I dislike the woman they chose to play Alecto Carrow. I think of her as so much more... glamorous.
I don't own. If I did...
Her mother had chosen a large number of respectable suitors for her before she had reached the age of seven. Antonin Dolohov, Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, there had been dozens, most of whose names had been forgotten mere moments after meeting them.
There had been one distinct commonality: each was pureblood to the core.
And she had no problem with that.
In fact, there was nothing she really minding about having these suitors.
They were all members of the highest class, polite, and well on their way to becoming something great.
And she would not deny that she rather liked being treated like a goddess.
To be quite honest, she loved it.
They waited on her, hand and foot, bringing her he anything she desired. And each time one would visit, they brought gifts. Sometimes tiny trinkets, others magnificent, expensive jewelry.
Perhaps it was vain and superficial to believe that her love could be bought…
But they were not wrong.
She may have only been a child, but she knew how to accept something beautiful, and she knew that whichever man brought her the nicest things was the man most useful to her.
"Miss Carrow?" a voice called. Alecto turned from the balcony, an empty smile plastered to her face, expecting to see one of her many suitors.
"You're not one of my suitors," she said, the fake smile falling.
"Does it matter?" the man asked with a smile, handing her a black rose.
"Mother does not wish for me to speak with men so clearly inferior," she said, turning back to the snow falling heavily.
"And what makes you so sure," the man began, taking a step closer to her. "That I am not worthy of your presence?"
A dozen reasons she could have listed. He was clearly unworthy. They way he held himself, the way he talked, everything about him reeked of unworthy.
"I know," she said.
"You never know," he whispered in her ear, sitting the rose and a black silk box down on the ledge in front of her.
She turned back to him as he disappeared into the distance.
She turned back to the snow once more, and could not hide the grin that appeared on her face as she opened the tiny box.
He would return to her the next night, carrying two black roses and nothing more.
"Who do you think you are?" she asked, not turning to face him, but still knowing he was there.
"Does it matter?" he asked, placing the roses in front of her. "I'm something new, something you don't quite understand. And you like it."
A moment later, he was gone once more.
And he was not wrong. He was a complete mystery to her. Her whole life, all sixteen years, she'd been exposed to the same type of men. The men whose intentions were very clear, the men whose paths were clearly defined exactly as hers.
And maybe she did like that this strange man was something new.
The third night he brought three roses. He had barely set them down before her when she turned and kissed him. Hard, her teeth sinking into his lips until she tasted blood.
Then she shoved him away with such great force that he hit the ground with a thud.
"You're a member of the Order of the Phoenix," she stated. He made no move to deny it as he climbed to his feet. "Avada Kedavra," she said boredly, pointing her wand at his face.
Then she knelt down at his side and patted his face with a hint of sorrow. "Shame," she said. "You could have been useful."
Then she stood and walked away, admiring the ring she now wore on her right hand. Green jade. Simple, yet elegant. A gift from this, now dead, non-suitor.
No point in wasting a beautiful piece of jewelry.