Bella crumpled inwards. She had been hit with a something, she didn't know what, she couldn't focus. Pain clouded her vision and pounded through her head, stampeding it's way down her body. Her spine was on fire and her heart was struggling to cope with the sheer intensity of the pain. This was it, Bella has survived the literal hell of Azkaban, frequent punishments from the dark lord, and countless to-the-death duels, only to be struck down going to the shops for orange juice.
She couldn't make out the fuzzy figure that watched her fall, the cause of this blinding pain, this terrible curse, she could only feel. The figure cocked its head and an almost sorrowful, small smile graced red lips. She knew how much pain her target must be in. She contemplated for a moment, then moved forward. Things had to be this way, it was the only way it would work.
Bellatrix Black woke up in hospital four days later. Cracking one eye open, she surveyed her surroundings. She should be dead, but clearly some higher power had decided otherwise. Her quick scan told her where she was, and that no one was around. Taking advantage of this, Bella pushed the bed sheet away and made to swung her legs over the side. If she could reach her boots and the back-up wand she kept in them, she could apparate away. She decided she would go home, sort her affairs and leave. Portugal had a wonderful magical community, full of pure bloods. Smiling slightly at the thought, before she stopped.
She couldn't feel her legs.
Maybe she'd slept in a weird position and they'd gone numb, she tried to rationalise. No matter how hard she poked, punched or tried to set her calves alight, she could feel nothing. She leant back into the pillows, and allowed the smallest of tears to escape and roll its way to freedom down her cheek. She hurriedly wiped it away, now was not the time to be weak. Her plans hadn't changed, she would still leave. It wasn't safe for her when she was able-bodied, that fuzzy figure had still taken her down. Now that she... had changed, it was imperative she leave at the first opportunity.
Attempting wandless magic after a good while out of practise, she managed to summon one shoe, crash a vase of fresh flowers into the wall just above her head, and explode the lightbulb. She would admitted she was a tad out of practise...
Finally managing to lift her right boot, she caught it two seconds before it would have hurtled into her face.
At the same moment she caught the boot, the door opened and a plump, motherly looking mediwitch entered. She was so caught up in the chart in her hand, that she missed Bella's antics, and gave the exhausted witch a few seconds to grab the wand from it's hidden compartment and slip it under the covers.
Turning to her charge, she her expression turned into shock for moment when she recognised the face. Quickly recovering her professional demeanour, Ms Tuck ran through what had happened. Bella zoned out, this witch blabbered too much... Interrupting softly, "When will regain the feeling? In my legs I mean." Ms Tuck stopped and deliberated with herself. Licking pink lips nervously, her gaze shifted to the door briefly. She could run if the patient reacted... Negatively.
"There is a strong possibility, that you won't." The mediwtich chanced a glance up, and was met with an impassive face. Bella already knew. She wasn't lucky enough to be one of the few that recovered. Hell, if she had any luck at all, she wouldn't be in this situation to begin with, she thought bitterly.
On the other side of St Mungo's, sitting in what she hoped would soon be her office, sat a quietly confident Hermione. Three and a half years ago, this was the room in which she had met her mentor on her first day as an intern. Now, she had left her other classmates behind to graduate two and a half years early. It was a new record in the history of the hospital. Or it would be, if the board of examiners decided she was aptly capable. She had passed the exams with flying colours, but she had little in the way of practical experience.
The meeting room dior swung open sharply, and McGonagall left the room with a look of disapproval on her face; she thought her protégé was more than ready to become a fully fledged mediwitch. It was only a shame that the decision was not hers alone. The rest of the board shuffled out, chatting amongst themselves, and leaving the girl's mentor to deliver the news.
Hermione's stomach dropped at the sight of McGonagall's expression. It wasn't looking good, she knew she should've taken that practical elective in second year... But it was too late now. "They want you to complete a practical assignment. Once you've passed it, your written report will form your last assessment and you will be able to graduate."
That didn't sound so bad... A little scary, but nothing she couldn't handle.
Seeing the confusion on the younger witches face, she sighed "Read the case file, and remember that you don't have to do it" she paused regretfully "but it's the only way they'll let you graduate at the end of this year."
Her mentor handed Hermione the faded manila folder and walked away. They had given the poor girl too much to do in her opinion. She had already proved herself, many times over, but it wasn't enough for the pencil pushers and suits that made the important decisions.
Hermione looked at the name on the cover.
Bellatrix Black.