard/Witch rising. We could ah...euthanize her."

Fury boiled and frothed within the reddish orange haired man. Arthur Weasley was having difficulty in reigning his anger from his co-worker. They couldn't kill a little girl; it was inhumane!

An auror who had also been in attendance voiced himself. "No, she's not an obscurus. Not yet at least. She was close though, if this hadn't happened. Another year or so I'd imagine, this would become a situation out of our hands. Regardless of what happens, we must keep an eye on her."

"She's an underage witch! She doesn't know any better, being raised by horrible muggles," squeaked Madam Bones. "Find a guardian for her and I'll take care of the rest."

A man who usually spoke little walked in only to find co-workers squabbling like crows over roadkill. Saul Croaker, an introvert with an innate fascination with the ebb and flow of time. It had been this interest that had landed him into his current career. He cleared his throat loudly.

Croaker said once the others had quieted down, "Have you ever considered that it wasn't Holly Potter who had cast the spell? Did you think that it could have been another witch or wizard?"

This got everyone thinking for once. It had not occurred to them that it could have been someone else. There were no other wizards in little Whinging. Why would they think there would be anyone else but an underage witch there?

Shaking his head, Dedalus Diggle said, "Okay, so she might not have cast the spell. But the question remain: who will adopt her? Muggles have already proved inefficient."

"I will take the girl in," came the suave, glib words of a man dressed in silver and black robes. This person had his chin length hair slicked back to keep it out of his face. His features were clearly of noble descent.

Frowning, Arthur Weasley replied, "Lucius, can you really expect us to believe you would adopt the Potter girl and raise her as your own? You'd try to corrupt her!"

Within the air of such accusations of being a dark wizard, Lord Malfoy replied, "You wound me, Arthur. You know I'm no longer the arrogant man I was in school. I have grown past infantile behavior. Surely you have as well. Besides, my wife Narcissa has always wanted a daughter of her own. Holly would make an excellent addition to my family."

Suddenly the doors flew in to admit one Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class. The wizened man's pointed hat was askew while his flyaway beard was rather frazzled. The room's occupants immediately drew their gaze to his presence.

"I received your message about what happened with young Miss Potter. I do so apologize for my lateness; a muggle candy shop was having a sale and I absolutely had to get my hands on those delightful lemon drops," mused Albus as he fixed his askew pointy hat. "Where are we now?"

"N-no worries," said Cornelius. "We were simply discussing what to do with the child. Since she has no living relatives and her godfather is in Azkaban, she ought to go to a place where other parentless children reside."

"She just turned eight! You cannot think of putting her in an orphanage," blurted out Minerva McGonagall, the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts. "She's a hero! You cannot be considering putting the savior of all wizards and witches in a place where she doesn't belong. She must be fostered by someone who will treat her right."

Mr. Weasley said, "Then the Burrow will be the perfect place for Miss Potter. Molly and I would be honored to raise Holly Potter. No, it would be the greatest honor to raise Lily and James' daughter as our own."

"If I may interject, I do not think your little rook of a home would be a suitable living environment," began the head of House Malfoy. "She is likely in a very fragile state of mind and she needs only the best a high end Wizarding family can give her."

Anger came quick, the Weasley balling his hands into fists. "How dare you think my family can't provide the tender care she deserves. It was her who destroyed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Molly and I have more than enough love for Holly."

Lucius snorted, "I am not undermining your ability to care for the girl. However, I'm putting your finances into consideration when I say you would not be a suitable guardian. This is the first time she has been exposed to magic AND been the cause of ending the life of four muggles and a dog. She will need therapy which I doubt you could afford without cutting important costs elsewhere. You have six children and a wife to support. Adding another person would not be the wisest move on your part. Suffice to say, she would fare best in the care of my wife and I."

Arthur wasn't happy, but he could see the merit in his rival's words. "Fine. I concede. But if I get words of her being mistreated or exploited in any way, I will take her away by force, laws be damned."

Lucius gave a gentleman's bow, "You have my word. Holly shall be well taken care of while in my custody."

"Very well, you may fetch her when the Healer is done with analyzing the Potter girl's trauma she has no doubt undergone in the last forty-eight hours. For now, leave me be."

