"What do you mean by coming here, woman?"
Bellatrix's features contorted in disgust, but if the hooded man standing in the doorway could discern her contempt, he made no sign of repentance.
"I would have thought it quite obvious, Runcorn," she leered, her fingers twitching instinctively for the wand holstered at her side. The man before her merely smiled, the tip of his own wand drooping so that it no longer held her in its line of fire. That he considered her unworthy of even this most basic precaution smarted, and she took no pains to hide the fury that flushed her cheeks.
"I wish to speak to the Dark Lord," Bellatrix said, ignoring the amused snort issued from beneath the black hood.
"Has he sent for you?" Runcorn's deep voice inflected in mock surprise, and for a moment Bellatrix hesitated.
"He will see me," she responded finally, her knuckles whitening around the carved wand's grip.
The tall, dark Death Eater paused and considered the slight, black-haired woman; she was very much like her sister, fine-figured and attractive, but where Narcissa tempted with coy smiles and coquetry Bellatrix excited with smoldering intensity and single-minded veracity.
Shrugging, Runcorn stepped aside and replaced his wand inside his cloak. "Don't think your man Rodolphus will be able to keep you safe from His wrath. Your family name holds no sway here, Bella," he sneered.
A sharp intake of breath was all the warning Runcorn had before he found himself flat on his back, the taste of blood in his mouth and the outline of a woman shaking with rage standing over him.
"Never," Bellatrix hissed, her voice dangerously low as she bent over the fallen Death Eater, her wand pressed hard into his temple, "call me 'Bella' or I swear, it will be the last thing you do."
The hem of her robes whipped over Runcorn's prone form as she spun on her heels and left him alone in the corridor, cursing under his breath as he tried to imagine the worst sort of torture the Dark Lord would use on this most insolent of witches.