My sister sits next to me, her fair blond hair falling over her eyes in subtle drowse. I stare, wide awake, at the flickering flames of the candles. I do not realize it, but I am not breathing.
"My lord," she whispered, her form cowered at my feet. "Please, my Lord, I am..."
"Are you doubting my skills, Bella?" Our voices echo; ice on ice. My poor servant, she looks paler, terrified.
"N-n-no, my Lord, of course not, I only..."
"Do you think, Bella," I ask, because I want her to tell me again, "that I am incapable of defeating an infant?" There is slow deliberation in my voice, I want her to think, I want my words to sink in.
"Of course not, my Lord, I... I only ask because I ca--" I stop her, because I don't want her to tell me she cares.
"Bella," Cissy croons as she lays her head on my shoulder. I do not shake her off, I simply remain still, as still as a statue.
She is talking, my fair, beautiful sister, but I cannot hear. Her lips flicker as the flames stutter, and that is all the movement I can register. I am twisting my wand as if to break it, and when red sparks shoot out, Narcissa jumps but I remain static. When I do not respond as she calls my name, she shakes me, gently at first, then with a hint of hysteria and hostility.
She knows why. My sister always knows.
"Bella?" She says tentatively, and this part I hear. "Tell Him."
I turn to her, really looking at her for the first time in a long time. "He has mastered death; He is above love." My eyes fill, and Cissy's frame is blurred. "Who am I to defile that?"
It hurts, it hurts so much.
I collapse, much to my despair, and there is a murmur passing through like ghost. I do not look up; I do not need to to see the worried expression on those faithless faces.
My girl, she rushes to me, and against my better judgement, I let her kneel next to me. Her voice is as soft as I have never heard it, with a touch of tenderness that burns me.
"My Lord?" I shiver, but no one notices.
"That will do." I say, but she persists. A flame of anger bursts inside me, the pain subsiding. I cannot look up at her; she hurts me. "That is enough." Something in my voice makes her draw her hand like an injured animal, and I am able to breathe again.
When I stand, the body of the pathetic boy is lying lifeless. I smile, and the smile grows wider and wider until I explode in laughter, and never before have I felt such euphoria.
Yet, there is a hollow core in that explosion of happiness, something elusive, but it hurts, like the phantom pain of a useless limb.
I am fighting, and I am proud to battle aside him. I have always dreamt of this moment, and even though my allies are lost, even though I cannot find my sister in the chaos, I am with him, and that is enough, it is enough.
It is more than enough.
These Mudbloods, these filthy blood traitors, they are screaming and collapsing all around me. I do not blink; I love the sight of this. What a perfect, bloody battleground for my Lord and me!
I battle these three girls effortlessly, I am not even keeping track of the curses, the charms I am using; I am not even looking at my opponents. All I see is him, the graceful curve of his jaw, the fluid motions of his wrist, I am so, so unworthy to worship him like this, but I cannot tear my gaze away.
I see it, then, two red beams narrowly miss him. My blood boils and my eyes mist over; if my Lord, if my Lord should...
No. He is invincible; He will not lose this small battle. Still, I am distracted as I dodge and curse, my eyes are glued on him, waiting to defend him, willing, even excited, to use my own body as his shield.
But why?
A tear races down my cheek; it goes by unnoticed in the calamity. "He is invincible now," I think to myself as I rip my teary-eyed gaze from his beautiful frame. "Who am I to defile that?"