Before anyone could move, the doors to the office flung open and a tiny wizard barged in. "M-minister," cried the odd man. "Potter's gone! The teams at the site discovered there were only three bodies, not four. We thought she'd perished in the fire, but we got new evidence. She isn't dead, just...just missing!"

The room exploded into chaos. All manner of witches and wizards cried out with horror, triumph or wailing. Some argued what they were going to do now without their supposed savior. Others said that all hope was gone if Potter was dead. The minister was getting tired of his employees bickering like starving hyenas.

"SILENCE!" shouted Fudge. Everyone in the room fell quiet to listen to what the British leader had to say. "I want three teams of Aurors on this, stat! Holly Potter must be found! We will not stop searching for her even if it takes ten years! I assure you, we will rescue her wherever she is. Now please, go. I need to process this myself."

One by one, the small gathering of witches, warlocks, sorcerers and enchanters filed in an orderly line out of the Minister of Magic's office. It was going to be a long night for everyone.

When the young child's consciousness returned to her, she found herself in a dimly lit room that stank of mothballs. It was surprisingly pungent. The wallpaper was a gray paisley that peeled in various sections of the stretch to her left. A window on the far side of the room had a single window.

Rain suicide bombed the rooftops as thunder crashed down to accompany the flashes of lightning. It was late in the evening as far as she knew. Or it could be early morning. Either way, it was not the least of her problems.

She could see she was not alone in the dreary room. Sitting on a chair near the bedside was a dark haired woman. But waking up in an unknown location would certainly spook anyone with a stranger nearby definitely had the girl on edge.

"W-who are you?" came her soft voice, raspy from a parched throat. "W-where am I? How long have I been asleep?"

The dark haired woman smiled, "Bellatrix...L...Black." It seemed she had almost forgotten that she hadn't murdered her asshole of a husband, Rodolphus and renounced her claim on the house after she had transferred everything to the Black Vault. The tender smile returned. "It's been a week since you passed out. We're in one of our ancestral homes, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Your new home. I rescued you from those filthy muggles."

Confused, the dark haired girl asked, "What's a muggle?"

Bella raged that the girl didn't even know about magic. But she calmed herself and replied, "Humans who can't do magic. You and I. We're special. We're witches."

The girl was shocked. "I'm a...witch?" Her eyes widened at the revelation bequeathed to her. But doubt clouded her moon of hope, bringing darkness back to her mood in foulness. "But...I'm not special. I can't do magic. I'm can't do anything right..."

"Yes you silly girl," sniffed Bellatrix impatiently. "Witches and wizards are humans with innate magic running through their veins. We use this power to cast spells like charms and curses. You are...were the daughter of James Potter and his m...wife Lily Evans. He was a Pureblood like me and she was a Muggleborn. But that's in the past. You're now my daughter. I used a Blood Adoption to add my essence into you to make us officially related. You still have some of their blood, but mostly mine since I did not add a secondary parent for you. From now on, you are Estelle Amaranth Lillian Black."

"O...okay." The girl seemed to just take everything at face value. She rolled the lengthy name off her tongue a few times to get used to it. "I guess it's a prettier name than Holly James Potter..."

Rubbing the tiny girl's head, her mother smiled. "Don't be so glum sweetie. You'll be fine with me here. And I won't hurt you like those filthy muggles did. The highest degree of punishment in the magical world is death for harming an underage witch or wizard. Especially a little girl. I'm your mother and I'll protect you, teach you and laugh with you. Even if it's at Kreacher's expense."

The newly christened Estelle spotted the newspaper on her bedside table. Headlines read 'Three Muggles and the Last of the Potters tortured and murdered by Escaped Convict'. On the cover, a moving image of her new mother was laughing maniacally with no sound.

Having seen where the young girl was staring, the mature woman had been forced to elaborate on her reasoning for killing the muggles and kidnapping her from the destroyed house. It had also led into a tirade of who her former master was, why she had done things in the last war. Most of it was due to her ex husband's use of the Imperius curse and extensive use of the cruciatus curse on herself. That and when she had figured that all out, learned to act as though she was a loyal servant. That had earned her trust to the Death Eaters. Now, shs was out for good when her former 'master' had failed to kill the little girl.

Her daughter accepted the explanation and merely shrugged. It would take baby steps to reintroduce the young curly haired girl to the world of magic.

"I'm hungry..." she realized, and had voiced her demand for food when Bella had finished her explanation.

