Rodolphus Lestrange lied her corpse into its casket. Even lifeless, she looked deathly beautiful. Her porcelain skin was even whiter now. Her mane of thick ebony curls were still vibrant, yet lifeless.
He couldn't bear it. He took the dagger from her cold hands, he was going to bury her with it. Hm, she would have appreciated that.
He pressed the blade to his throat. "Mia Bella, Mon amour, Mon cœur. I told you, someday you would be the death of me." And with one swift movement, he slit his throat and fell next to the woman he so dearly loved. She never loved him, she didn't want him. But hr had followed her to the Dark Side, to the Longbottoms that night, into Azkaban, and now he was going to follow her to death.