They landed at the gate of Malfoy Manor. Margot had never been there herself, but she'd heard of it from her father and various Order members over the years. Flint was still holding her tightly from behind, though Margot was relieved to notice his grip had loosened slightly during their Apparition.
It was dark on the grounds, yet lights appeared to be on inside the manor. She felt Nott's eyes on her, and held herself back from any thoughts, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing her fear.
You won't be able to keep your mind from me for long, she heard him say in her head.
Meanwhile, Dolohov had opened the gate by pressing his Dark Mark against its lock. Clever, thought Margot, before she was pushed forward by Flint.
"I'm perfectly capable of walking myself, you know," she shot at him with disdain.
At this, Flint kicked the young woman's leg so hard that she fell with a cry, as pain seared through her ankle. He had twisted it, or worse.
"Are you, though?" Flint sneered as he pulled her back up forcefully.
Nott looked back at Flint with stern eyes, but said nothing. Their group kept advancing toward the manor, with Margot continuously resisting the urge to elbow Flint in the guts. Still a fucking asshole, she thought.
They arrived at the imposing door of the building. Before anyone had the chance to knock, the door flew open, revealing none other than Bellatrix herself. She sported an unwholesome grin, her eyes glinting with madness as she eyed Margot up and down.
"You've got yourself a nice catch, my dear," she said to Nott, still focusing her gaze on Margot. "The Dark Lord will be most pleased."
"Is he here?" asked Dolohov.
This seemed to snap Bellatrix out of her fascinated state. She looked at Dolohov.
"Yes, of course. The Dark Lord is always here to welcome special guests," she drawled. "Come on, let's not keep him waiting, now."
The mad witch gestured them inside, and Margot suppressed a hiss as she was forced to climb up the two steps leading into the manor. The door slammed shut behind them. This was it.
"I can take it from here," said Bellatrix, inching eagerly toward Margot.
Nott stepped up to her before she could reach their captive.
"She's not your prisoner, Lestrange. We're the ones who found her."
Bellatrix pouted at him, but gave in.
"I'll get my hands on her soon enough," she smirked. "She might be your little prize, but she's my niece."
"The Dark Lord will decide of her fate," Nott replied coldly. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer."
Bellatrix nodded and shrieked "Follow me!", skipping across the immense room like a demented child.
Margot was so busy keeping an eye on her crazed aunt that she failed to take in their lavish surroundings, like the massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the grand marble staircase leading to dozens more rooms. This was the woman who had murdered her father, and so many others.
If Margot was scared, she was determined not to show it. She'd never met Voldemort before, nor had she ever been in such proximity to him, except perhaps we he had possessed Professor Quirrell in her fifth year at Hogwarts. She knew he was close, as the temperature grew increasingly cooler as they approached a door at the end of the main hall. Even Flint seemed to tense a little.
With a grandiose gesture, Bellatrix pushed the door open, revealing what appeared to be a sitting room. Its walls were covered with paintings, and a fire was ablaze in the chimney, with a set of settees and armchairs arranged around it. And people sitting on them.
Margot recognized the pale blonde hair of all three Malfoys — father, mother and son. They turned to look at their visitors, Margot specifically, though avoiding direct eye contact. The girl quickly noticed how they, too, looked sullen and broken, albeit at least they hadn't just been captured by the enemy.
There was a fourth figure in the room. He stood from his armchair and walked over to the group of newcomers. Before Nott could utter a word, Bellatrix rushed to her master and bowed ceremoniously.
"My Lord," she spoke, "we bring you the Black girl, as you requested."
The Lord in question observed Margot calmly. She, too, observed him, disgust welling up in her as she saw his grayish skin, quasi-non existing nose and thin fingers.
"You never told me she had your eyes, Draco," Voldemort said with a certain interest, not bothering to look back at the blonde he was addressing.
"I — I never thought it might be relevant, my Lo—," Draco mumbled nervously from the other side of the room. Voldemort held a hand up to silence him, before stepping closer to Margot.
"You're hurting," he observed, referring to her wounded ankle.
"It's nothing I can't handle," Margot responded, doing her best to look him in the eye.
"Yes, you have indeed proven you can handle more than most, my dear. I took a big risk ordering Wood's execution — I knew there would be a chance you would take your own life after the fact, yet here you are. Not to mention, your father's death must have been quite a shock — though I must say, he hadn't exactly been as present in your life as a father ought to, had he?"
Bellatrix sniggered, and Margot's blood boiled.
"My father didn't just die — he was murdered, and before that he ended up in Azkaban because of you!" She screamed hoarsely, tears welling up in her eyes.
Voldemort seemed rather pleased by the reaction he had elicited from her, as the corners of his thin, pale lips curled slightly upward.
"So much hate, Margot," he tutted. "Pity you were raised by those blood traitor Weasleys instead of by your actual relatives. Ever wonder what your life would have been like if you'd grown up on the other side?"
Margot had asked herself this question many times. What if she had been taken in by the Malfoys, her closest living (and non-imprisoned) relatives at the time? Would she eventually have realized the Order is the fairer, moral side, or would she have turned into the blood-thirsty, purist Death Eater most of her family became?
"I'm sure you know why you're here," continued the Dark Lord.
The young woman responded with a defiant silence.
"You are here, my dear, because you know something that is of upmost value to me. You see, I didn't think things would come to this, but it seems none of my competent followers have been able to get ahold of the Boy Who Lived, yet alone obtain any intel on his current location."
Margot continued to glare at him, occasionally shifting her eyes to glare at Nott as well.
"A trusted friend, however, has informed me of your secret rendezvous with Dumbledore last year, and assures me you were made aware of Potter's plans in great precision. Do you see where I'm going with this?"
"Why don't you asked you trusted friend for the information you need, then?" Margot hissed.
"Ah, if only it were so simple. Sadly, Dumbledore only told Severus that he would meet with you to discuss Potter's plans, but did not share with Severus those plans themselves." Voldemort paused. "This was all confirmed to us by Severus under Veritaserum, of course."
"Veritaserum that he made himself?" Margot snickered darkly.
The Dark Lord did not respond, but instead continued:
"Now, I know Nott has asked you this a few times since Potter escaped, but before I decide of your fate, I'll give you a final chance to answer this simple question: Where is the Boy Who Lived?"
Margot pretended to be considering her options for a few seconds before doing something that surprised everyone in the room.
"Come closer," she said to her captor.
Curling his lips into a satisfied smile, Voldemort obliged, leaning forward and tilting his head until his ear was nearly an inch away from Margot's mouth. She took a deep breath.
"Up. Your. Ass," Margot whispered confidently.
At this, the Dark Lord took a step back, whipped out his wand and shot a silent curse at the young witch, rage glistening in the slits he had for eyes.
Margot was only semi-ready for what was coming. She knew her defiance would infuriate him, but nothing could have prepared her for the excruciating pain that resulted from the spell. It was her first time under an Unforgivable, her first time suffering from the Cruciatus Curse. It was only then that Margot realized she would never wish the Cruciatus upon any living being, even Bellatrix or the Dark Lord himself. She felt a burning sensation throughout her entire body, which Flint released and let crumple to the ground. After what seemed like hours of this unbearable torture, Voldemort finally lifted the curse. He watched as Margot held her still-shaking body into a ball at his feet. She hated it, feeling weak like this — and he knew it.
"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, my dear," he said, his fury apparently appeased by his small retribution. "I'll put you under Nott's care — in his good hands, I have no doubt you will give me what I want quite soon."