Nodding, the witch had Kreacher, an ancient house elf to fix a sandwich for her daughter. The wrinkled old bat obeyed, if not grumbling about it. He returned and left the tray by the bed.

Feeling starving, the girl snatched the turkey on wheat quickly and took several tiny bites out of it, finally happy she had something to eat after a week of nothing but scarce water and week old broth.

As soon as the girl swallowed the bites, she slowly began convulsing. Her body shook for a moment before she vomited into the nearby wastebasket. It was a miracle she had managed that much.

"Oh no..." groaned the eldest Black sister as she took her wand out and vanished the mess. Bella knew what that reaction meant and she was swearing under her breath, inadvertently teach her daughter a whole new branch of vocabulary.

"What's wrong with me?" whimpered Estelle as she clutched Bellatrix's arm. Her tired eyes glowed red, solidifying the woman's theory.

Said witch winced when those delicate hands grasped her bicep with surprising strength. Trying to remain positive, she said, "Good news and bad news Estelle. We will save a lot on traditional food. Bad news, you're a blood sucking fiend or in layman's terms, a vampire."

With a hiccup, the ten year old laughed and wiped her eyes. "Frakking great. I was a freak first. N-now I'm a m-monster. What next? A giant blob of death?"

"Young lady, we don't use that disgusting muggle slang around here. When we need to swear, a Black always uses the proper word. In this case, use 'fucking'. Understand?"

Full on giggling now, the young girl replied, "Yes ma'am."

"Mum," corrected Bella. "I'm too young to be called 'ma'am'. Got it?"

Estelle glared at the woman at her bedside. "Are you always this infuriating?"

Glad the young vampire cheered up, the elder Black replied, "If you think I'm bad, you should see my cousin Sirius or my sisters. They always said madness runs in the family."

"Oh joy, my mom is crazy. I'll grow up just fine," Estelle snorted with no little amount of sarcasm. "If I grow up to be the next Dark Lady, I'm blaming you." That was a horrific thought that had sprung past the girl's brain to mouth filter.

"When were you bitten?"

The topic change was gratefully accepted. "July 31st, my birthday. I think. It's when my memory begins to get hazy. 's the only explanation I can think of. Why do you ask?"

"You should choose a new date to celebrate your birthday. Just to cover tracks with your new identity. The less people know, the easier it'll be to relax. Maybe in a few years, no one will remember us. We especially don't need the media to learn you're a 'dark' creature." Bellatrix laughed morbidly. "How about October 13th?"

With another nonchalant shrug, the red eyed girl replied, "That's fine, I guess. Doesn't matter much to me. I've never celebrated it. Didn't know it was such a big deal."

"It's a very big deal. This October, I'll make up for ten years worth of missed birthdays. But we have other things on our plate at the moment.

"Now, I want you to bite my wrist and drink so you won't starve." Estelle gave a disgusted look, but her mother interrupted anything she was going to say, "Don't give me that look young lady! You can't eat solids anymore. Only human blood will nourish you. Animal blood won't help. It might just make your Thirst even stronger.

"Later, we'll find some information on you. Well, vampires in general. And please, if you're going to start this edgy shit instead of dying, feed on muggles. Or the worthless blood traitors likes those stupid Weasleys. I'll teach you the difference between a respectable Pureblood and those worthless mudbloods and blood traitors."

Estelle dipped her head in agreement. At first, she was about to ask how to make her fangs appear when the scent of liquid gold entered her nose. She began to salivate and whimper as a knife pricked her mother's wrist.

The sight of the bright red substance forced her ivory fangs to unsheath from just above her upper and lower canines. A swipe over each needle revealed to her they were very real and the need to consume blood was growing even more.

Unable to hold herself back, the young vampiress pounced upon the drooling crimson. Bliss escaped her maw as she lapped up the gushing sanguine liquid.

Estelle couldn't hear over the sound of the older woman's pounding heart, but Bellatrix released a low moan, turning pink when she realized that she was enjoying the young girl drinking her blood.

A hand on her head encouraged her to drink as much as she wanted without draining her mother dry. It stroked her hair and she pulled off, leaning against Bellatrix. "Blood tastes better than I expected it to be."

The dark witch chortled and laid a gentle kiss to Estelle's forehead. "You look tired sweetie. Get some sleep, it's 1pm, but this is no time for you to be up. I'll wrap this up and get some shut eye myself. When you're up, we can start cleaning this pigsty of a house. Fucking Kreacher didn't do anything when we were gone. See you later, you little fiend."

With the heavy duty curtain permanently covering the window, the young vampire fell into a death like slumber, not to awake until dusk.

Morning came too swiftly for Estelle's likening. But the light of the full moon filtered through the dark curtains, pooling on the girl's tired features. Somewhere in the distance, evening songbirds warbled. Unable to ignore the obnoxious moonbeams, the tiny girl stirred.

She discovered it hadn't been a dream. She wasn't curled up on an uncomfortable mattress filled with lumpy bedding. Instead, she was lying on a soft bed with black and silver sheets. Neutral colors; she gave it a brief thought. But it didn't last and closed her eyes again.

Opulence and luxury, she had concluded as the gears of conscious cognizant thinking took over this of her subconscious. Old wizarding families were quite wealthy. She only hoped Bellatrix would spoil her unlike her past. After all she had been through, it was only natural she believed she ought to be treated like a princess. However, Estelle wouldn't put too much hope into anything. There was still an unvarying chance that she would be just like Vernon and Petunia.

Speaking of her former upbringing, the young girl wasn't regretful that she had accidentally murdered her aunt, uncle and cousin by proxy of the woman who had taken her away. They had treated her rather foul, and that was putting lightly. She still had bruises where she had been recently hit. In her mind, she believed her former relatives deserved what happened to them, even if it wasn't intentional.

She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream that she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it, but she hadn't recognized anything else since it had been dark. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before, she just knew it. Clenching her fists, Estelle vowed that one day, she'd get to the bottom of what it meant.

The other recurring dream Estelle had been having for several years was of her standing on a cliff somewhere near the ocean. The wind blew while she inhaled the scent of the salty sea. But she didn't know what this could have meant. But how could she? Hardly anything was known about who her parents were or what they had been like.

Nuzzling her face back into the velour pillow, the young raven haired girl wholeheartedly intended to fall back asleep. That was all she desired for the next thousand years. To slumber without being disturbed. No horrible aunt or uncle to force her up the crack of dawn to make breakfast she never got to eat. A place of dreams catered to her best fantasies of having her family back.

That was, until an unnaturally high pitched voice squeaked, "Miss, you are awake?"

This caused Estelle to shoot up and sit up, hand over her chest in surprise. Her heart fluttered and jumped. When she got over the initial shock, she swallowed thickly and asked, "W-what are you?"

"Why Dobby is a house elf, miss." The bat eared creature blinked and remembered the message he was supposed to deliver. "Oh yes, Mistress wishes for you to bathe and dress in clean clothes. Master then requests you join the family at the dining table for dinner."

"O-Okay. Er...you can go now," she said slowly. After a polite bow, the bat eared creature vanished with only a loud crack to show she hadn't merely imagined it. Estelle rubbed her eyes, still in awe about this magical world she was introduced to the night before.

It took a few tries to find the bathroom. A few doors ended up being guest bedrooms or storage closets. Some were locked. After getting directions from a crank old house elf, she was able to find a few towels in a storage closet and the bathroom right around the corner.

The reflection in the mirror showed that she was no longer a copper haired little girl, but a raven haired vampire with crimson eyes.

As she slipped into the tub, the young dark haired girl couldn't remember the last time she felt so relaxed. She hadn't been allowed to take long baths when she had been with the Dursleys. Petunia had declared they shouldn't waste precious water for the freak. Only once a week was she allowed to take a short shower to scrape the half fortnight of grime.

Once she deemed herself clean enough, Estelle slipped out of the massive bathtub. She imagined it could be transformed into a shower like there had been at the Dursleys. She could probably talk to Lucius about it. If there was a spell for that anyways.

Tying a white towel around her torso, the little vampire tried to ignore the numerous scars and healed burn marks on her body. It had been difficult just applying soap to the highly marred sections of her being.

Sitting on a stool by a late mirror, she stared blankly. It had been a long time since she had seen a mirror she was allowed to use that wasn't cracked or hopelessly smudged to the point of being useless. She admired the silver mirror a bit longer before taking the brass handled brush with nubs. She took that to attack her unruly mane.

"No-no, let me get that."

She squeaked and froze, mid stroke. The young witch looked to the door to see Bellatrix standing in the doorway. "I'll teach you the proper way to brush your hair. Please sit on the stool and face the mirror."

"O-okay," she mewled meekly.

Her little fingers were prised from the brush which was set down on the marble counter. A different brush was picked up which made the young girl wonder why. Did different brushes do different things? She didn't know. All she had ever gotten was the rusty iron comb that her aunt had used on her since she'd been a toddler.

When the brush closed in on her skull, Estelle flinched. Instinctively, she raised her arms over her head. Expecting a smack, a whip or even a thump, nothing came. Opening her eyes, she looked questioningly at the older woman.

"No need to be afraid dear. It's just a brush to detangle this mane of yours." A gentle hand tousled her dripping locks. A soft touch in which she leaned into, trying to soak up as much affection the small action would generate.

With a terse nod, Stella sat still and allowed the brush to approach once more, eyes tracing the marble floor's serpentine pattern. Her cheeks flushed when she realized how pathetic she must be for enjoying her stepmother's head pat.

Said woman mourned internally as she saw first-hand firsthand how attention starved this young girl seemed to be. Her new daughter had been deprived of a true mother's touch, the feeling of a mother's love and undying will to protect their child. Had she even ever known love?

Gladly not lingering on depressing thoughts, the middle aged pure blood witch gently began swiping the ends of Estelle's hair. "Always start at the tips of your hair and work up. It causes less pain and doesn't damage your hair as bad as the way you first approached your hair. Hang, on I found a nasty knot. This is gonna pinch dear. Brace yourself."

Each time one of her horribly tangled areas was combated, she whimpered and winced. There had been six in total. Both ladies have a sigh of relief when the last one caved to the separating power of the brush. At least the worst of the tedious task had been fulfilled.

Switching to a small boar bristle brush, Trixie smiled to Estelle in the mirror as she made small arcing sweeps. She mentioned the different uses certain brushes had; some were for detangling unruly hair, others to add softness and shine while a few others were for styling. With a soft sigh, the elder witch mused, "You have such soft, beautiful hair. I'll admit I'm a tad jealous. Mine has always been like a jungle."

The young girl smiled, but remained reticent. The repetitive motion persists for a few more moments in silence. Then her stepmother spoke, "There we go. Absolutely gorgeous. Don't forget the tips I told you. There are charms to make magic brush and style your hair, but I like detangling with my own hands. Now go get dressed. We don't want you to miss breakfast. Ah, but there's someone waiting to speak with you in the den."

Nodding, the young girl wrapped her little torso in her towel (which had fallen off during her attempt to brush her hair) and scurried off to the room she was to call her bedroom from the day thereof.

An outfit was already laid out on her already neatly made bed. Stella suspected it was magic and the culprit was that house elf whom had startled her earlier in the morning.

The dress itself seemed tailored to her exact measurements. Dark forest green spanned through the majority of the dress length, only parting the peninsula of the occasional black rifts. Below the waist, the fabric fell into three tiers. The first wefted into black spider webbing lace. Following that to the later betwixt the first and third. This middle was fairly plain, but hosted a semi-opaque teal bunches ribbons folded upon themselves. The final tier was garnered into sequined ruffles.

Just looking at it, she could it cost more than a pretty penny. If she'd had anything else, she'd have worn it instead. But everything she had owned before had been turned to ash in the magical fire she thought she had unwittingly conjured.

After she managed how to put on the garment, she surveyed the room she had slept in.

It was huge and beyond perfect. There was a large soft bed, a walnut dresser and a cherry wood desk, bookcases lining the walls. There were two interior doors, one door opened into a closet big enough to walk in, one door to a full bathroom with a giant sunken tub and a separate shower. The carpet was soft, thick and gray, the walls a restful burgundy. The trim was painted a brilliant white, paintings hung on the walls. The paintings were luminous, glowing with light and possibly with magic. French doors opened on a small balcony, just large enough for a small table and a pair of chairs. The balcony overlooked the wilderness of the backyard, massive trees screened them from the neighbors view. A fire rustled and popped in the white marble fireplace. It was altogether grand and very much too much for a girl from the cupboard beneath the stairs.

Yet, it was now all hers.

With no small amount of trepidation, the girl tiptoed silently down the steps. Even with the velvet runner woven in silver and green, she made almost no sound at all.

Sitting in a cozy room with a fireplace, Ivy stared at the flickering flames. Warmth radiated from the hearth, bathing her and part of the room in a yellow-orange glow.

"Estelle... may I call you Stella? I'd very much like talk to you. About what happened."

She merely nodded and pulled the soft quilt closer to her malnourished form. She was nervous; in a new place she had never been before as well as having many things on her mind. She couldn't seem to shake the haunting expressions of hatred and betrayal as her abusers were incinerated by the flames of hell she had summoned to protect her.

"You're not in trouble, young one," spoke the woman the young girl didn't know. She had met many strange people people in robes or other weird clothing today. But none of them registered until now, having been just going through the motions of the last few hours. "What happened was an accidental use of underaged magic. It happens all the time when you're either quite angry or upset and even excited."

"Magic?" asked Estelle quietly, still not quite having believed magic was a real thing.

The robed woman appeared aghast at learning the young heiress to the Potters knew nothing of magic. She was angry that the truth of her people, and her parents had been obscured from her on purpose. "Before I explain, can you tell me everything the Dursley's did to you? And don't leave a single detail out. It's absolutely imperative, that is, very very important you tell us as much of what you can remember your first ten years."

Nodding timidly, the young witch answered shakily, stuttering more than a few times, "I-I can try." Estelle took a few gulps of air before continuing. "T-they barely fed me. Whenever I had the chance to steal food, I did. It was on purpose―they starved me on purpose. If I got caught taking more than what they gave me, I was punished." A sob broke out and she sniffed. "They hit me. It's always my fault if something goes wrong. I am forced to do most of the cooking and cleaning since neither my aunt or uncle would do it. When I take my shirt off in front of the mirror, I can see my ribs too easily. Often covered in bruises. A-and then...then..." She couldn't bear to keep speaking."

"Go on."

Bursting into a cascade of tears, Estelle wailed, "When I turned eight, things got worse. When my relatives weren't home, Dudley f-forced me to p-pleasure him. I was weak and him fat with muscles. I..." She whimpered at the thought of what had happened in the past. Her small, tiny body shook as the trauma resurfaced.

Despite she usually didn't offer reassurance in a physical manner, Andromeda wrapped her arms around the nine year old's frail, petite form.

After while of hugging, the dark haired woman said in a professional manner, "Now then. I have something wonderful you must absolutely know. You my dear, are a witch!"

Estelle's eyes widened at the revelation bequeathed to her. But doubt clouded her moon of hope, bringing darkness back to her mood in foulness. "But...I'm not special. I can't do magic. I'm can't do anything right..."

"Not special? My dear girl, you are the most special girl in the Wizarding world! You, Estelle, formerly Holly Potter, are the only person in the world to have survived a direct bit from the Killing curse. Not to mention you're the daughter of Lily and James Potter. In their generation, they were the finest magical folks. James was a damn fine Auror with his exceptional combat and transfiguration while Lily was absolutely brilliant with charms and fantastic potions."

With each word gushing from the English woman's mouth, Estelle devoured these words about the man who sired her and the woman who birthed her. The things her late parents had accomplished. Well, as much of what was said that made sense to her. Despite this, she still saw Bellatrix as her real mother.

"Now seeing as you're horrendously underfed, I'll prescribe a prescription of a nutrition potion to take every morning and half a phial in the evening for a month. I'll make sure it's safe for vampires. You'll be right as rain henceforth. I'm sure you're tired and you could use some real rest. You've been through a lot these last few days. If you ever need to talk again, you can always ask for Andromeda Tonks. Now get outta here scamp."

"I-okay," she whispered, peering up at the kind lady one last time.

A/N: Woo, pilot chapter done. Who should I pair Estelle up with? Was thinking either Fleur, Daphne, Hermione, or an OC?

Oh, and sorry for the brutal murder of the Dursleys. I felt it was absolutely necessary.

Son of you are wondering what the heck is going on with this fic. It's a bit more AU than Canon. Like that the zoo incident happens when she's nine instead of 10/11. And the fact Dudley is a bit older than Estelle by a few years. While she's 9, I made Dudley 13 as are his friends. Just a bit of exposition.

Edit: Yes, it's been revised!